Running on just three hours of sleep, but fueled by the undeniable energy in Palm Beach—an energy that reflects all we’ve achieved together as a nation. This isn’t just a political victory; it’s the revival of radical patriotism and an unapologetic embrace of many of our founding principles. Last night, we didn’t just elect a leader; we reignited a movement grounded in values that honor our rebellious roots.

At some point, I’ll put into words all that this past year on the trail has taught me. For now, I’m just grateful to be heading home to spend some uninterrupted time with my family. I miss so many of the small pieces of my old routine.

What I will say, is how satisfying it is to watch the media world spinning in the wake of Trump’s victory. Prime-time puppets are flailing and the mainstream pressitutes are sulking and ranting about “soul searching.”

Paranoid politics, now a dead tactic.

I’m about to head out for a bike ride downtown but Denise and I will be live on the Substack app at some point tomorrow. Look out for an email with details to follow.

This weekend, I’ll return (rested and ready) to share more about this whole journey ahead, as well as reflections on central figures who helped shape this movement.

This is only the beginning of a something spectacular — a hard-fought revival. Here’s to Republicans taking up the cause for real folks and rebels.

Cheers to a new, exciting and sensible era!

SCENE: American Values 2024 for Kennedy Party

Anti Vaxers for the win. Gold and black balloons floated high above, waiting for a celebratory drop. Tony Lyons and the AMERICAN VALUES super PAC threw a huge party for RFK Jr. — his visage played on big screens around the room. He showed up in person before dinner at Mar-A-Lago alongside Cheryl Hines, Amaryllis Fox, his son Finn, and niece Carolina Schreiber. The room was abuzz with familiar faces. Landon Clements wore my Fake News hat. Kyle Kemper passed his baby (born the campaign trail) in a bonnet from arm to arm. Champagne flutes clinked and guests lined up for the photo booth, health foods served up alongside the bubbly.

SCENE: Trump Watch Party at the Convention Center

The convention center transformed into a glitzy media watch party—golden-crusted cupcakes, buffets in every corner, women in ballgowns, men in striped ties. Newt Gingrich and his wife shook hands at the entrance. Exhausted, we found a corner, scrolling election updates by the stairwell, shoes off. Called downstairs to the stage, the wait stretched on. Some had been standing for over 4 hours. A woman fainted beside us and had to be carried out through a densely packed crowd. Finally, Trump made his entrance, flanked by his photogenic family, top aides and advisors, delivering his victory speech. Us barefoot at 4am walking an empty strip back to the hotel, bones aching, desperate for sleep.

Related:

Tulis and Abraham Celebrate in Song (Hello, JOY PARTY!)

DANICA’S MARALAGO DIS MADE the DAILY MAIL

Hello, and happy Election Eve!

We touched down in Palm Beach late last night, and I’ve spent most of today gathering highlights to share here and on IG. After a quick bike ride to the beach to soak in an hour of sun, we’re off to a dinner honoring RFK Jr. at a nearby residence. Rest assured, I'll be bringing you all the latest insights and updates through Election Day and beyond. Hopefully, I don’t overwhelm or annoy you along the way.

Before I log off to get ready, I wanted to clarify a few things circulating online that might need a closer look:

First, Vicky Ward—an Epstein expert and also a consistent Trump critic—has offered a surprisingly sharp analysis of the recent “leaks” involving Epstein’s comments about his relationship with Trump. It was not a defense I saw coming, which makes it all the more intriguing. Ward’s take — which is well worth reading — sheds light on Epstein’s strategic manipulation within elite circles, framing his “friendship” with Trump as a tool for inflating his own standing. Her assessment not only gives Trump a break but also exposes Epstein’s role as a shrewd con artist, far from the level of intimacy he liked to claim with prominent figures.

“Ok, for my money, what’s interesting about these tapes, so far, is not what they tell us about Trump - which is not really anything new. It’s all variations on a theme.

What these tapes show, on the eve of the Election, is what Epstein WANTED Michael to believe about his relationship with Trump: exaggerating its depth, its length and importance and so on. Why? Because once Trump was president, it was good for Epstein.

So, don’t let his bullshit from the grave on Election Eve deceive you. There are many important decisions for us to make tomorrow in the voter’s booth but Jeffrey Epstein should not be a factor.”

Second, Laura Loomer recently stirred up a wave of speculation on X, accusing RFK Jr. of misleading donors by supposedly collecting funds in Trump’s name while secretly using them to pay off his own legal expenses. With the election just 48 hours away, comments swiftly turned against her, pushing back on what many saw as unfounded claims. I weighed in with my own response, debunking her accusations and providing a clearer perspective.

Me: “Bobby has dedicated his entire campaign to securing a victory for Trump, pouring all available resources—campaign staff, video production, digital ads, and relentless outreach—into urging his supporters to vote for Trump. His commitment is already making a difference: since Bobby’s endorsement in August, the percentage of his supporters planning to vote for Trump has surged from 54% to an impressive 81%. With 4.2 million supporters spread across seven key swing states, this shift could be the decisive factor in Trump’s path to the White House.

However, Bobby’s work comes with significant challenges. By law, Trump’s campaign cannot ask him to make endorsement videos or fund any part of his efforts, nor can Bobby’s campaign donate directly to Trump’s. Every dollar Bobby raises for his campaign is being spent on independently funding and directing this vital work to mobilize his base for Trump. The only circumstance in which any donated money goes to pay for primary debt is if the donor gives more than the legal limit. This is required by law.

He has also shouldered substantial personal costs: since his Secret Service protection was pulled after the endorsement, he has been covering his own security, organizing pro-Trump video production, running phone banks, and traveling for interviews—all without financial support from Trump’s campaign.

Loomer is raising questions about the terms and conditions on his donation page, but these are standard, FEC-regulated guidelines that apply to all campaigns. They specify legal donation limits and account restrictions, ensuring that all contributions follow federal law.

Through all these constraints, Bobby’s drive has not faltered. Against financial pressures, logistical hurdles, and legal restrictions, he has remained steadfast, convinced that his efforts could make all the difference in Trump’s journey to Washington.

He is, quite literally, putting everything on the line to make this vision a reality.”

My polling source on the Iowa poll shakeup:

“The data is the date but it looks and feels like a massive outlier. The pollster has a good track record. But, this one seems like a very large outlier. If it’s anywhere close to accurate, it would be a landslide for Harris. I’ve seen no evidence of this anywhere else.”

So, as the final hours before Election Day unfold, let's keep focused on what matters. I’ll be back soon with more updates—stay tuned!

As the campaign trail comes to a close this week, it’s essential to examine one of my favorite talking points: the revival of masculinity within the Republican brand, embodied by figures like Don Jr. and RFK Jr. These men are not just avid outdoorsmen; they stand as a bulwark against a culture undermining traditional manhood in America as we find ourselves grappling with the very definition of manhood, with one party aggressively seeking to erode it and the other, in firm defense of it.

But if you justify tampons in boys’ bathrooms, this piece may not resonate with you—so you might as well stop reading now.

In a remote corner of upstate New York, just past 10 p.m., our two-hour ride from JFK finally came to an end. It felt like 3 a.m. as Hayes and I stepped out, greeted by the skeptical glare of our driver. “We don’t allow anyone under 12,” he declared, as if he were the gatekeeper to an exclusive club. “Good thing this guy is twelve and a half,” I shot back, giving Hayes’s shoulder a reassuring pat. Although only ten, Hayes played along, his oversized red sweater making him look even younger. He even managed a shy smile as we entered. He’s gotten good at reading his mother’s unpredictable prompts.

Our host was amiable and welcoming once we settled in, noting how “nice it was to have a little person around.” But poor Hayes was crestfallen by the “meal” awaiting us—a tray of peanut butter crackers, fruit snacks, and a single chocolate square. It was late, and the isolation of the place hung heavily over us. No Uber, no DoorDash—just us and what was already there. We settled in beneath the eerie gaze of an Abraham Lincoln portrait, surrounded by ceramic ducks and the sickly glow of a faux fireplace.

Earlier, I’d told his teacher he would be out this week “on the campaign trail.” She knew he’d return with stories—perhaps notes on bird hunting in the Hudson Valley after a falconry event designed to unite Don Jr. and RFK Jr., bonding over their shared love for the outdoors. Donors forked over upwards of $50,000 to attend. We were delighted to be included as mere spectators for the day.

Although, the outing was a dream I’d conjured months ago. Back then, RFK Jr. was seen as a threat to the Trump campaign. Don Jr. and I engaged in heated debates over RFK’s political leanings—me defending him, Don voicing his skepticism. He claimed RFK leaned too far left, rattling off specific policies to bolster his case. I promised to dig deeper into the issues he raised.

“I want you to go falcon hunting with him,” I insisted, knowing their shared passion for outdoor sports would forge a bond. “I’d go falcon hunting,” he replied. Months earlier, during a gathering in Ojai, when RFK floated the idea of inviting me on a falcon trip, I joked that the birds were a surefire way to secure more votes. “A hawk landing on your arm in slow motion will take you straight to the White House,” I quipped, never expecting to be where we are today.

For background: RFK embraced falconry at the tender age of nine, even constructing a “mews” with friends in high school after his father’s assassination. Today, he is celebrated as a master falconer, an honor demanding years of apprenticeship and profound knowledge of raptor care and training. For him, falconry symbolizes his environmental commitment—a dedication to respecting and preserving wildlife—a theme he frequently discusses. His love for falconry mirrors his fight against pollution to protect natural habitats.

This event came only days after his mother’s passing; he would fly to DC the next day for her service, sitting in the back of the church as Joe Biden delivered a eulogy.

As a whole, the falconry outing encapsulated something beautiful—the essence of this new connection, visually striking no less—Don Jr. clad in a plaid overcoat, RFK Jr. in worn Levi's, both confidently handling birds of prey. The overall scene embodies a rugged masculinity that starkly contrasts what is being eroded on the left. It struck a nostalgic chord. People watching on IG stories couldn’t get enough. Suddenly, men in comments were weighing in—pro surfers, fighters, influencers—all reveling in the real time recaps. I suppose the image resonated with anyone yearning for a wholesome return to old American values—puffer jackets, wool flannels, and instinctive hunting skills on display. A close-up shot of RFK’s orange Levi’s tag (34 x 34) ignited a slight frenzy, as my audience speculated whether it was vintage or from an outlet, leading to amusing visions of Cheryl Hines hunting for discounted Levi’s. “Make men 34 x 34 again,” one woman proclaimed.

Others were unsettled because they found Don Jr. newly attractive—swooning over him cradling a tiny wiener dog named “Franny,” while RFK Jr. beamed like a child as a hawk landed on someone’s arm.

Up an incline, when a hawk swooped down and perched on Don Jr.'s head, he laughed, pausing for the cameras to prove how much better he is around wildlife than his father. Remember the eagle-as-photo-prop incident that terrified Don at Trump Tower?

These scenes, though entertaining, serve as a testament to so many fading traditions—highlighting two men discovering common ground in the wilderness where shifting values now intertwine.

The trip concluded at a late dinner at a local diner with Robyn, her son Rory, and Derek, the photographer. Hayes and Rory engaged in rounds of arm wrestling, then invited us both in to lose. It was a fitting conclusion to a long year of campaigning, celebrating the merger of MAHA and MAGA into a new version: MAMA (Make America Masculine Again).

Moving forward, let’s hope this version of manhood is resilient. I know it resonates with many Americans at a cultural crossroads, boldly challenging what Tucker Carlson has come to describe as “the party for weak men and angry women.”

It’s time to reclaim and celebrate the rugged, unapologetic masculinity that is integral to our national identity, now on the brink of becoming extinct under the ideals of radical liberal rule.

The media spin on Trump’s Madison Square Garden rally painted it as a “hate-filled, Nazi-themed carnival poisoning New York City.”

Can we just stop?

From experience, these rallies are something else entirely — a phenomenon the media refuses to celebrate. For anyone who’s been, it feels ridiculous to even defend.

It was a bad joke. Or, I suppose, a series of bad jokes.

My first official Trump rally was last month in Pennsylvania. Stepping into it felt like being hit by a tidal wave of fervor, a stark realization of how much the media has missed for nearly 8 years. Surrounded by flag-waving Americans, you can feel the pulse of something bigger — something the mainstream dismisses, fears, and therefore purposely misinterprets. It’s a vibe worlds away from the caricature they push.

In Pennsylvania, there was a somber undertone considering the return was in tribute to Corey Comperatore. I was seated next to Corey’s siblings. His sister shared a chilling detail: forensic reports suggested that Corey, seated behind Trump, may have taken the bullet meant for him. She believes her brother’s death saved Trump, and now, Trump’s victory would honor Corey’s sacrifice. To her, his candidacy is destined to save the country.

JD Vance stood across from us, pausing to talk to Corey’s family, with Elon Musk — emblem of a new “Dark MAGA” — beside him.

