As a car enthusiast who's spent decades wrenching on everything from classic muscle cars to modern vehicles, I love gadgets that deliver real results without voiding warranties or requiring a trip to the shop.

That's why the Pedal Commander caught my eye — it's a plug-and-play throttle controller that promises sharper acceleration, better fuel efficiency, and customizable modes, all without touching your engine.

I clocked a solid 0-60 improvement of about 0.8 seconds using a simple app timer, though your mileage will vary by vehicle.

I installed one on my daily driver, a 2016 Porsche Cayenne Diesel, and tested it over 500 miles of city, highway, and spirited backroad driving. Spoiler: It lives up to the hype for most drivers, but it's not a magic bullet for everyone.

Installation: easier than an oil change

Right out of the box, the Pedal Commander feels premium — compact aluminum unit with a wired controller and a mobile app. Hooking it up took me under 10 minutes: Unplug your stock throttle connector under the dash, plug in the device, and mount the controller wherever it's handy (I stuck mine near the steering column on the carpet). No tools, no cutting wires, and crucially, no permanent mods to your car.

The included app (iOS/Android) pairs instantly via Bluetooth, letting you tweak settings on the fly. For tech-averse folks, the physical buttons on the controller handle 90% of adjustments or use the phone app — it's simple.

Performance punch: bye-bye throttle lag

The star of the show is how it eliminates that infuriating "dead pedal" delay you get in so many modern drive-by-wire cars. Hitting the gas in my Cayenne used to feel like mashing a soggy sponge; now, in Sport+ mode, it's like flipping a switch — immediate torque surge without drama.

Merging onto highways? Effortless. Overtaking slowpokes? Pure grin-factor. I clocked a solid 0-60 improvement of about 0.8 seconds using a simple app timer, though your mileage will vary by vehicle.

On the flip side, it's not adding actual horsepower — it's just optimizing what your ECU already delivers by remapping throttle sensitivity. It gives a one-to-one pedal response. If you're chasing dyno-proven gains, look elsewhere (like a tune). But for stock cars, this is a low-risk way to wake up your ride.

Lauren Fix

Fuel economy boost: ECO mode delivers (mostly)

Here's where it shines for efficiency chasers: Switch to ECO mode, and it smooths out aggressive throttle inputs, encouraging gentler acceleration that pays off at the pump. Over my test loop (mixed 60/40 city/highway), I saw MPG jump from 32 to 34 — that's a legit fuel savings, especially noticeable in stop-and-go traffic. The app's real-time data graphs helped me dial in habits, like easing off sooner for coasting.

That said, gains aren't universal. If you're a lead-foot who ignores the modes, don't expect miracles — especially if you live in Sport mode. Pedal Commander's no substitute for proper driving technique or maintenance.

Modes and customization: tailored to your drive

With eight modes (ECO, City, Sport, Sport+, and its plus variants) plus fine-tuned sensitivity sliders, it's incredibly versatile. I toggled between ECO for commutes and Sport+ for fun runs via the app's clean interface — think drag-and-drop sliders and mode presets.

The verdict — a must for pedal lag-haters

If throttle lag bugs you and you want snappier response plus bonus MPG without drilling holes or flashing your ECU, grab a Pedal Commander. It's transformed my Cayenne from appliance to enthusiast tool, proving you can get more pep and efficiency stock. Perfect for hybrids, crossovers, diesel-powered, or any drive-by-wire daily.

Just drive responsibly — this thing makes power feel addictive. Highly recommended for anyone tired of waiting for their car to wake up.

The company profiles and product recommendations that Align publishes are meant solely to inform and edify our subscribers. Unless explicitly labeled as such, they are neither paid promotions nor endorsements.

Gen Z just outsmarted car dealers — using AI

There’s a new dynamic shaking up the auto industry, and car dealerships aren’t thrilled about it. Members of Generation Z — the most digital generation yet — aren't walking into showrooms unprepared. Instead, they’re bringing a secret weapon: artificial intelligence.

"Yesterday, ChatGPT helped my daughter save over $3,000 on a car purchase," trumpets one post on Reddit, going on to lay out the exact prompt she used to secure her deal.

With a few taps, AI can highlight suspicious charges, flag high interest rates, and summarize legal terms that would take an average buyer hours to decipher.

This is far from an isolated anecdote — it’s the latest real-world shift in how people buy cars. Similar stories abound, including videos showing buyers walking sales reps through their own contracts.

New leverage

It's hard to blame the latest generation of first-time car buyers for using whatever leverage they can. Zoomers grew up during the 2008 financial crash, the pandemic, and the explosion of online scams. They’ve watched the economy fluctuate wildly, and they’ve seen how easily a “great deal” can turn into a financial trap. They’re cautious, analytical, and skeptical of traditional sales tactics — especially those that rely on confusion or pressure.

And let’s be honest — dealership contracts are notoriously dense. Between add-ons like extended warranties, gap insurance, and inflated “doc fees,” the cost of a new car can quietly balloon by thousands of dollars. But with a few taps, AI can highlight suspicious charges, flag high interest rates, and summarize legal terms that would take an average buyer hours to decipher.

Dealers can benefit too

It’s no wonder some salespeople are frustrated. They’re used to being the authority. But now, the balance of power is shifting toward the customer — especially younger ones who can instantly fact-check every claim.

Dealerships, however, are fighting back — adopting AI themselves to streamline inventory, analyze market data, and create transparent pricing that appeals to Gen Z’s preference for honesty and speed.

Those who resist change risk being left behind. If your customer knows more than your finance manager because the customer ran the numbers through an AI, that’s a wake-up call.

The smartest dealerships are adapting by embracing technology instead of fearing it. They’re using AI to enhance transparency — automating disclosures, simplifying pricing structures, and ensuring that every deal can stand up to digital scrutiny.

