A few days ago, the Artemis II astronauts visited the White House, then stood in their snazzy blue jackets as the enfant terrible blathered on about this and that; that and this. On and on and on and on and on. Just blathering away. Blaaaathering aaawwwwaaay. At one point, he even made fun of the ears of the agency’s administrator, Jared Isaacman. Just for cruel kicks.

And while watching yet another awful 45-47 display, and seeing the four astronauts (Reid Wiseman, Victor Glover, Christina Koch and Jeremy Hansen) remain still as totem poles, I found myself asking a single question: When will someone break protocol, step up and tell him to shut up?

I know … I know. He’s the president. Of the United States. He’s powerful and rich and …

I don’t care.

Let’s imagine, just for a moment, that you’re Christina Koch. You’re 47-years old. You were part of the first all‑female spacewalk and set the record for the longest spaceflight by a woman. You have Bachelor of Science degrees in electrical engineering and a Master of Science degree in electrical engineering. You have done volunteer work for Habitat for Humanity and Engineers Without Borders. Your resume could fill up 100 blog posts—engineering, firefighting, space. On and on. In the world, there probably is no more accomplished 49-year old. Literally in the world.

In short, you are 800,000 times the person Donald Trump is on his best day.

Which should allow you to clear your throat, step forward and do this …

KOCH: “Mr. President, may I say something about the expedition?”

TRUMP: “Of course, little lady.”

KOCH: “The biggest thing about being out there, some 250,000 miles from earth, that really hit me—profoundly—is that we are led by a small, insecure, incurious gnat of a man who will not stop talking …”

TRUMP: “That’s en—”

KOCH: “Can you name half of the planets in the solar system?”

TRUMP: Oddly silent.

KOCH: “I’ll give you four of them …”

TRUMP: “You’re a very disrespectful young woman.”

KOCH: “As disrespectful as you were to Jared, one of the best people I know?”

TRUMP: “It was a joke.”

KOCH: “You’re just miserable. It makes me embarrassed to be a human. Certainly to be an American. Look at you, paying off porn stars, cheating on wives, starting wars, ridiculing everyone. You use that IQ line a lot. How about you and I take an IQ test right now?”

TRUMP: “Security!”

KOCH: “Mine is 135.”

TRUMP: “Security!”

•••

I would build a Christina Koch statue in front of my house.

I would also hold her up as the model of courage.

And, in these perilous times, we need models of courage.

Desperately.

So, as a longtime member of the media, I am loathe to dog my peers in the profession. Especially now, with newspapers slashing budgets and staffs, with magazines dying on the vine, with even the best websites paying freelancers $250 for a 1,500-word piece.

Times, they are tough.

That being said, sometimes something is so inexcusable, so bewildering, so misguided—it needs to be called out.

[Clears throat]

This morning, the Southern California News Group (aka: The Register, the Daily News and a bunch of other papers) endorsed Sonja Shaw for state superintendent of public instruction.

Here’s a snippet …

And, in scrolling my mind for a comp, I came up with this …

Put different, Sonja Shaw is a monster. And I write that neither lightly nor flippantly. She. Is. A. Monster. Moms for Liberty. Book Bans. Anti-LGBTQ+ rights. And if you need an example to perfectly exemplify the irresponsibility of the SCNG’s endorsement, look no further than her treatment of AB Hernandez, the former Jurupa Valley High track and field athlete who is trans.

Now, there is a debate/discussion to be had about trans athletes. It’s complicated, it’s delicate, it’s interesting. But Shaw—again, an absolute monster—decided the best way to address the issue was to attend one of Hernandez’s meets to berate the athlete … and the athlete’s parents. To mock them. To scorn them. To condemn them. In public. With cameras rolling. In front of others. For kicks. For giggles. For points.

And if you think I’m exaggerating …

The cruelty is beyond staggering (especially for a so-called Christian). Imagine being Sonja Shaw—wife, mother. You have problems with trans athletes competing. Your solution? Show up at the meet and ridicule a 17-year-old kid living their own personal nightmare. Imagine lacking any heart, any decency, any compassion. Just being an asshole. To be an asshole.

And that’s Sonja Shaw. MAGA to the bone. Unbothered by the Epstein Files, by “Grab ‘em by the pussy,” by Stormy Daniels, by Trump depicting himself as Christ. Unbothered by the raw meanness of an administration—but plenty up in arms about the one trans athlete in an otherwise forgettable track and field meet.

Also, not for nothing …

It seems fairly unlikely Sonja Shaw wins. But … who the fuck knows?

So vote!

Please, vote!

Look at the above photograph.

Seriously, look at it.

What.

The.

Actual.

Fuck.

It reminds me of when I was, oh, 14. And a big zit sprouted on my nose. Every night, I would apply Oxy. Every day, the zit grew bigger. And bigger. And bigger. It reached the point where even my parents couldn’t pretend the thing didn’t exist. My brother ultimately exclaimed for all on the school bus to hear, “WHAT IS THAT THING ON YOUR FACE?”

To the White House, I ask: “WHAT IS THAT THING ON YOUR FACE?”

Seriously, what are we doing here? What have we become? Some cheap-ass Atlantic City casino hotel, where rooms are $85 on a dreary Tuesday in November, and the fifth Osmond is playing the lobby bar? Some specialized Motel 6 in Branson? We obviously should have seen this coming, what with the fake Rolex conman returning to the building.

But, sheesh.

It’s mortifying.

Just mortifying.

I need a nap.

Seriously, a long nap.

Maybe a nap that results in either:

A. The removal of my brain.

B. A one-way ticket to a remote island.

C. A large quantity of drugs.

Waking up this morning to the Supreme Court ruling was hard enough. Like, profoundly hard. But this … shit … never … ends. Donald Trump posts the above image. Gas prices rise and rise. Ken Martin appears on Pod Saves America and reminds us how wimpy the national Dems have become. The Jets have Geno Smith at quarterback. Pete Hegseth’s testimony reminds us what a smug asswipe he is. Nobody who supports Trump cares about anything he does. Ever. Never, ever, ever. Good people turn bad. Bad people turn worse. A climate change denier heads the EPA. A lunatic decrees vaccines are dangerous. A reality TV star heads transportation.

It just beats me down and beats me down and beats me down.

So—what do I do?

This.

I come to Laguna Coffee Company. I buy a drink. Maybe an avocado toast. I take deep breaths. I remind myself that the fight—all fights, really—is long. I talk to my wife. I talk to my kids. I look forward. I think ahead. I plan. I embrace.

I breathe.