Thanks to Jim and Kim Worthington, I had a front row seat that day, surrounded by MAGA’s notoriously decorative displays: eagles, flames, flags, overt patriotism emblazoned over every part of their bodies. Trump’s rallies (for those unfamiliar), are theater, pure and simple. He swooped in on Trump Force One, circling the crowd, while Musk, in his “Occupy Mars” tee, signed an autograph for a kid in the crowd before jumping on stage with hops so high he looked like an over-sugared toddler let loose on the playground.

Musk has evolved into an icon for the autism community — a beacon for mothers raising children on the spectrum who see in him a reflection of their own hopes and dreams. For some parents across the country, he is not just an eccentric tech mogul — he’s a symbol of resilience and endless possibility. My nephew, who has autism, idolizes him. He shares Musk’s sharp intellect, photographic memory, and quirky dance moves, pouring his heart into everything he loves. Like many autistic kids, he has a unique way of processing the world, remembering every family member’s birthday and each political candidate’s birthday with pride and precision. He has a knack for filing away dates without any concentrated effort. When Musk openly shared his Asperger’s diagnosis, it gave my nephew the confidence to do the same. Musk’s journey from the margins to the top proves autism isn’t a limitation — it’s a different way of thinking. For families like ours, he represents a unique vision of success. When you add RFK into the mix, the Trump ticket is every vaccine skeptic’s dream come true.

My favorite scene at the Butler rally was when a medical emergency erupted to Trump’s right. He stopped mid-speech to ensure help was on the way — prompting the crowd to break into the national anthem. Watching them united in song brought me to tears. The night closed with Lee Greenwood’s “Hallelujah” under a sea of swaying phone lights. These are the moments the media willfully overlooks, dismissing the inspiration and intensity Trump stirs within his base. They call it “radical,” and they call it a “cult.” The man loves music. He loves pageantry. Under any circumstance, he knows how to wow a crowd.

On my way out I snagged a “Felon and a Hillbilly 2024” T-shirt as a memento from a night that defies media categorization.

Trump’s MSG rally was a different tone. It felt more like a proper theatrical homecoming — a love letter to New York, the city he so adores. This was a nostalgic book end. He’ll never campaign again, so he threw together a grand finale as a show of affection to honor his roots. The streets filled with festive celebration as a result. People of all kinds danced in flags and beat drums to rap songs reimagined to praise the second coming of DJT.

I landed in New York for the rally without my luggage. A delay caused me to miss my connecting flight, so I arrived with only the clothes on my back: an oversized brown blazer, Birkenstocks, and Levi’s.

The next morning, I had one hour to pull a respectable outfit together. Stress in wardrobe is a campaign trail classic. Doors for the rally opened at 11, and I knew the crowd would only grow tougher to manage. I rushed to Argent as soon as it opened, grabbed the first suit I tried on, and dashed across the street for heels. J. Crew had boots or kitten heels with bows. “Too cute,” I told the saleslady. I ended up with platform Maryjanes — a $120 mediocre surrender.

Getting in was a frightful feat. Try elbowing your way past a sea of Trumpers who have been standing in line for hours. They don’t care who you are or what your purpose is, they just want you behind them on the way in.

In a desperate attempt to deflate the hype, predictably, the media spun it as a “Nazi spectacle.” Tony Hinchcliffe’s off-color humor became fodder for reporters eager to condemn MAGA as racist. Hollywood naturally jumped on the bandwagon, with Robert De Niro cursing into a megaphone and Griffin Dunne posting an IG photo, claiming he was out to rescue the country from a hostile Nazi takeover. Jerry Saltz of New York Mag called it “hateful.”

When I commented, asking Saltz if he’d attended, he blocked me instantly. Who wants a review from someone who wasn’t even part of the event? The lack of self-awareness is astounding. I would never speak on a Kamala rally I didn’t attend — unless it’s to criticize Megan Thee Stallion’s cringeworthy endorsement. And in that case, only because it seemed too raunchy for a political rally. But then again, the Left uses female anatomy as the starring role in nearly everything they do, resurrecting 20-foot fallopian tubes outside their events and makeshift abortion clinics on-site beside them.

I guess I just can’t get over how performative these celebrities all are. How tone deaf do you have to be? At least Elon is advancing technology and building robots who can fold our laundry and weed our gardens. What the hell does Rosie O’Donnell have to offer? Everyday Americans can’t afford groceries, gas, or healthcare. But let’s get Beyonce up there to speak on behalf of American mothers and Bruce Springsteen preaching about the struggles of the middle class — all of P. Diddy’s friends lecturing us on morality and Chrissy Teigen grandstanding on women’s rights. Right now, enraged celebrity liberals on social media are my least favorite species. They parrot media-fed outrage, completely detached from reality.

We were settled in time to see all the Avengers assembled: Tulsi Gabbard looking stunning in white, JD Vance, and RFK Jr., among others.

Later, we spent the better part of the evening in the “Jewish suites,” thanks to Martin Marks’ invitation. Stickers and MAGA hats translated into Hebrew surrounded us. I met Martin’s mother, a former U.S. ambassador to South Africa, and Jerry Wartski, who recently posted a video slamming the Harris camp’s comparisons of Trump to Hitler.

Distracted by the snack buffet in one of the suites, I didn't notice Tony Hinchcliffe take the mic. I missed his set, which was just as well; I’m not a fan of his humor. Months ago, Denise and I went to an LA comedy show where RFK made a guest appearance. Mike and I sat stone-faced in the bleachers that night unimpressed by an hour of crass jokes. We left early, sitting in the parking lot waiting for Denise and arguing over it. She insisted it was funny; I thought it was stupid.

Having Tony on that night was for sure a risky move. Liberals are quick to revive the “racist” narrative at any opportunity. Edgy comics invite outrage — especially with a media dead set on dismantling Trump’s momentum. It was Trump who bore the brunt of Tony’s ugly Puerto Rico punchline.

Was it in bad taste? Yes. Are people also too sensitive about edgy humor? Absolutely. Is woke comedy the fate of our future? God, I hope not.

After mingling, Denise and I headed up to the 5th floor watch party where we walked in to find Omeed Malik on a sofa alongside RFK and Amaryllis Fox. Kimberly Guilfoyle, Lara and Eric Trump, and Caroline Wren appeared, as did Ashley St. Clair in a gothic Dark MAGA hat that matched Elon’s.

Outside the suite, we had a prime view of the stage. In the front row, Melania played sweetly with Elon’s son X, while Tulsi stopped to hug Newt Gingrich and his wife. Backstage, behind the curtain, someone was searching for misplaced tequila, ladies were snapping photos, and Cheryl Hines was on FaceTime. The tequila supply was ultimately replaced by Dana White. When shots were offered one of the ladies jumped up to stop any photo documentation because “Trump hates that shit.”

At one point, RFK asked when “the President” was due on stage. He informed us that 75,000 people were outside in overflow, on top of the 20,000 that filled the Garden to capacity. But then he missed his stage cue. When Trump couldn’t locate Bobby, he moved on, pausing to compliment Melania whom he greeted with that signature cheek kiss she effortlessly commands. Clad in a zebra print dress, her outfit stirred confusion among “fashion critics” backstage, who weren’t too fond of the choice.

The next day, the Nazi accusations exploded on social media. But it didn’t matter. Biden would throw his own callous grenade, calling Trump supporters “trash.”

Ever the showman, Trump showed up at his next event as a passenger in a garbage truck emblazoned with his name, wearing a neon green safety vest, much to the adoration of his supporters.

Maverick of all trades: master of media. Drive-through fry cook. Bodega connoisseur. Enthused waste management manager.

It all sounds pretty New York to me.

There was a common phrase repeated during the Kennedy campaign: “Born for a time such as this.” Robert Kennedy Jr. and his supporters wholeheartedly embrace the idea that divine purpose fuels their mission — a belief that infuses their efforts with profound urgency and spiritual significance. They feel grounded by the conviction that God is behind them.

I relate deeply to this sentiment, despite my initial skepticism. My journey feels almost inevitable, as many of you know, hallmarked by a series of signs that led me to this moment.

It actually stems decades. Back in sixth grade, on Career Day, I stood proudly in front of my peers with a laminated poster — a pop culture collage of my head pasted over the body of a glamorous woman on the arm of the era’s most celebrated real estate tycoon. I boldly declared my ambition to become a celebrity gossip writer, specifically naming Donald Trump and the dazzling cast of blondes in his orbit as my desired subjects. Meanwhile, my mother spoke about the Kennedys so often that I genuinely believed Ted Kennedy was my uncle.

Once the Kennedy team welcomed me, there was no turning back. The access I received was unprecedented — an unrestricted invitation to document any of his events and appearances that I could manage. For a year, I embraced the opportunity, traveling the country to ensure my coverage reflected his words and ideas rather than the mangled versions often served up by mainstream media.

I aimed to provide a truer sense of the man behind all the so-called conspiracies. He wasn’t weird or wasn’t “scary” at all. People appreciated seeing him in jeans, hiking, catching snakes, and feeding ravens; in an old yellow ski jacket on the slopes; sailing with his nieces and nephews; and laughing at home, at ease with his family. They witnessed him tirelessly on the road with his team, napping between events on a backstage couch, seemingly unaffected by the onslaught of slander thrown at him. Gradually, he emerged as the most compelling character in my coverage — a figure grounded in authenticity, espousing old-school American values. Or, as we’ve come to accept, expired Democratic ideals.

As I followed RFK Jr. through the early stages of his campaign, my coverage caught the attention of the Trump team. They recognized that my reporting bridged the divide between liberal, moderate, and conservative audiences, providing a glimpse into RFK Jr. that resonated with passionate Republicans, many of whom weren't closely tracking political narratives outside their right-leaning outlets. My daily stories became a resource for them, and to my surprise, they began to appreciate what Bobby Kennedy stood for, too.

Eventually, the Trump campaign pulled me in as well. I was invited to cover Trump’s footsteps with the same intensity I had established with Kennedy. As the months went on, I found myself seamlessly bouncing between both men’s campaigns — a situation that left many in mainstream media puzzled, wondering how I managed to avoid conflict amid competing narratives. Their bafflement stemmed from the rigid expectations that often plague modern journalism. I kept telling them it was easy. There was no animosity between either camp. When I was with Team Kennedy, they were genuinely interested in hearing about Team Trump, and vice versa. Nothing ever felt awkward; it was all part of the experience. RFK even introduced me to new acquaintances as a “journalist covering his and Trump’s campaigns,” which reflected the camaraderie that developed.

When I first visited Mar-A-Lago, Bobby Kennedy was a main topic. On subsequent visits, my recounts often resembled late-night lobbying for his character. Desperate to unite both teams, I acted like an overbearing mother determined to marry off a child to a family she knew would be a good and lasting fit. I desperately wanted them united. So did millions of other Americans.

This dual coverage allowed me to highlight the unique strengths of each candidate rather than frame them as competitors. Over the course of the year, I reveled in the privilege of moving between their campaigns, fostering a spirit of mutual respect and understanding. This experience became more than just a journalistic endeavor; it felt like participating in a moment of history.

When news broke that RFK was considering an endorsement of Trump (a scenario I had been quietly manifesting), I came home to find flowers and cards on my doorstep — gestures more suited for the birth of a new baby.

Chicago — The DNC

Nicole Shanahan dropped the bombshell — brilliantly, if you ask me — on a podcast that aired midweek during the DNC. She casually mentioned that she and Kennedy were stuck in limbo, deciding their next moves, one of which was to join forces with Trump to see their mission through. This admission rattled the media, providing enough breadcrumbs to fuel a full-fledged frenzy. By the time Friday rolled around, reporters lined the hotel where RFK was set to speak. Shanahan’s revelation created a viral sensation that effectively deflated the DNC’s high.

My experience in Chicago at the DNC had already been awful. A couple of days in a row, I rode the Kennedy bus with Kyle Kemper, tossing Kennedy newspapers at locals on the streets. One day, I lost my temper on a group of suited liberal men outside a bar who refused to take our photo because two of us were wearing Kennedy buttons on our lapels. One of them wanted to see inside the bus, but his friend stopped him, demanding he retreat.

Meanwhile, things were falling apart on the sidelines. Amid escalating rumors and growing credibility, volunteers began dropping like flies, furious over the idea of an alliance with Trump. I was staying in the same hotel as Kennedy’s super PAC (American Values 2024), so I watched in real time as they navigated waves of chaos and heated communications with disgruntled staffers in Chicago. These volunteers were out there handing out flyers, collecting signatures, and amplifying the message that Kennedy was the remedy — a hard concept to let go of overnight.

News of the announcement was the perfect excuse to escape Chicago. I packed up everything with an hour’s notice and headed to the airport, eager to arrive in time for the pivotal moment.

In Arizona, at a hotel conveniently located near the event space where Trump would take the stage for a Turning Point event just hours after RFK’s press conference, Bobby Kennedy was running late.

“He’s still writing his speech,” someone mentioned. The earlier delay was rumored to be due to his being on the fence, unsure if he would go through with a public endorsement.

“No, it’s just him finishing the speech,” came the correction.

Kennedy spoke with urgency, emphasizing that “our fight for the future is not over; it is just beginning.” He urged us to “unite and stand together, regardless of our political affiliations,” painting a vision of a healthier, more sustainable America: “I believe in a future where our food is clean, our water is safe, and our children are healthy. This election is about more than just a candidate; it’s about the soul of our nation,” he declared.

