Wednesday, November 19, 2025
Tequila Wars: 100 Percent Should Mean 100 Percent
[ed. Costco, Kendall Jenner, Diego Corp (Don Julio, Casamigos, etc.) others accused of selling adulterated tequila.]
If you’ve been following this unfolding drama, you may remember that Galván is a spokesperson for agave farmers (currently Agaveros de la Agroindustria del Tequila) who have been protesting industry corruption and unfair practices for over a year.
“The CRT certifies a product as 100% agave when it isn’t,” Galván stated, “With these tests, we prove it. The organization acts as a monopoly that favors industrialists, marginalizes small producers, and puts public health at risk.”
The CRT is a nonprofit “interprofessional organization” that supposedly represents all players in the tequila industry–including agave farmers. In October of 2024, a coalition of agaveros challenged this claim. The price of agave had dropped from 32 pesos a kilo (in 2018) to just one peso a kilo, and the farmers had a litany of complaints. They alleged that the drop in prices wasn’t just the same old boom and bust cycle that had plagued agave farmers for years. At a protest outside of CRT headquarters in Zapopan, Jalisco, agaveros sounded the alarm, alleging that the CRT was colluding with major tequila companies to drive down agave prices and squeeze out small farmers.
Curious to know more about the source of this unrest, I sought out Remberto Galván Cabrera. He was loquacious, passionate, and hellbent to expose the alleged corruption. Much of what he said seemed plausible. The idea of corporations colluding to screw over farmers? Sure. The agaveros’ accusation that a regulatory body (the CRT) was corrupt? Certainly possible. His allegation that giant corporations were breaking international laws to adulterate their supposedly premium tequilas? That was harder to swallow. I couldn’t understand why they would take such a giant risk when it would be relatively easy to prove that a tequila was corrupted. Galván assured me there was evidence, but he wasn’t ready to release it. Fast forward about a year…
Since we first broke the story of the allegations in January of 2025, the drama has escalated. Galván was kidnapped and beaten. His phone and paperwork were stolen. Two leaders in the movement, Julián Rodríguez Parra and Salvador Ibarra Landeros, were arrested and jailed. I received veiled threats. The agaveros continued to stage protests.
Casamigos, Don Julio, Cincoro, and 818 accused of selling fake tequila
Although the protesting agaveros were making a lot of noise, the story wasn’t picked up by major news sources until May 5, 2025, when we reported that a class action lawsuit had been filed in New York against liquor giant Diageo. The lawsuit alleges that two Diageo tequilas, Casamigos and Don Julio, were adulterated with industrial alcohol. Diageo refuted the allegations stating, “All Casamigos and Don Julio tequilas labelled as ‘100% agave’ are made from 100% blue weber agave. We will vigorously defend the quality and integrity of our tequilas in court, and against anyone who is spreading misinformation and lies about our products.”
On July 4, another class action lawsuit was filed in California, opening the field of plaintiffs to anyone in the US who had bought Don Julio or Casamigos products. Since then, additional tequila brands have been slapped with lawsuits, including Kendall Jenner’s 818 tequila. In a case filed in Florida, the plaintiffs accuse 818 of knowingly selling adulterated tequila.
According to the September 23 filing, “Defendants actively concealed and misrepresented the true nature of how their Products were manufactured and composition of their Products. Indeed, Defendants concealed and misrepresented that they had in fact utilized sugars other than those obtained from the tequilana weber blue variety of agave to enhance their tequila, despite the Products being labeled as 100% agave azul.” (...)
So how bad is the adulterated “tequila”?
“The four samples we analyzed were adulterated with cheap cane alcohol,” Galván says. “Two samples weren’t even recognized as mixto tequila, meaning they have 33% agave sugars or less. The other two barely reached 51% agave.” He notes that one sample also had unsafe levels of methanol–a factor the CRT supposedly monitors.
We contacted the CRT for comment but have not yet received a reply. They have declined our previous request.
The numbers Galván lists are consistent with the test results cited in the California class action lawsuit, which was filed on July 4 by Baron & Budd in conjunction with Hagens Berman, who were responsible for the first class action lawsuit in New York.
According to the legal team, tests revealed that Casamigos Blanco contains approximately 33% agave-derived alcohol. Supposedly, Don Julio Blanco is 42% agave, while their pricey 1942 Añejo contains just 33% agave. As the complaint summarizes, “These findings directly contradict the prominent ‘100% Agave’ labels on Diageo Premium tequila products and confirm that Diageo’s representations are materially false and misleading.”