Trust in large institutions — from media to government to corporations — has eroded for years. The car-buying process, long viewed as opaque and stressful, is no exception. Gen Z’s approach reflects a cultural shift: Don’t rely on authority; verify with data.

AI provides a kind of digital ally — a second opinion that feels objective. It doesn’t care about commissions or quotas. It simply reads the fine print and reports back.

George Rose/Getty Images

More transparency?

Critics argue that depending on AI for financial decisions is risky. And they’re not wrong — AI isn’t infallible. It can misinterpret terms or overlook context. But for many buyers, even an imperfect tool feels safer than blind trust in a salesperson’s word.

This trend extends beyond cars. Gen Z uses AI for everything — evaluating rental agreements, comparing college loans, even cross-checking health care costs. To Zoomers, it’s not “cheating.” It’s being informed.

And while some mock the trend as overly cautious or robotic, it’s hard to argue with the results. When young buyers save thousands simply by questioning what’s in front of them, the lesson is clear: Transparency wins.

As AI continues to evolve, its role in consumer decision-making will only grow. Future dealership interactions may feature built-in AI advisers on both sides — buyers and sellers each leveraging data to find common ground faster.

It’s not far-fetched to imagine an industry where paperwork is pre-analyzed, financing terms are AI-generated, and negotiation becomes a transparent dialogue rather than a psychological battle.

For decades, dealerships relied on information asymmetry — the idea that they knew more than the buyer. That era is ending. The smartphone and now AI have leveled the playing field.

Comet or alien? NASA-led group ramping efforts to track mysterious city-size object in our solar system

An asteroid warning network has announced it will investigate a comet that allegedly has potential alien origins.

The comet, known as 3I/ATLAS, allegedly has peculiar traits that have not been seen in nature before. This theory is disputed, though.

'Never seen in comets before.'

A NASA coordinated group called the International Asteroid Warning Network has added 3I/ATLAS to its list of observation campaigns for November, stating that it will monitor the comet for two months, ending in late January.

Concurrently, a Harvard astrophysicist told the New York Post that the comet, in addition to being the size of Manhattan, has several unusual characteristics that defy common knowledge about the objects.

Avi Loeb told the Post the comet has what is referred to as an "anti-tail," which is a jet of particles that points toward the sun instead of away from it. It's also emitting a plume — gas and dust that erupts from the surface — that contains four grams of nickel per second. Allegedly existing without iron, Loeb said this was unheard of.

Loeb also claimed the object also has non-gravitational acceleration that will bring it close to Jupiter, Venus, and Mars, which is suspicious enough for him to claim that the comet could actually be an alien probe.

The comet also allegedly contains a toxic gas that is not seen naturally occurring on Earth.

RELATED: Freakout at the Final Frontier

Photo by MADS CLAUS RASMUSSEN/Ritzau Scanpix/AFP via Getty Images

The nickel compound nickel tetracarbonyl is apparently present in the comet. According to ScienceDirect, this gas is formed from the reaction of carbon monoxide with metallic nickel and is the primary cause of acute nickel toxicity. The gas is used in the process of obtaining "very pure nickel" but can cause "severe health effects" in humans.

Loeb said the process is only imaginable because it's used in industry and was "never seen in comets before."

At the same time, the Post cited a study that suggests that the compound could form naturally in a carbon monoxide-rich environment.

"The [nickel] emission is more centrally concentrated in the nucleus of the comet and favors hypotheses involving easily dissociated species such as metal carbonyls or metal-polycyclic-aromatic-hydrocarbon molecules," the study reads.

Loeb also said the object did not have a cometary tail, which "we usually see ... and in this case there was no evidence for such a tail."

Photo by Basri Marzuki/NurPhoto via Getty Images

Despite Loeb's alien warnings and the IAWN's plan for a lengthy observation period, the group states on its campaign page that the comet "poses no threat."

It does, however, present a "great opportunity for the IAWN community to perform an observing exercise due to its prolonged observability from Earth and high interest to the scientific community."

The group plans on holding a workshop on techniques to correctly measure the comet's astrometry, "a transformation without a change to a figure's shape or size, such as rotation or reflection."

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The castration of Christendom

In Ireland, the priest was once as vital to a village as the pub or the post office. He baptized the babies, buried the dead, and kept the farmers from killing each other.

If the neighbors were at war over a hedge, he’d settle it before Mass and still have time for a fry-up. The priest wasn’t just a man of God but also a referee of rural life — part Joe Rogan in a cassock, part St. Patrick with a whistle. The church bell was the town clock. The confessional was the psychiatrist’s couch. And the parish hall was the beating heart of the community.

You can now 'attend' Mass online, complete with comment sections and buffering hymns. It’s efficient, yes — but as spiritually satisfying as watching someone else eat your dinner.

That Ireland is disappearing. This year, the entire country produced just 13 new priests — barely enough to fill a choir, let alone a nation. The waves of eager new recruits who poured forth from the seminaries are no more, leaving weary veterans to cover half a dozen parishes, driving from one church to the next like overworked delivery drivers of the divine.

What happened? "This is an immense question, requiring a book-length answer," Irish journalist John Waters tells Align, after which he kindly attempts a summary anyway:

The explanations include: Ireland’s history of kindergarten Catholicism; the damage done by simplistic moralization; the liberal revolution; the infiltration of the Catholic clergy; the escalating implausibility of transcendent ideas (a contrived not a naturalistic phenomenon); the moral inversion unleashed by the LGBT revolution; the confusion created by the church leadership for the past 12 years and counting; et cetera.

Irish goodbye

The outlook is bleak. The number of priests in the capital is expected to fall by 70% over the next two decades. Since 2020, only two priests have been ordained in Dublin’s archdiocese.