Midway through his speech, he looked on the verge of tears, revealing the personal cost of his decision to endorse Trump. “This isn’t just about me; it’s about all of us who want to see real change in our country,” he said. We felt the depth of his sacrifice for the legacy of his family — a lineage marked by hope and resilience.

“I’ve been in this fight for a long time, and I know what it means to stand up against the establishment,” he shared. His call for unity was compelling as he urged, “We can no longer afford to let politics divide us. It’s time to come together for a common purpose.”

He looked directly into the camera, admitting his time is limited, acknowledging “ten good years left,” before asking us as a nation if we were willing “to love our children more than we hate each other?”

He concluded his endorsement with clarity: “This is not about a personal vendetta; it’s about saving our planet and our people.” His willingness to sacrifice his legacy reflected a profound sense of purpose: “I am willing to sacrifice everything for a chance to heal this country.”

As he wrapped up, he emphasized the need for action: “The status quo is not working; we must take bold steps to create a better future.” His words served as a rallying cry for all of us seeking real change. In that room crowded with cameras, his speech stood as a testament to the courage it takes to forge a new path forward for a united and healthier America, even when it means losing the support of those you love.

Mike called me after the speech. “That was the best thing I’ve heard in a long time,” he said. “Every American should be required to listen to it.”

Negotiations

Early discussions began with a series of back-channel efforts, initially facilitated by Tucker Carlson, later involving Omeed Malik (a funder of the Tucker Carlson Network and co-founder of 1789 Capital) and Donald Trump Jr. What’s more, calls made to Bobby's family after negotiations were moving forward to ease tensions within his own immediate family. Over several weeks, they aligned the ambitions of these iconic yet unlikely allies, culminating in a coalition now recognized by conservatives and disaffected liberals alike as a potent counter-movement to the entrenched elite.

While mainstream media hastily dismissed and tried to downplay the symbolism attached to this alliance, a contrasting public perception emerged, signaling a seismic shift in American politics. To its supporters, this partnership reflected profound disillusionment with the Democratic establishment, breaking old political divides and ushering in an era of unexpected unity.

Bringing Trump and Kennedy’s visions together required strategic finesse. Don Jr. and Malik — a former registered Democrat connected to both families — played crucial roles in mediating this alliance. Once Kennedy accepted his role as an election disruptor, Malik and Don Jr. moved swiftly to solidify the partnership, seeing it not only as a campaign tactic, but as a unified rebellion against the forces both men deemed corrupt.

Malik’s connection with Bobby Kennedy III stretches back to the early 2000s, with overlapping social circles in New York from 2008 to 2014. As one of Tulsi Gabbard’s early major donors in 2019, Malik grew increasingly disillusioned with the Democrats’ treatment of her, leading him to reconsider his political loyalties. By 2020, amid the pandemic, Malik relocated to Palm Beach, later joining Mar-a-Lago and deepening his ties with locals, including Donald Trump Jr.

At first, Malik supported Kennedy’s independent campaign. It was Gabbard who arranged a pivotal meeting early on between herself, Malik, and Kennedy in Miami, which began an earnest collaboration. Although Tulsi ultimately declined Kennedy’s offer for VP, believing Trump was positioned to win, Malik doubled down on his support for Kennedy, organizing key events such as a Hamptons dinner and a Las Vegas gathering that included prominent DNC figures — even high-profile neocons like Hillary Clinton.

As Trump’s legal battles intensified, pressure within Palm Beach circles mounted for Malik to pivot his full support to Trump. “It was like, ‘Man, you really need to start helping us because this is getting crazy,’” a source recalled, highlighting the urgency to avoid a fractured vote.

Following the Butler rally shooting, Tucker Carlson set up a text thread connecting Kennedy and Trump — knowing it hit close to home for Bobby. Trump, who had voiced support for Kennedy’s need for security, saw this as a point of solidarity. The incident bridged a personal understanding between the two, as both faced mounting pressures and shared the emotional toll of public life under incessant attacks from the DNC.

They finally met during the RNC in Milwaukee, though the meeting was unstructured, lacked a moderator, and fell short of expectations. “They met, and while it was good they were introduced, it needed someone to guide the conversation. It didn’t go anywhere,” noted a source close to the RNC.

By early August, after the missed opportunity in Milwaukee, a Trump fundraiser co-hosted by Malik at Howard Lutnick’s home provided an ideal setting for Malik to reapproach Trump, urging him to consider Kennedy for a role on his transition team. It took little coaxing. Trump was in. At this point, Kennedy was still polling as a notable contender, siphoning points from Trump, so Trump’s willingness to unite was pivotal for aligning voters from both sides.

With his support secured, in-person meetings followed. On August 12, Trump, RFK Jr., Malik, Don Jr., Susie Wiles, and Amaryllis Fox gathered in Palm Beach to finalize negotiations, spending hours together until a deal was reached.

With Kennedy on board, MAGA was destined to evolve. His inclusion infused it with a precise, articulate focus on issues central to his platform: clean water, clean food, affordable housing, and medical freedom. Known for his advocacy in public health and environmental integrity, Kennedy aimed to expand MAGA’s reach beyond its traditional base, drawing in those concerned about America’s health crisis and corporate control over food and medical systems. With Kennedy at the forefront of clean living and wellness, MAGA’s platform would spotlight a vision for an America shielded from toxic food industries, water contamination, and questionable pharmaceutical practices.

Reflecting on the alliance, a source close to Malik noted, “Omeed, like all of us, was driven by disgust at the lengths the Democrats went to undermine democracy. They tried to keep both Trump and Bobby off the ballot, engaging in relentless lawfare and weaponizing the legal system to control the outcome. It was one indefensible strategy after another — a form of tyranny, really. They used every tool to manipulate and suppress support, behaving like a regime propping up puppet leaders instead of letting the people decide. For many of us, this alliance was a stand against that — a stand for restoring true democratic choice.”

Once the alliance went public, it was widely lauded as a rebellion against the political establishment — not merely a union of two men, but two visions rallying against forces undermining America’s future. Bound by a shared mission to reshape party lines and ease divisive rhetoric, their collaboration symbolized a rebirth of American politics.

The eclectic coalition, as it stands now, paints a vivid picture of contemporary politics, weaving together diverse threads of discontent. Health enthusiasts passionate about holistic remedies, New Age spiritual warriors, the medical freedom community, and mothers with children affected by vaccine injuries — all drawn together by a shared sense of betrayal by a system they see as fully captured by corporate interests. In contrast, Trump’s MAGA supporters, rooted in traditional conservatism and fierce nationalism, rally around an ideal of American exceptionalism. While Trump’s base looks to reclaim a golden past, Kennedy’s movement engages in discussions on health, wellness, and individual rights, offering a more progressive, unconventional vision challenging the status quo.

Remarkably, these two seemingly opposing bases now converge around Kennedy and Trump. Historically, their factions have clashed ideologically, but now they find common ground in shared disillusionment with the political elite and a collective desire for change. Kennedy’s alignment with Trump transcends mere strategy; it signals that people from diverse backgrounds can unite against a common adversary. The MAGA/MAHA coalition merges progressive ideals with populist sentiment, creating a potent force for reform that defies traditional party boundaries.

As these disparate supporters come together, they forge a new path that transcends old divisions. The alignment between Kennedy and Trump isn’t just a political partnership: It’s a beacon of hope in a time of deep division, signaling that collaboration is possible even among those who have long been at odds. In this new landscape, there’s a growing recognition that diverse voices can harmonize in pursuit of a common vision — a vision where the fight against corporate capture and the protection of individual rights are central. The potential for a more inclusive and representative political dialogue emerges, sparking optimism amid an otherwise tumultuous era.

Arizona — A Farewell

When RFK Jr. stepped onto the stage in Arizona, fireworks lit up the night as Foo Fighters’ Hero blared, perfectly timed to his entrance. Trump, knowing it would stir controversy, had advised Kennedy’s team, “We’ll get sued for using that song,” but urged them to “do it anyway.” Sure enough, the next day, Dave Grohl issued a statement warning of legal action against the Trump team for the unauthorized use.

But the scene had already been immortalized. That song, that night, the roaring crowd — it all came to symbolize Kennedy’s step into the Republican embrace, met with a thunderous welcome.

Later that evening, we piled into a golf cart, roaming the vast desert under a moonlit sky, searching for Drea De Matteo and her family to join us for drinks. Eventually, we found ourselves in a back room of a nearby hotel, where Team Kennedy had arranged a farewell dinner for advisors, staffers, and volunteers.

Shortly after they sat down, Trump called Bobby to say that his applause was the loudest he’d ever seen.

We squeezed together at a long, narrow table. At one point, I remarked that the setup felt like the Last Supper — a fitting reflection of this chapter we had all shared, each bringing our own level of devotion and sacrifice. Emotions overflowed as each person around the table stood to speak, offering heartfelt reflections on their time with the campaign. Amaryllis delivered a moving tribute, likening RFK Jr. to her favorite childhood story, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. Her words brought him to tears.

Bobby was the last to speak. Clearly emotional, he looked exhausted as he thanked everyone for their commitment, mentioning the toll his decision had taken and noting that some people in his life might never speak to him again because of it. We all knew the strain it had placed on his immediate family, but seeing his voice crack as he spoke made the weight of it all more real. Some details the media wouldn’t care to report on: his beloved dog, Ronan, had to be put down earlier that day; Cheryl Hines drove the dog to the vet in his stead to ease its suffering. On top of making the most consequential decision of his life, his dog was gone.

In his farewell, he urged us to embrace the next chapter as newly joined forces, confident that his chosen family would stand by him in the battles to come.

When he finished speaking, the room settled back into conversation; wine flowed freely. Glasses raised for a farewell toast. A red MAGA hat left on the table felt symbolic of what lay ahead. One staff member picked it up and placed it on another’s head with a laugh. “Looks good!” she said, snapping a photo. In that moment, it was clear that the close of one movement gave way to another — born out of resilience, forged in unity, bound to continue efforts aimed to conquer the evils of corporate overreach on the “other” side.

RFK’s Farewell to Team:

“For some of us, this might be the last gathering of this kind. I want to say how much I've enjoyed getting to know so many of you and working with you. This team is amazing.  I've worked with some incredible teams in my many, many years — six or five decades of advocacy — really talented, gifted people.  

This is a team that is unique…Angela just said that you’re all family. I lost a lot of my family during this journey. People who I probably won’t have a relationship with again for the rest of my life. But the strongest bonds between people don’t come from DNA or from blood; they come from shared values. And I feel like I found a new family here. People who share these values, who are passionate about them, who were willing to walk away from everything to join this journey.  

There’s a poem that my dad forced us all to memorize when we were kids, which was “Ulysses” by Alfred Tennyson. And the theme or the story is that Ulysses, after he comes back from Troy…the Odyssey ends when he comes back to Ithaca. And he reunites [with his wife] and he becomes King again of Ithaca. And then this poem takes place 20 years later when he is restless, and he wants to go out and do something meaningful with his life.  

The poem is about him calling all these old warriors and young warriors and saying, ‘Let’s go on an adventure together, and let’s sail to the ends of the earth and do something meaningful with our lives.’ And all of you took that kind of jump — that leap. You know, you came aboard this ship and insurmountable as the odds were — as implausible and impossible the task was at hand — we made something happen. And we not only stayed alive…but we thrived for most of this, which was really extraordinary. And it’s largely because we had all of these people — almost all of you came here on your own kind of spiritual journey and joined this pirate ship. 

And we’re still all storming the fortress. And something big changed today. And you know, we may still change the world in a way that is really extraordinary. If we are able to reclaim all of these children and make sure this never happens to a child again. Really make America healthy again.”

(Whole Room Clapping)

As the election cycle winds down to its final week, opposition research is in full swing with old rumors and fresh revelations surfacing as last-minute efforts to sway public opinion. In a Substack article posted earlier today, J.K. Trotter—a seasoned investigative journalist and former deputy editor of investigations at Insider and Business Insider—delves into one such “old rumor” involving Donald Trump Jr., Tamron Hall, and NBC.

Trotter meticulously assembles “A Timeline of Facts,” stretching from 2002 to the present day, stating: “Below, I’ve gathered a timeline of relevant facts from public sources and my own reporting about Tamron Hall, Donald Trump, and NBC. I also reached out for on-the-record comments from all three subjects. You’ll find their responses—or lack thereof—at the end of the story.” He invites readers to reach out with any additional insights or corrections, keeping the door open to further discoveries in this unfolding narrative.

A Source in Media Remarked, “He obviously wrote it very carefully, probably with guidance from lawyers. Trump is famously litigious. But it’s just true that this rumor has been pervasive among a small group of Trump insiders for years. It’s one of those things that you just can’t publish at a mainstream media outlet without someone going on the record to say what they know, or without obtaining documentation that confirms what’s true. If Trump and Tamron both wanted this kept quiet and NBC was committed to protect them, a major newspaper would need a whistleblower to do what Trotter did.”

