Kerosene lamps: Your escape from the sickly glare of LEDs



It’s my favorite time of year. When it gets cold, I fuel up four or five of the dozens of antique kerosene lamps I own. I use these to heat and light my house in winter; the charm and warmth make the cold and dark more bearable.

In past columns I’ve tried to convince you to abandon new, low-quality appliances and buy old workhorses. This time I want to persuade you to go even lower-tech and give flame light a try. You want to gather around the lamp with good people. You’ll find yourself staring into the flame, noticing the warmth it radiates (literal and metaphorical).

My center drafts have saved me during electricity outages in winter, giving enough light to work by as well as heat.

No electric lamps will make you feel this way. Some are very beautiful, of course, and the most charming use the original Edison-style incandescent filament bulbs. But they’re almost gone.

Thanks to meddling safetyist government, we live under the ghastly glow of LEDs. Before that, it was compact fluorescents. And before that, it was the sickening, flickering off-green morgue illumination of the overhead fluorescent tube, the appropriate furnishing for the inhuman Brutalist aesthetic that has infected 90% of commercial office space in the U.S. since the 1960s.

We weren’t made to live this way or light this way. We did not evolve under unnatural artificial light stripped of whole swaths of the color spectrum, drained of infrared.

We evolved by the campfire. For most of human history, the communal fire was the only source of “artificial” illumination at night. Firelight is a first cousin to sunlight, the original illumination that gave rise to all life on earth.

I’m going to give you basic tips on buying and running lamps, from simple to more complex. There’s a kind of kerosene lamp for everyone.

Sensible safety

Use common sense. You’re working with fire, and larger lamps put out a lot of heat, so be mindful that there’s plenty of clearance between the top of the chimney and the ceiling.

Keep charged fire extinguishers (you should anyway).

Yes, of course it’s possible to tip over a lamp, but in practice, it rarely happens unless you’re careless. They’re weighted to be fairly stable.

People also ask if my cats knock over the lamps. The answer is no, but you must use your own judgment because you know your animals and the layout of your house. My cats love to sleep near them for warmth and will walk on a table to get to them. But they don’t bump them. Again, you must exercise your own judgment.

Shredder the cat dozes by a center-draft lamp. Josh Slocum

No, you’re not in danger of carbon monoxide poisoning. Do you have a gas cookstove? Did you ever worry that you would get carbon monoxide poisoning from having your gas cookstove running? If you’re not afraid of your gas stove giving you carbon monoxide poisoning, there’s no physics-based reason to fear it if the flame comes from a kerosene lamp instead.

Carbon monoxide results from incomplete combustion. No combustion is 100% complete, but these lamps are burning close to it. I have been running kerosene lamps for about 15 years. They’ve never even blipped my smoke or carbon monoxide detectors.

No, the lamps won’t “suck up all the oxygen.” Your house is not hermetically sealed. The air is changing over all the time, even with your windows closed. You’re not in a pressurized submarine hull.

But “fumes,” you say. Every time you burn your favorite scented candles, you’re doing the same thing at a small scale, but no one is afraid of “fumes.” I think “fumes” is just miasma theory of disease, like how people used to falsely believe that bad odors from graveyards could transmit sickness to the living.

The only “fumes” you’re going to get with a lamp using clean kerosene are a bit of kero smell on lighting and on extinguishing. If it bothers you, take the lamp outside to light and extinguish. Remember that your ancestors right here in America all lit their homes this way, rich or poor. People weren’t dying of “fumes” or “lack of oxygen.”

The right stuff

Burn only clear, undyed kerosene. Not “lamp oil.” Not “lamp fuel.” These lamps want one thing only: the specific chemical we call kerosene. It’s a petroleum distillate similar to (but much less stinky than) diesel. Kerosene is not explosive like gasoline; don’t fear an explosion.

If you’ve experienced stinky oil lamps, it’s almost certainly because someone was burning “lamp oil,” which is liquid paraffin wax. This stuff clogs up wicks, it burns half as brightly as kerosene, it can smoke, and it smells awful. Stick with clear kerosene labeled “K1” or “1K,” found in your hardware store, Tractor Supply, Walmart, and similar stores.

Level I: Flat-wick lamps

Let’s introduce you to lamps. I categorize as Level I, Level II, and Level III. We’re going to go from simplest and least expensive to more high-powered lamps. If you’re new to lamps, start with Level I, the flat-wick lamps.

Everyone knows these lamps. These are what come to mind when you hear the phrase “oil lamp.” You remember lamps just like this from "Little House on the Prairie" on television.

These are called flat-wick lamps because, you may have guessed, their wicks are flat. This is my “sewing lamp,” so called because it’s tall enough to sit on a table by you for handwork.

Josh Slocum

Consider a wall-mounted flat-wick lamp, too. These can fit in beautiful wrought-iron brackets. Mount them to a stud in the wall and enjoy the character they add to your room. Below is one of my Victorian wall-mount lamps with a mercury reflector.

Josh Slocum

Level II: Center-draft lamps

So-called “center-draft” lamps are my personal favorite, and I recommend that you get at least one of them. They draw air from a central tube in the middle of the burner. Unlike flat-wick lamps, center-draft lamps have a round wick. They're larger than most flat-wick lamps, so they put out about three times the light and heat of a basic lamp.

One center-draft lamp is enough to heat a medium-sized room, and you can cook over it in a pinch by rigging up a trivet. My center-draft lamps have saved me during electricity outages in winter, giving enough light to work by as well as heat. They’re essential equipment for anyone who is into prepping for emergencies. Plastic electronic LED lights with fancy solar panels can’t hold a candle to the rugged practicality and versatility of these.

Here’s my favorite, the “New Juno” model, made from 1886 to about 1915.

Josh Slocum

Any center-draft lamp is a good buy as long as it has all the parts necessary for operation (be sure it has a flame spreader). At the end of this article, I’ll link to businesses that specialize in advice and replacement parts. Do a little bit of reading, and you’ll learn everything you need to know before you buy.