So back in February, when I was feeling pissy and combative and regionally troubled, I wrote this piece about Joseph Moscatiello, owner of Joe’s Italian Restaurant and Bar in Ladera Ranch. In the immediate aftermath, Joe reached out to me with a (hostile-yet-appropriate) Facebook DM that I somehow failed to see until a few days ago. I responded with an equally hostile slap, and we went back and forth, like two old New Yorkers (as we both are) overflowing with piss, vinegar, expletives and angst. I countered with a follow-up post that I have since deleted. It was not particularly nice of me.

But then, something wild happened.

Something crazy.

Something … profoundly un-2026.

Joseph Moscatiello and I started (gasp!) chatting.

It was only via Facebook DM, so I have yet to sit face to face with the man. But I 100 percent intend to, and I suspect we’ll have a reasonably pleasant time talking politics, talking geography, talking Italian food, talking Dave Winfield and Don Mattingly and Bernard King and Doc Gooden and the myriad subjects transplanted New Yorkers tend to harp on. The man has been in the restaurant business for more than four decades. He opened his first restaurant, Peppino’s, in Lake Forest at age 21. There are topics to discuss.

And I can already hear m-a-n-y of you: Don’t you find Joe offensive? Don’t you hate that he supports Donald Trump? Don’t you think it’s crazy that his governor candidate of choice is Chad Bianco? Don’t you think his anti-mask stance was gross? Don’t you look at his socials? Don’t you … don’t you … don’t you … don’t you …

Answer: Yes.

But here’s the argument that I find increasingly inescapable these days: We cannot just keep barking at one another, when there are opportunities to chat. We cannot just keep throwing stones, when a warm meal is a direct alternative. This is not sustainable—in any way, shape or form. The other day, Stephanie Oddo, the wonderful Laguna Niguel City Council member, all but demanded I watch this recent 60 Minutes interview with Ben Sasse, the cancer-stricken former senator …

And, as I told Stephanie, it blew me away. Blew. Me. Away. Ben Sasse does not have long to live. He could be devoting his last days toward fishing, napping, traveling, dancing, sobbing. But instead, he considers it his No. 1 mission to remind people that America—our America—requires community, togetherness, bonding. It requires exchanging ideas; listening; having an open mind and giving others the opportunity to express themselves. Even when those expressions are opposite of yours. Even when the dude staring at your face calls Gavin Newsom Gavin Newscum and believes J.D. Vance would make a wonderful leader.

Without dialogue, how are minds changed? How are horizons broadened?

How do we exist as a people?

I don’t know what I’ll find when I sit with Joe. But I do know, in our back and forth, he was earnest and contrite and, on a few points, apologetic (as was I). It was an important moment for me; a nod to humanity before political leanings. I actually told Joe that, perhaps, in the near future I could have some sort of gathering of Democrats at his eatery. Hell, maybe we could have a gathering of Democrats and Republicans at his eatery. Maybe, instead of talking Trump and Biden, we can talk families and Disney excursions and the things that make SoCal life so great. Maybe we’d even (gasp!) discover some common ground.

Maybe, in the old words of Gerald Ford, we can disagree agreeably.

Over pizza and ziti.

I, for one, am willing to try.

So, last night, someone allegedly tried shooting Donald Trump at the White House Correspondents’ Dinner. There were cops and an arrest and reports and …

Plenty of people don’t believe it.

P-l-e-n-t-y of people.

I, for the record, am not one of them. To be honest, I’ve just never been much of a conspiracy theorist. I believe Kennedy was killed by Lee Harvey Oswald and James Earl Ray took out Martin Luther King. I think the Challenger exploded because of low temperatures and I do not buy that George W. Bush knew about 9.11 ahead of time. I don’t subscribe to spiders causing chicken pox, old milk inducing pregnancy or horses being able to read our thoughts. I have never seen a ghost or a spaceship. I wish my dad were on a cloud in heaven with Tupac, Carol Channing and Len Bias, but I don’t accept it as a real possibility.

That said …

Thanks to Donald Trump and the endless, ceaseless, merciless string of lies he and his goons spew upon the American populace, I do understand why so many look at events like last night and think, “Hmm.” I mean, here’s a president who cannot tell the truth and also cannot stand to be anything but worshiped and loved. Here’s a president whose approval ratings are sinking toward the v-e-r-y low 30s; a president stuck in a war he created and cannot leave. Here is a man born and raised and nurtured upon the art of stagecraft and angles. Fake gold. High platforms. Jets soaring above. Envelopes stuffed with blank pages. A created publicist named John Barron. Look over there! On and on. So is it that crazy to believe—desperate for some type of boost—he somehow cobbled together a bullshit “assassination attempt”?

I don’t buy it.

I don’t.

That said …

I’ve stopped believing anything this man says. And I don’t say that facetiously. I literally find myself buying nothing that leaves the lips of Trump, J.D. Vance, Karoline Leavitt and Co. Everything is the biggest. The grandest. The greatest. The war is over. And it’s not a war. And America is hotter than ever. And the ballroom is going to be amazing! Real marble! From Italy! At an unbelievable price! You’ll love it! We need it! Trump! Trump! Trump!

Weirdly, I’m still uncertain about Pennsylvania two years ago. I am. I can’t help it. It’s the first conspiracy I actually consider to be possible, primarily for one primary reason: Who is shot—via bullet—in the ear, and covers it with gauze for 48 hours? Who is shot—via bullet—in the ear, and has blood everywhere, but literally no scarring?

And I hate this about myself, and about America. I don’t want to be this person. I want to accept folks at their word. I want to believe in the decency of humanity. I want my president to be honest and forthright and at least somewhat tethered to truth.

Look, I believe there was a shooter last night in Washington.

I do.

But how does an attempted assassin simply entered the Washington Hilton armed with a 12-gauge shotgun, a .38 semi-automatic pistol and multiple knives?

How does this sort of thing happen?

Did it happen at all?

Sigh.

This is a guest post from Jerry Rocha, a stand-up comedian and new local. You can follow him on Instagram here.

Could this be the year? Could these upcoming mid-terms be the elections where America, with an overwhelming number of votes, tells MAGA to eat shit?

So many signs are pointing to it, from polling to the numbers experts on cable news all saying their data is showing a blue wave, maybe even a historic one, is on the way.

I want to believe it, but I worry those number-crunching experts on cable news know just about as much as the gambling experts who have taken up all the talking head retail space on every cable sports outlet (By the way, it won’t ever stop there with the gambling bullshit. Sports was just the way in).

I’m sure the action on the mid-terms will be a rabid frenzy of bets and the smart money should be the fascists getting their asses kicked. My fear is that should have been the outcome every time a fascist asshole is on a ballot, and yet we’ve seen them win time and time again.