Across Ireland, the average priest is now over 70, long past retirement age. Some say the Church’s only hope is to let priests marry. It would make more sense than flying in bewildered clerics from Africa, men who can quote Scripture but not survive small talk in a Kerry kitchen.

It’s not that people stopped believing in God (though Ireland’s Catholic population has fallen to just 69%, down from nearly 78% less than 10 years ago). They just stopped believing the Church was worth the effort.

The pews that once held families now hold the few who remember when everyone came. Ireland changed faster than the Church could follow. Confession replaced by podcasts, pop psychology, and Pornhub. It’s a lethal mix of heresy and habit — busy souls, distracted minds, and a generation convinced that salvation can be streamed, scheduled, or outsourced.

Flickering faith

At the same time, people like my mother still light candles. They still bless themselves on long drives. They still mutter prayers when the doctor calls with bad news. Faith is still there; it has just learned to keep its head down. Weddings and funerals still draw a crowd, if only because even the most lapsed Irishman can’t stomach the thought of being buried by a stranger in a suit. The flame is still there, but it’s more a pilot light than a blaze.

The fading of show-up-every-Sunday faith has mirrored the fading of everything that once made Ireland feel Irish. The language is vanishing, the music sanitized, the dances replaced by drill rap and dead-eyed TikTok routines.

Even the local watering hole — the unofficial annex of every parish — struggles to stay open. What’s vanishing isn’t just religion; it’s ritual, the sense that life meant something beyond the week’s wages.

Mass exodus

Technology promised connection but delivered solitude. You can now “attend” Mass online, complete with comment sections and buffering hymns. It’s efficient, yes — but as spiritually satisfying as watching someone else eat your dinner.

Once, the whole community walked to church together, children skipping ahead, neighbors chatting along the road. After Mass came tea, gossip, and maybe even a few sneaky pints. These days, the only communion most share is over brunch — order taken by a Filipino, processed by a Nigerian, cooked by a Ukrainian, and blessed by a middle manager named Ahmed.

In rural towns, churches stand like sentinels — beautiful, empty, and slightly ashamed of their own magnificence. Some have become cafés or concert halls, serving flat whites where once they served faithful whites. It’s called progress, though it feels more like repurposed reverence.

Photo by DANIEL LEAL/AFP via Getty Images

Let us spray

The same could be said across the pond. In Canterbury Cathedral — the cradle of English Christianity — artist Alex Vellis recently staged “HEAR US,” a graffiti-style art project inviting visitors to ask, with spray-can sincerity, “What would you ask God?”

The answers, splattered across medieval stone, came from “marginalized communities” — Punjabi, black and brown Britons, the neurodivergent, and the LGBTQIA+ faithful. A veritable clown car of the aggrieved, somehow granted front-row parking in the house of God. It was meant as inclusion; it landed as intrusion — like stringing jockstraps across the Vatican altar.

When critics like Elon Musk and U.S. Vice President JD Vance rightly accused the project of desecrating beauty in the name of diversity, Vellis fired back not with argument but with anatomy, accusing his detractors of “small d**k energy.”

Virile virtue

The phrase, unserious on the surface, hinted at something deeper: Both sides — the artist and the church that hosted him — seem afflicted by the same crisis of conviction. The Church, once roaring with moral certainty, now offers apologies to everyone and inspiration to no one. Its critics, meanwhile, confuse provocation for courage. Between them lies a vacuum where virtue used to be.

And this isn’t just an English problem. Across the Christian world, churches of every stripe — Catholic, Protestant, evangelical — have lost their fortitude. Too timid to offend, too eager to trend, they’ve traded conviction for comfort. "Small d**k energy" has gone liturgical.

Even in Ireland, where the Church once thundered with certainty, cowardice now calls the homily. The pulpit peddles activism instead of absolution, politics instead of prayer. No wonder so many stay home. And no wonder young men won’t answer the call. Who wants a life devoid of sex, love, and laughter?

If Catholicism is to last, it needs less talk and more testosterone. The next revival won’t come from a press release but from those who still believe life means something. If the Church in Ireland and beyond wants people back in its pews — and its pulpits — it best man up.

Want yesterday’s quality today? Stop 'upgrading' your appliances

Despite having an uncountable number of consumer goods available at the click of a button at prices our grandparents would have found astonishing, our homes are full of junk that isn’t worth the wholesale cost.

New washing machines last a year or three at best, according to Americans who buy them. Worse, they don’t even wash clothes well, reined in as they are by government diktats about water and power consumption.

I spent $15 for a beautiful, indestructible lifetime blender. Yes, the pitcher is glass.

The same is true of almost every other appliance and machine in the contemporary American home. But it didn’t used to be this way. First, I’m going to tell you a story. Then I’m going to come back to the present and show you how to live like a king or queen on a budget with yesterday’s consumer durables.

Merit-ocracy

My mother was standing over the dishwasher in our kitchen in 1986. It was a model from the 1950s, one of the wheeled, portable ones you brought over and hooked to the sink tap with a hose. The top-loading machine’s lid had what you might call formica “inlay” in 50s colors with random sparkles embedded. It was meant to be used as a countertop so that the bulky machine wasn’t merely a space-taker in a small kitchen.

My mother was holding a broken clock radio. The digital display had “zeroed out,” showing only 00:00 no matter what time it was.

“Damn it,” she said, exhaling from her Merit Ultra Light 100. “I just bought this a few months ago. There was a time when ‘made in America’ meant something. We used to make the best-quality goods in the world. Whatever you bought you could depend on for a long time. What the hell happened?”

The dishwasher’s faithful service proved her point. The “outdated” 1950s dishwasher still cleaned dishes trouble-free. That was probably the first time I contemplated what it meant to call an appliance “outdated.” Within a few years, it was evident that “outdated” only meant “not in colors the people on TV think are modern.”