Interview: Donald Trump Interviewed by Tamron Hall on MSNBC Live - February 9, 2016”

“Eight years ago, in the spring of 2016, reporters in New York City began to hear whispers about a drama unfolding at the Midtown headquarters of NBC. Sources, colleagues, friends, and acquaintances: All of them had heard something about the relationship between Today Show co-host Tamron Hall and presidential candidate Donald Trump.

The Rumor Went Like This: In the latter half of 2015, NBC journalists unearthed evidence that Hall and Trump conducted an affair in the years before he declared his candidacy. Some of the evidence indicated that Hall became pregnant by Trump and later obtained an abortion. The whispers appeared to be leaking out of 30 Rockefeller Plaza because NBC officials were unsure of how to address the situation.

Eager to scoop a competitor on its own turf, reporters outside of NBC swarmed their sources within the network for information. But they struggled to find a path to publication. Important details were fuzzy or disputed, and sources’ knowledge was often third- or fourth-hand. The gravity of the allegation, and the visibility of its subjects, provided little margin for error. Any story would require nearly perfect sourcing. No news outlet published a single word about the rumor.

But there was, in fact, some truth to it. According to people familiar with the matter, NBC journalists did indeed investigate Hall and Trump’s relationship in the fall of 2015, and found evidence that supported the existence of an affair that led to Hall’s pregnancy and subsequent abortion. They had gathered this material as part of a larger reporting project about Trump’s past girlfriends. The evidence was compelling enough to continue investigating as Trump’s campaign gained steam.

However, nothing ever came of the reporting project. NBC never published a story about Trump’s ex-girlfriends or his relationship with Hall. And, less than two weeks after Trump’s inauguration, Hall abruptly left the network. These events created a mystery that has never been solved: What exactly happened between Trump, Hall, and NBC?

This is my attempt to answer this question. Below, I’ve assembled a timeline of relevant facts, gathered from public sources and my own reporting, about Tamron Hall, Donald Trump, and NBC. I also sought on-the-record comment from all three subjects. You can see what they said, or did not say, at the end of the story.

Finally: If you believe anything in this story is missing or incorrect, or wish to share any information with me, you can email me here.”

Up Ahead: BTS at Madison Square Garden + Falconry in Upstate New York with Don & RFK Jr.

I have so much to share this week, but let’s start with a little gift.

As most of you know, music is a vital layer in all of my Instagram story series, setting the tone and bringing each new narrative to life. Today (with six days to go), I’m sharing a playlist dedicated to my coverage of the 2024 campaign trail. Each song has been selected to reflect the essence of the people and issues shaping this election. In my content, music isn’t just a backdrop—it’s an emotional amplifier and the true driving force behind my inspiration. Without songs I connect with, I lose interest and the story loses momentum. This is why I spend hours driving (often with tracks on repeat), letting the lyrics and melodies sink in and shape the storytelling.

This year, I spent countless hours on PCH crafting soundtracks to capture and define figures like RFK Jr., Donald Trump, Tulsi Gabbard, and Kamala Harris, building sounds that reflect each of their unique qualities. For example, Kennedy’s playlist features a lot of Stones and CCR, emphasizing themes of water, environment, and nature. Trump’s picks lean into bolder, dramatic classics—rock and even operatic moments—while Gabbard’s selections highlight her serious mission, veteran roots, and old-school patriotism, with a nod to Nina Simone to capture her vibe. For side characters, someone like Tucker Carlson, I chose a more playful, rebellious mix of old blues and Delta-inspired instrumentals.

Go-to picks from Chet Atkins, Les Paul, and Django Reinhardt serve as fillers, adding an instrumental layer that subtly brands my content with familiar sounds.

The response has been incredible; so many of you recognize and appreciate the care behind these soundtracks and how they elevate the storytelling by sparking a sense of revived patriotism. Now, you can enjoy the playlist yourself. I’ll be adding more songs throughout the week, but here’s a great start. Check out the Spotify link and see if you can guess who each track belongs to!

SOUNDTRACK HERE

In my rush to capture the close of the campaign trail—compressing favorite chapters into these last 12 days, including two that will take us inside the homes of Trump and Kennedy—I feel it's mandatory to revisit the moment that set everything in motion: RFK at the wheel in Brentwood, three dogs and a film guy sliding around in the back.

The introduction, a short drive up the road to a group hike last October, felt like walking a tightrope—both of us uncertain about the other. He was courteous yet guarded, while I, a journalist he’d never heard of—praised by some in his orbit and doubted by others—navigated forced small talk. I was understandably nervous and admittedly out of my league in politics. When I mentioned my plans to cover an upcoming event in Cape Co, to document a Kennedy themed fisherman coalition, I told him I hadn’t yet sorted out where to stay. Without hesitation, he offered up the Kennedy compound.

*A vital footnote (for those new here) is that weeks earlier my jealousy over Joe Hagen’s disastrous visit had become a passing dinner table complaint. “Why him?” I had kept wondering. Vanity Fair. What a waste.

The trip to Hyannis Port changed the course of everything. Bobby’s trust and generosity opened the door to a style of coverage I had always craved: Unguarded and raw. The kind of access that peels back polished layers to reveal mundane yet humanizing glimpses behind carefully curated public personas. My vision rejected all script, shifting viewers understanding of what it means to cover campaigns—not just as an observer but as an outsider welcomed into the fold, embracing the rocky reality of manning a cross-country journey for a year where behind-the-scenes, off-the-record angles became a signature.

These last few chapters will take you deeper into some of the scenes and the stories in my drafts. I hope that amid the mounting chaos of our current news cycle clocking the election day finale, they evoke something—anything other than pure panic and anxiety circling the polls this week.

1. Unedited Invite

2. Edited Hike

“Mom look, Don Jr.’s here.”

JULY // PALM BEACH

Returning to Palm Beach as a family, the Kraus boys plunged into another season of Summer Chaos: Campaign Trail Edition. Let me just start by saying — teenagers on the move are far more challenging than toddlers off schedule without naps.

Remember the vomit on the exit ramp upon our arrival? And the stress over RFK potentially being exposed as a fraud after news broke that he was seeking a role in Kamala’s administration?

Well, once we settled into our Airbnb, the chaos continued. Hayes got his hair trimmed, then shed tears over the result (though clearly an improvement from his dad’s past attempts). Rex, bitter over a broken leg and fresh stitches courtesy of a surfboard that popped out of the water and sliced his head open in Cabo, hobbled around complaining about how much he hates Florida because it isn’t Mexico or San Clemente. We later had to scold him for staining an armchair with an acrylic marker, and again for wearing a “Fucking Independent” T-shirt to a fancy lunch with new acquaintances — a fact we didn’t catch until we all sat down together. Meanwhile, Leon was recovering from the vomiting incident. He lay in a dark room with a cold rag on his forehead for 24 hours with the AC blasting. Once he felt better, all four boys (plus Arlo’s best friend, Finn, who is usually along for family adventures) floated around the pool on rafts between scattered thunderstorms, feasting on honey-drizzled pizza delivered to our doorstep. A couple mornings they took he bikes out for a junk food run to the liquor store. Rex, with the broken leg, managed just fine.

One night, the adults escaped to The Breakers for dirty martinis and shrimp cocktail, watching beautiful young women skillfully reel in wealthy older men in faded jeans, a la Jeffery Epstein. On another, Denise and I went out with a few faces from the Trump camp and ordered champagne and steaks, during which we were tipped off to the “best kept secret in Palm Beach.” Mouths agape, we swore secrecy before being directed to a popular club where I exhaustedly lounged on a leather couch while a dark, handsome man who claimed to be a dentist (but behaved more like a mobster) hit on Denise. On the ride back, I left my small quilted maroon Chanel purse (a sponsor gift — free, but in a color I wouldn’t choose had I paid) in the Uber, with two Vyvanse pills stuffed inside. It didn’t pain me like it should have — I’m used to losing things on the road by now — but I regretted never knowing what this other brand of Adderall might have done for a tired writer, given by someone who swears the team needs it to keep up with a 78-year-old workaholic fueled by 13-15 Diet Cokes a day. I can never determine if people are trying to give me uppers so that I write faster, or better.

And then, of course, Olivia Nuzzi showed up on her way out of town with her perfect hair, incessant vape, and well-protected secrets to gossip about Trump, his portrait artist, and his ear (which, apparently, didn’t look at all like it had been clipped by a bullet, but still managed to inject in him some notion of God).

One afternoon, we splurged on $60 worth of gourmet sandwiches that everyone devoured and requested again the following day. I took calls with Rosemary Clooney playing in the background, a few of them detailing cryptic updates about RFK’s lingering indecision: “Good news is, Kennedy isn’t lobbying camp Kamala, but he is at a major crossroads, talking seriously with Cheryl over the weekend about his next move. He has a decision to make — go all the way, or try something else.”

On a brief call the following day, RFK shot down the rumor himself, telling me the story was “bullshit,” which spared me an afternoon drafting an inflamed attack on him as a traitorous phony. Instead, I napped relieved in the sun.

Jupiter Farms

The night before the MAGA boat parade, an impromptu backyard gathering in Jupiter Farms rekindled a sense of community that only old-fashioned house parties can — simple, stripped down, entirely unpretentious. Before this trip, I wasn’t familiar with Jupiter Farms. I wondered if it was where Republicans go to milk cows and pursue raw milk endeavors.

Angela Reynolds, a local interior designer with a radiant smile whom I’d met at a Kennedy event last year, graciously offered her farmhouse home for the gathering. After extending the invite on social media, the response was overwhelming: over 100 replies poured in within an hour, forcing us to cap the guest list at 50. The address went out the next day, setting the stage for an unforgettable evening, surrounded by stables, porch swings, and a sprawling grassy lot where most of us lingered well past midnight.

Tables were laden with appetizers displayed on stainless banquet trays, surrounded by candles and fresh flowers. Guests in strappy heels and breezy floral sundresses settled comfortably in every corner of Angela’s home, mingling as if they’d known each other forever. This is the allure of Palm Beach women — they bring their A-game effortlessly. They show up and are unapologetically themselves in any setting. Their passion for politics is infectious; they dive into spirited discussions without concern for offending anyone, weaving in personal stories and snarky hot takes. They can be remarkably kind or brutally direct at the flip of a switch. They laugh easily and share small-town secrets without hesitation — all traits I adore in society women. In fact, their overall enthusiasm for storytelling has me rethinking my former dream of retiring in the English countryside to sip gin with foreign kin and ramble on about the fate of a crumbling monarchy. I thought the UK ladies were my favorite breed, but after a year of lively lunch dates surrounded by a rotating cast of well-dressed political junkies, I’m starting to rethink whether I wouldn’t rather wrap myself in Hermes and befriend ladies with Mar-a-Lago memberships.

The most thrilling twist of the evening came as we made our way outside for fresh air: Don Jr. made an impromptu appearance, showing up in a pink button-up, as men in Palm Beach tend to do.

“Jess, look who just showed up,” Mike said, nodding toward the street where Don Jr. stepped out of an SUV with his ex-wife Vanessa, daughter Kai, and Bettina Anderson in tow.

“Is that Junior Don?” Arlo asked, squinting in disbelief.

“Definitely little Don,” Finn quipped dryly, his one and only inflection.

No one knew Don was coming, so his arrival sent a ripple of excitement through the crowd scattered across Angela’s front lawn. The group watched in shock as the president’s son emerged with the swagger of a recently graduated football star entering a small-town house party, a fleet of adoring women ranging in age tracking his entrance. I’ll never forget it. It’s spontaneous, semi-surreal moments like these that will linger in my memory long after this campaign trail season ends.

Finn was quick to send his grandmother in Delaware a photo of him and Don. She cringed with horror in response, but was still happy he’s having these “experiences.”

“I don’t think this one will be making it to Facebook,” he said, stuffing his phone back into his pocket.

As Don graciously greeted all of the guests, acquiescing to their various requests for selfies, a few women whispered about why Don and Vanessa had shown up together and why they seemed so close and comfortable with one another. “Are they back together?” one asked, sipping a second glass of Chardonnay at the buffet. “This is just how the Trumps do divorce,” an older one chimed in, tipping the bottle to drain the last drop of white wine. She pointed out Trump’s amicable relationships with both of his ex-wives, instantly pulling up a wedding photo while juggling a bedazzled clutch in the crook of her arm in which he is alongside Marla Maples and Melania at Tiffany’s wedding at Mar-a-Lago, as though the photo settled the matter.

It’s true — this is how the Trumps do divorce. According to everyone I talk to, Marla Maples and Don Senior are seemingly still on good terms, perhaps better now than ever. She publicly voiced support for him earlier in July, and in my DMs prior to that, she has been nothing but complimentary. A source familiar with Trump’s inner circle mentioned that he is amused by how great Marla looks. “He’s impressed with how she’s aging,” the source said. “He mentions it occasionally, usually out of nowhere.”