It’s so disheartening. Hillary should’ve beaten his ass (electorally). Biden should’ve beaten his ass by a much bigger margin than he did. Kamala should’ve beaten his ass, and instead there that motherfucker is, exposed as a sexual assaulter, exposed as a pedophile and all that’s happened is many of us seeing our dumbest friend or relative we have now making excuses for sexual assault and pedophilia.

How the fuck are they still okay with this shit?

It does seem that, thankfully, a few are peeling off, but what about the people who haven’t? The non-billionaires (not even close in so many cases) who are in no way benefitting from this asshole being in control … why are they still there?

If anyone has seen the brilliant John Sayles film Lone Star, then I’m sure you remember the cameo by Frances McDormand. If not, go watch it now. When I first saw the film, her character, Bunny, I thought was comic relief, a divorced woman who lived alone and whose home decorations and whose clothing and whose conversations seemed to all be centered around the Dallas Cowboys. Having been born and raised in Dallas, I just saw what I figured to be a funny caricature of a mega fan.

Then I saw the movie again and I had a completely different take on Bunny. What I initially thought as comic relief, I soon saw as the complete opposite. This was a tragic tragic individual who had no way to deal with her trauma and instead poured her existence into a football team.

Now, every time I see MAGA, I think of Bunny. It’s sad, knowing that there are people out in the world so lost and that damaged that they fall for that orange pile of shit and then say we’re the “deranged” ones when all the negative things he does are exposed.

It’s sad, but it’s also difficult to have empathy. We all have trauma, however, most of us don’t deal with that trauma in taking solace that people different than us are hurting.

And yet, it’s still paramount that some of them have pulled away from MAGA and more continue to pull away. So as much as I talk shit, I will also be happy to let any MAGA on the fence I happen to come across know how nice the water is on this side of the pool.

I will also hope the apathetic mostly left-leaning “both sides suck” political hipsters understand that if there was ever a mid-term election to show up to, this is the one.

The experts are saying the mid-terms will favor the Liberals. I’m cautiously optimistic. I suppose it helps that this is easily the worst president and administration we’ve ever had, and while I will sit here and hope that a big blue wave will be the case, I will also make sure I get my ass out there to vote. I will talk to everyone about how important it will be for them to go vote as well.

Although my cancer fight has left me mostly bedridden at the moment, I at least promise that my daily calls to the local GameStops will include some semblance of “please go and vote” talk.

The chances any MAGA decide to have a face turn and reject the evil is so unlikely, it would be if Bunny suddenly became a Washington Commanders fan, but in Rocky IV, the Russians in the middle of massive fight in Russia between one of their own and Rocky, started cheering for Rocky.

So… hope?

I do have faith that a change (for the better) is on the way.

I have no idea how many times these MAGA pukes have been on a ballot and won, but if it’s the third time, or seventh time or whatever time, let’s just hurry up and get to the time where it’s a charm.

So I was driving home last night, when I pulled off the La Paz exit and was greeted by the above monstrosity.

It’s a sign.

A big sign.

A HUGE sign.

A REALLY HUGE sign.

An (cough) unambiguously illegal sign.

The candidate, Gracey Van Der Mark, is a QAnon sympathizer and right-wing conspiracy theorist who fought to ban books on the Huntington Beach City Council and was all in on the MAGA library plaque. When I say she’s an unstable nut, I’m not exaggerating. To put it in the clearest terms: She’s a pro-ICE raids Latina. [In other words, support Chris Kluwe—a good dude with a normal head]

She’s also working her ass off to have voters forget she’s three pennies short of a dime, and wants everyone to see her as a pet-loving, sunshine-embracing populist.

Hence, the sign.

Which, again, is illegal.

Why?

Multiple reasons.

First, in the city of Laguna Hills, there is a (fairly standard) Public Right-of-Ways law. Meaning, signs may not be placed in public rights-of-way (like medians or sidewalks) if they obstruct traffic visibility or create a safety hazard. Which this 100 percent does.

Second, the sign is gimantic. I measured it, and it’s 34-square feet—far too beefy for signs along highways or in larger commercial areas.

Third, signs must be placed in a way that does not block the "sight visibility triangle" at street intersections. This one does exactly that.

Worst of all, again, Gracey sucks. Like, sucks in profound ways.

So, thanks to Chat GPT, I’ve fixed the sign …

No charge, girl.

No charge.

Will O’Neill is the head of the Orange County Republican Party, and a guy I’d prefer to like.

I’m not just saying that. Will is a local guy. He’s read some of my books. As Newport’s mayor, he wasn’t entirely vile. So, sometimes, I think, “Maybe, just maybe …”

Then he drops jewels like this …

I ask this, sincerely, of Will O’Neill: Why should anyone (left or right) take you seriously when you never, ever, ever apply your “standards” to your own side? You’re upset about the undermining of the media? Really, bruh? This bothers you? Because it’s weird that we’ve never (not once) heard you mention the White House press briefings now being less about mainstream media and more about the packing in of hard-right hacks like Riley Gaines and Mike Lindell’s “network.” It’s weird that we’ve never (not once) heard you criticize Donald Trump for attacking one woman reporter after another after another. For their low IQ. For their looks. It’s weird that we’ve never (not once) seen you question Pete Hegseth’s bizarre savaging of journalists. It’s weird that we’ve never (not once) seen you defend minority reporters being dismissed as DEI hires.

You’re upset about journalism under attack? Let’s discuss NPR. Let’s discuss Armed Forces Radio. Let’s discuss a president tagging the press as the enemy of the people.

Will, fuck, let’s discuss the two journalists you say are doing “great work”—Jennifer Van Laar and Katy Grimes. One (Van Laar) is actively campaigning for Spencer Pratt to become Los Angeles’ mayor. The other (Grimes) is a right-wing hack pretending to be moderate.1

I truly don’t know what happened to you. But I also know, as your party drowns beneath the vomit of a president you refuse to condemn, your words grow less and less important and more and more pathetic.

Erika Hennon Rule writes about Laguna Beach Unified, with a focus on board decisions and their implications for students, staff, and families. This piece originally ran on her marvelous Substack, A Public Record. She and I share a strong belief that our newsletters are neither for profit nor glory, but to inform (locally) in an age of misinformation. Erika will also be attending a pre-education rally this afternoon at 4 o’clock at 550 Blumont, with a walk toward Main Beach, followed by the LBUSD board meeting at 6:00 p.m. at the Thurston Middle School library.

In Laguna Beach, the cost-per-pupil number gets hauled out whenever someone wants to argue that LBUSD has become too expensive.

It is a neat little talking point. Look at the number, compare it to a district like Irvine, decide Laguna must be bloated, and move on. What gets skipped is how that number is built, how a basic aid district actually works, and what students are getting from that investment. It also skips an inconvenient fact: LBUSD says it ranked No. 1 among Orange County unified districts in statewide English language arts, math, and science scores.