The new clock radio made in 1986 couldn’t even give us three months’ service before going kaput. But the 1956 wash-o-matic was whirring its way to clean dishes in May 1986 as well as it did for its first owner during the Eisenhower administration.

New phone, why dis?

How many of your devices or appliances offer such simple, consistent performance? Are you satisfied with your new low-water front-loader and its Byzantine maze of touch-screen “options,” none of which are “wash my clothes in 25 minutes”? How about the repair bill for the chipset when the “smart” computer inside it fails, leaving the perfectly good mechanics idle?

Do you like buying a new phone every few years? Think about that. Do you remember getting a “new phone” all the time 30 years ago? The very idea is absurd. Sure, our telephones in those days were simply and only telephones, not dating machines, compasses, and navigation systems. But are we sure that planned obsolescence in our every-device-in-one-wearable-computer is a lifestyle upgrade?

You can get a new microwave, blender, or vacuum cleaner at Walmart for astoundingly low prices adjusted for inflation. In fact, you can get each of these in multiple versions and colors. But what, specifically and actually, are you getting? Cheap plastic that looks good on a display shelf but that scuffs, cracks, and loses tension-holding shape after a few uses.

And do you need a new microwave? A new vacuum? If you said “yes” to that, are you sure? What is it that you “need” from a new appliance that you’re not getting from the old one? Assuming it’s not broken — and a lot of appliance purchases are made simply to “upgrade” — what’s wrong with your old vacuum?

Be honest. You know that you don’t “need” most of these things. You’re buying them because of free-floating anxiety about keeping up with the Joneses. You want a new microwave and a new vacuum and new stainless-steel-fronted appliances because everyone else’s kitchen looks like this. Despite their inflated claims, the “updated” versions of almost all of these simple mechanicals do nothing different than their ancestors from 50 years ago.

But now they’re ugly and short-lived.

RELATED: Ode to an Electrolux model L

Matt Himes

Sucks to be new

You don’t have to do any of this. In fact, you can live like royalty for almost no money, with all your mechanical and appliance needs met at the contemporary level of convenience and comfort you want.

You can have yesterday’s quality today by buying old, solidly built appliances for a fraction of their price when new. This is how I live. For at least two decades, the only brand-new things that have come into my home are computers and consumables. My furniture, my lighting, my appliances — all of it came from secondhand stores or online auctions.

I made a mistake recently in deviating from that path. When I sold my first house two years ago, I left my late 1970s all-mechanical-dial Kenmore washer and dryer behind. More fool me; as soon as I can use this brand-new modern junk-box General Electric calls a washing machine for shotgun target practice, the better.

Observe. This was my mother’s Electrolux vacuum from the early 1980s:

Josh Slocum

Power everything. Has never broken. If it does, a repair shop makes quick, cheap work of any repair I can’t do. Yes, parts and bags are still made. This machine cost the equivalent of $600 to $1,000 in today’s money when it was new.

This is my working blender. It’s a 1961 Waring “Blendor,” one of the most durable ever made:

Josh Slocum/smartstock/Getty Images

And do admit, it’s got art deco beauty even though it bears the scuff marks of age. Yes, it’s as solid and heavy as it looks. It has all it needs: two speeds and off. The colorful fabric cord is a replacement I put on, as the old one was frayed; all that took was a $5 cord and a Phillips-head screwdriver. $10 at the flea market, $5 for a cord. I spent $15 for a beautiful, indestructible lifetime blender. Yes, the pitcher is glass.

If you’re willing to expand your thinking and put away silly modern fears, you can also have beautiful, practical lighting that gives your home real warmth.

Josh Slocum/elleran/Getty Images

This kerosene lamp would have been found in your home in the late 1880s. It was as common as any electric gooseneck from Ikea today. This model, the New Juno, is now 140 years old and it works as well as the day it left the factory. I paid about $95 for it.

Antique kerosene lighting is my hobby, and I light and heat my home with three to five out of my collection of several dozen throughout the winter. This lamp alone is enough to heat my medium-size living room during a Vermont winter. It’s bright enough to read and work by, and in a pinch, you can cook over it during a power outage if you rig up a trivet. There are no solar panels or cussed digital panels to go wrong. Yes, replacement parts like glass chimneys and wicks are still made.

Mladen Antonov/Getty Images

Seek the antique

My guess is that readers find this pretty appealing even if it’s the first time they’ve considered stocking their homes this way. Once you get over the marketing-inculcated idea that you’re weird or missing out by not having the latest model of this or that, you realize that you can live like a king or queen for almost no money. You can have the same work-saving devices you’re used to. But these will work better for longer.

Aren’t they more charming to look at? When I share pictures of my working home goods on social media, people seem to love it. A common response: “Your house looks like my great-grandma’s!” They mean it as a compliment, and I mean my house to look and feel that way. I think we’re all getting tired of waking up to “updated” homes in Millennial Mortuary Gray and Bare Bones Joanna Gaines Shiplap bulls**t. The sterile field look wears better at the dentist’s office than it does in the den.

I haven’t given anything up. I have all the mod cons that do the same work as any new equipment, but I got them cheaper, they will last longer, and they please the eye. Try it — you may fall in love.

'The American Family's Book of Fables': Wit and wisdom for our nation's 250th

Pick up the "latest" kids’ book these days, and chances are you’ll be met with one or all of the following: a feeble storyline, flat illustrations, and little to no moral value.

Not so, however, when you choose a children’s book by Dr. Matthew Mehan.

'I want the American family to have something beautiful and lasting. I want their witty-wise love of God, country, and family to be helped along, so to speak, by this book.'

