Freedom means the government bans something new every day. Just ask the newest rising star in the Party of Small Government—at least according to very savvy politico types—Florida Governor Ronald DeSantis. He cut his teeth as a national figure by styling his state as the last bastion of human freedom in the United States during the pandemic, a place where the government wouldn't make you do anything ever. But DeSantis is almost inevitably going to run for president, and now that the pandemic is finished as a public policy issue, he needs some grand public gestures to get him into the news cycle and onto the Fox News airwaves on a regular basis. It's certainly more fun than talking about his record on Medicare and Social Security. Enter the bans.
Here, you'll find a list of things whose banning the Florida governor championed or carried out directly. As you reach a new subject, remember that you've taken another stride towards true freedom. |
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Take your pick from buy-'em-in-bulk pocket tees, investment-level crewnecks, and much more. |
| I headed into the woods with a backpack designed for doomsday preppers, contents unknown. My mission: to make it through the next 24 hours. Along the way, I learned something new about survival, and the ways that we try to prepare for it. |
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It seems like those unseasonably warm, sunny days towards the end of winter have arrived, whew! It's put us in a serious outdoor mood and for it there's no outfitter we turn to more frequently than Patagonia. As brands go, Patagonia is as ethical as they come. So if you're looking for a good brand, Patagonia is your best bet. So buy what you need. Fill up the cooler. Throw on some hiking shoes, and get the hell outside. With Presidents' Day Weekend sales already in action, you can shop these steals on discount right now. |
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The new Px8 line from Bowers and Wilkins will help you remember what music really sounds like. |
| Not every bottle is smoky enough to set off a fire alarm—but sometimes that's the most interesting kind. |
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It was at the bedside of a dying friend that I faced the absurdity of my overwhelming need to be right. I'd met Mary Lou when I was an eager, insecure teenager of recently divorced parents. The epitome of downtown intellectual chic, she lived on Rivington Street, waited tables at Dojo, wore combat boots to ward off the junkies sleeping in her doorway, and—a few years before Melanie Griffith in Something Wild—sported a Lulu haircut.
She was part of my father's crowd. I lived with my mother, who worked full time, but on weekend visits to my father I met a stream of intriguing characters, and among these Mary Lou was my favorite. She recognized my curiosity and yearning; in time, she became an older sister, auntie, mentor, and guide. She'd take me to old Buster Keaton movies. She'd take me shopping in the Village for vintage clothes. She encouraged therapy and even introduced me to my first therapist. Eventually, she went back to school and became a therapist herself. Even in her final months, after she was diagnosed with cancer at age 50, she continued to meet with her shrink. "Just because you're dying," she said, "doesn't mean you get to stop doing the work." |
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