That is why I have very little patience for people who use “cost per student” as if it proves the district is overspending. Most of the time, it proves something else: a lot of people are eager to judge a school system by a single number they do not really understand.

The number people keep weaponizing

LBUSD’s 2025-26 general fund budget shows about $87.5 million in expenditures. The district’s September 2025 Opening of Schools Report says LBUSD opened the year with 2,333 Preschool-Grade 12 students. Using these numbers, the district’s operating cost comes out to roughly $37.5k per student. The same budget shows about $33.8 million for certificated salaries, $12.9 million for classified salaries, and $20.7 million for employee benefits. Together, that amounts to about $67.4 million, or roughly 77% of general expenditures, for salaries and benefits.

That should not shock anyone who understands how schools work. Nationally, the National Center for Education Statistics reports that salaries and benefits account for about 79% of current public-school expenditures. School districts are labor-heavy institutions because educating children is labor-heavy work.

The number can get even bigger depending on what critics decide to fold into it. LBUSD’s 2025-26 budget also shows about $13.1 million in transfers out, including a routine transfer to capital reserves and a one-time $11 million transfer tied to the LBHS pool modernization project. If someone tries to blend those transfers into the operating picture, the all-in figure rises into the low $40k per student. That may be useful for a broader conversation about district outflows. Still, it is not the same as the annual classroom operating cost, and too many people treat those numbers as interchangeable.

What students actually feel

LBUSD’s April 2026 staffing report lists average class sizes of 18.4 in K-2, 22.9 in grades 3-5, 23.7 in grades 6-8, and 19.6 in grades 9-12. Those numbers shape how much attention children get, how manageable classrooms feel, how much room teachers have to respond to individual needs, and how much stability families can expect.

That part tends to disappear when people start yelling about cost per pupil. The real question is what that investment is buying. In Laguna Beach, part of the answer is lower class sizes than many communities can offer and a school experience that feels more human and less crowded.

And there is serious research behind that. The Tennessee STAR experiment, one of the best-known randomized studies in education, found meaningful gains from reducing class size in the early grades from about 22 students to 15. Follow-up work found that those early classroom differences persisted into adulthood, including a higher likelihood of college attendance. One NBER paper estimated an internal rate of return of about 5.5% from reducing class size from 22 to 15 students, and Raj Chetty and coauthors found that students assigned to small classes were 1.8 percentage points more likely to attend college at age 20.

No one is claiming every class must be tiny to be good, but lower student-to-teacher ratios are not some luxury for rich parents. Class size is one of the few school inputs with unusually durable evidence behind it.

What people are really criticizing when they criticize staffing

When people complain about “high cost per student,” they are usually reacting to the cost of keeping experienced adults in schools.

They are reacting to teachers who have stayed long enough to move up the salary schedule. They are reacting to step increases, column movement, and rising health benefit costs. They are reacting to the reality that recruiting and retaining good employees in a wealthy coastal community is expensive, whether those employees live nearby or drive in every day.

Experience is not some sentimental talking point either. Research in Education Finance and Policy found large returns to teacher experience for middle school teachers, including higher student test scores and improvements in student behavior, with benefits extending well beyond the first few years of teaching. The Learning Policy Institute’s review of the literature reaches a similar conclusion: experience continues to matter more than the old “it stops after year three” line suggests.

That is part of what people are actually looking at when they decide LBUSD’s staffing costs offend them. They are looking at the price of stability. They are looking at the cost of keeping people who know the school, know the community, and know how to do the work well.

Basic aid changes the whole setup

LBUSD is a community-funded basic aid district. The budget shows that local property taxes exceed its LCFF entitlement, allowing the district to retain those property tax proceeds rather than relying on state aid as usual. For 2025-26, the budget projects about $78.9 million in LCFF and property-tax revenue. That financial structure is not the same as the structure in a district that depends much more directly on formula-driven state money.

So when people compare Laguna’s cost per student to a non-basic-aid district and pretend they have made some clean apples-to-apples case, they have actually skipped the most important part of the setup.

That does not mean spending should avoid scrutiny. It means the scrutiny should at least be intelligent.

California is not the benchmark people think it is

A lot of these conversations quietly assume that if Laguna Beach Unified spends more per student than the California average, then something must be wrong.

PPIC reports that California districts spent about $23k per pupil in 2023-24, but California ranked only 16th nationally on raw per-pupil spending and 31st once labor-cost differences were taken into account. So no, the statewide average is not some obvious proof point that districts above it must be reckless. Sometimes it just means the baseline is lower than people imagine.

If we want perspective, it makes more sense to look at other small, affluent, high-expectation districts around the country than to keep obsessing over California districts built on different assumptions. Scarsdale Public Schools in New York says it serves about 4,800 students, and its 2025-26 budget report puts spending at about $191.5 million. Falls Church City Public Schools in Virginia approved a 2025-26 operating budget of about $69.4 million, and official enrollment reporting there showed stable enrollment at 2,712 students. Those districts are not identical to Laguna Beach, and interstate accounting is never perfectly clean. Still, they show something the local critics prefer to ignore: communities with means and high expectations also spend real money on schools.

More money does change outcomes

There is also a deeper point here. The old “money does not matter” line has not held up especially well in the research.

One major study of school finance reforms found that a 10% increase in per-pupil spending each year for all years of public school led to more years of education completed, higher adult wages, and lower adult poverty rates. The same research found spending increases were associated with lower student-to-teacher ratios, longer school years, and higher teacher salaries. A later NBER review concluded that a policy increasing per-pupil spending for four years would improve test scores 92% of the time and educational attainment even more often.

That does not mean every extra dollar is automatically well spent, but it does mean the reflexive claim that higher spending is suspicious by definition is not well-supported.

The adults children count on

One thing that gets lost in these arguments is how much of a child’s daily life is shaped by the adults at school.

Teachers and staff are with our children for huge parts of the day. They are the ones helping them settle in, learn, regulate, recover, grow, and move through the ordinary moments that make up a school life. They see the hard days, the breakthrough days, the tired days, the proud days, and the days when a child needs a little more patience or a little more belief.

That matters to me as a parent. I want the people around my children every day to feel supported, respected, and glad to be there. I want them to stay. I want a district where strong educators and staff are treated like the foundation of the student experience, because that is exactly what they are.

When people reduce school spending to a complaint about cost per pupil, they lose all of that. Critics turn the adults who hold schools together into a number. I do not see them that way, and I do not want this district to start treating them that way either.

What I want from LBUSD

I am not interested in Laguna Beach winning some symbolic prize for looking cheaper on paper. I am interested in what students experience.