Level III: The magical Aladdin lamp

Technology becomes as fun as it will ever get when one tech is declining as another rises. The old tech has to compete with the new, so the old tech gets refined to its highest potential just before it becomes obsolete.

That’s the Aladdin lamp. “Aladdin” is a brand name, not a generic type. These lamps are the zenith of kerosene technology that was competing with new electric light. These are mantle lamps. What does that mean? Bring to mind the Coleman lanterns you remember from camping. The ones that hiss and put out a very bright light. Those are mantle lamps too.

Aladdin lamps are mantle lamps, but instead of burning compressed gas, they burn kerosene.

In mantle lamps, the light does not come from the flame. The flame is used to heat the incandescent mantle. This is a thin, delicate mesh impregnated with rare-earths and mineral salts. These elements glow white-hot under heat. This is how the Aladdin lamp can produce a light that matches modern electric bulb output.

They are wonderful devices, and I have a few, but they are more finicky. They need a mantle, and you have to be very careful to keep the wick absolutely level, or you’ll get flame spikes that leave black carbon deposits on your mantle. The solution is to turn the flame low and burn off the carbon slowly.

Here’s my 1936 Aladdin Model B in green Corinthian glass:

Josh Slocum

Hopefully this has tempted you to get your first kerosene lamp. There are some dependable businesses run by people who love these lamps and know everything about them. Most breakable and replaceable parts like the glass chimneys and the wicks are still made and readily available from these purveyors and others.

Nobody knows more about lamps, and nobody has a wider selection of wicks, chimneys, diagrams, and how-to articles, than Miles Stair on the West Coast of the U.S. Go to his site first whenever you have a question.

Woody Kirkman of Kirkman Lanterns manufactures and sells quality reproduction lamps and replacement parts for antiques. You have likely seen his work in period films and at Disney parks and like. He is often hired to supply kerosene and gas lighting fixtures for movies and TV and for theme parks.

Gather those you love around you, and light your lamp.

My kids make me sick!



I never used to get sick.

Every once in a while, sure. But it wasn’t really a regular phenomenon. It also didn’t really matter that much when I did. Yeah, I had work to get done and grocery shopping to do. But when I was a young single guy without any kids, getting sick just didn’t really impact my easy life that much.

I’ve also tried avoiding the illness at all costs. Washing my hands constantly. Staying away from the kids a little. Hugging them gently rather than wrestling like a madman.

Couch bound

Before that, when I was a kid, I loved getting “sick.” Those scare quotes are key. I didn’t actually love getting sick so much as I loved staying home from school because I was sick. That was fun. One day home from school was cool. Two days home was crazy. Going to sleep after the first day home sick, it was glorious knowing that unless a miracle occurred in the middle of the night, there would be yet another day of sitting at home on the couch watching TV.

I remember one year I got mono, and I was home for more than a week. I swear it may have been two weeks. I remember secretly wondering how long I could go with it. “What if I didn’t go back for a month?” A kid can only dream of something so beautiful.

Mono was a serious illness, I guess, but I don’t ever remember really being sad about it. Getting out of school was worth far more than the pain of a sore throat or a feverish head.

Germ magnet

Now I get sick a lot. Well, maybe not a lot, but a lot more than I used to in my 20s, and I certainly don’t like it like I did in my early teens. Now I know without a shadow of a doubt that as soon as I start seeing frost on the grass in the morning, I am going to get sick. And then a month or two after that, I am going to get sick again. And maybe even again after that if I’m really unlucky.

It’s not because I have developed a debilitating disease that results in an unnaturally sickly disposition. It’s because I’m a dad, and my kids are young, and young kids touch stuff in the stores and then stick their hands in their mouths, and then three days later one gets sick, then 24 hours after that another one gets it, and then my wife, and then finally me. Whatever it is runs through the house like a steamroller, and we all get squashed.

RELATED: Sweat equity: The surprising health benefits of a hot bath

Mirrorpix/Getty Images

Amor fati

I’ve tried a variety of different tactics over the years. I’ve tried giving up right from the start. Knowing that I’ll get it eventually, I accept my fate and just sort of live life with the sick kids. It feels pretty good psychologically. I’m not worried or stressed out about how I can avoid the illness. I don’t end up over-monitoring my body, trying to discern if I am getting sick or not. I just sort of march toward the cold in a blissful state.

I’ve also tried avoiding the illness at all costs. Washing my hands constantly. Staying away from the kids a little. Hugging them gently rather than wrestling like a madman. Backing my face away as they cough without covering their mouths, then telling them in a frustrated tone, “You need to cover your mouth.” Trying my hardest to prevent the unpreventable. It’s not a great feeling, and I always end up getting sick anyway. But at least I tried. That’s something, right?

Getting sick is just a part of having kids. I know that now. It can be mitigated by hounding them about washing their hands with hot soapy water and not touching their mouths in stores, but it can’t be eliminated entirely. It’s an inescapable fact of family life. If someone gets sick, everyone gets sick.

Family fever

It’s an allegory, of course. When you have a family, you can’t get away. You can’t separate or isolate. You are no longer just yourself. You are everyone at the same time.

We have our separate bedrooms and separate closets, but we share the same space. We have our own plates and silverware, but we share the same dish. We have our own inner thoughts and our own personalities, but we share the same name, the same blood, and the same familial predispositions that are part nature and part nurture, the ones that can’t really be untangled or even really figured out.

We make our kids into the kids they are in ways we can see and in ways we intend, through the prayers we say and the manners we demand. But we make them into who they are in other ways too. Some we don’t see, and some are unintentional: the phrase a kid says that sounds just like mom or the curse word a kid says that makes you realize you really do need to stop swearing.

We make them, and they make us. I’m different now from what I was before, and it’s partly because they made me that way. When you have a family, you are not only taking on the responsibilities of raising kids but also accepting that you aren’t alone anymore. That nothing in life will be tidy (literally or figuratively) like it was before. You are trapped together, you turn yourself over to no longer being yourself and only yourself.

For better or for worse. In sickness and in health.

Fat chance! Obese immigrants make America sicker.



