rachel maddow
IT’S JULY 2017. I’m watching The Rachel Maddow Show while on a visit to my parents in Las Vegas. Maddow gives a long monologue detailing the background of a Trump administration official. She’s 15 minutes in before she explains why listeners should care. I don’t remember the details. I do remember yelling at the TV that Maddow needed to stop burying the lead. I would definitely fail her in introductory newswriting.
I also remember marveling at how my hippie libertarian father had transformed from a George W. Bush voter into a Maddow devotee. My dad started watching MSNBC after he became disillusioned with the second Iraq War, first religiously watching political commentator Keith Olbermann, then Maddow. Like many cable news viewers, he relished their emotional delivery, particularly their outrage and “can you believe this” shtick. Stuck at home due to a prolonged, terminal illness, he watched for hours and came to share their outrage. He voted Democrat for the first time in 2004, at age 50. Over time, even my father’s most strongly held views shifted.
Fast forward to May 2025. As part of my academic research on Christian nationalism, I’m in Phoenix attending Freedom Night with Turning Point USA Founder Charlie Kirk. The event is held in the massive auditorium of Dream City Church. The woman sitting behind me sings joyously off key during the 15 minutes of worship music. Now she’s chirping along to Kirk’s commentary with amens and Fox News-isms, such as “Sleepy Joe.”
Muslim stand-up comedy is nothing new. But what makes “The Muslims Are Coming” different is that it portrays what happens when a troupe of comedians performs before red state Americans in such places as Tennessee, Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, Florida, Arizona, Utah and Idaho.
The documentary by Negin Farsad, an Iranian-American, and Dean Obeidallah, of Palestinian-Italian roots, opened in Chicago yesterday.
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LaVonne Neff reviews The Red House by Mark Haddon, Drift by Rachel Maddow, The Beginner's Goodbye by Anne Tyler, and Some Assembly Required: A Journal of My Son's First Son by Anne Lamott with Sam Lamott.
No, I didn’t hit my head. I’m not suffering from amnesia. I’m just really confused.
I’m sorry — what year is it again? Running through my handy list o’ headlines, it’s a little bit difficult to tell.
I give you the 10 reasons I don’t believe that it’s really 2012.
Among my must reads are the Sunday New York Times Book Review and other book reviews I come across in various media outlets. There are too many books being published that I would love to read, but just don’t have the time. So, I rely on reading book reviews as one way of keeping in touch with what’s being written.
Here are my picks in this week’s books of interest.