I want strong teachers in classrooms. I want them to stay. I want lower ratios where they matter most. I want stable staffing, meaningful support, good electives, functioning schools, and adults who are supported enough to bring their best to children every day.

LBUSD is lush by public-school standards. Good. I want that used. I want every available dollar aimed at making the student experience richer, steadier, smarter, and harder to replicate.

Children do not go home talking about cost per pupil. They go home carrying what the adults around them did with their day.

If a large share of LBUSD’s budget goes to teachers, staff, and operations that make school feel stable, rigorous, and well-supported, then that money is doing exactly what I want it to do.

By now, you’ve probably seen the video of the Door Dash woman delivering McDonald’s to Donald Trump at the White House. If not, here you go …

And, because the general news media is on a decaying path toward hell, the exchange between President of the United States and senior citizen grub dispenser was mostly covered as a ho-hum, straight-ahead, nothing-to-see-here moment: Oh, look—Donald Trump received some burgers, chatted up the delivery woman about taxes and tips, then gave her $100. How cute.

The thing is, Donald Trump is a conman. A lifelong conman. From disguising his voice as John Barron to secretly meeting with NFL commissioner Pete Rozelle to pretending to having nearly died in a chopper accident, 90 percent of the things this shitty-ass president does are some sort of scam. As I’ve long maintained, he’s the dude selling knock-off Rolexes to sucker Times Square tourists off the back of a truck. Alas, this nation has a lot of sucker tourists.

I digress.

The Door Dash delivery person is named Sharon Simmons. She lives in Nevada, not Washington, D.C. To be honest, I not even sure whether she works for Door Dash. Last year, by sheer coincidence, she appeared at a 2025 GOP field hearing, where she spoke about how Republican tax policies would impact her family …

Of all the Door Dash delivery people …

In short, the whole White House thing was all a setup. All a con. The Trump Lemming Association found someone to play Dress Up Delivery Person. They flew her to Washington. Gave her some dough and instructions—then escorted her to the door, where she’d be greeted by the president.

It was lazy and contrived and stupid; another reminder that these folks are as incompetent as they are moronic. And, of course, lost in the whole grotesque carnival act was that this prop of a woman was either: A. Lying about having a husband with cancer and needing the extra tip dough to pay for his care or B. So (heartbreakingly) desperate for money to help her husband with cancer treatment that she needs her tips increased.

Which (hmm) would be a tremendous indictment of a let-them-eat-cake president who has shown zero regard for improving health care coverage for struggling Americans, and only cares for himself.

Either way, it blows.

PS:

I love the above photograph.

It was taken this past weekend, and features Will O’Neill, chairman of the Orange County Republican Party, standing alongside Gracey Van Der Mark, the Huntington Beach City Council member and candidate for California’s 72nd assembly district.

And, not all that long ago, O’Neill was just your sorta dime-a-dozen, somewhat-douchey-but-sane Newport Beach Republican, white and conservative and concerned with lower taxes and business development and the perfect $11 cup of coffee. He’s no dummy—a Stanford grad, an attorney, someone who, as Newport’s mayor in 2020, decreed it “The Year Of The Volunteer” in an effort to encourage folks to give back and lend a hand. When Kobe Bryant and a large handful of locals died in a helicopter crash, O’Neill spoke at a vigil. Actually, he didn’t merely speak. He spoke beautifully …

“There were seven lights that were burning bright this morning in Newport Beach and they got snuffed out,” he said. “When we lose fathers and mothers and daughters and sons and those lights go out, we come together as a community. That’s who we are.”

I repeat: Not all that long ago, Will O’Neill was OK.

So I have to think, deep down, standing alongside a woman with an IQ of 12 and a propensity for QAnon sympathies and an appetite for dead vultures and book bans, O’Neill was thinking to himself, “How the flippity fuck did my life come to this? How am I standing here, in San Diego for the state party convention, with a bunch of idiot lunatics who wouldn’t know the difference between an ordinance and an obstetrician? How did this hit rock bottom?”

The answer, of course, is obvious and a bit depressing: Power. Proximity to power. Realizing that, to survive in the modern GOP, one must surrender all shreds of decency, integrity, kindness, empathy, warmth over to an orange conman who, around the same time Will was one-arming Gracey, posted this on social media …

Yup.

Alas, Gracey wasn’t the only lunatic Will had to stand alongside and fake smile.

Here, Gracey breaks it down …

And if you’re wondering, “Who are these freaks?” Well …

Michael Gates: Running for attorney general. Held a U.S. Department of Justice job but was allegedly fired (by the Trump Administration!) for creating a hostile work environment. Says he wasn’t actually fired; just left a really sweet job that he’d waited his whole life for because … um … eh … Yeah. Not for nothing, supposedly smells like poop (not making that up).

Gloria Romero: Running for lieutenant governor. Left the Democratic party in 2024 over myriad issues, including (I’m also not making this up) gender identity, school choice and gas stoves. Lists RFK, Jr. as a personal hero and secretly longs to lick Donald Trump’s cheeks to the sounds of Rick Astley’s greatest hits.

Sonya Shaw: Running for state superintendent. Also, without question, the biggest lunatic in the entire state. Earned a special place in hell for attending a high school track and field meet with the deliberate intent of taunting a student and the child’s mother. Classy as a crack-pipe pimp, but far more cruel and heartless.

Herb Morgan: Running for state controller. Boring dude, big fan of James O'Keefe and O'Keefe Media Group. Of all the Republicans, he’s the most sane. Which is akin to being the world’s most natural Kardashian.

Don Wagner: Running for secretary of state. Everything Donald Trump says about election integrity, Wagner repeats and signs off upon. Weirdly, has never uttered a peep about the 2020 assault on the Capitol, or Trump’s nonstop claims that the election was rigged against him.

Also, we have to question his choice of wedding garb …

Jennifer Hawks: Running for state treasurer. Strangest bio of all the Republicans, in that she offers literary zero important background pertaining to the job. Might as well have a resume that reads, I’VE DONE SQUAT. This, from her own website …

So here we sit.

Or, really, here Will O’Neill sits. Wondering whether he can turn back time and just serve as a mid-sized mayor, and go back to a period where waves crashed and folks like Gracey Van Der Mark howled on street corners, a bottle of MD 20/20 in one hand, a severed cat head in the other.

Alas, those days are gone.

Long gone.

So, over the past several weeks, scores of Californians have been begging for some of the Democratic gubernatorial candidates to drop out of the race and clear up the field.

Well, with a nod to Oscar Wilde, we have been damned to get what we wish for …

Eric Swalwell, the presumed frontrunner, is done. Over. Gone. Kaput. Eliot Spitzered. A few minutes ago he officially announced the “suspension” of his run, which is not-so-secret code for, “This shit has swallowed me up, and I’m over.”