It was one of those perfect Donald Trump social media posts — the kind that seems to straddle the line between truth and fiction, to bend and warp reality and make you ask, “Did he really just hit send on that?"

"Many in the fake news media have claimed that we will begin denying visas to overweight people," it began, before clarifying:

They have even come up with a term for these people, “High Calorie Humans.” This is TOTALLY FALSE. We will not ban all fat people from entering our Great Country, only those whose poor health will overburden our health care system. Visa applicants who are only slightly overweight have nothing to worry about. The bigger ones will need to trim down to get approved. We will EXPAND this rule to cover Expats in the near future.

The cherry on top was a closing swipe at one of Trump's favorite celebrity targets, currently in self-imposed exile in the Republic of Ireland: “Rosie, you will never return to This Great Country."

The US isn’t the first country in the world to limit entry to fat people. Other weight-watchers include Canada, Australia, and ultra-liberal New Zealand.

The phrase "High Calorie Humans" achieved instant "covfefe" status, as fans and haters alike reacted to the latest Trump provocation.

Fat shame

Except it was fake — a meme created in response to the very real news that the State Department has added obesity to the list of conditions that could bar foreigners from living in or visiting the U.S.

You know you're in the country's head when your constituents do your trolling for you. And you know you've hit a nerve when you dare suggest Americans could lose a few pounds — a form of truth-telling otherwise known as "fat-shaming."

But the U.S. is a country in which a Centers for Disease Control survey carried out between 2021 and 2023 found that a staggering 40.3% of adults were obese, with 9.4% having “severe” obesity.

That's using the standard metric of BMI, which uses height and weight to estimate body fat. But researchers have proposed including other anthropometric measurements in addition to BMI — such as waist circumference, waist-to-height ratio, and waist-to-hip ratio — for a more accurate assessment of obesity. Using this metric, the proportion of obese Americans could skyrocket to as much as 68.6%.

Heavy burden

No matter how you measure obesity, its direct medical costs are estimated to be some $170 billion a year, a figure that rises to more than $1.4 trillion when you consider the added effects.

And that's the burden Trump's new directive hopes to ease. With millions of overweight Americans already straining the country's health care system — and hitting taxpayers where it hurts — the last thing the country needs is to take on more patients from other countries.

America already rejects visa applications for those with conditions (like diabetes) that could make them a "public charge" — that is, someone likely to become dependent on government assistance.

The new directive builds on previous “public charge” rules, but it’s the first time obesity has been named specifically.

The directive applies primarily to immigrant visas — visas that will lead to long-term or even permanent settlement in the U.S. — and not non-immigrant visas (such as H-1B visas) or short-term tourist visas. Fat foreigners will still be able to visit the U.S. and work there. They just won’t be able to settle, unless they lose weight.

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Weight-watchers

The U.S. isn’t the first country in the world to limit entry to fat people. Other weight-watchers include Canada, Australia, and ultra-liberal New Zealand.

In one well-publicized case from 2009, the Kiwis denied residency to a British nurse who tipped the scales at 134 kg and had a BMI of over 50. A BMI of 25 is considered healthy. Officials estimated that her lifetime costs to the taxpayer could exceed NZ $800,000 or about US $500,000 at the time.

Canada and Australia have similar rules in place, but they receive much less attention.

Otherwise, though, there aren’t many “anti-fat” laws in effect worldwide. There’s Japan’s “Metabo” law, which came into effect in 2008. It is often described, misleadingly, as some kind of “ban” on fat people per se, but it’s not.

Instead, the law imposes an obligation on companies to ensure that workers between ages 40 and 74 receive an annual waistline measurement and help losing weight if they need it. Companies that don’t comply can be fined, but overweight workers themselves are not subject to any form of official punishment. In any case, Japan still has a remarkably low obesity rate, of around 4%.

Open borders for hotties?

I and other posters in my little corner of X have long called for restrictions of various kinds on overweight people, including proposals to prevent fat people from entering the country, in the name of beauty and the general welfare.

One of these proposals was even given the name “open borders for hotties”: If you’re fit and attractive (ideally female), you’re welcome, but if not — no thanks!

Critics will moan that Trump’s new rules for “HIGH-CALORIE HUMANS” are unfair and discriminatory, but frankly I can’t think of a policy that’s more in line with the fundamental MAGA principles. Immigration should benefit the nation, not sap its strength and resources. If a massively overweight person comes to the U.S. and the taxpayer has to fork out hundreds of thousands of dollars to cover his medical bills, what’s America First about that?

Instead of that fat person, a slim person with discipline and self-control could be brought into the country — or better yet, no immigrant at all. The money would be better spent elsewhere, and there are too many people in the country as it is.

The “HIGH-CALORIE HUMANS” rules are a clear sign, for all their apparent absurdity, that President Trump still understands what MAGA is and what it should stand for. Let’s see that understanding applied to immigration policy across the board and most of all to the H-1B visa system, which has been used for decades to disenfranchise and dispossess native workers. High calories, low wages — same difference.

Trading in your car? Here's how to get the biggest payout



When you find the right new car after a long search, it can be tempting to close as soon as possible. But before you sign, there’s one question that can save — or cost — you thousands.

What should you do with your current car?

Should you trade it in at the dealership or sell it privately? It’s more than a convenience question — it’s a strategy. And with used-car prices still unsettled, the right choice can make a real financial difference.

Let’s break down what actually matters and what the dealership won’t always volunteer.

Financial fork

Most buyers can’t keep their old car when upgrading. They use it as part of the down payment. But there are two very different paths:

  • Trade it in.
  • Sell it privately for typically more money.

Reality check: Dealerships rarely offer full market value. They need to buy low and sell high — it’s business. Knowing that puts you in control.

If your car is worth $15,000 privately, a dealer may offer $12,000. That’s $3,000 lost — money you could use to lower your loan or upgrade trims.

Why trade-ins win

Sometimes a trade-in is the smarter move — especially in states offering a sales tax credit.

Example: Buy a $40,000 car and trade in a $10,000 vehicle. You’re taxed only on $30,000, which can save you hundreds.

