Ordinarily, I might gloat.
Last week, a prominent conservative pundit conceded a point yours truly and countless others have been making for a long time.
We will get to Baltimore in a moment. First, let's talk about innocence.
"Then you will know the truth and the truth will set you free"
Or maybe not.
Far be it from me to correct Jesus, but to survey the modern political landscape is to see precious little evidence of the truth setting anyone free.
Let me tell you how I got in trouble with ladies.
Dear Republican Party:
Congratulations. By now, one thing is beyond dispute: You have produced a candidate for the ages.
Well, that was sure ugly.
Last week's Republican conclave in Cleveland came across less as a nominating convention than as a four-day nervous breakdown, a moment of fracture and bipolarity from a party that no longer has any clear idea what it stands for or what it is. Everywhere you turned there was something that made you embarrassed for them,
How can anyone ever explain this to Mason?
He's only 4 months old, so that moment still lies years in the future. Still, at some point, too soon, he will ask the inevitable questions, and someone will have to tell him how his dad was shot to death for being a police officer in Baton Rouge.
Here's something I never thought I'd have to say.
People should not play Pokemon at Auschwitz.
This is not about the police.
At least, not solely. Granted, the police are the reason we are heartbroken today, the reason cable news networks are assembling panels to talk about black and blue, the fraught intersection between African Americans and the law.
"What sort of people are we, we Americans? ... Today, we are the most frightening people on this planet." -- Historian Arthur Schlesinger
On Saturday, someone tried to kill Donald Trump.
Some of you questioned my evocation of history's great villain in a recent column on House Speaker Paul Ryan's surrender to presumptive GOP nominee Donald Trump.
I am supposed to be writing about a shooting in Orlando, but my thoughts keep circling back to a funeral in Louisville.
This is a column about the value of six.
In 1933, Franz von Papen was hungry for revenge.
Dear Snoop Dogg:
You could have been honest about it. If you had, I'd still think you wrong as two left shoes, but at least I could give you points for guts.
Everything was different, the day after.
A few words in defense of pragmatism.
That ideal has taken quite a beating lately, mostly at the hands of Bernie Sanders and his supporters.
I hesitate to bring up facts. If recent years have proven nothing else, they've proven that we have fully embarked upon a post-factual era wherein the idea that a thing can be knowable to an objective certainty -- and that this should matter -- has been diminished to the point of near irrelevancy.
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