In addition to his career as associate dean and associate professor of government at Hillsdale in D.C., Dr. Mehan has built a remarkable reputation as a children’s author. Each of his books is years in the making, and it shows. The finished products are lasting works of art that resonate deeply with readers.

With this in mind, it came as no surprise when Dr. Mehan was awarded one of just five 2025 Innovation Prizes from the Heritage Foundation this summer. The awards are designed to support “innovative projects … that prepare the American public to celebrate our nation’s Semiquincentennial by elevating our founding principles, educating our citizens, and inspiring patriotism.”

Dr. Mehan is putting his prize — as well as a recently awarded NEH grant — toward a collection of fables, tentatively titled "The American Family’s Book of Fables." The book is for all ages, not just kids, and will work through the Declaration of Independence phrase by phrase, supporting and expounding the founding document with an assortment of fables, dialogues, and poems touching on American history, culture, and wildlife.

This week, Dr. Mehan was kind enough to sit down with me to discuss his forthcoming book as well as the history of children’s literature in America.

Faye Root: Could you start by telling me a bit about your background and what inspired you to write children's and family literature?

Matthew Mehan: I've always been interested in creative writing since I was a child. I wrote poetry and short stories, doodled and drew. After college, I published some poems and short stories in a few places.

But I also studied a lot of the great writers, and I noticed they were always practicing the rhetorical arts so that they could be good communicators — be of service. Guys like Cicero, Seneca, Thomas More, Chaucer, Madison, Adams. I started practicing different kinds of writing every night after work, and I started writing these poems about different sorts of imaginary beasts — fables in imitation of Socrates from Plato's "Phaedo." At the very end of his life, Socrates was turning Aesop's Fables into poetic verse.

And that became the seed of my first kids’ book, "Mr. Mehan’s Mildly Amusing Mythical Mammals." I went back for a master's in English and a Ph.D. in literature. I realized I probably needed to find a genre that doesn't expect this kind of literary public service. Children’s literature seemed like a really great place to do this. And then I started having kids as well, and I didn't like what we were doing in the kid lit space.

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Leigh Brown

FR: Couldn’t agree more. My congratulations on your Heritage Foundation Innovation Prize. Your book will be a collection of fables — could you tell me about it?

MM: The book is a direct attempt to celebrate the Semiquincentennial and to teach and reteach the Western tradition and the American principles and people. It's folk stories and traditions: “Here's what it means to be an American. Here's what you should love about America. Here — get to know America.”

It’s divided into 13 parts and works sentence by sentence through the entire Declaration of Independence. Inside each of the 13 sections are three subsections: one for littles, one for middles, and one for bigs. Each of these are tied to an explanation of what that related portion of the Declaration means. The third engine of each of the 13 sections takes you to a different ecological region of the country.

So it's not just the principles of the Semiquincentennial and the Declaration. It's also the people and the stories and the wildlife, the beautiful countryside, and all the animals and creatures God gave us.

The whole book follows one particular funny fellow, Hugh Manatee, who starts in the Everglades, and he transports his heavy bulk by all various manners of technological, very American developments around the entire country.

I wanted a book that a family can engage with no matter their level. And it's designed to be a big heirloom book for the American family to last a long time — 250 years until the 500th anniversary.

FR: Could you talk a bit more about the importance of fables in American history and how the founding generation viewed and used them?

MM: The answer is, they used them just constantly. The fable tradition goes as far back as Solomon, who uses it in the Old Testament. It’s part of our Judeo-Christian, Greco-Roman Western tradition. In fact, kind of a theme of the book is bringing back Roman Republicanism. The beast-fable tradition is very much a part of that self-governing Republican spirit. The founders knew this.

And then you have the fables of the medieval Bestiary, the early moderns, and all the way up to the last major attempt: L'Estrange, whose works were in the library of all the founding fathers. A lot of them also had Caxton. We're talking 1490s and 1700s. So they’re definitely due for an American upgrade.

A page from "Mr. Mehan's Mildly Amusing Mythical Mammals." mythicalmammals.com

FR: Your book "Mr. Mehan’s Mildly Amusing Mythical Mammals" is an abecedarian. Could you explain what an abecedarian is?

MM: An abecedarian is basically just a fancy word for an ABC book where the structure is not complicated. There’s an A-word, and then some kind of poem or story, a B-word, and then a poem or story, etc.

I did it as a kind of nod to Chaucer, whose first published work of all time was an abecedarian. It was a good, simple structure. I could do the letter blocks for the little people, and each one of the letter blocks had funny alliterative tricks. These and the illustrations were very fun for littles. But then there was higher matter happening, both in some of the poems and the glossary for the adults. So there was sort of deeper matter for adults to seize on to.

For this new book, I've broken it out. I’m being more American, more candid, so it’s clear: This part’s for littles, that part’s for middles, that other part’s for bigs.

FR: In your article “Restoring America's Founding Imagination,” you mention that “children's imaginations were not coddled in our founders’ time.” Could you speak more about that?

MM: Think, for instance, of "Grimms’ Fairy Tales." In these fables, a stepmother might cut off the hands of a child and put stone hands in place, right? "Fancy Nancy" books can't handle that level of violence. But children had to deal with really rough things then. Rough times called them out of their doldrums to attention.

Now, I'm not going to go quite full Brothers Grimm-level gruesome with this book. But there are things, especially in the "Bigs” sections, that go wrong, that are serious. Explorers get burned at the stake. Someone takes an arrow in the sternum. People get shot and killed at Bunker Hill. If you read the school books of the founding period, they're just not messing around. People die because they're foolish, and yes, even kids can die.

Illustration from "The Handsome Little Cygnet." John Folley

You’ve got to be gentle, careful, thoughtful. I try to be measured. But there's got to be ways of introducing these themes to help children be adults. I think a lot of what happens in modern kid lit — why it's not deep, why it's not serious, or rich, or lasting — is because it's so saccharine. It’s not written to call children up to something more.