“The four samples we analyzed were adulterated with cheap cane alcohol,” Galván says. “Two samples weren’t even recognized as mixto tequila, meaning they have 33% agave sugars or less. The other two barely reached 51% agave.” He notes that one sample also had unsafe levels of methanol–a factor the CRT supposedly monitors.
We contacted the CRT for comment but have not yet received a reply. They have declined our previous request.
The numbers Galván lists are consistent with the test results cited in the California class action lawsuit, which was filed on July 4 by Baron & Budd in conjunction with Hagens Berman, who were responsible for the first class action lawsuit in New York.
According to the legal team, tests revealed that Casamigos Blanco contains approximately 33% agave-derived alcohol. Supposedly, Don Julio Blanco is 42% agave, while their pricey 1942 Añejo contains just 33% agave. As the complaint summarizes, “These findings directly contradict the prominent ‘100% Agave’ labels on Diageo Premium tequila products and confirm that Diageo’s representations are materially false and misleading.”
by Felisa Rogers, Mezcalitas | Read more:
Image: via
[ed. See also: Costco implicated in adulterated tequila scandal; and, Tequila test results revealed, death threats, and other breaking news (Mezcalitas):]***
Since we last reported on the tequila adulteration scandal, A LOT has happened. To make sense of it, I’ve created a timeline of recent revelations, followed by my takeaways and a chilling message from the man who has risked everything to bring this story to light. (...)My takeaways…
At this point, it’s challenging to track all these law suits, law firms, and formal complaints. Meanwhile, we wonder why this story isn’t receiving more attention in the mainstream press. (...)
We continued to cover the protests and negotiations, but the allegations of adulterated tequila didn’t gain traction until May, when we reported that a major law firm was bringing a class action lawsuit against Diageo, the parent company of Casamigos and Don Julio, for allegedly selling adulterated tequila masquerading as a 100% agave premium product. Our story was picked up by Reuters, trade publications, and other outlets. The scandal has since snowballed into more lawsuits, outraged declarations of innocence, and a whole lot of speculation.
But to me, the agaveros are still at the heart of this drama. In a nutshell: this is a story about giant corporations allegedly colluding with a regulatory agency to improve their profit margins. By allegedly adulterating tequila with industrial alcohol, these players are devaluing the price of agave. This is unfair to both the agaveros and the legitimate distillers who are still making real tequila with care and at much greater cost.
It’s also a tale of courage in the face of enormous danger. Since beginning this crusade, Remberto Galván has been abducted and beaten. Two other agavero leaders, Julián Rodríguez and Salvador Ibarra, were arrested for protesting outside of the Sauza distillery and held in jail for 72 days. We are seriously concerned for the safety of everyone who continues to speak out on this issue.
Galván says that he and his associates have received threatening anonymous phone calls. According to Galván, he was told that if doesn’t back down, his body parts will be strewn around his home.
But the alleged intimidation goes beyond death threats. According to Galván, his own distillery, La Alborada, was targeted. He says a friend and colleague was pressured to plant adulterated tequila on the premises.
This appears to be a theme. Galván, a crusader against adulterated tequila, may be charged with adulterating tequila. Julián Rodríguez, an advocate for the rights of farmers, was charged with extortion and intimidation of Sauza for engaging in a peaceful protest outside the entrance of their distillery.
Galván fears for his life. He asked us to put this in the public record.
Gerrymandering Looks Like a Worse and Worse Bet for GOP
It is certainly still too soon to say what the effects of a spasm of mid-decade gerrymandering will be on the results of the 2026 midterms, but one thing we can say for sure already: It won’t have been worth it.
After three furious months that began when Texas’s August gerrymander kicked off a national game of tit for tat, there are only 35 or 40 House seats that we can already expect to be at least somewhat competitive next year. About half of those are guaranteed battlegrounds — the perennial swing districts. But of the larger swing set, it’s Republicans who have slightly more exposure.
A light breeze would probably be enough to deliver the three red-to-blue flips necessary to see a fifth change in partisan control of the House this century. You’d have to go back to the 1870s and 1880s to find another equivalent period of partisan turmoil.
Another change in power would be no surprise for a House in which neither party has been able to find anything like a stable majority. But what we learned from the elections at the start of this month was that there are another 15 or more seats, all currently held by Republicans, that now have to be considered in play next November.