And she does, indeed, look fabulous. At 59, Marla remains exquisite — not contorted by fillers, just genetically blessed. Trump, known for mocking peers with bad plastic surgery, apparently appreciates that she is aging like fine wine. Trump is a nostalgic guy; he’s also superficial. I imagine he takes pride in his past lovers looking “tremendous” past 60.

“Days before the Manhattan Court announces the quantum of sentence in hush money case, Donald Trump's ex-wife Marla Maples has come out in his support. Not only has she called him ‘innocent’, but she has also offered to help the Republican contender in his campaign for the 2024 US Presidential Election. She has also said that she is ready to serve him as his vice president. Marla Maples shares Tiffany Trump with the former president. She and Donald Trump tied the knot in 1993, but their marriage fell apart in 1997 and she got a divorce in 1999 with a $2 million settlement. But they came together and posed for pictures at Tiffany Trump’s rehearsal dinner in 2022.

Talking to the U.K. publication 'The Evening Standard', Maples said that she is open to whatever way that she can serve. She added further that everyone in the Trump family is just seeing how they can help him.

The former actor said that she has never been a fan of politics as she knows it can separate and divide people. She added that she found myself in the throes of it. Maples announced that she would not be sitting back anymore, she wants to step out more, share more and not be afraid of positive or negative outcomes that come from speaking out.”

— Economic Times

As the evening stretched on, we moved from the porch swing to the kitchen island and, eventually, to a glowing corner of the backyard where Don Jr. led the group toward a fire crackling against Jupiter’s starless night sky. It was way too hot for a campfire, but the setup was the obvious end point of our procession. We sweated it out in awe.

He cracked a joke about what a refreshing change of scenery this was, since campaign events tend to take the form of balding billionaires discussing stocks and finance in stale banquet halls. These ladies were lively and jonesing to gossip. Once we all settled around the fire, I couldn’t help but notice how much the setup accidentally resembled The Bachelor — intimate and perfectly framed, as if the evening might culminate in someone receiving a rose. Or in this case, an indictment.

Wine glasses in hand, the women nestled into wicker armchairs and crammed together into a cozy semicircle. One of the ladies slipped into the role of reporter, (there’s always one), asking what Don and his family planned on doing to “protect his father” — as if his children bear that responsibility.

Don confessed that his love for New York was pretty much dead. “You couldn’t pay me to be there,” he stressed. His trips to the city now are because of work, not play. His friends come to him, and his life in Jupiter suits his interests much better. He has a big house on the water and a boat docked out front, ready whenever the urge strikes. He appears to loathe New York with the same intensity with which his father worships it — but that could also have to do with how the city is trying its hardest to fuck his family’s stake in real estate.

Conversation naturally led to life post Butler rally. Don opened up about his father and the impact of the shooting on his family. He got the call on a boat with his daughter that day. She had requested fishing with him. We listened intently as he recounted the phone call and initial shock, explaining how Kai, his oldest daughter, had been affected by the news — a moment that eventually led to her desire to speak at the RNC. Kai told her side of the story herself. After that, I introduced her to Arlo, who was extra gentlemanly in shaking her hand.

Surprisingly, Don Jr. leads a relatively low-key life. Unlike his father, he seeks simplicity. He still owns a home in a tiny Catskills town with a population of just 600, where locals often spot him fishing alone, dressed in a Columbia shirt and cap. They describe him as “pleasant” and “down-to-earth,” which is fancy talk for “not at all like the guy who argues with strangers on Twitter.” Don off the grid is not the same as Don fired up on Rumble; he’s a blend of rugged outdoor enthusiast, business-savvy professional, and devoted family man — far more down to earth and likable than media framings suggest.

In her memoir Raising Trump, Ivana Trump recalls the moment she suggested naming their firstborn son after his father. Donald Trump initially balked at the idea. “What if he’s a loser?” he said, according to Ivana.

As a child, he spent summers in Czechoslovakia with his maternal grandparents, running wild through the countryside and camping under open skies. It was a far cry from the lavish lifestyle his father provided. Those rustic adventures instilled in him a lifelong love of the outdoors, a passion clearly inherited from his mother’s side. His Instagram feed is filled with scenes of him on the water, often flexing in front of his catch. He also drives himself to events like these sans entourage in a big black SUV.

After college, he took a detour from the family path, spending a year bartending in Aspen and honing his fishing and hunting skills — a chapter that feels like it could have been lifted from a young Ben Affleck movie. It’s a relatable footnote in his life, illustrating that he’s no stranger to hard work despite his privileged upbringing. He’s also a Wharton graduate, blending his blue-collar experiences with a top-tier education — proof that you can go from slinging drinks to trading stocks without losing all sense of self.

He worked as a dock assistant and helped renovate the family’s Seven Springs estate in Westchester County during a time when he was estranged from his father after he and Ivana’s divorce. Those close to the family mention that he resented his father for the Marla Maples affair, a rift that took time to mend.

Don Jr.'s childhood was marked by public drama, including his parents' high-profile split following Trump's affair with Marla Maples in the early 1990s. The then-12-year-old Don Jr. struggled with the separation and directed his frustration at his father. “How can you say you love us? You don’t love us! You don’t even love yourself. You just love your money,” he reportedly told Trump, as detailed in a Vanity Fair article from that period. Reflecting on this tumultuous time years later in a 2004 New York magazine interview, Don Jr. said, “Listen, it’s tough to be a 12-year-old. You’re not quite a man, but you think you are. You think you know everything. Being driven into school every day and you see the front page and it’s divorce! THE BEST SEX I EVER HAD! And you don’t even know what that means.”

Ivanka, speaking about their parents’ divorce in that same 2004 interview, noted, “Bizarrely, it also made us closer to Dad. ... Every morning before school, we’d go downstairs and give him a hug and a kiss. We didn’t take his presence for granted anymore.”

Despite these moments of connection, Ivana acknowledged on The Ray D’Arcy Show that Trump “loved the kids, but he would not really be the dad who would take them for a stroll in Central Park in the stroller or go and play soccer with them. He was always on the phone making the business.” Trump's approach to parenting aligned with this, as he once told Howard Stern in a 2005 interview, “I’ll supply funds and she’ll take care of the kids. It’s not like I’m gonna be walking the kids down Central Park. Marla used to say, ‘I can’t believe you’re not walking Tiffany down the street, you know in a carriage. Right, I’m gonna be walking down Fifth Avenue with a baby in a carriage. It just didn’t work.”

Ivanka and Don Jr. grew up in a competitive atmosphere. As Ivanka recalled in the 2004 New York magazine interview, “We were sort of bred to be competitive. Dad encourages it. I remember skiing with him and we were racing. I was ahead, and he reached his ski pole out and pulled me back.”

Don Jr. also reflected on his relationship with his father during that time. When asked if there was anything he would change about his parents, he said, “My father could be more understanding of things he doesn’t... understand. You know? If I want to go fishing rather than play golf, it’s always like, ‘Why would you go fishing all weekend? I don’t get it! It’s crazy!’”

Don has also been active in the local community, serving as a board member at the Catskill Fly Fishing Center and Museum—because what could be more entertaining than spending time with fish enthusiasts who can share everything you never wanted to know about trout? Yet, around the campfire, as he shares stories, he comes across as far more grounded than most people realize.

This revelation was unsettling to many. After sharing clips from the evening, I received several DMs from women who expressed a mix of conflict and confusion over their sudden attraction to Don—a man they’d always sworn they couldn’t stand.

“OMG. I don’t know how to process this new attraction to Don Jr. I think I hate you for it.” one wrote, paired with four cringing emojis.

My own interest in Don crashing the house party was personal, not political—I thought he, of anyone, might be the one to convince Arlo to shave the mustache. Don as good sport gave it his best shot, snapping Trump branded insults, telling Arlo he looked like a '70s pornstar and that his friends only said it was cool because they were getting all the girls. I jumped in, adding that Trump Sr. isn’t a fan of facial hair either. Don confirmed this, recalling how his father once took a Sharpie to a photo of him with a goatee and wrote “terrible” with an arrow pointing at it. But despite our combined efforts, we failed. Turns out, even the son of a president doesn’t have much sway when a mustache is attracting 23-year-olds who assume my son is their age.

As the evening wound down, we gathered in front of Angela’s house for a group photo. Someone asked if her daughter, missing from the mix, wanted to join. “No,” she said, explaining she’s a young liberal, “hiding in her room this whole time.”

“At her age, I probably would have done the same,” I said, and we all laughed.

Don Jr. and his crew left with the rest of us in their big black SUV, leaving the ladies of Jupiter Farms with plenty to indulge their friends with come brunch Sunday morning.

Shortly after our meet up, Don Jr. proudly announced on social media that Kai will be playing golf at the University of Miami.

Greetings from a nondescript hotel room in Palm Beach, where I’m lying in bed watching palm fronds sway over my balcony, caught in a new haze of exhaustion. After three weeks on the road and just two whirlwind days at home—where I kicked off demolition on a new beautiful Laguna Beach office space instead of resting—I’m back at it. I just arrived in Florida on a redeye and am waiting on a diet Coke that I hope will revive me. I’ve only got two hours before a pre-party on a boat in the marina, leading up to the Trump family documentary premiere tonight at Mar-a-Lago.

CNN is on the TV, already setting the stage for a delayed election outcome. They’re warning it could take 3-4 days to declare a winner because of how tight the race is. They say Trump is leading with men and Kamala with women. Trump is narrowly ahead, but my polling expert says it’s still a dead heat (closer than he’s ever seen it) with a 2-point margin of error. In other words, brace yourselves for a rocky stretch post-Election Day.

Last night, I made the mistake of staying up too late binging long podcast interviews with Jaguar Wright, and it rattled me to my core. I’m not sure what to make of her; all I know is that the Diddy Files keep getting darker. As outlandish as she might sound, much of what she’s revealing in these sit-downs aligns with each new lawsuit. So far, the revelations are bone-chilling. Right now, the Diddy saga makes Epstein look like child’s play (bad pun not intended).

With the election buzz at a fever pitch, we’re all waiting to see if any last-minute October surprises are left in either side’s arsenal. Meanwhile, I’m gripped by a family photo I found today that Kerry Kennedy posted from her mother’s memorial—three Democratic presidents squeezed into a frame, with Bobby and Cheryl looking miffed on the sidelines, their expressions saying it all. I still can’t get over the fact that Biden delivered the closing remarks as eulogy to Ethel Kennedy. Bobby didn’t speak. Leave it to the Democrats to turn a memorial into a coup. I’m telling you, subplots even HBO can’t compete with.

I have so many stories to share from campaign twists to the deepening Diddy saga. It’s a good thing I thrive under pressure and chaos. Wish me luck with the energy revival—Mar-a-Lago events require major commitment. I didn’t bring false lashes this time. Or a gown. I’m not sure a Diet Coke is the answer, but then again, it’s never let the Donald down.

13 days.

Stay tuned and alert.

RELATED:

Biden tells Obama ‘she’s not as strong as me’ — and ex-prez agrees ‘that’s true’ at Ethel Kennedy service

“The apparent candid assessment of Vice President Kamala Harris’ standing going into the Nov. 5 election occurred Wednesday afternoon as America’s two most recent Democratic presidents conversed at Ethel Kennedy’s memorial service in Washington.”

“She’s not as strong as me,” said BideN — according to the translation, produced by analyzing the on-video lip movements during the discussion.

“I know … that’s true,” Obama agreed, adding, “We have time.”

“Yeah, we’ll get it in time,” said Biden.

Freeman described the conservation as “very supportive” and said he detected “no tension” between Obama and Biden, as had been speculated in viral commentary due to Obama shaking his head at one point.

Tucker Carlson stunned by dystopian prediction of what could happen after contentious election

After a rocky election season marred by lawsuits, mudslinging, family feuds, and scattered scandal, last night offered a moment of quiet redemption for the Right—a happy ending we all longed for. As the cameras swept across the elegant crowd gathered for the Al Smith dinner, capturing a sea of political folk clad in tuxedos and glittering gowns, they caught RFK Jr. and Cheryl Hines in a tender embrace, her lips meeting his in a gentle kiss. In that fleeting moment, every wife in America couldn't help but cheer. My DMs overflowed with relief from those rooting for them, tracking Cheryl’s on-and-off wedding ring and analyzing every twist in their story as they navigate the public eye under strife with less than a month until Election Day.

In the end—politics aside—wives always stand by wives.

Meanwhile, the media has been intent on tearing Kennedy down, using every tactic imaginable to undermine him—pushing his marriage to its breaking point in print as their latest move. They could hardly hide their disappointment when Cheryl turned up in support after the death of his mother, seen holding hands in Cape Cod just days after her passing. Through grief, she remained a steady presence even as headlines buzzed with new edits to the Nuzzi sexting scandal. Critics first condemned her for not aligning with his politics, then criticized her even more for standing by him despite their differences.

But the public reunion last night was more than a display of enduring love; it symbolized a merging of legacies. Perhaps, the more striking moment came when Cheryl Hines was greeted by Donald Trump. For those familiar with her past aversion to him and his policies, it was a seismic shift—a gesture of unity hinting at something deeper: a historic Democratic dynasty aligning with MAGA, signaling a new path that defies traditional divides and embraces an unexpected coalition.