And you can do that in a very fun, wacky, hilarious, enjoyable way. I try to do that. But I'm trying to mix in that there’s a moral here. It's a different mentality than most of children's books today, but it's much more in keeping with our founding generation and the kind of moral seriousness combined with levity that sustains a witty-wise Republican citizenry. And I think the American audience is really starving for this kind of very moral, witty-wise book.

FR: You emphasize the importance of wit and wisdom in your work. Specifically, why does wit matter, and what role did it play in shaping America’s early identity?

MM: In a certain sense, wit is a virtue. To be witty is to have a certain kind of pleasant humor that can manipulate language, situations — turn them on their head, get people to see something different. And that makes people laugh because mental surprises are actually the source of laughter. Aristotle’s "Nicomachean Ethics" talks about wittiness this way — as playfulness.

Wit also means being "quick" in that sense of being adroit. Adroitness is actually a constituent part of the virtue of prudence — that sort of ability to take a problem and think about it in an adroit or adept way and quickly. That's actually required for prudence.

In fact, the word “wit” in Latin means genius — to grasp something and see: “That's what we should do.” It’s that sort of clever ability to take care of your business, to be able to say, “No, I can handle this. I can think this through. I can puzzle it out. I can come up with a solution. I can invent a new idea.” Think American invention, flight, jazz, computers.

Wit is a creative energy of the imagination and the mind that helps one to rise in this world. Obviously, that has to be wed to principle, to piety, and to the higher things that cannot be compromised, the unchanging things. That marriage of wit and wisdom was something that our founding fathers knew must be done and must be done in each of us.

FR: Finally, could you talk about the illustrations in your upcoming book?

MM: Yes, my dear friend John Folley is a realist impressionist — a classically trained artist. His work mirrors both the realist classical style with some new techniques in Impressionism — particularly playing with light and the heft and weight that light creates.

John Folley at work. Mythicalmammals.com

He makes beautiful oil paintings, which he did for "Mehan’s Mammals." But he also uses a lot of the same principles in watercolor.

For this book, he’s going to do a combination of all of the types of art we've done before. We’ll have 13 major oils that introduce the animals and themes and the ecological areas of the country for each of the 13 parts. And probably one other oil: an American image of wit and wisdom and how Americans ought to pursue it.

And then we’ll have all kinds of pen and ink, computer color, watercolor, a lot of different little images basically populating the rest of the book. It’s going to be a very beautiful, hardback heirloom book. I want the American family to have something beautiful and lasting. I want their witty-wise love of God, country, and family to be helped along, so to speak, by this book.

—

"The American Family’s Book of Fables" is planned for release in May 2026 and will be available everywhere books are sold. Dr. Mehan will follow publication with a national book tour, culminating with the July 4 Semiquincentennial celebrations. For more information, keep an eye on his website.

Also be sure to check out two of Dr. Mehan’s other beloved children’s books: "Mr. Mehan's Mildly Amusing Mythical Mammals" and "The Handsome Little Cygnet."

This interview has been edited for content and clarity.

Why I ditched my phone for a camcorder

Like you, I take my phone everywhere. I check my email, I scroll X, I call my wife and ask her if there's anything she needs me to pick up on my way home.

And I take photos and videos. Of everything. The lake, the gulls, the mountains, the houses, the flowers, the woods, my son, my daughter, my wife, my life. Every video in my phone is less than 30 seconds, and most aren’t more than 10.

Who would have thought that the iPhone would essentially eliminate what we used to call 'home movies'?

A little clip of a deer behind the house. A shot of a kid cracking a wiffle ball or running the bases. My phone is full of these short little bursts.

That’s something different about our era. My parents didn’t take hundreds of five-second clips of my brother, sister, and me. They took long, 10-minute videos with a camcorder. Remember those?

Focus on the family

They’d record these long videos at birthday parties, in the car on family trips, or at my uncle’s cabin. A whole inning of Little League, the soft lull of conversation between Mom and Dad in the background. My mom would ask us questions, interviewing us kids like little adults for what felt like eternity, the zoom moving in and out as we reluctantly answered her questions.

Those old family videos feel so much slower and so much less frantic. I don’t know what it is exactly, but in the short ones on our iPhones, it feels like life is happening in a disjointed fashion. Or like people are performing. Or like everything is sped up 20%. I suppose it’s because we don’t get a sense for the scene or the place. We have no context. All we have is an eight-second clip and a question, years later, about where that was.

On the old videos, mom and dad would narrate in a kind of family documentarian way, as if curating historical footage for future reference. “So it’s August 17, 1996, and we are visiting Grandma at the cabin. It’s about 85 degrees, and this is the last trip of the summer. How’s everybody doing? What did you think, kids? Are you having fun?” Stuff like that.

Mom and dad would walk around the house with the camera, coming upon a kid in the bedroom reading or playing, film the kid from a distance, zooming in on fingers or eyes, the camera shaking.

They’d find my grandparents at the table and joke about a few things. My dad would zoom in on my mom getting dinner ready in the kitchen, the soft hum of the tape heard on the mic. My mom would frame a long shot of my dad, outside, smoking his pipe, reading.

Video vérité

Those long shots on the camcorders were slices of life as it really was. Watching the videos, you feel the time and place and even the real — or more real — behaviors of the people on the screen. Walking slowly with Mom or Dad around the house stirs memories of bedrooms, bathrooms, hallways, and living rooms in ways the short little iPhone clips can’t.

Realizing this, I bought an old camcorder. I found a Sony Handycam DCR-SR62 on eBay for 50 bucks and a battery on Amazon for 12.

It's old-school but not too old-school. The most annoying thing about the old camcorders was the hassle of bringing analog footage into the digital age. If you want to transfer tape onto computer, it takes a long time. If you have a two-hour video, it takes two hours to get it on the computer.