Certainly, the winds could still change direction. Given that less than 10 percent of House districts are competitive in a pure sense, a run of good news for the party in power could still limit Democrats to very modest gains. Maybe not fewer than three seats, but perhaps not enough to have anything other than a very weak majority.
That’s the scenario Republicans had in mind when they undertook their Texas maneuver. In 2022, the GOP learned the hard way that there are limits to the potency of the midterm curse that has afflicted the majority party in almost every midterm election for more than a century.
Four years ago at this time, the consensus view held that the deepening unpopularity of then-President Biden and the results of the off-year elections in New Jersey and Virginia foreshadowed Democratic losses somewhere in the range of two dozen seats. With Republicans only needing to flip three seats, control of the House wasn’t ever really seriously in doubt. What the GOP was instead thinking about was how to get at the upper end of the range of possible flips and give future Speaker Kevin McCarthy (R-Calif.) a little cushion once the red team took control.
Instead, Republicans won only nine seats, which, as we know, gave the new leaders no room to maneuver. The future Speaker was a former Speaker in just nine months. The Republican underperformance of 2022 had created a narrow majority in which small factions, and even individual members, had veto power over the agenda.
Things got weirder still in 2024, when a Republican presidential candidate won the national popular vote for only the second time in 30 years, but House Republicans still managed a net loss of two seats. First, the midterm wave didn’t materialize, and then a decisive win for their party in a presidential contest produced no downballot benefits for them.
That’s all been very frustrating for House Republicans, many of whom still remember the golden days of the 2010s when the GOP controlled more than 240 seats. If you’ve served in a House majority where you could afford to lose nearly 30 members of your own party and still advance legislation, this has to be a real grind.
But there was an upside. As House Republicans came to terms with their even smaller majority after 2024, the silver lining seemed to be that perhaps the era of “wave” elections was over. Democrats lost a bunch of House seats when Biden won by more than 7 million votes in 2020, the Republicans had failed to capitalize in 2022, and Trump 2.0 had no coattails.
There’s a strong argument there for the idea that the boom-and-bust cycle that had delivered wild swings in both directions from 2006 to 2018 had come to a close. It could be explained by the ways in which technology has made gerrymandering more effective or by the self-gerrymandering of the electorate. American voters have become extraordinarily — dangerously, even — sorted into compact partisan clusters. This geographic siloing fits with the death of “all politics is local” in favor of a highly nationalized approach to elections. Plus, districts are huge now, with nearly 900,000 constituents for every House member.
Big districts with tight partisan clusters exploited by big data, and a climate of zombie party loyalty could explain why in three consecutive elections we have had teeny-tiny majorities.
And if that is the way of the world, what Republicans did in Texas made sense. If the range of the cycle-to-cycle swing is less than 10 seats, five seats is a lot. It made even more sense if one accepted the conventional wisdom that Democrats didn’t have many options for retaliation. Democrats already mastered gerrymandering in places such as Illinois, where their state-level control was based on maximizing the clout of their voters in those big blue dots surrounded by red counties.
Plus, Democrats had been decrying gerrymandering for years. They put it at the center of their 2021 bill for a federal takeover of elections, and multiple blue states, including California, had passed measures requiring a nonpartisan drawing of lines.
Those assumptions turned out to be wrong. It’s still too soon to say, but right now, the best guess is that the coast-to-coast redistricting wars are probably worth just two or three seats for Republicans. If we assume the Republican premise that the potential swing before gerrymandering was just eight or nine seats, three seats isn’t nothing, but probably not worth the cost and the inevitable unintended consequences.
And if those unintended consequences include further motivating an already frothy Democratic base in a cycle that, for now anyway, looks like an old-fashioned wave, the Texas strategy will look like a debacle.
by Chris Stirewalt, The Hill | Read More:
Image: Texas Monthly/Getty via
After three furious months that began when Texas’s August gerrymander kicked off a national game of tit for tat, there are only 35 or 40 House seats that we can already expect to be at least somewhat competitive next year. About half of those are guaranteed battlegrounds — the perennial swing districts. But of the larger swing set, it’s Republicans who have slightly more exposure.
Another change in power would be no surprise for a House in which neither party has been able to find anything like a stable majority. But what we learned from the elections at the start of this month was that there are another 15 or more seats, all currently held by Republicans, that now have to be considered in play next November.