He’s over.

My thoughts? I have a few …

First, it continues to dazzle me how, since the Feb. 4, 1789 election of George Washington, this nation has never had a woman president. Not one. Ever. And I note this because, well, men fucking suck. We just do. We rape and harass and are far too often guided by our dicks, not our brains. It’s actually breathtaking in its predictability. Seriously, how often do you hear of women doing this garbage to men? It’s exhausting.

Second, along those lines—I’m glad Swalwell is toast. Truly, I am. But I also have to ask, why is Donald Trump still a thing? Epstein’s buddy. Paid off the porn star. Accused by roughly two dozen women of sexual assault. Forking over $83 million to E. Jean Carroll. Brags about grabbing women by the pussies. Bragged about going back stage to see young women changing during beauty pageants. Cheats on wife 1 with wife 2, wife 2 with wife 3. Why is everyone held accountable—except this piece of shit?

Third, if I had to name the political winner from today, it’d be Matt Mahan, the San Jose mayor and a dude who puts the over in overzealous. Mahan’s campaign had been on the quick sink, and he clearly knew it. So, from jump, he started loudly hooting and hollaring about Swalwell—desperate to have him drop; desperate to take the mantle of young-bro-you’ve-sorta-kinda-heard-of.

It’s weird, politics. Upsetting, too. Katie Porter may well be a smidge hard to love, but she’s (for my money) the best candidate in the race. Yet people are so hard on women; so eager to find dents in the armor. Hence, I would not be shocked if, with Swalwell’s demise, you see Mahan surge past Katie and into a two-guy sprint with Tom $teyer … I mean, Steyer.

Fourth, I’ve recently been asked to consider entering my local city council race—and I’m a hard no. I’ve just had far too many uncomfortable Tweets (nothing sexual or racist, but a lot of hard-core uber-liberal positions) and clumsy engagements with sports and Tupac figures who hate me and would go out of their ways to savage my rep. I know it’d all be dug up, twisted, used against me—and I don’t want that to happen to my family.

Now imagine being Eric Swalwell. You know what you’ve (allegedly) done. You know what’s out there. You know the knives held above your head. And yet, for some ungodly reason, you still decide to run. Is it ego? Sure. Money? Perhaps. Power? No doubt. But you enter, you go for it, you consider yourself untouchable and the next crown prince of California.

And now, it’s over.

Now, you couldn’t run for city dog catcher.

Now, you slink off into the sunset, a B-side on the John Edwards 45.

Lord, politics suck.

Hi Orange County, my name is Mia Quandt. I’m a 15 year old sophomore at Tesoro High School and I am writing to tell you about the reign of Emperor Trump from a high schooler’s perspective.

Teenagers have a collective reputation for being angry, for no reason. Maybe that has been true in the past, but from my perspective, things seem to be pretty out of control. Once you reach your teenage years (If you’re paying attention), you begin to see the mess that is being left for kids my age to deal with. I am here to tell you there is a reason for us to be upset. Just look at the news. There are American citizens being deported, bombs being dropped, and taxes being cut for the richest people in the country. Because these “opinions” of mine are so different from the majority of people in the OC, I get attacked by grown adults ...

Como se dice, awkwardddd?

Recently, I participated in the high school protests about ICE detaining people and the killing of American citizens. I had watched my parents distancing themselves from people who attack their opinions, but thought that was an adult problem.

I came back to the school from the protest, to MAGA hats and angry stares. I realized then, thanks to the impact of our divided country, I wasn’t free to have an opinion. I’m in an environment where it is impossible to calmly talk about my political opinions because of how politically charged everything is nowadays. I was told by a friend, “I know you don’t care about what is going on, you are a rich white girl.” I was both hurt and offended that living in a middle class neighborhood in OC made people believe I don’t care about my neighbors and about innocent people.

My faith is what guides my tenants of right and wrong. When I see people get shipped off, without due process, it makes me sick. Particularly the story of a local, now -ingle mother and her three kids left to fend for themselves, as their father is sent to somewhere that he had protected status from. In this time after the protest, I had been spoken down to as a liberal-leaning or just anti-MAGA person. I was made to believe I am the political minority.

The worst part was having someone tell me that I have no idea what is going on in the world; that I need to have 10 years of experience after I start voting to have a political opinion.

Excuse me? So, I will be allowed to drive, drink, vote—but I cannot have an opinion?

Admittedly, I understand where she is coming from. I don’t agree, but many of my friends tend to parrot what their parents say (which is perfectly fine, because we are still kids). However, I have done my own research by ingesting a variety of news sources (Yes, including Fox News, which makes me want to rip my eyes out).

So shouldn’t I be able to have an opinion if I check dozens of news sources and take a class literally based on finding credible and reliable sources?

So I’m here to tell you that there is a reason we’re mad. If you’re paying attention you realize these times are not normal. This country is founded on amazing ideas. We broke from one of the most powerful countries of the time, and triumphed against all odds. Now we have completely forgotten about what they fought for and what we should be fighting to protect. Now we post on Twitter and Truth Social instead of fixing all of our issues.

Maybe I’m wrong, but l’m thinking we just go back to being a normal country.

Mia Quandt is a sophomore at Tesoro High School.

So I’m not going to pretend to know the details and intricacies of Eric Swalwell’s alleged sexual encounters with a former staffer, who reportedly “was too drunk to consent.”

I don’t know what happened. Or didn’t happen. I don’t know who the woman is, what role she served, how this initially came out.

What I do know is, without question, Eric Swalwell is toast.

He will not become California’s next governor.

Is this fair? Innocent before proven guilty and all that? Not entirely, at least in a legal sense. But as former New York Knicks guard Micheal Ray Richardon said of the 1981 New York Knicks, “The ship be sinking.” As we speak, multiple staffers bolted the Swalwell campaign, and myriad groups withdrew their support. Rusty Hicks, the Democratic party chairman, has yet to call for Swalwell to resign, but he referred to the allegations as “deeply disturbing.” For his part, Swalwell released a pedestrian shit-I’m-in-some-trouble statement: “These allegations are false and come on the eve of an election against the frontrunner for governor. For nearly 20 years, I have served the public — as a prosecutor and a congressman and have always protected women. I will defend myself with the facts and where necessary bring legal action. My focus in the coming days is to be with my wife and children and defend our decades of service against these lies.”