What's nice about the Sony Handycam model I bought is that there are no tapes or disks. All video is stored on an internal hard drive, which can then be transferred to your computer just as easily as you transfer photos from any digital camera. Essentially, you get the best of both worlds: digital transfer speed and long-form family video.

James Laynse/Getty Images

Real to reels

In theory, we should be able to record 10-minute slice-of-life videos on our iPhones. But we don’t. The format of the technology pushes us in a different direction. Consuming reels on Instagram nudges our tastes toward short-form portrait and away from long-form landscape.

The technology we use shapes the way we live. That’s obvious, of course, but it’s a realization that seems to be continually rediscovered, or revealed, in ways that we never could have anticipated. Who would have thought that the iPhone would essentially eliminate what we used to call "home movies"?

I took my Sony Handycam to the beach at the end of the summer. I filmed my kids eating string cheese and sharing a can of sparkling water. I zoomed in on sailboats in the distance, walked up and down the beach recording the kids running in front of me, and interviewed them just like my mom interviewed us.

“So it’s September 30, 2025, and we are at beach. How’s the food? Can you believe we are swimming in September? Did you guys jump in the water? What do we think, was it cold? What was your favorite thing we did this summer?”

What if your country loved you back?

My first year in college, I was super into music. I played guitar and joined a campus band and went to see other bands every chance I got.

But I was too young to go to bars, so I often had to sneak into shows or find other ways to watch and learn from other guitarists. I desperately needed a fake ID.

In Portland, we have the recent phenomenon of people not having license plates on their cars. Shouldn’t everyone have license plates on their cars?

When I returned home that summer, I went to great lengths to get an official Oregon state ID with a birth year on it that would make me 21. Not a cheap fake one. A real ID. I possibly committed a felony in the process.

So for the next two years, I saw a lot of bands and musicians. In my mind, access to live music was definitely worth the risk.

Judgment day

When I think back to this episode in my life, I’m shocked I had the nerve to pull this off. I not only misrepresented myself on official documents, but I straight-up lied to my local DMV!

Sure, it was the 1980s. So it was much harder to check. But still ...

I also imagine what would have happened if I’d been caught and ended up in front of a judge. How would I have defended myself?

I would probably have just told the truth: I was in a band. I needed to see other bands. Music was my great love. I wasn’t doing it for the alcohol.

And how would the judge have reacted?

He would have looked at me, a nice kid, in college, not an actual criminal.

He would have been older, my parents’ age, most likely male, most likely white, like me.

He would have probably had kids my age. Maybe a kid who was into music.

And he would have thought about his own life and the time he snuck in somewhere, maybe to an R-rated movie or a local burlesque show.

And if I were respectful and showed remorse, I probably would not have been dealt with too severely. Probation, community service. No real harm. No real foul.

Back to the future

But then I think: What would happen in that same situation now? What if my college student self lied to the DMV in 2025? And got caught?

For starters, the judge could be of either sex. And might be of any race.

If the judge weren’t white, there would be the danger the judge would look at me and think: “white privilege.” Or the judge would have other feelings of resentment, since our media and societal messaging relentlessly emphasize all the unfair advantages white people have.

And being male and aggressively pursuing a dream like “becoming a good guitarist” might annoy a female judge. Men aggressively pursuing things was part of the reason women have been held back throughout history.

Also, such a crime would seem much more serious. Our current society demands constant proof and verification of our identities at all times.

No, in 2025, you would be dealing with state authorities that, at best, didn’t like you and, at worst, considered you a threat.

There would be no “boys will be boys” leniency. This was the GOVERNMENT you were dealing with. Which is not your friend. And is not your family. THE GOVERNMENT doesn’t love you.

Love is love

It sounds weird to say that a government “loves” or “doesn’t love” its citizens.

And yet, when I was 16 and filling out my first 1040 tax form for my after-school gas-station job, I remember the feeling I had for the people I was giving my tax money to. That feeling was a kind of love.

I didn’t mind paying my taxes. I understood the concept. We all give money to the government. And it builds roads and bridges. It employs school teachers, firemen, the police. It tries to take care of the citizens.

In those days, the state taxes in Oregon were so low, it was almost a joke. When I mailed my tax form, I imagined it arriving at some modest building, surrounded by mountains and trees.

I pictured our “state employees” as a small cadre of park ranger types and a handful of nice ladies who worked in the office. That’s how sparsely populated our state was.

If the state of Oregon sent you a letter, it was probably a notice telling you when deer hunting season began.

My taxes also paid for the Coast Guard, which bravely rescued fishermen from sinking boats. And the local sheriff, who, if he busted your high school keg party, didn’t come down on you too hard, because he used to throw keg parties too.

In other words, I didn’t mind paying my taxes because I felt loved by these people. I felt loved by my federal government too. Didn’t it build the national parks and send people to the moon? And make cars safer? And issue cool postage stamps honoring Elvis and the Beatles?

From what I could see, the main concern of all these people was keeping me safe. And making everyone’s life a little better.

In this way, my country loved me. Maybe not in a particular way. But in a general way. Weren’t we one nation, under God, indivisible, and all that?

Weren’t we all in this together?

Alex_Bond/Bettman/Getty Images

The unloved generation

So what do young people think now? Do they believe their country loves them? I kind of doubt it. But I don’t know. I’m not 16 anymore.

One way a country can show love for its people is by being consistent, like enforcing the law the same for everyone, so that everybody feels valued.

In Portland, we have the recent phenomenon of people not having license plates on their cars. Shouldn’t everyone have license plates on their cars?

This is just one small thing. But I see it every day. Cars, driving around, without front or back license plates. Shouldn’t the police stop them and give them a ticket for “lack of license plates”?