A lot of us are here for it.

As always, Don and Melania, side by side, made a striking pair. Beyond the diamonds and bowties, good hearted jabs from both sides of the isle, the night was a dazzling celebration of humor, political bipartisanship, resilience, and prevailing vows. In a world where scandal often takes center stage, the evening's scene proved that perhaps a new era of love and fresh alliances is ahead — reflected both in public opinion and the latest polling predicting a second Trump victory on the horizon.

As we gear up for our second MAGA flotilla, it feels like the perfect time to rewind and reflect on the spectacle in Jupiter, Florida, we were part of at the close of summer: a parade so bold, so over-the-top, it defied containment — an ocean of red, white, and blue devotion swelling on the water, flags snapping like applause for the Commander in Chief.

To truly grasp a MAGA boat parade, you have to be right in the thick of it. I’ve never seen a Trump-themed flotilla captured from such an intimate perspective—and in this case, perspective is everything. From the inside, it’s not just the flashy show of elite wealth the media paints it to be. It’s something more inspirational—the embodiment of American spirit: loud, proud, and utterly unbothered. It wasn’t just about the yachts; there were vessels of all sizes, including a guy waving a flag on the tip of his jet ski, all united in a patriotic display for “everyone’s favorite president.”

From the shore, it might appear as just another display of 1% excess—a parade of gleaming yachts and oversized egos. But up close, it was a mix of unlikely characters: dinghies brushing up against mega yachts, paddle boarders somehow keeping pace with cigar-toting millionaires, all exchanging high-fives as they passed by. You really can’t compare this level of adoration to anything else in modern times. I wonder if even Trump’s harshest critics wouldn’t find a hint of intrigue in it.

A lot unfolded over that August afternoon. At one point, I left the family behind to yacht-hop and mingle with the MAGA faithful. When Drea Vernazza’s massive yacht cruised by, it looked like a scene straight out of a Hype Williams music video—champagne popping, flags waving, music blasting. Exactly what Leon Kraus’ TikTok dreams are made of. And yet, somehow, it all made perfect sense. Of course, this is what summer break during an election year would look like.

When I returned two hours later, Hayes had been unofficially adopted by Caroline Wren and the Bannon crew, looking like he might start fifth grade with an indictment under his belt. Arlo, meanwhile, was sprawled out on a leather ottoman next to a beautiful blonde who had commandeered the sound system. “I know who I’m voting for,” he smirked, clearly swept away by the allure of the young, hot women that MAGA tends to attract.

Leon was fast asleep on the front, Mike had made second and third rounds at the breakfast buffet, Hayes had fully integrated with the J-Sixers, while Arlo somehow managed to land a handful of Miami connections, get booked on a podcast, add a stock exchange app to his phone, and get his hands on a cigar (which I promptly confiscated). I blinked, wondering if I had wandered into some alternate reality.

One yacht felt like a scene straight out of a Leonardo DiCaprio film—more sunscreen, less subtlety. As I walked in, I couldn’t help but think, "What in The Wolf of Wall Street is going on here?" Boomer men in sleeveless polos, cigars dangling from their lips like accessories to their blustering egos, Fox News murmuring in the background, all while a sparkling ocean nursed their hangovers. They sipped straight liquor from plastic cups, and when their cigars burned down, they half-heartedly looked for an ashtray before tossing them into the water, their eyes glued to their phones as they checked for the latest bump in stocks.

I didn’t even realize I had landed on ‘MAGA’ Meg Weinberger’s boat until I was alerted. Congressman Brian Mast was in charge of the sendoff. He took the speaker shirtless. Mast, a decorated U.S. Army veteran, lost both of his legs while serving in Afghanistan in 2010. As an Explosive Ordnance Disposal technician, Mast was working to clear a path for fellow soldiers when he stepped on an improvised explosive device, resulting in the loss of his legs and a finger. Despite the life-altering injuries, Mast's resilience and determination led him to pursue public service, becoming an advocate for veterans' issues and national security in the U.S. Congress. On the boat that day, he was a fired-up MAGA hype man giving the parade the green light. On the same boat, Laura Loomer was aboard, demure among the crowd in a red bikini.

At one point, we swung by Don Jr. and Kimberly’s waterfront mansion to pick up Kimberly. Their sleek, white compound gleamed by the shoreline, their boat docked out front. They waved from the dock like they were part of a monument to the day’s exuberance. A small boat even offered them a letter and a CD filled with songs written for Don’s father.

I couldn’t help but laugh at the surreal nature of it all. After an eight-year journey, this is where life had taken me. One minute, I’m marching in D.C. with pink pussy hats, chanting an array of anti-Trump slogans. The next, I’m yacht-hopping with MAGA’s most decorated and devout, singing along to Kid Rock’s Cowboy—lyrics I didn’t even realize I now had etched in memory.

If someone had told me eight years ago that I'd be here, I’d have assumed they were writing the plot for a satirical reboot of The Twilight Zone. But here we are, living it, and somehow it’s not a nightmare—it’s summer break at its finest.

This campaign stop—disguised as a vacation—is one that the Kraus boys (and my adopted fifth son, Finn) won’t soon forget. In a world where everything feels upside down, this MAGA yacht parade might just be the most perfectly chaotic expression of America itself: an odd, bloated, flag-waving, champagne-popping spectacle where every dinghy and cigar finds its place in the water. A flashy brand of patriotism where every boat and status is welcome.

Thank you Lynne Patton for the invite and Drea Vernazza for welcoming my family on your yacht.

I wasn’t planning to watch the debate tonight. I’ve had enough of politics this week, and frankly didn’t care to learn more about JD Vance. I had long written him off as Trump’s worst “mistake,” frustrated that he chose such a risky VP with so many other solid options to choose from.

However, 20 minutes in, I was hooked. Vance was unexpectedly likable — giving warm “Midwest polite,” while Walz came across stiff, with shifty eyes, fumbling through rehearsed lines. Looking ancient next to Vance.

After the debate, my texts and DMs flooded with messages from suburban moms across the country newly smitten. Vance made a lot of sense—calm, collected, and, as Ann Coulter put it, “smooth as a cucumber.” Nothing he said was crafted for memes, meaning there won’t be any viral remixes. It reminded us what a respectable debate - pre TikTok - looked like.

Overnight, Vance flipped the script. What started as Trump’s “mistake” is looking now like one of the most sensible figures in modern politics with Liz Taylor lashes as added perk. My IG comments are lighting up with love notes as I type. This is where the game gets exciting—this is the kind of moment that moves the needle.

One commentator pointed out a tweet from Meghan McCain: “Even John’s daughter was impressed!” So smooth he got McCain’s girl on board—and let me tell you, she’s been a much harsher critic than me.

Sure, he may have lost the cat crowd, but mark my words—German Shepherd popularity is about to skyrocket. JD is no longer Trump’s questionable VP; he’s America’s newest crush; the blue eyed October surprise no one saw coming.

“The conversation between Kennedy and Gabbard was moderated by Jessica Reed Kraus, a Substack writer who writes about the presidential race on her @houseinhabit social media accounts. She referred to the trio onstage as ‘three of your favorite disillusioned Democrats.’ All three discussed the paths they took from being Democrats to eventually supporting Trump.” — AZ Central

It was a year ago that I found myself unexpectedly at Robert Kennedy Jr.'s house in Los Angeles — a story some of you might recall. My niece and I were on a mission to track down Woody Harrelson for an interview about his weed bar. After struggling with intermediaries who failed to connect us, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I was in hot pursuit of Woody when I received a call asking me to visit RFK Jr. at home to film an endorsement. I resisted, telling them that I knew very little about him and didn’t plan on endorsing anyone in this election anyway.

Nevertheless, we abandoned our search for Woody and headed to Brentwood. I ended up filming an introductory interview with him on his couch, in place of an endorsement. It was one of the most awkward experience of my life. I stumbled over every line, fumbled Kennedy’s name, and struggled to maintain my focus. At one point, someone remarked to Bobby’s godson David, the one who invited me there, “I thought you said she knew what she was doing?”

“She does know what she’s doing. She just doesn’t do it this way,” David replied in my defense.

It’s true. I’m always more comfortable behind the scenes surveying the scene as opposed to participating in the spotlight. Cameras tend to kill my confidence.

So, how did I end up moderating a town hall last Saturday in Arizona? The answer partly lies in my inability to refuse Tulsi Gabbard.

A week before the Arizona event, I caught up with her in her dressing room backstage at Tucker Carlson’s show. She was the featured guest that night. Down a long dark hall I found her in the greenroom trying to erase a light purple stain — left by a fresh lei someone gave her — from her white blazer. Her assistant was looking for a Tide pen. Instantly, I regretted not having one on me. These are the things women should carry.

We discussed upcoming events; our paths would be intertwining across the country in the coming weeks. I expressed concern about being positioned as a surrogate for the Trump campaign. I wanted to track the campaign but didn’t want to be cast as a MAGA cheerleader at upcoming rallies. Tulsi listened, agreeing that my impact was better built for intimate coverage. More than anyone, she seemed to understand the power of breaking that fourth wall, how giving people a glimpse into the inner workings of a campaign in motion cemented unique trust and intrigue. By dropping polished production and replacing it with a raw vantage point, it connected the public to each of these characters in ways other mediums have failed to replicate.

While I didn’t want to be a vocal surrogate for the campaign, when the invitation for the town hall was proposed — and I suggested a list of other people I thought would be a better fit — it was Tulsi who encouraged me to reconsider. She saw the role of moderator as an authentic extension of what I’m already doing with online musings. It was not an endorsement, but a conversation.

With that new lens in mind, I confirmed Arizona, but had no time to prepare. In the two days I was home, between Philadelphia for the debate and Arizona for the town hall, I focused all my energy on celebrating significant family milestones: Leon turning 16 and Arlo’s last days at home before his big move to NYC. Our home was flooded with friends. Anytime I thought about being on stage, I was struck with a wave of nausea, so I simply didn’t. Instead, I made a conscious effort to soak up the mundane things around me, things I haven’t done in months, pulling weeds from potted plants, cleaning out and restocking the rabbit’s cage, driving my youngest son to climb a certain tree at the park at dusk.

At the church center in Arizona, I showed up without anything memorized. My questions were printed and glued to notecards; my introduction, pasted into a black folder. The lighting in our dressing room was dim — illuminated by one small lamp. Backstage, I watched a stylist try her best to convince Tulsi to go for a middle part. An hour earlier, she told me she wanted to see her hair parted down the center, straying from a typically stiffer structure. She thought it would be a fresh switch up. Tulsi was willing to try it, but preferred to do so in private, not on a public stage. The stylist complied, pulling the white streak to the forefront. She asked Tulsi when it started and how she responded to her hair turning white at such a young age. Tulsi told her it shocked her at first but it came to “mean something to her.”

The signature streak — a slice of platinum cutting through her dark hair—has weighted symbolism behind it. As an Iraq War veteran, Tulsi revealed recently that she doesn’t dye the gray streak because it serves as a “remembrance” of all the U.S. service members killed in the Iraq War.

“No, I’m not going to fix that gray strand. I don’t know what you mean by ‘fix.’ If you mean dye, no, I’m not going to dye it. I actually started going gray in that one spot during and after my first deployment to Iraq. So I keep it just as a remembrance of those we lost there and the cost of war and why we fight so hard for peace,” she said on an Instagram Live, in response to a user commenting on the gray streak.

Accelerated gray is sometimes due to a condition called “canities subita,” or Marie Antoinette syndrome, where hair turns white overnight due to extreme stress or trauma. In this case, the streak could be counted as an emotional war scar.

Wardrobe on the campaign trail has been just as fascinating. Because Tulsi is so fit, so all her suits look amazing on her, though I had wrongly assumed most of her looks were designer. Backstage at Tucker, I learned this wasn’t the case. The majority of her suits come from Zara, because they are always coming out with new seasonal, affordable styles. Her suits typically range between $200-300. In fact, in the dressing room that night, she confessed that the one blazer she owns from Veronica Beard is actually a hand-me-down from Kristi Noem. I laughed out loud when she told me so.

The green suit I chose for the event was a hunter green Veronica Beard, a last minute pick. I had green in mind with two hours to shop before my flight. I paid too much, but cutting down meandering mall time felt infinitely worth it that day.

Kari Lake appeared backstage in the same shade as me, vibrant as ever. She held an orange light over each selfie snapped, to bathe everyone’s faces in softer lighting. Each of her photos reflected better versions of ourselves.

Before I went on, she pulled me into a small prayer circle asking that my nerves dissolve and butterflies turn into doves.

Pinal County Sheriff Mark Lamb

The “Reclaim America” tour launched with this event. The site quickly reached full capacity at 650 seats. Some people sat in the hot sun for up to 3 hours hoping to snag a spot. The Fire Marshall declared the venue closed to new arrivals. An additional 400 people filled the overflow room, and over 1,200 were turned away, unable to get in due to strict building limits.

“They underestimated the crowd turnout. It was at capacity with another 800 people outside in line waiting to get in. Luckily, I managed to make it to the overflow room. There was way more support than expected for this event,” someone wrote on X.