Certainly, the winds could still change direction. Given that less than 10 percent of House districts are competitive in a pure sense, a run of good news for the party in power could still limit Democrats to very modest gains. Maybe not fewer than three seats, but perhaps not enough to have anything other than a very weak majority.
That’s the scenario Republicans had in mind when they undertook their Texas maneuver. In 2022, the GOP learned the hard way that there are limits to the potency of the midterm curse that has afflicted the majority party in almost every midterm election for more than a century.
Four years ago at this time, the consensus view held that the deepening unpopularity of then-President Biden and the results of the off-year elections in New Jersey and Virginia foreshadowed Democratic losses somewhere in the range of two dozen seats. With Republicans only needing to flip three seats, control of the House wasn’t ever really seriously in doubt. What the GOP was instead thinking about was how to get at the upper end of the range of possible flips and give future Speaker Kevin McCarthy (R-Calif.) a little cushion once the red team took control.
Instead, Republicans won only nine seats, which, as we know, gave the new leaders no room to maneuver. The future Speaker was a former Speaker in just nine months. The Republican underperformance of 2022 had created a narrow majority in which small factions, and even individual members, had veto power over the agenda.
Things got weirder still in 2024, when a Republican presidential candidate won the national popular vote for only the second time in 30 years, but House Republicans still managed a net loss of two seats. First, the midterm wave didn’t materialize, and then a decisive win for their party in a presidential contest produced no downballot benefits for them.
That’s all been very frustrating for House Republicans, many of whom still remember the golden days of the 2010s when the GOP controlled more than 240 seats. If you’ve served in a House majority where you could afford to lose nearly 30 members of your own party and still advance legislation, this has to be a real grind.
But there was an upside. As House Republicans came to terms with their even smaller majority after 2024, the silver lining seemed to be that perhaps the era of “wave” elections was over. Democrats lost a bunch of House seats when Biden won by more than 7 million votes in 2020, the Republicans had failed to capitalize in 2022, and Trump 2.0 had no coattails.
There’s a strong argument there for the idea that the boom-and-bust cycle that had delivered wild swings in both directions from 2006 to 2018 had come to a close. It could be explained by the ways in which technology has made gerrymandering more effective or by the self-gerrymandering of the electorate. American voters have become extraordinarily — dangerously, even — sorted into compact partisan clusters. This geographic siloing fits with the death of “all politics is local” in favor of a highly nationalized approach to elections. Plus, districts are huge now, with nearly 900,000 constituents for every House member.
Big districts with tight partisan clusters exploited by big data, and a climate of zombie party loyalty could explain why in three consecutive elections we have had teeny-tiny majorities.
And if that is the way of the world, what Republicans did in Texas made sense. If the range of the cycle-to-cycle swing is less than 10 seats, five seats is a lot. It made even more sense if one accepted the conventional wisdom that Democrats didn’t have many options for retaliation. Democrats already mastered gerrymandering in places such as Illinois, where their state-level control was based on maximizing the clout of their voters in those big blue dots surrounded by red counties.
Plus, Democrats had been decrying gerrymandering for years. They put it at the center of their 2021 bill for a federal takeover of elections, and multiple blue states, including California, had passed measures requiring a nonpartisan drawing of lines.
Those assumptions turned out to be wrong. It’s still too soon to say, but right now, the best guess is that the coast-to-coast redistricting wars are probably worth just two or three seats for Republicans. If we assume the Republican premise that the potential swing before gerrymandering was just eight or nine seats, three seats isn’t nothing, but probably not worth the cost and the inevitable unintended consequences.
And if those unintended consequences include further motivating an already frothy Democratic base in a cycle that, for now anyway, looks like an old-fashioned wave, the Texas strategy will look like a debacle.
by Chris Stirewalt, The Hill | Read More:
Image: Texas Monthly/Getty via
Only a Failing System Could Produce Chuck Grassley
Did you know that, right now, the person who sits third in line to the U.S. presidency is a deeply strange 92-year-old from Iowa? It’s one of those facts you forget about, until you look at the government website for “presidential succession” and get taken by surprise. But there it is: if anything happens to Donald Trump, JD Vance, and Mike Johnson, Senator Chuck Grassley would be our country’s Commander in Chief. He’s both the President pro tempore of the Senate and the chair of its Judiciary Committee, which makes him one of the most powerful people in Congress. This is alarming news for America, because Grassley is also the oldest member of Congress—he’s been in politics since the Eisenhower administration—and one of its foremost weirdos. On a regular basis, he puts things on the internet that make Trump look normal by comparison. He has a legislative track record a mile long, and most of it is awful. But the problem he represents is much bigger than one man. The fact that someone like Chuck Grassley has represented Iowa in the Senate for 45 years is a sign that American democracy is in a near-terminal state of dysfunction. What’s more, it’s the most damning indictment of the Democratic Party imaginable. If they can’t beat this guy, what are they good for?