If the tax break closes the gap between your private-sale price and the trade-in offer, taking the trade may be the better move. Plus, there’s no hassle: no listings, no test drives, no strangers.

The timing sweet spot

Timing matters. The best moment to sell or trade is before your factory warranty expires.

  • 3 years / 36,000 miles for basic.
  • 5 years / 60,000 miles for powertrain.

Cars still under warranty are easier to resell and command higher prices. If your car is paid off, clean, and under those mileage limits, you’re in the prime window.

When you owe money

You can trade in a car with an outstanding loan — but be careful. If your car’s value is less than the payoff, that’s negative equity.

Your options: pay the difference Or roll it into your new loan (not ideal).

This is how people end up upside-down for years. Avoid it by calling your lender for your payoff amount and checking your car’s true value on KBB or Edmunds.

If you have positive equity, that difference becomes your down payment.

RELATED: Quick Fix: What's the safest used car for my teenager?

CBS/Getty Images

Watching the market

Used-car prices have swung wildly since the pandemic. The market is still strong for vehicles that are under five years old; well below 14,500 miles/year; and properly maintained.

If that describes your car, a private sale may be worth it. If not — high miles, cosmetic issues, or a soft local market — a trade-in may be the smarter, calmer choice.

Mileage and condition

Both private buyers and dealers care about the same things: mileage and condition. Before selling or trading, get the car detailed; fix small cosmetic flaws; replace worn tires or weak batteries; and gather maintenance records.

A clean, documented car always sells faster and for more.

The private sale payoff

Selling privately usually brings the highest price. But it has strings attached: writing the listing, taking photos, answering questions, meeting buyers, and handling title and payment. If that sounds like too much, a trade-in may be worth the lower price. But if you have a desirable car and the patience, a private sale can easily beat any dealer offer.

Final decision points

There’s no one-size-fits-all answer. The right move depends on your equity, your time, your state's tax laws, your loan payoff, and your tolerance for hassle.

What matters is going in informed.

Know your numbers. Know your choices. Don’t let a dealer rush you. Done right, you can upgrade smoothly and walk away financially ahead.

Bottom line: Do your homework, understand the trade-offs, and choose the path that keeps the most money in your pocket.

Locked out: How Big Auto could destroy the used-car market



When it comes to replacing your daily driver, “used” is often the smartest buy. A low-mileage model from a few years back can save you real money while offering nearly all the same features. And as long as you do your homework, a well-maintained used car is every bit as serviceable as something brand new.

But that might not be true for much longer.

In states without strong right-to-repair protections, shops are already reporting cases where newer vehicles simply can’t be serviced without dealership intervention.

Automakers are steadily locking down the data that modern cars generate. If they succeed, independent repair shops, do-it-yourself mechanics — and your wallet — will feel the squeeze. The stakes are enormous: 273,000 repair shops, 900,000 technicians, and 293 million vehicles could be affected.

Stick with me. By the end of this, you’ll know exactly why the national right-to-repair movement is pushing the REPAIR Act — and why it’s worth calling your legislator today.

Gatekeeping data

For decades, car repair was straightforward. The OBD-II port — standardized in 1996 — gave shops and owners direct access to diagnostic data. That openness fueled competition, kept repairs affordable, and protected your right to choose who services your car.

Today’s vehicles are computers on wheels, containing hundreds of microprocessors and dozens of electronic control units. And instead of sending data through that familiar port, cars now stream diagnostics wirelessly through telematics systems. In 2021, half of all vehicles already had this capability. By 2030, McKinsey projects 95% of new cars will be fully connected.

Here’s the problem: That wireless data goes straight to the manufacturer. They become the gatekeeper — deciding who gets access, at what time, and for what price.

Independent shops get shut out or forced to pay steep fees for limited information. Consumers get funneled back to dealerships. And while telematics can offer real benefits — remote diagnostics, predictive maintenance — those perks mostly stay inside the dealership network when automakers control the data.

Drivers pay the price

When manufacturers monopolize data, drivers pay the price.

  • Higher repair costs: Independent shops must buy expensive, manufacturer-approved tools or subscriptions — or they can’t complete repairs at all.
  • Fewer options: Your trusted neighborhood shop may be unable to work on newer models, leaving you with dealership-only service.
  • Privacy erosion: Every drive generates information on your habits, location, and behavior. Automakers routinely share or sell that data to insurers, advertisers, and third parties — often without clear consent.

In states without strong right-to-repair protections, shops are already reporting cases where newer vehicles simply can’t be serviced without dealership intervention.

The aftermarket fallout

Independent repair is a massive economic engine. Cut off their access to data, and the ripple effects are huge:

  • Aftermarket parts makers struggle to design compatible components.
  • Innovation slows.
  • Dealers gain monopolies on everything from diagnostics to repairs.
  • Wait times increase while prices rise.

Voters have noticed. Massachusetts passed a telematics right-to-repair initiative in 2020 with 75% approval. Maine followed in 2023 with 84%. Those wins matter — but a patchwork of state laws won’t protect drivers nationwide.

Enter the REPAIR Act

Industry groups — including the Auto Care Association, MEMA Aftermarket Suppliers, and the CAR Coalition — are backing the REPAIR Act (H.R. 906). It’s not radical. It simply updates consumer rights for the connected-car era.

Four core principles drive the bill:

  1. No artificial barriers to repair or maintenance.
  2. Owners and their chosen shops get direct access to vehicle-generated data.
  3. No manufacturer can mandate proprietary tools or dealer-only equipment.
  4. A stakeholder advisory committee keeps the rules current as technology evolves.

The act restores choice. You can repair your own vehicle — or choose any shop you trust. It bans anticompetitive behavior like withholding service information or requiring dealer-exclusive parts. And crucially, wireless data must be shared through secure, standardized, owner-approved channels.

NHTSA and the FTC would set cybersecurity rules. Consumers would receive clear data-sharing notifications. And if manufacturers abuse the system, the FTC can act fast.

RELATED: Right-to-repair sweetens McFlurry but sours when lives are at stake

400tmax via iStock/Getty Images

Skimp my ride

Without the REPAIR Act, the used-car market collapses into uncertainty. Vehicles that require dealer-only repairs will lose value quickly. Planned obsolescence accelerates. And as cars become fully connected, the familiar OBD-II era winds down.