“The venue, which I had researched to hold 1,000 seats, was completely filled. Hundreds of people were left waiting outside, unable to get in due to the full capacity.”

“Full house…stood in line for 2 hours, got turned away as they were at full capacity. A couple hundred were turned away. Needed a bigger venue. Happy to see so many turned out to welcome Tulsi and RFK to the Trump ticket.”

Bobby and Tulsi were introduced by Pinal County Sheriff Mark Lamb, who had recently lost the GOP Senate primary to Kari Lake. Born in Hawaii, like Gabbard, Lamb lauded RFK’s stance on vaccines, saying, “I admire his position on COVID and the vaccine. His voice is incredibly powerful.”

The evening’s theme was the decay of the Democratic Party, examined by three disillusioned Democrats urging voters to recognize why the party had lost valuable voices who were essentially choosing personal values over party ties.

I was happy to highlight two friends I’d come to respect on this shared journey.

INTRO

“For those unfamiliar with why I’m here and what I do, my name is Jessica Kraus, better known to many of you as House Inhabit. I live in San Clemente, California, and I’m a mother to four boys.

I began my online journey many years ago as a liberal-leaning lifestyle blogger, sharing my family life as a stay-at-home mom. Over time, I ventured into pop culture and covering high-profile trials.

Then, last year, I woke up and decided I needed to shift my entire focus to politics. I suppose I craved a mother’s perspective on the campaign trail and didn’t know where to find that. I anticipated this shift would be a noble but unpopular pivot. It’s hard to get people to care about politics when you’re known for dissecting salacious Hollywood sex scandals. Going from Johnny Depp to suits and legislation is a tough sell.

What I didn’t expect was how much this shift would resonate with so many people across America who felt the same way I did.

It turns out positive political coverage was accidentally popular.

As of today, I have 1.3 million followers on Instagram, and my Substack newsletter is #1 in culture. My combined monthly views extend 300 million.

The access I’ve been granted over the last year is unparalleled, especially by mainstream standards. They like to say I’m not a “real journalist,” and I don’t know that I resent that. So far, “not a real journalist” has only worked in my favor.

I approach every invitation with an open mind, respect, and curiosity — the way journalists used to operate.

As many of you know, we’re currently fighting multiple wars in this country, but the war with the media may be the most devastating of all because it is shaping opinions and fueling division through lies, manipulation, and propaganda, while serving the agendas of soulless billionaires and elite forces.

I’m paid by the people. My only obligation is to relay what I witness and let my audience decide what they think about it.

Robert Kennedy was the first to grant me intimate access. When he invited me to stay at the Kennedy Compound, I took my family, including my youngest son, who I am proud to say now serves as the official 4th-grade correspondent to his peers.

My coverage of RFK has been largely driven by the mothers whose interests he represents — women not only mocked by the media but outright ignored by their government when they voiced concerns about their children’s health and the vaccine schedule.

A few months later, I met Tulsi in her hometown during a campaign stop in Hawaii. She had just come from a morning surf with her husband, Abraham. We didn’t talk politics. In fact, she played tour guide, telling us where to eat and what to see, recounting highlights of her childhood on the island. Watching her drive away that day, I remember thinking she was too good for D.C. I honestly didn’t believe people like her existed in the establishment.

That meeting cemented my commitment to countering the mainstream narratives surrounding people like Tulsi, Bobby, and President Trump, because their mission and their intentions deserve it.

Today, we’re here to have an honest conversation about the issues that matter to all of us — directly from two people who’ve dared to challenge the system.

And with that, I’m delighted to welcome two of my most compelling subjects this year: Robert F. Kennedy Jr. and Tulsi Gabbard.”

Throughout the evening, both Kennedy and Gabbard argued that Trump and Kennedy passionately laid out arguments about the left serving warmongers and neocons, as well as being targeted by the “systematic weaponization of government.” Tulsi added, “We the people are far more powerful than them, which is why they are trying to destroy us, but we the people will not let them do that.”

When asked how political warfare was impacting the election, Bobby shared a personal story: “Right after I endorsed President Trump, I received a letter from the National Marine Fisheries Institute saying they were investigating me for collecting a whale specimen 20 years ago,” he explained. “It’s 15 years past the statute of limitations.”

In response to the probe, Kennedy accused the fisheries agency of being complicit in the killing of endangered whales due to its approval of offshore wind farms on the East Coast. The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration did not respond to requests for comment. “This is all about the weaponization of our government against political opponents,” he stated.

The story resurfaced after Bobby suspended his presidential campaign last month, and a 2012 interview with his daughter, Kathleen “Kick” Kennedy, published in Town & Country Magazine, began circulating on social media. In the interview, his oldest daughter recalled her father using a chainsaw to cut off the head of a dead whale carcass on the beach near their Cape Cod family home, later driving the head back to New York.

As the story gained traction, the Center for Biological Diversity Action Fund called for NOAA to investigate Kennedy, claiming that his actions might have compromised important scientific research. Bobby dismissed the matter, saying, “I’m not gonna talk about that. I will talk about serious policy issues. The mainstream media doesn’t want to talk about that. They want to talk about gossipy nonsense.”

He then explained his decision to suspend his campaign: “It became clear to me that my remaining in this race would bring to power a candidate who I believe will be easily manipulated by the deep state, the national security state, and the intelligence agencies. They will keep us in a state of continual war and seal the destruction of the United States of America.”

Both painted a dystopian picture of not just where the country is heading under a Harris administration, but the world at large, presenting Trump as the only candidate capable of stopping “the endless wars.” Bobby specifically pointed to the endorsement from Dick Cheney as concerning evidence that a Harris presidency is the path to “continual war.”

“Today it’s become the party of war, it’s become the party of surveillance, it’s become the party of censorship,” Kennedy told the crowd at Arizona Christian University in Glendale.

“It’s no longer the party that I recognized.”

America’s health was the main topic: getting our kids healthy by cleaning up our food and water.

“We need to bring America together,” he added.

“If we want to Make America Healthy Again, if we want to Make America Great Again, we need to unify this country.”

Bobby has visited Arizona twice in the past month, first traveling to Phoenix in late August to announce the suspension of his campaign. He mentioned to reporters that he plans to return to the state for 10 days leading up to the November election.

The press sat for an over an hour listening to the grim warnings about us sliding toward WW3. But in the press line after, naturally, mention of the whale head investigation got all the attention.

Related: NOAA confirms investigation into RFK Jr. over dead whale carcass

To appreciate the full scope of this journey I must, at some point, expand on how I healed from a severe case of TDS. Until then, please enjoy this delayed recap of the RNC.

We headed to Milwaukee without tickets or a plan, which tends to stress out those around me. This is how I approach all of these trips: trusting that I'll find a story no matter what the access looks like. It hasn't failed me yet.

Turns out, tickets were exceptionally hard to come by. There was no squeezing in an extra head — security was tight and access was limited to those already registered with an organization or a vetted media outlet. I was more or less a last-minute addition, but figured I would cover the outer zones or at the very least the afterparties if I couldn't make it inside.

Luck struck on day one. My friend Amy snagged four entry tickets from her local Republican women's gun club, including Thursday night’s finale where Trump was speaking. Denise and I planned on trading off during the week — I'd go in to mingle and take notes, then she’d go in and take photos. But, me being me, I lost the tickets shortly after they were handed to me in the rush of our lobby run-in with Boris Johnson. When we returned from his cocktail party upstairs, a jolt of panic struck when I realized the envelope with our stack of tickets was missing. We searched the lobby frantically. Concerned staff and security joined in on the hunt, our panic punctuated by the drama unfolding on various TV screens surrounding us, forecasting Biden's resignation. Split screens showed live shots of pundits practically salivating, spliced with the image of our hotel tracking a row of black Secret Service SUVs idling, waiting for Trump's exit. The last place I remembered fumbling with the envelope was at our table downstairs, where a man and his teenage son in matching ties were now seated enjoying burgers, rightfully irritated by my repeated suspicious glares towards their table.

“Those passes are gold,” I heard a man say to a woman seated beside him at the bar, shaking his head in dismay. 

Denise and I were seconds away from sifting through a dumpster behind the hotel where trash had just been tossed when a security guard approached to tell us he reviewed the lobby footage and saw no sign of any envelope left on the table. Baffled, I checked my bag once again: a tiny quilted Chanel clutch. When I opened my wallet, there it was — squeezed tightly out of sight. Flushed with embarrassment, I lifted the envelope, raising it high enough for everyone to see, and the whole bar audibly exhaled.

“I love what you guys are doing,” an officer in his mid 30s stopped to tell us on our way out. I gave him a hug and thanked him for his support, asking him not to judge us on a hectic first impression. Typically, when a man compliments my coverage, he is quick to credit his wife, mother, or sister for turning him on to a female-centric political perspective. Often there’s humility in the praise; this guy owned it. 

The next few days at the convention were a whirlwind of energetic connections: speeches, tears, toasts, and impromptu run-ins with campaign staff, delegates, and attendees. Momentum built as we neared Trump's much-anticipated speech on closing night. He appeared stoic and reserved on the first night with that awkward white bandage covering his ear. 

I sat in a row next to his crew, clocking a notably softer edge to his demeanor. On the big screen, he appeared reflective, almost demure, as he watched his endorsers praise him under glaring white spotlights. Had fear transformed him? It was as if the country, in the wake of a failed shooting, was forced to humanize him in a way the media had neglected for the past eight years. The near-tragedy brought to the forefront an unfamiliar sense of vulnerability and the deep bonds he shares with his family as a father and grandfather. Beyond the political arena, we were confronted with another version of him — a man grounded by the love of his close-knit family.

At one point, his granddaughter Carolina crawled onto his lap to cuddle him. Don Jr.’s oldest daughter, Kai, later took the stage to speak affectionately about her relationship with him, recalling how terrifying the phone call was that informed them of the shooting. Tucker Carlson joined the family on the second night, a Cheshire grin permanently etched on his face, as he sat next to J.D. Vance and his wife. Each evening, a new rotation of famous faces claimed seats around him, and he seemed to relish the affection.

Aside from the flashy names and faces, it was the everyday Americans who stood on stage to share their stories that truly sealed the narrative. On the second night of the GOP convention, the brother of a slain Maryland mom delivered an emotional speech that slammed the Biden administration’s lax border control laws.

Rachel Morin, a 37-year-old mother of five, was raped and brutally murdered on a Bel Air, Maryland, hiking trail on August 5, 2023, by Victor Martinez-Hernandez, a migrant from El Salvador. Martinez-Hernandez, 23, had illegally crossed into the U.S. in February 2023 and had ties to Salvadoran street gangs and a violent history.

“Rachel, a joyful and accomplished athlete and mother of five, was raped and murdered by a suspected illegal immigrant,” Michael Morin told a stunned and silent crowd. “This was described as one of the most brutal and violent offenses that has ever occurred in Harford County, Maryland.”

“My sister’s death was preventable. Joe Biden and his designated border czar, Kamala Harris, opened our borders to him and others like him.”

“They never apologized,” Michael continued, speaking of the president and vice president. “But when Rachel was killed, President Trump called my family to offer his condolences.”

“He wanted to meet with us. He cared. That is leadership. We need real leadership back in the White House.”

Anne Fundner, who lost her son to fentanyl poisoning, delivered a heart-wrenching speech about the death of her firstborn.

In 2022, while living in California with her husband and three children, Anne’s life was shattered by the unexpected loss of her 15-year-old son, poisoned by fentanyl-laced pills. Devastated and seeking solace, Anne and her family soon moved to the East Coast to be closer to loved ones, hoping to find a community that could support them. The heartbreak deepened when California authorities refused to pursue prosecution for her son’s overdose.

As Anne spoke, the woman next to me began weeping uncontrollably, her husband gripping her hand as he fought back tears of his own. “We lost our Matthew to the same thing,” he whispered to me. In that moment, I broke down too. We sat there, three strangers bound by parental grief, our shared rage momentarily overwhelmed by the deep sorrow of loss — every parent’s worst fear.

Overall, the atmosphere in the crowd was electric, charged with post-shooting adrenaline and the realization that this was more than just a political rally — it was a cultural event, a pivotal moment in history shifting a faltering country onto a more stable, sensible course. St. Trump was born 48 hours earlier, the moment he turned his head to evade a bullet that could have shattered his skull on live TV. The assassination attempt altered countless facets of this election in ways we might never fully understand.

What emerged was a surge of vengeance within his base. From character assassination to courtroom battles, Trump supporters have endured relentless and brutal attempts by the left, aided by mainstream media, to destroy him by any means necessary over the past eight years.

With every story and tear shed, it became clear that this was not just another convention — it was a watershed moment, a fierce reclamation of a vision for America that many felt had been slipping away. The attempt on Trump's life crystallized the stakes, transforming what could have been just another campaign event into a pivotal turning point.