When Chuck Grassley was born in 1933, Hitler and Stalin were both still alive, and the chocolate chip cookie had not yet been invented. When he was first elected to the Iowa state legislature in 1958, segregation and Jim Crow were still in full effect, and would be for another six years. When he became a U.S. senator in 1980, it was part of the “Reagan Revolution” that created the Republican Party as we know it today—and Grassley was endorsed by the Ku Klux Klan, who reportedly gave him “an eight out of ten for his voting record.” One of his first big decisions in Washington was to vote against the creation of Martin Luther King Jr. Day in 1983, although he insists he was just concerned about the expense of giving federal workers another day off. Simply put, this guy has been in Congress forever, outlasting six successive presidents. Now, at age 92, he visibly struggles to read statements on the Senate floor—but that hasn’t stopped him from filing the paperwork to run for yet another term in 2028, when he’d be 95. More likely, if the actuarial tables are anything to go by, he’ll follow in the footsteps of Senator Dianne Feinstein and Representative Gerry Connolly, and simply drop dead in office one of these days.
There’s a popular line of thinking, embodied in David Hogg’s “Leaders We Deserve” PAC and Samuel Moyn’s forthcoming book Gerontocracy in America, that says elderly, out-of-touch leaders like Chuck Grassley are behind a lot of the country’s problems. Certainly with people like Dianne Feinstein and Joe Biden, there’s a pattern of politicians staying in office long after it would have been sensible to retire. But you’ve got to be careful here, because the problem with these leaders is not only that they’re old. In general, age is a bad proxy for policy preferences, class allegiance, and even competence. The presumption behind the “gerontocracy” narrative is that younger equals more progressive, more worker-friendly, and that’s statistically likely, but not always true in individual cases. Even basic on-the-job ability varies. Bernie Sanders is old, though eight years Grassley’s junior, and he’s still doing (mostly) solid work. Ritchie Torres and Marie Gluesenkamp Perez are young, and they’re terrible. In Grassley’s case, the real problem is a more insidious combination of things. He hasn’t just been hanging on to power like a barnacle for decades, he’s also been making policy choices that directly harm the people of Iowa, and he’s been exhibiting some truly bizarre behavior along the way.
Congress is, as we know, essentially a group home for cranks, perverts, and the deranged. But even among that crowd, Grassley stands out. Like Donald Trump, he loves to post, and every time he goes online, he gives the world a glimpse into a lifestyle that can only be described as baffling. Take his longstanding devotion to Beth the vacuum cleaner. This is a 1987 Hoover Concept Two upright vacuum, which presumably used to be white-and-red, but thanks to the passage of time is now more beige-and-red. Not only has Senator Grassley named this vacuum cleaner “Beth,” which is weird and vaguely sexist by itself, but he feels the need to tell the world about it on every major holiday, like clockwork. “Once again Beth has performed wonderfully for family reunion If u knew Beth like I know Beth u would know the dependability I know,” he posted this August. Or, in April 2022: “Grassley to Beth: Sunday we hv our Easter family gathering are u ready to roll ?” Or last December: “Beth going to get Grassley farm house ready for 32 guest Christmas Day.” The man is obsessed.
Like a lot of older people, Grassley’s posting style is terse, full of abbreviations and run-on sentences, and somewhat incoherent. In a recent article, the Iowa-based Little Village described it as having “the start-stop, quiet-loud, herky-jerky quality of an E.E. Cummings poem.” The subjects, too, are odd. “Windsor Heights Dairy Queen is good place for u kno what,” the senator tweeted in 2014, causing a collective huh? to spread across the nation. He would repeat the sentiment the following year, writing that “I'm at the Jefferson Iowa DairyQueen doing ‘you know what’ !!!” Apparently, “you know what” just means “eating ice cream”—or at least, that’s the story he’s sticking to. (...)