A car you buy in 2025 could be effectively “dealer-locked” by 2030.

Manufacturers argue they need total control for cybersecurity. But secure, standardized data access — the model used globally — proves you can protect vehicle integrity without destroying competition.

The aftermarket already has a workable framework: encrypted data, authenticated access, owner permissions, and interoperable platforms. It's practical, safe, and ready today.

The price of inaction

Without federal action:

  • Repair costs rise 20%-50%.
  • Independent shops close.
  • Innovation dries up.
  • Consumer privacy evaporates.
  • The used-car market contracts.

The REPAIR Act reverses all of that. It creates a fair system where manufacturers build the cars — but the aftermarket keeps them running.

Don’t wait. Act.

This affects every driver. Contact your representative and urge support for the REPAIR Act.
It protects choice, savings, and your right to repair in a digital automotive world.

Your car, your data, your repairs. That’s what’s on the line.

Defusing the debt bomb: 'We're almost out of time,' warns watchdog



“The entire world's economy is on the top of a soup bubble. There has never in history been a failure of this kind of magnitude. All of the money in the world is gone. Where did it go? Who knows, but it's gone.”

It’s been almost a decade and a half since conservative commentator Bill Whittle — railing against the Obama administration’s orgy of federal spending — offered this dire prognosis on national debt.

'A default is an economic breakdown. It's for real. We may never reclaim America’s position in the world.'

And those were the good old days — when America was a paltry $15 trillion in the red. By the time President Barack Obama left office in January 2017, the number had climbed to just shy of $20 trillion — $8.6 trillion more than when he took office in 2009.

Since then, we’ve experienced three administrations and the chaos of the COVID pandemic. The virus alone cost $4.7 trillion in total budgetary resources for the federal government.

As of October 21, the national debt now sits at an astounding $38 trillion, and all indications are that it will only continue to grow, with current projections suggesting it will hit $39 trillion by March 30.

A post-default world

Mark Minnella is the co-founder of the National Association of Christian Financial Consultants and the host of the faith-based radio show "Financial Issues." He tells Alignthat America may be getting closer to a “point of no return” and warns that the path to a debt default will be painful and destructive.

“If the treasury of the country fails to pay creditors and obligations, or if interest payment goes unpaid, what you see is that trust immediately goes away in the currency. Markets panic. Interest rates rise," says Minnella. And that's when the real trouble begins:

When the world stops trusting our currency, the dollar loses its position in global trade as the global reserve. Then other nations will step into that vacuum, like the Chinese and Russians. That will erode American influence and leadership. Internally, we would see inflation as the dollar loses its trust. We’ll see the government having to print money to stay ahead. We’ll see a surge in the cost of mortgages and business loans, a decline in spending, housing, and companies failing. We’ll have serious economic pain. It’ll self-correct over time, but we’d lose our position as world leaders.

As is often the case, those clinging to the bottom rung of the economic ladder will get hit hardest, warns Minnella. “Especially for those people who are the weakest and most vulnerable, our most impoverished people will be hurt the worst. It hurts them more than anybody else because they don’t have a little more to spend.”

More than political theater

The recently ended government shutdown has given many Americans a painful preview of what happens when the money spigot turns off. Hundreds of thousands of employees have gone unpaid, government services have been limited, and SNAP benefits have been threatened. Even for those not directly affected, financial insecurity looms and the future looks uncertain.

But to Minnella, a debt default would make the last 40-something days look like a vacation.

“I don’t think [default] looks like a government shutdown. That looks like inconvenience and political theater," he tells Align.

"A default is an economic breakdown. It's for real. We may never reclaim America’s position in the world. The shutdown wasn’t really a danger. The danger is a Congress that refuses to stop spending.”

Minnella is far from alone in his fears. Just last week, noted economist Kent Smetters predicted that the U.S. could hit a breaking point with interest payments as soon as 2045 and offered this grim observation: “Almost every empire has been taken down by debt." Even JPMorgan CEO Jamie Dimon has raised alarms, warning in September, “Like most problems, it's better to deal with it than let it happen.”

Bipartisan boondoggle

While President Trump has made some noise in addressing the debt through DOGE cuts and tariff dividends, it hasn’t curbed federal spending enough to make a difference. He did declare on Monday that tariff income would be used to “SUBSTANTIALLY PAY DOWN NATIONAL DEBT,” but this year’s tariff revenue is just $195 billion, and the majority of that money is set to go to $2,000 taxpayer dividends. Trump’s One Big Beautiful Bill Act also cost $3.4 trillion in spending.

According to Minnella, the skyrocketing national debt is a shared disgrace for both major political parties, neither of whom have the will to explain federal belt-tightening to their constituents.

“It’s not Republican or Democrat,” he says. “It's Washington in general. And as much as it's a problem, it's also part of the solution."

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Al Drago/Bloomberg via Getty Images

Spines wanted

Unfortunately, those in power — whether the MAGA right or the socialist left — seem unlikely to rise to the occasion.

"We don’t have adults in Congress anymore who care about our nation," says Minnella. "We have politicians who care about their careers. They don’t want to cut any spending that might cause somebody to vote against them. They want to encourage as much spending as possible."

Which means fiscal responsibility is ultimately up to voters.

"We need to start electing people with a spine who aren’t there for themselves. We need to vote them out and hold them accountable," says Minnella.

“We need to speak the truth ... that we’re almost out of time," he continues. "American citizens need to take back their power and force out people who will not listen.”

Healthy as a horse: My journey into the ivermectin underworld



I was driving through Boise last winter when I heard about a new Idaho law that made the drug ivermectin a legal, over-the-counter drug.

Previously, it was prescription-only. But most doctors refused to prescribe it.

Like many people, I had taken illegal substances as a youth. Horse paste wasn’t technically illegal. But it sure felt like it was, holding it in my hand.

Soon, in Idaho, you could buy ivermectin off the shelf at Walgreens, just like you bought aspirin or dental floss.