And here’s the thing …

Well, two things …

First, were Eric Swalwell up 10 … 15 … 20 points, maybe (maybe) he could somehow survive the fallout. Hell, Bill Clinton and Donald Trump won presidencies. But this is a Spandex-tight three-way race, with Tom Steyer and former Congresswoman Katie Porter nipping at Swalwell’s heels. The last poll I saw had Swalwell at 12 percent, Steyer at 11, Porter at 7. Bro’s about to plummet.

Second, there’s something that (thank goodness) separates the modern Democratic Party and modern Republican Party, and it’s this: We (generally) don’t embrace people who brag about “grabbing women by the pussies,” people who mock women for their looks and weight, people who duck backstage to see naked pageant contestants, people who (most certainly) fucked around with 15-years olds, people who paid off porn stars in hush money.

Maybe, politically, that’s been a mistake. Maybe we should go all Trump, and tar Swalwell’s accuser as a liar, a fraud, a money-hungry bitch. Maybe we should be awful humans seeking nothing more than fame and power, humanity be damned.

But … no.

We don’t do that.

Thankfully.

•••

Now, I will say this: Understanding the way the political game is played, I am irked/annoyed/appalled by the apparent excitement expressed by some of Swalwell’s opponents.

Matt Mahan, no longer a viable candidate and a dude who should have dropped out long ago …

Antonio Villaraigosa, no longer a viable candidate and a dude who should have dropped out long ago …

Xavier Becerra, no longer a viable candidate and a dude who should have dropped out long ago …

Are these men truly hurting for the victim? Are they overcome by empathy and pain? Um, no. They wanna win an election and revive floundering campaigns, and here’s a sweet chance to do so.

Ultimately, what we have before us is an allegedly sick and grotesque act from a man who looked to be our next governor.

What we have before us is downfall.

There is nothing to celebrate.

If you ever ask yourself, What has it come to?—I feel like this post from a few minutes ago says it all …

You’re the President of the United States. THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES!? “There are reports?” Seriously, bruh? “There are reports”? You are inside the White House. You’re the top power player in America, and arguably the world. We all assume you have a bunch of phones, phone numbers. You know how to text. Don’t you?

And this—this!?—is your reaction to Iran charging for ships to travel through Hormuz? A Truth Social post? A demand? With an exclamation mark! And your stupid name in ALL CAPS?

Again—you’re the president. What the crappers is wrong with you?

What haven’t you broken by now?

Jesus Christ, it’s exhausting.

One can donate to Katrina Foley’s re-election campaign here.

Katrina Foley is not warm and cuddly.

Katrina Foley is not going to smother your pet in kisses.

In person, Katrina Foley can be a bit terse, a bit sharp-elbowed, a bit snarly, a bit rough around the edges.

She is also one bad-ass motherfucker, a straight-up dogged worker and a helluva public servant.

As we speak, Foley—Orange County’s supervisor for the Fifth District since 2021—is in an uber-tight re-election race against Diane Dixon, the hard-right MAGA assemblywoman and (I believe deep in my soul) the body double for the actress who played Webster Papadopoulos’ adoptive mother back in the mid-1980s …

Will Foley win? I honestly don’t know. The GOP/Republican donors are throwing an absolute shitload of dough into this race, with the hope that (somehow) money and attack ads can overcome incumbency, Democratic momentum and the nationwide Donald Trump-sucks-even-worse-than-we-thought-he-would tidal wave besieging nearly every single Republican within its path.

Wait.

Deep breath.

Over the past bunch of weeks I’ve spoken with scores of people about Foley, a woman I’ve seen speak but have yet to meet one on one. And the No. 1 word you hear? Relentless. Utterly relentless. Foley works and works and works and works. Picture the biggest workaholic you know; the person who sticks around the office when everyone else is gone, just to make sure productivity is up and the copy machine is humming. Now triple everything. That’s Foley.

I started compiling a list of her accomplishments, but it became insanely thick and a bit repetitive. So I’ll focus on this: At the same time far too many (local and national) Republicans pretend climate change is a Star Trek-inspired hoax, Foley has fully devoted herself to protecting the environment, which a hyper focus on the shoreline. Here’s a quick primer …

As for Dixon …

I mean, she is what you’d expect of someone who wears a collar-up $700 white zip-up vest with pearls. She’s Newport. Uber Newport. Fancy car, fancy home, wealth-before-humanity, where-can-I-find-the-perfect-$12-cup-of-coffee.

Dixon’s record is one of protecting accumulated personal fortune over common-sense decency. It’s also of doing some painfully egregious shit. Most famously, she voted a hard no on AB 249, which required childcare centers and K-thru-12 school buildings built after 2010 to meet existing federal and state standards for lead levels in water systems. During Dixon’s four-year run on Newport’s City Council, she sat back and watched as the city used RoundUp (linked to increased cancer risks—specifically non-Hodgkin lymphoma—as well as environmental damage, including the destruction of beneficial plants and potential harm to soil ecosystems) for weed management—even when everyone knew the stuff was hyper-toxic and harmful. When, earlier this years, Trump issued an executive order to increase the production of toxic pesticides, Dixon (a vocal supporter of the lunatic president) said nary a peep.

If you’re wondering about bills Dixon voted against, well …

AB 249 - AB 249 would have required childcare centers and TK-12 school buildings built after 2010 to meet existing federal and state standards for lead levels in water systems.

SB 682 - SB 682 would have limited the use of PFAS in certain products to match the standards of other states and cities. (Passed / Gov. veto)

SB 601 - This bill would have restored Clean Water Act protections on a state level to prevent polluters from discharging toxic waste in these waters. (Passed / Gov. veto)

AB 1963 - This bill requires the Department of Pesticide Regulation to complete- by 2029- an evaluation of paraquat dichloride and make the determination to either ban or place new restrictions on the use of the pesticide. (Dixon Voted No, Passed & Signed into Law)

AB 3233 - This bill, the Local Environmental Choice and Safety Act, will safeguard the longstanding authority of local governments to equitably regulate and phase out oil and gas operations in their jurisdictions and affirms the state’s commitment to protect the public from oil and gas pollution. (Dixon Voted No, Passed & Signed into Law)

•••

In short, Dixon is everything you don’t like in a public figure, but also one very much worth fearing. Again, she’s got dough. A lotta dough. She presents well. Likes vests and strange color patterns and fluffy dogs …

She also digs Trump, seems to have no problems with attacking Iran, has never uttered a peep of protest in regard to the president’s cruelty, inanity, poor-judgment. She’s 100-percent old-school Orange County Republicanism.

She also may well be our next supervisor.

Which—trust me—would suck.

•

One can donate to Katrina Foley’s re-election campaign here.

So Young Kim sent out an e-mail the other day. It was beautiful, in the you’re-walking-past-a-bunch-of-religious-zealots-at-the-mall-and-they-start-barking-at-you sort of way.