Grassley is a fascinating figure, because you never know what you’re going to get next with him. And all of his corn and vacuum-related antics might be charming, if he didn’t have any political power, and was just somebody’s weird grandfather (or, at this point, great-grandfather). There’s an entire category of American political grotesques like this: figures who’ve been defined in the public eye by their personal strangeness and entertainment value, as much as their actual politics. Trump is another, with his constant stream of garbled utterances about the relative merits of death by shark vs. electrocution or how “nothing bad can happen, it can only good happen.” Or there’s RFK Jr. with his brain worms and quack cures, or even New York City’s favorite sons, Eric Adams and Curtis Sliwa. But the problem is, these people do have power. They control things like public health, the police, and the military, and they decide the outcomes of people’s lives. Like Sideshow Bob on The Simpsons, they’re a lot less funny when you realize they’re actually trying to harm you, and Chuck Grassley is no exception.
So what has Chuck Grassley done with his considerable power? When the curtain finally falls on his life and career, how will he be judged? Not well, if you’re an ordinary working-class Iowan. At every turn, Grassley has consistently made decisions that make their lives worse. (...)
Then, too, as head of the Senate Judiciary Committee Grassley had a major role in converting the Supreme Court to the openly right-wing institution it is today. Back in 2016, when he first led the committee, it was Grassley who delayed the vote on Merrick Garland’s confirmation to the Court until after the 2016 election, effectively stealing a seat from the outgoing Obama administration. Afterward, it was Grassley who was among the staunchest defenders of Brett Kavanaugh, even (and especially) after it became clear that Kavanaugh had lied to the American people about the sexual assault accusations brought against him by Christine Blasey Ford. So in a sense, all of the decisions that make up the Court’s post-2016 rightward turn—from the dismantling of women’s reproductive rights to the sweeping criminal immunity granted to Donald Trump—are Grassley’s handiwork.
Good news, though: if you’re a mentally ill person who wants to get a high-powered gun, Chuck Grassley is your best friend! One of his pet projects in 2017 was to repeal Obama-era regulations that prevented people from buying firearms if they had “mental impairments” so significant that they needed a third party to help them claim Social Security benefits. That seems like a rule even the most avid hunters and rifle collectors could agree with—if you can’t fill out a form unaided, you shouldn’t have a gun—but Grassley objected, claiming that the standards were too “vague” and that “if a specific individual is likely to be violent due to the nature of their mental illness, then the government should have to prove it” on a case-by-case basis. Never mind that, by the time the “proof” arrives, a school or a Walmart could be riddled with bullets and bloodstains.
This is who Chuck Grassley is. He makes decisions in Washington that ruin people’s lives, and then he flies back to Iowa to post incoherent gibberish about Dairy Queen online. The wacky grandpa image is a cloak for the deeper depravity. And his constituents know it. In 2021, only 28 percent of Iowans wanted him to run for re-election, with “the age thing” cited as the most common reason. More recently, Grassley’s town hall events have become outpourings of frustration against Republican policy: “I’M PISSED!” one man recently yelled at him, after he made a mumbling defense of the Trump administration shipping people to a gulag in El Salvador without due process. He spoke for millions.
Which leads to another, even grimmer question: why, in Grassley’s 45-year career in the Senate, have the Democrats never been able to unseat him? (...)
Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about the kind of leaders a system of government throws up in its dying days. You probably remember them from your high school history books. Romulus Augustulus, the last emperor of Rome, who ruled for only ten months before being deposed by the Barbarians (who found him so non-threatening they let him retire to a monastery). Kings Louis XIV through XVI in France, swanning around Versailles in their fur capes while the revolution was brewing outside. Nicholas II in Russia, letting Rasputin whisper in his ear as more and more of his people got blown to bits in World War I, while Lenin and Trotsky drew up battle plans of their own. Later, President Boris Yeltsin, who had crippling alcoholism even by Russian standards, to the extent he “wandered into the street in his underwear” during a state visit with Bill Clinton—and who played a key role in the downfall of the Soviet Union. In each era, the pattern is the same. The people in power are incompetent, corrupt, and personally contemptible, pale shadows of the leaders the country or system had at its peak—and yet, there seems to be no way to get rid of them.