Iver-who?

Ivermectin, in case you forgot, was thought to help cure or at least lessen the effects of COVID-19.

It was weird hearing about COVID again. It seems like nobody thinks about it anymore. We never hear about new studies or recent findings about the virus.

Have we mastered all the ins and outs of COVID? It doesn’t seem like we have. People report having “long COVID.” Is that a real thing? Nobody knows.

One thing you would think they would have figured out: Does ivermectin help against COVID?

People are still getting the virus, I assume. Do doctors ever prescribe ivermectin? And then report on the results?

If a drug is so controversial that states are writing laws about it, shouldn’t someone know if it works?

This could be a Big Pharma issue. The big drug companies don’t want people taking a cheap drug someone else invented over an expensive drug that they invented (and will make money on).

That would be the cynical view, I guess.

Meanwhile, medical people still want you to get vaccinated against COVID. Is that still the experimental vaccine from before, or do they have a new one yet that isn’t experimental?

And how is that experiment going, by the way? I guess it’s going well since you never hear about it. People don’t seem to be dying. Or even getting seriously sick. So that’s good.

Idaho fought the law (and Idaho won)

I was curious about this Idaho law, so I looked into it. I came across a funny quote from one of the state legislators. He said the biggest surprise during the writing of the ivermectin bill was that so many of the other legislators were already taking it.

He didn’t go into detail, but I assumed they were buying it in “horse paste” form. At that time, that was the only way you could get it.

I remember when I first heard about ivermectin. The rumor was that the Japanese had discovered/invented a new wonder drug. And it might cure COVID!

If you looked it up, you learned that the developers of ivermectin — one British guy and one Japanese guy — won the NOBEL PRIZE IN MEDICINE in 2015. These two were thinking of ivermectin primarily as an anti-parasitic.

But people on the internet were claiming ivermectin could possibly do more. It might help with cancer. It could lessen arthritis. And most important: It might prevent people from getting COVID.

Many scientists had proclaimed ivermectin the most important and versatile medical discovery since penicillin. Others said: “If you’re not a horse, don’t take it.”

Hay is for horses

As the COVID pandemic dragged on, demand for ivermectin increased. People wanted to try it. They didn’t care what the establishment scientists said.

Ivermectin pills for humans did exist. But you had to order them from shady-sounding companies in third-world countries. And who knew if the pills were even real?

So people took their chances with the horse paste. And then they wrote about it online. It didn’t sound so bad. They said it tasted like apples, which is how they got the horses to swallow it.

For me, it was the possibility of the pills that made me consider taking ivermectin. I had become sick when the lockdowns first ended. I’d been in bed for a week. Judging from the unusual symptoms, I assumed it was COVID .

Even after I got better, I felt lingering effects that never quite went away.

I thought: If ivermectin really were a “wonder drug,” maybe it would help with these lingering symptoms. And maybe it would prevent other maladies in the future.

RELATED: Heroic COVID docs punished as Abbott, Texas lawmakers stay silent

Jennifer Kosig via iStock/Getty Images

Yea or neigh?

So I called a Walgreens in Boise and asked if they had ivermectin pills on the shelves yet. The person on the phone, a young man, immediately began making jokes and mocking the governor and the new ivermectin bill. He called Governor Little, “Governor Spittle.”

When I persisted, he said that they didn’t have it yet. And he didn’t know when they would. He thought it would probably be a long time. If ever.

So I went online to see if ivermectin were listed at any other Idaho pharmacy websites. It wasn’t.

Eventually, I found a package of 12 tablets on an obscure website overseas. But it was no longer available and was very expensive.

It seemed clear that it would be a very long time before the pill version was available to the public.

But by now, I’d become excited about ivermectin. I’d been watching videos about it.

So then, just for fun, I looked up the horse paste on Amazon. It was much cheaper than the pills. And on YouTube, there was a doctor who had figured out the human doses and how much to take.

I laughed at myself. WAS I ACTUALLY CONTEMPLATING ORDERING IVERMECTIN HORSE PASTE OFF AMAZON?

And then I ordered it.

Golden goo

A week later, it arrived. I opened the box, and there was the same long, plastic syringe and plunger arrangement I’d seen on YouTube.

Like many people, I had taken illegal substances as a youth. Horse paste wasn’t technically illegal. But it sure felt like it was, holding it in my hand.

I went in the bathroom and washed and dried my hands. In the bright bathroom light, I opened the top of the ivermectin tube. I then carefully, slowly pushed on the plunger end of it.

A small blob of golden goo came out of the top. I carefully scooped the “pea-sized” human dose onto my index finger. To avoid tasting it, I put my finger in the far back of my mouth and smeared it on the back of my tongue. But that was unnecessary. It didn’t taste bad. It tasted like apples.

According to the British doctor, you were supposed to take this small amount on one day, then wait a day, and then take another small amount on the third day. After one month, you do that again. And then, presumably, you keep doing that ... forever?

I did it for two months, keeping track in my day planner. Then I got busy, and I forgot about it, and a couple months later, while digging around in my bathroom pantry, I found the plastic syringe.

Should I continue with the horse paste regimen? I wondered to myself. I took a dose. But then I forgot to take the second dose two days later. And it’s continued like that. Sporadic. Whenever I remember. Which is probably fine.

Back in the saddle

Since then, I have noticed that some of my odd COVID symptoms have significantly lessened. Is it the ivermectin? I don’t know. Probably not.

My dad was a doctor. He was old-school and thought your body did most of the healing. Not the drugs. Not the doctors. So maybe that’s what happened. My body was healing itself.

Anyway, I don’t regret doing it. The whole process was kind of fun. And now, whenever I see a horse, I give him a knowing nod, as if to say, I too have enjoyed that sweet apple horse paste.

Where have all the rock bands gone?



We were cleaning up after dinner. The sounds of Third Eye Blind filled the kitchen as we scraped plates, soaked pans, and went about washing knives and forks. My wife turned to me and asked, “Do Zoomers play in bands?”