But the police don’t do that. City officials have reduced their numbers and limited their authority. This has caused crime to increase. So the police don’t have time to stop people for lack of license plates.

So now, if you get in an accident with someone without license plates, the car can just drive away, and there’s nothing you can do. This makes people feel helpless. And distrustful. And unprotected. And unloved.

Turning Japanese

I visited Tokyo recently. The Japanese are very strange, with their complicated language and unique culture.

But one thing I felt very strongly. Their country loved them. You could feel it in the air.

They had corruption and politics and all the usual human problems. But overall, there was obvious love. You saw it everywhere.

The government gave old people jobs to make them feel useful. It built incredible subways and infrastructure to make workers’ lives easier.

People were quick to come to each other’s aid. They respected each other’s property. They didn’t litter. They didn’t steal. They treated each other with great kindness and consideration.

Their country loved them. And because of that, they felt inspired to love each other.

It’s an odd point to make, I know. But just imagine if your country loved you. Wouldn’t that be nice? Wouldn’t that be the best feeling in the world?

Could hackers target your car's tires?

Hackers have found another way into your car's computer system: where the rubber meets the road.

Thanks to the TREAD Act, every new car since 2008 comes with a tire pressure monitoring system. It's what turns on that annoying low-pressure light we're all familiar with. By monitoring the the air pressure of each tire and alerting the driver when the pressure falls below a certain threshold, you car's TPMS makes you safer. It also makes you a bigger target for hackers.

TPMS hackers could gain access to other systems within the vehicle, such as the engine or brakes, leading to complete control of the vehicle.

The problem is that TPMS uses unencrypted radio frequencies for the communication between the tire and the receiver. Hackers can "spoof" these signals, allowing them to send false data to the vehicle’s computer, such as indicating that the tire pressure is higher or lower than it actually is.

Takeover

Big deal. You can hack my car and turn on my little pressure light? Annoying, sure. I didn’t think I cared until I learned that your TPMS radio frequency receiver is hooked directly into the car's ECU — the computer that controls everything from fuel injection to exhaust, fuel mix, electricity, engine stats, timing, electric car driveability, and more

What's more, this RF receiver is usually the same receiver that talks to your remote key fob to open the doors and disarm your security system.

Bloomberg/Getty Images

Compromised safety

So what exactly could a hacker do via your TPMS? More than you might expect.

TPMS hacking can:

Compromise the safety of the vehicle by causing incorrect tire pressure readings, which can lead to accidents or tire blowouts.
Capture data about the vehicle, such as its location and driving habits.
Gain access to other systems within the vehicle, such as the engine or brakes, leading to complete control of the vehicle.

Gauging the risk

So what can you do to keep hackers out? You should be as cautious of your car’s security as you are of public Wi-Fi and keep your vehicle's software up to date. Additionally, be wary of any attempts to physically tamper with your TPMS sensors.

And it can't hurt to have your own dial or digital pressure gauge. If that tire pressure light kicks on and your tires seem fine, check the pressure against the number inside the driver's door. If it it's fine, it could be a sign that your TPMS has been compromised.

Someone hacking into your car this way is unlikely, but if it does happen, it could be a disaster. As vehicles become more connected and rely more on electronic systems, this and other cybersecurity issues are something to keep an eye on.

Trader Joe's faces massive trademark infringement lawsuit over beloved Uncrustables brand

The J.M. Smucker Company is looking to take a bite out of Trader Joe's.

The two iconic brands appear to be locking horns in a legal battle over peanut butter and jelly treats, with Smucker's getting territorial over its frozen sandwiches.

'Our focus is solely on protecting the unique trademarked design.'

The lawsuit was filed in a federal court in Ohio on Monday and alleges that the Trader Joe's product Crustless Peanut Butter & Strawberry Jam Sandwiches is infringing on Smucker's trademark surrounding the Uncrustables brand.

Smucker's said the crustless peanut butter and jam sandwich sold by Trader Joe's mimics the "distinctive" features of its own sandwich, right down to the product look, branding, and lettering on the box.

Smucker's takes issue with the Trader Joe's sandwich having a round shape with crimped edges, according to Reuters, which also noted that the imagery of a bitten sandwich that reveals the filling is also an alleged infringement.

As reported by "Good Morning America," J.M. Smucker also said the Trader Joe's packaging is in violation of the Smucker's trademark because the blue lettering is allegedly similar to that of an Uncrustables box; Smucker's says the color is the same hue as its own.

Smucker's told ABC News that it "actively monitor[s] the marketplace" and enforces its federally registered trademarks to "protect the distinctive Uncrustables sandwich design and round shape."

The representative remarked, "Our focus is solely on protecting the unique trademarked design that represents the high quality associated with the Uncrustables brand and preventing consumer confusion caused by imitation."

Trader Joe's has yet to provide public comment about the lawsuit and did not immediately respond to a request for comment from Blaze News.

As of 2024, the Uncrustables brand is worth a reported $1 billion and has seen significant popularity among Major League Baseball players, for example.

Photo by Nick Cammett/Diamond Images via Getty Images

The Uncrustables campaign has been so successful with MLB that some players claim to be huge consumers of the product.

In 2023, San Francisco Giants second baseman Thairo Estrada reportedly ate an Uncrustables before every game.

In April 2025, Philadelphia Phillies star right fielder Nick Castellanos was spotted eating one of the snacks mid-game.

In Canada, the brand partnered with Canadian-Dominican Toronto Blue Jays first baseman Vladimir Guerrero Jr., who once coined the term "J&PB" after hilariously reversing the common term due to his broken English.

"Good Morning America" reported that the Trader Joe's product is sold in a pack of four for $3.79, while a four-pack of Uncrustables from J.M. Smucker costs $4.79.