He dodged the bullet because the hand of God rested on his shoulder that day — or so the theory circulated through MAGA after he survived what was perceived as the last-ditch effort to extinguish him. Alex Jones warned us it was coming, and so did Tucker Carlson. Both predicted that a spiritual war would eventually lead to violent actions. Meanwhile, legacy media instinctively buried the story, ensuring it would quickly fade from the news cycle. Will Smith’s Oscar-night slap received far more commentary and coverage, replayed for weeks on endless repeat. But Trump being shot? It was easily minimized. If you didn’t see it live, you might even believe it was just a stumble on stage. He’s fine. Just a bullet graze. Move on. Forget what you heard. Ignore what you saw. The news will tell you when and how to riot in outrage.

The first night, Denise and I walked a couple of miles back to the Pfister Hotel, navigating through a maze of security barricades. On another night, we trudged through a rainstorm with lightning crashing above us, slicing a moonless sky with splinters of white, adding a dramatic flair to the convention's atmosphere. Police surrounded all exits, and sirens sounded from every corner of town. The motorcade came and went, bringing the streets to a standstill. Even shielded by tinted windows in swift passing, Donald Trump is a showstopper.

Once we made it to the hotel, I declined to head to the party upstairs, looking like a drowned rat with mascara streaking my cheeks. Instead, I waited out the rain next to a security officer directing guests through a detour entrance. He asked what I did; I gave him the briefest version.

“You've only been doing this two years?” he said. “You must be doing something right. You made all the right connections,” he smiled, patting me on the back.

As a kid, I watched every convention on CNN in my mother’s living room. It was the mainstay hub for news in our house growing up. I was glued to the pageantry, the commentary, the gossip, and the fashion, just as I am today. When it came time for the balloon drop, I always imagined how thrilling it would be to be there on the ground in the center of it all.

It took me a little over 44 years to find out.

Boris Johnson

Before we dive into my unexpected introduction to Boris Johnson, I must ask you to forgive how much we detested him during the lockdowns. This is important because I need to convey just how unexpectedly captivating he is in person and conversation — genuinely engaged and unguarded, with kind, slanting eyes and the kind of unruly hair that suggests he is both carefree at heart and probably a fabulous drunk after hours.

A few days later, I discovered he has a beautiful young wife and two towheaded babies. Although intuition hints at some scandal behind this seemingly perfect domestic bliss, I’m tempted to overlook it for now.

“How is everything going?” Mike asked when I called to tell him I'd found my passes. “I might be in love with Boris Johnson. But other than that, it’s fine.”

On my best behavior, I didn't cave to gossipy inclinations or press him on what interests me more than his affinity for Trump: his Oxford college days as party mate to Ghislaine Maxwell. It was a decadent era for England’s bluebloods, vividly depicted in Dafydd Jones’s books. At that time, Ghislaine was a striking figure — a proclaimed feminist leading a women’s club on campus, known for her flamboyant style of hot pants, fishnet stockings, heeled boots, and black top hats.

In an infamous scene recounted by Boris’s sister, Rachel Johnson, she described her introduction to Ghislaine in an article for The Spectator magazine. Rachel recalls finding the pair “relaxing together in the junior common room of Balliol College, Oxford, where they were contemporaries in the 1980s.” She walked in to see “shiny glamazon Maxwell with her high-heeled boot resting high on my brother Boris’s thigh.”

Rachel faced criticism for her article, and even a subtle defense of Ghislaine drew scorn. In that room, observing Boris interact candidly, I couldn’t help but imagine what he might divulge after a bottle of wine — or two.

We only managed to discuss him complimenting Trump for looking rejuvenated. Boris feels the US media fails to appreciate Trump’s “old-school manners” — refined enough to suit English dignitaries — which he believes are extinct in the States. Above all, he thinks Trump appears more vibrant and healthier than in recent years. While hair envy wasn’t mentioned, it was certainly suspected.

The Afterparties

I’ll say it again: Republicans know how to party. But, in the wake of the assassination attempt, the mood at the afterparties shifted into a more somber tone. Amid toasts and laughter, conversations veered into conspiracies about the shooting. Was it an inside job? Did Trump now harbor new suspicions about his protectors? Who would be leading the investigation into the events of that day?

Denise and I mingled with Trump team members at various rooftop bars, often staying well past midnight. I had expected excessive partying and debauchery, but the reality was more subdued. The team was understandably shaken, still grappling with the horror of Pennsylvania. Don Jr. had lost his temper on live TV when a reporter criticized his father. “You can't even wait two days,” he snapped, calling the reporter a clown.

Amidst this, some liberals were quick to entertain theories that the shooting was staged, perhaps because it was easier to dismiss the incident rather than confront the discomfort of humanizing someone they had been conditioned to hate.

There was a lingering disbelief that undercut any attempts at celebration. Some staff members made light of the oversized bandage on Trump, humorously comparing its size and design to a maxi pad strapped to the side of his face. “Let him have it!” someone retorted when the jokes went too far.

At the Blu Bar in the Pfister, we encountered Savannah Chrisley, towering in 8-inch acrylic heels, fresh from giving a speech onstage. Also present was Trump’s communication director, the statuesque beauty, Margo Martin. In recent months, Margo’s role in the campaign has become more prominent, partly due to the Daily Mail’s obsessive coverage of her. They’ve taken an interest in tracking her wardrobe and reporting on her appearances at rallies and court trials.

In a quiet corner of the bar, with a view of the cityscape bathed in sparkling lights, we caught up on life behind the scenes. Margo asked about our kids and home life, while we inquired about her being constantly on the road and the rally she was present for during the shooting. She shared a newly unearthed video from another angle, captured by someone at the rally. The footage revealed her walking across a grassy field on a phone call, with the shooter visible pacing on a rooftop in the distance. As the shots rang out, she dropped to the ground and scrambled for cover behind a parked car. She didn’t even realize the president had been shot until the car they were in veered toward an ER instead of the airport.

Late one night, at the top of another hotel rooftop bar, we found Lynne Patton, Senior Advisor to Trump, playing hostess to a room filled with campaign staff and donors. “You just missed Don and Kimberly,” she told us as she handed us drinks and introduced us to unfamiliar faces. My first impression of Lynne was that she is the ultimate connector, always working behind and in front of the scenes to ensure all those around her are content and engaged.

She was the first on the team to pull me aside next to the stage at Mar-A-Lago on my first visit. At that point, I was considered a risky addition—unsure if a former liberal might be there to sabotage or mock MAGA. When doubt proved a brief obstacle, it was Lynne who lobbied for me, and Lynne who led me to the rooftop where I was introduced to Donald Trump under a full moon on a breezy terrace one lovely evening in December. She was also the one who sat up past midnight in the lobby one night, telling me how the Trump family saved her life years ago by staging an intervention that ultimately changed the course of her life. His compassion, she explained, is what cemented her loyalty to him and his family for over 16 years.

It was Lynne who invited me to the gala for the Black Conservatives Foundation, where each conversation deepened my empathy for a portion of voters that are often (ruthlessly) degraded in the press. Over the past year, she has acted as an advocate, allowing me access into spaces I never dreamed I’d be part of.

At the bar, just before last call, we toasted 10 months on this shared journey. Weeks later, when I included a tweet by Simone Biles in my stories stating, “I Love my Black Job,” Lynne responded in DMs, “#METOO.”

QAnon Kennedy Strikes (Again)

Vince Fusca first caught the spotlight during the early QAnon days, with some speculating he was the late John F. Kennedy Jr. returning from a faked death to bolster Trump’s mission. The truth? Fusca is a fervent campaign groupie. I’ve spotted him at numerous RFK events, too. Recently, he was seen standing behind Trump on stage in Pennsylvania, unmoving amid the shooting, sparking fresh online conspiracies. I urged against it — we've already endured the 2021 theories of him being an aged JFK Jr. with a fondness for velvet fedoras. With all that’s happening, we don’t need that storyline resurrected.

HIH RNC VIDEO RECAP

Trolled by James O’Keefe

James O'Keefe caught me walking into the CNN headquarters trailing Olivia Nuzzi. He stopped to interview/troll me. It took me a minute to realize he wasn't kidding. He literally thought I was a prime time agent to harass. After he realized who I was, I invited him in with us, unaware that he and Olivia are not exactly media kin (hence, the clip below). I am always guilty of this — the over-invite. To a degree I was flattered though, thinking I must look together enough to be a mainstream facet. Once he realized who I was, we both had a good laugh. I guess he forgot he once tried to recruit me as an undercover agent for Project Veritas way back when.

“Oh, Olivia. She hates me.”

CNN + Politico Headquarters

The Grille takeover was a highlight: great lighting, comfy couches, and a well-stocked bar. We gathered there during breaks; convention days are long, and my blistered feet needed rest. One morning at the Grille, I overheard Sarah Huckabee Sanders advising new parents on sleep training. She was adamant that babies shouldn’t nap in unnaturally quiet environments — and I silently agreed. Having raised four children, I know the sanity-saving value of sleep flexibility.

The Young Hot Influential Conservatives

On the second day, we spent time in the Pfister café with Emily, CJ Pearson, and Xaviaer, the fresh faces of young, controversial conservatism. I shared one of Emily’s highlights on my stories — and at least 20% of my followers lost their temper. Emily is a hardcore Alex Jones fan. Not everyone appreciated the video I shared, in which she called Jones “daddy.”

The Movie Star

Dennis Quaid and his girlfriend passed us in the Pfister lobby, but I was too preoccupied with missing tickets to notice. I introduced myself the next day when he stopped to thank Tim Ballard. In a good mood, I’ll refrain from reviewing his Reagan movie.

Republican Armor

MAGA knows how to party and how to merch, though Reagan red might now belong to Tulsi Gabbard. The hats and t-shirts were great, but I could do without the Trump leggings. Matt Gaetz’s remark about liberals being miserable and fun-challenged rings true. The heart of MAGA is passion, camaraderie, and unapologetic pride. As a former critic, I find myself drawn to it. Over the years, I’ve come to appreciate those who love Trump enough to wear his name embroidered across their bodies. But I never imagined I’d be standing outside a Milwaukee hotel in a red MAGA hat, waiting for an Uber driver who showed up in the same one.

Ill Sightedness

My poor vision is literally becoming a liability. Without corrective lenses, I constantly mistake regular people for celebrities and overlook actual celebrities. The mistaken sightings are often more amusing than the real encounters. When a Bill Clinton look-alike walked into the lobby, I nearly fainted. From 20 feet away, after two martinis, I was convinced it was him. He’s used to it, though — the real man is a right-leaning heart surgeon, not the famous Democrat I’m always waiting to run into.

The Well-Paid Pundits

We passed Sean Hannity and other familiar Fox faces in the hallway. I spotted Mark Halperin on the streets later, weaving through the crowd. Anderson Cooper and Jake Tapper stayed tucked away, likely for safety reasons.

The Poetics of Donald J. Trump

I met these guys through the Daily Wire crew. What a genius idea: self-publishing a book of Trump's tweets, but arranged as classic poetry. They gifted me a first edition. Volume 2, they tell me, is forthcoming. The chapter breakdowns are brilliantly categorized. A month later, I still have my youngest son read me one at the end of every night. “Covfefe” is smartly framed as a classic.

Chasing Kellyanne

Like Bill Clinton, fate has yet to connect me with another favorite political powerhouse: Kellyanne Conway. Maybe because she’s always on the move — fast-paced and quick-witted. But that doesn’t mean I won’t catch up with her one day to secure our pre-election slumber party plans. I need to know everything about George and Claudia’s recent betrayal. And I must tell her how much her family drama comforted me during the cruel summer of 2020. Trump’s thoughts are at the bottom of my list. What I really want to know is how she kept her cool during all those scandalous TikTok lives. Also, she should know I defended her kneeling on the couch to take that group photo — dedication, babe. If you shape the campaign that derailed Hillary Clinton, you’ve earned the right to do whatever you want in the Oval Office.

The bottom photo? Taken by Denise when she caught Kellyanne entering the CNN afterparty. I narrowly missed her grand entrance. One day.

The Man, The Myth, The Mayhem

The convention entrance was a spectacle. Supporters arrived in sequined dresses, American flag suits, and all manner of MAGA gear. One man preached with off-key folk songs about salvation, while another called for street baptisms outside an Irish pub. The celebratory mood clashed with riled-up protesters, poorly dressed and yelling through megaphones. Main Street became a theater of political passion, with heated exchanges almost turning into fistfights. Officers on foot and horseback kept a watchful eye. One man had to be pulled away from attacking another who carried a poster of a failed assassin, captioned “American Hero.” Denise and I spent an hour watching the mayhem from a restaurant, ordering salmon and salted pretzels. YouTube views seemed to be the primary goal: “Do it for the camera!” they kept shouting.

Law and Order

Between Convention runs, I made it a point to talk to law enforcement officers, many of whom had been brought in from other states for added protection. One day, I watched as they chased a manic homeless man who was ranting violent threats. Later, I asked another group of officers what they thought about the recent shooting. They told me that, according to their sources, the local police would have reacted much faster, but they were given higher orders that prevented them from doing so.

“What do you mean by that?” I asked.

“It means those above them, the FBI told them to stand down,” one of the officers replied. “The delay wasn’t due to ground patrol.”