I didn’t know how to answer. I thought to myself, trying to figure out if I knew any Zoomer bands, but I couldn’t think of a single one. I responded quizzically, “I don’t really know, to be honest. Maybe they just make electronic music these days.”

Tapping in your room on Ableton isn’t social, and it’s not really very impressive to the girls you like, either. They want to see strumming and singing, not clicking and dragging.

This happened a few days ago, I’ve been thinking about the question ever since, and I still don’t know if there are Zoomer bands.

Sonic youth

Now, of course, I am old, and I am not seeking out new music. I am not trying (and failing) to be younger than I am. But still, I am not blind or deaf, I am online, I do have some idea of the new music that comes down the pike, I do know the general sonic trends today, I do know Zoomers, and I don’t really think there are Zoomer bands like there were Millennial bands or Gen X bands or Boomer bands.

I am sure there are some Zoomer bands here and there. They are probably very indie and have fewer yet more devoted followers, and they are probably making some really cool stuff.

But rock and everything related doesn’t have the same cultural impact it once did. I remember when I was a kid, it felt like everything that coded as young and fun involved an electric guitar. Yeah, there was rap, but honestly I didn’t listen to it and I didn’t really know anyone who did. Maybe it was where I grew up (in the middle of nowhere), but rap wasn’t really much of a thing.

Born slippy

The same was true for electronic music and what eventually came to be known as EDM.

When I was in high school, we never heard techno, trance, or anything electronic anywhere except in a scene from a movie set in Sweden. It was when I went to Europe in high school that I first really heard EDM in a concentrated way. I stayed with a host family in Austria. My host brother gave me a data CD with a bunch of techno on it. I brought it back to the U.S. and thought it was so cool. It felt so foreign and so European.

Back in those days, rock ruled. Mainstream stuff was on the radio and MTV, and the better more independent-ish stuff was not. The sound of youth was rock. Today, it’s rap and EDM that rule; rock has faded into the sonic background.

I think there are probably a lot of good explanations for the decline of rock. The ways that societies evolve and change are complex. Social factors, demographics, technological developments, world politics, and economic realities all work together to impact things seemingly unrelated. Nevertheless, whatever the reason(s) why, the electric guitar no longer means what it used to mean.

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Harold M. Lambert/Getty Images

OK computer

Instead of electric guitar or drums, young people play around on software known as digital audio workstations — and they are worse off because of it.

I don’t say that out of ignorance of the medium or simple nostalgia for the distortion pedal. I grew up in music, studied classical music in college, played in bands along the way, and worked in acoustic music for some years. I've also produced electronic commercial music in a DAW for years, and trust me — it’s a totally different experience.

At the base, when you are making electronic music, you are alone. You are stationary. You are sitting at a desk moving only your fingers, staring at a screen, tweaking little digital dials to achieve the desired result. It’s a very sterile experience. It’s creative for sure, and it can be very fun, but it isn’t at all like playing in a band.

Making electronic music in the DAW is geared almost entirely toward the end result, while playing guitar in a band is geared toward the present experience, or at least partly the present experience. The experience working in the DAW is lonely; the experience playing in the band is social. The process of producing music on the computer is docile; the act of playing an instrument is physical.

Old time rock & roll

I like electronic music. Making it used to be my job. But I don’t think its replacing of rock is necessarily good. When rock was dominant, young boys wanted to play guitar, bass, or drums so they could play like the bands they loved and maybe impress the girls they liked.

They got together, played in their parents’ garage, sounded like garbage, but had a good time together while maybe, hopefully, improving on their instruments. And even if not, at least they were a group.

There is no comparable experience in the era of electronic music. Tapping in your room on Ableton isn’t social, and it’s not really very impressive to the girls you like, either. They want to see strumming and singing, not clicking and dragging. I met my wife when I played live music, not when I made electronic music.

Rock, at the end of the day, was something full of vital energy. Even when it was slower, angrier, or came in softer tones, its essence was electric and living. Good and bad, love and hate.

There is much to be said about the social isolation and various dysfunctions of the younger generations. Lots of things have contributed to a lonely world of lonely people. I’m not sure I’ve heard anyone suggest that the decline of rock mirrors the decline of a functional social society, but I think that oddly, it might.

Maybe we need more rock bands.

Bird by bird: The hobby healing millions of burned-out Americans



Ninety-six million Americans now call themselves bird-watchers.

That’s nearly one in three people. What was once the domain of retired dentists with too much time and too many thermoses has become a national pastime.

'You don’t need equipment to go birding,' he says. 'Just walk outside and look or listen for birds. It’s like a treasure hunt — where can I find a new or different one?'

Or, as the bureaucrats insist, a “sport.” (Blame linguistic inflation, but that’s beside the point.) Bird-watching has gone mainstream, and America has fallen head over talons for it.

'Exhausted by noise and nonsense'

Growing up in Ireland, I used to hunt pheasants with my father. But I also bird-watched with him. He had the patience of a saint and the binoculars of a spy. He could spot a kestrel from what felt like another county. I, on the other hand, had the attention span of a jackdaw. Yet even then, there was something strangely meditative about standing still, waiting for wings to appear.

Bird-watching wasn’t about chasing or conquering. It was about listening, noticing, and finding a kind of peace that didn’t need words. Maybe that’s why it’s booming in America now — a country exhausted by noise and nonsense.

The modern American lives in a blizzard of screens, sound bites, and sirens. Every scroll and ping pulls the mind farther from the present moment. Bird-watching is the perfect rebellion against that chaos. It rewards stillness. It teaches patience. It’s meditation with feathers. You can’t doomscroll while trying to spot a warbler. And unlike most modern hobbies, it doesn’t demand equipment that costs more than your car. A decent pair of binoculars and a curious soul will do.

It also helps that bird-watching is wonderfully democratic. You can do it anywhere — city park, back yard, Walmart parking lot, even your ex’s front yard if you’re brave enough. Birds don’t discriminate by zip code. From Brooklyn to Baton Rouge, the same act of quiet wonder unites people who otherwise wouldn’t share a word. A cardinal on a branch can silence even the loudest partisan. Or can it?