Here’s her message …

If you’re wondering why Young Kim—never overly religious, never one to proselytize—has found Jesus, it’s because she’s running for her CA-40 life. Not against Democrats, sadly, but vs. Ken Calvert, the reigning CA-41 congressman who has been wedged into her (now ultra-conservative) district. Post Prop-50, the two wackadoos are positioning themselves to be as batshit nutty right wing as possible. This includes ultra-Christian views and expressions of faith.

You think Ken Calvert loves Christ? Lemme tell you about Jesus!

You think Young Kim is MAGA? I once stuck my finger up Donald Trump’s rectum, just to feel the joy!

You think Ken Calvert stuck his finger up Donald Trump’s rectum to feel the joy? No—he did so trying to kill our lord! When I stick my finger up Donald Trump’s rectum, it’s out of love for Christ!

On.

And on.

And on.

And on.

Alas, either Kim or Calvert will wind up winning this hellscape of an election. It’s a certainty, and nothing fools fools like expressions of false faith.

Then, the two can set Christ aside and resume their lives as mediocre political hacks begging for money and serving a president who fucked around with teenagers.

In Jesus’ name.

Amen.

So earlier this week, during a meeting of the Washington County Board of Education in Washington County, Tenn., a representative named Keith Irvin listened to a high school student speak, then told her she was hot.

Seriously.

I’m not joking.

For real.

Watch …

And while the entire exchange was creepy AF, what truly caught my eye—and continues to consume my thoughts—is how none of the adults in the room stood up for the girl. Hell, there’s Jerry S. Boyd, school superintendent, sorta sitting there, hands folded, watching in silence. The other board members—nada. Parents—nada. Literally nobody said a word as Mr. Creepster laughed and laughed and laughed, and peers joined in with the chuckles.

And what hit me, in witnessing the moment, was this: Donald Trump’s cabinet members never confront their boss—because doing so would involve not merely conviction of character, but actual bravery. It would mean stepping out of the comfort of a cushy chair, standing tall and saying, “No! This is [fill in the blank with gross/crazy/insane].” It would mean taking a risk. It would mean separating yourself from the lemmings. It would mean being (gasp) brave. And decent. And kind. And real. It would mean risking the access to power, the snazzy job title, the cool parking space, the White House Christmas party invitation.

Those surrounding Keith Irvin had nothing to lose, and only risked the momentary awkwardness of separating oneself from the group—and they were too afraid to say something. So why would we ever expect Marco Rubio or Karoline Leavitt to be bold? Why would we expect them to represent integrity?

We wouldn’t.

And shouldn’t.

These days, sucking up is king.

And the king loves suck-ups.

There is a man named Jason Sams.

I think.

I’m pretty sure.

Perhaps.

He is running for a position on the Orange County Board of Education—area five

I think.

I’m pretty sure.

Perhaps.

Last Wednesday, on a street corner in Mission Viejo, I watched him address the crowd at yet another wonderful South OC For Democracy event. He spoke for, oh, seven minutes, and offered nary a word of substance or detail or interest. To be blunt, it was the worst presentation I’ve witnessed in my year throwing down Truth OC jewels.

If you don’t believe me …

Because I was but a few feet away, I can confirm—with 96.5 percent certainty—that Jason Sams is a real Homo sapien; a 50-year-old man with shoes, pants, a belt, a shirt, sunglasses, a shaved head, a warm smile. That, however, is as far as I can go.

He is the most befuddling Democratic candidate I’ve seen thus far. And his, “Hey, why not?” approach to this profoundly annoys me.

So let’s dig in …

To start with, Jason Sams has a website. Which, obviously, is required of 2026 political candidates. Here is the link. Nothing (literally nothing) about the page makes sense. It is a base-level GoDaddy template, and whoever filled in the blanks has clearly never set foot near a functioning computer. The fonts are buffoonery squared. The primary photograph is crudely placed. The capitalization decisions wound my journalistic soul.

This is what is listed below MY STORY …

Just for kicks, I asked ChatGPT to write a one-paragraph summation of why I (Jeff) am running for Orange County Board of Education (which I’m not), and it produced this …

I mean … y’all see it, don’t you?

You see it! Right? Right!?

I digress.

There is a DONATE link that takes you to a … blank-ish PayPal page. There is a listing of CAMPAIGN PRIORITIES that (again) could be straight from a ChatGPT quickie. Inexplicably, there’s a HELP OUR CAUSE plea alongside this photograph …

Is the cause forestry? Nature photography? Chopper bungee jumping? The return of Alf to NBC?

I do not know.

And the site irks me. First, because it sucks. Second, can we at least take this shit somewhat seriously? Please. I’ve been hard of late on Esther Kim Varet—but at least she’s in it to win it. Say what you want, the woman is trying. Jason Sams’ website screams, I’M IN IT BECAUSE MOM TOOK AWAY MY NINTENDO SWITCH! It’s vague and ugly and ridiculous and useless, and nary a single voter would leave thinking, “This is my guy.”

Oh, and it gets worse: In the lord’s year of 2026, Jason Sams has no social media presence. Literally zero. He links to nothing from his site, and a scan of the ol’ IG comes up empty. Same with TikTok. And Facebook.

Again—can we at least take this shit seriously?

Jason Sams’ LinkedIn page is little better. It’s just … vague.

Here’s the ABOUT section …

His first two EXPERIENCE listings involve recent advisory roles …

And his longest position—16 years and running—is as the founder and chairman/sustainability of the Stone Water Group, a company that hasn’t shown a pulse since 2018, boasts a dead website and, I guess, sorta kinda maybe existed/exists.

If that’s not kooky enough, Jason Sams spent two whole months as the executive director of something called the Markarian Law Group and nine months as the board of director at the Ryan Banks Academy.

Sigh.

•••

And here’s the thing. Dogging Jason Sams is not fun for me. At all. But we—Orange County’s Democrats and liberals—have to stop with this shit. Candidates are our business cards, and if we roll out ridiculousness, we’re doomed to be branded ridiculous. Either the people we push forward to run need to be engaged and qualified and inspiring (See Galvez, J.J.), or we need to find other place fillers. But the worst thing we can do (the absolute worst thing we can do) is promote duds, then watch them drown and have independents think, “Same ol’ OC Dems ...”

I have no reason to believe Jason Sams doesn’t have good intentions, but I also have no reason to believe he knows what he’s doing. He probably saw an opening, saw an election, saw some free time and thought, “Hey, LFG.”

But if you can’t express a real, non-ChatGPT reason for your campaign, and if you can’t offer up base-level facts on the position you aspire to hold, and if your LinkedIn page includes a two-month job, you’re not the right dude.

There’s no shame in that.