Taking off with Birding Bob

Who better to ask than Robert DeCandido, Ph.D., more commonly known as “Birding Bob.” Bronx-born and proud of it, he’s been leading bird walks for the best part of 40 years, charming tourists and occasionally scolding squirrels. He’s studied owls in Central Park, falcons on skyscrapers, and raptors in Nepal — because, apparently, the city’s pigeons weren’t exotic enough. With his encyclopedic knowledge, laser pointer, and unflappable enthusiasm, the Bob has turned Manhattan into one big aviary.

When asked why bird-watching has suddenly become the new yoga, Bob doesn’t entertain the hype. “To me, this has been building since the late 1990s,” he says. “It seems to track the use of the internet in people’s lives. I’ve been leading bird walks since the late 1980s, so I’ve watched the growth.” In his eyes, birding is less a sudden craze than a steady cultural migration decades in the making.

As for the pandemic’s supposed role in reviving our hunger for slow living, Bob’s answer is brisk. “No,” he says. “I think birding was one of the few activities you could do early on in the pandemic — especially with others.”

When the world shut down, birding stayed open. “If you had a park in your neighborhood, you could just walk over. No need for mass transit or being in close proximity indoors.” For Bob, that’s when many realized bird-watching was accessible, social, and a way to stay sane in those rather insane times.

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Image Courtesy of the National Park Service

'Just walk outside and look'

And about that “retired dentist with binoculars” stereotype? Bob laughs it off. “Where or how did you come up with this idea? It was never, ever that.” His tours are proof. They draw everyone from teenagers to tech workers, stay-at-home moms to deadbeat dads. If anything, birding has become one of the few spaces in New York where social class often dissolves into shared curiosity.

Gen Z’s growing interest doesn’t surprise him either. “It’s cheap,” he says flatly. “People like nature. And the media’s pushing birding now, so different folks are giving it a go.”

It sounds simple, but it explains a lot. Birding offers something both primal and portable in an age hooked on algorithms and AI-fed sludge. It’s a dopamine hit that doesn’t come from Silicon Valley — though plenty of apps now let users flaunt their feathered finds. There’s Merlin Bird ID, which can identify a species from a photo or song; eBird, where users log sightings and climb leaderboards; and Birda, the “Strava of birding,” complete with challenges and badges.

Bob’s Bronx bluntness resurfaces when asked if birding could unite left and right.

“No. Americans will find a way to fight no matter what,” he says, half-joking. “Most birders are moderate to left, so the infighting has been mild so far. But it’s there.” He doesn’t hide where he stands — he lets his politics show — but never in a preachy or polarizing way. It’s more observational than ideological, the way a field biologist might note the plumage of a particularly noisy species.

Then, almost as if to re-center the conversation, he lands on what really matters. “You don’t need equipment to go birding,” he says. “Just walk outside and look or listen for birds. It’s like a treasure hunt — where can I find a new or different one? No need to make lists or find rare ones. Just go out and look. Have fun. Learn about your local environment.”

That, in the end, might explain why bird-watching has taken flight across the nation. In a culture obsessed with competition, Birding Bob reminds us that not everything needs to be a race. You don’t win at bird-watching. You simply show up, look up, and listen. It’s the most affordable form of mindfulness on the market. In an era powered by progress bars, birding is gloriously buffering. No feeds, no frenzy, just feathers in flight — and the occasional pigeon dropping on your $200 North Face jacket.

New head of US Catholic Bishops said he would deny communion to pro-abortion politicians



Archbishop Paul S. Coakley is not in favor of giving politicians preferential treatment.

Coakley, archbishop of Oklahoma City, was elected as the next president of the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops in a secret ballot on Tuesday and will serve a three-year term as president.

'I think in many cases it becomes the right decision and the only choice.'

Coakley has set a strong precedent for supporting the denial of communion to certain politicians that dates back more than a decade.

Most recently, in 2022, Coakley spoke in support of Archbishop Salvatore Joseph Cordileone of San Francisco. As reported by Life News, Cordileone decided to withhold communion from Rep. Nancy Pelosi (D-Calif.) at the time after she backed the Democrats as they blocked a vote on a bill to stop infanticide at least 80 times.

As Pelosi's district encompasses San Francisco, Cordileone informed Pelosi she would be denied communion following her repeated dismissal of the archbishop, who attempted to speak with her about supporting "grave evil."

Coakley supported the decision, saying, "I applaud the courage of Archbishop Cordileone and his leadership in taking this difficult step. Let us continue to pray for Abp. Cordileone, priests of the Archdiocese of San Francisco, Speaker Pelosi, for the protection of the unborn, and for the conversion of hearts and minds."

The new USCCB president has remained consistent, and the proof is showcased in an interview he gave in 2014.

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— (@)

After Coakley said that many Catholic politicians have been at the forefront of "fostering so-called abortion rights," he was asked about denying them communion due to the "severity" of their support for abortion.

Coakley replied, "I think one has to determine yet at what point it can be determined that they have come to that state of obstinate refusal to desist from that condition of manifest, grave sin."

He told Life Site News, "I think we have an obligation as bishops, as pastors, to try to work with them to bring them to a change of heart and refusing them communion would be, not the first, but more than likely, the last stage in a serious [sic] of steps."

The outlet then clarified, asking if it was something he would rule out or not.

"Oh, absolutely not," Coakley reiterated. "I think it is something that Canon Law sanctions and that I think many bishops find themselves with no other choice but to make that decision. I think in many cases it becomes the right decision and the only choice."

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VATICAN - 2022/06/29: US House of Representatives Speaker Nancy Pelosi (R), with her husband, Paul Pelosi (C), attend a Holy Mass for the Solemnity of Saints Peter and Paul lead by Pope Francis in St. Peter's Basilica. (Photo by Stefano Costantino/SOPA Images/LightRocket via Getty Images)

Upon accepting his new role, Coakley wrote a statement on X about being "put out into deep waters" in his new position.

"Once again, the Lord is inviting me," he wrote. "Please pray that I may be a faithful steward and a wise servant of unity and communion with our Holy Father, Pope Leo, and with my brother bishops."

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