Contrary to the “great man” (or rather “weak man”) theory of history, it’s not that these leaders cause the downfall of their regimes through their personal failings. Just the opposite. They’re not catalysts of decline, but morbid symptoms. The fact that they ever got near power is proof that the system itself is no longer functional. The mechanisms that are supposed to produce strong, effective leaders, from education to military promotion to party leadership contests, are no longer doing so. The skills and attributes needed to reach the top of the hierarchy no longer have much, if anything, to do with the skills and attributes needed to actually rule. Nepotism, mutual back-slapping, and financial corruption have taken hold, like rust. In the early 1800s, Napoleon was able to sweep across the map of Europe like a holy terror, in part because the ancien régime was still choosing military officers based on their noble bloodlines, while Napoleon only cared about effectiveness and would promote any old commoner who could win battles for him. Monarchy was dying, and the last things it belched up as it expired were tenth-generation, third-rate Hapsburg cousins, ripe for the slaughter. In the USSR, the bureaucracy elevated people based on how well they recited the Party line like a catechism, as much as their actual abilities. Thus, they eventually produced a Yeltsin.
And today in the United States, we have Chuck Grassley.
There’s a popular line of thinking, embodied in David Hogg’s “Leaders We Deserve” PAC and Samuel Moyn’s forthcoming book Gerontocracy in America, that says elderly, out-of-touch leaders like Chuck Grassley are behind a lot of the country’s problems. Certainly with people like Dianne Feinstein and Joe Biden, there’s a pattern of politicians staying in office long after it would have been sensible to retire. But you’ve got to be careful here, because the problem with these leaders is not only that they’re old. In general, age is a bad proxy for policy preferences, class allegiance, and even competence. The presumption behind the “gerontocracy” narrative is that younger equals more progressive, more worker-friendly, and that’s statistically likely, but not always true in individual cases. Even basic on-the-job ability varies. Bernie Sanders is old, though eight years Grassley’s junior, and he’s still doing (mostly) solid work. Ritchie Torres and Marie Gluesenkamp Perez are young, and they’re terrible. In Grassley’s case, the real problem is a more insidious combination of things. He hasn’t just been hanging on to power like a barnacle for decades, he’s also been making policy choices that directly harm the people of Iowa, and he’s been exhibiting some truly bizarre behavior along the way.
Like a lot of older people, Grassley’s posting style is terse, full of abbreviations and run-on sentences, and somewhat incoherent. In a recent article, the Iowa-based Little Village described it as having “the start-stop, quiet-loud, herky-jerky quality of an E.E. Cummings poem.” The subjects, too, are odd. “Windsor Heights Dairy Queen is good place for u kno what,” the senator tweeted in 2014, causing a collective huh? to spread across the nation. He would repeat the sentiment the following year, writing that “I'm at the Jefferson Iowa DairyQueen doing ‘you know what’ !!!” Apparently, “you know what” just means “eating ice cream”—or at least, that’s the story he’s sticking to. (...)
Grassley is a fascinating figure, because you never know what you’re going to get next with him. And all of his corn and vacuum-related antics might be charming, if he didn’t have any political power, and was just somebody’s weird grandfather (or, at this point, great-grandfather). There’s an entire category of American political grotesques like this: figures who’ve been defined in the public eye by their personal strangeness and entertainment value, as much as their actual politics. Trump is another, with his constant stream of garbled utterances about the relative merits of death by shark vs. electrocution or how “nothing bad can happen, it can only good happen.” Or there’s RFK Jr. with his brain worms and quack cures, or even New York City’s favorite sons, Eric Adams and Curtis Sliwa. But the problem is, these people do have power. They control things like public health, the police, and the military, and they decide the outcomes of people’s lives. Like Sideshow Bob on The Simpsons, they’re a lot less funny when you realize they’re actually trying to harm you, and Chuck Grassley is no exception.
So what has Chuck Grassley done with his considerable power? When the curtain finally falls on his life and career, how will he be judged? Not well, if you’re an ordinary working-class Iowan. At every turn, Grassley has consistently made decisions that make their lives worse. (...)
Then, too, as head of the Senate Judiciary Committee Grassley had a major role in converting the Supreme Court to the openly right-wing institution it is today. Back in 2016, when he first led the committee, it was Grassley who delayed the vote on Merrick Garland’s confirmation to the Court until after the 2016 election, effectively stealing a seat from the outgoing Obama administration. Afterward, it was Grassley who was among the staunchest defenders of Brett Kavanaugh, even (and especially) after it became clear that Kavanaugh had lied to the American people about the sexual assault accusations brought against him by Christine Blasey Ford. So in a sense, all of the decisions that make up the Court’s post-2016 rightward turn—from the dismantling of women’s reproductive rights to the sweeping criminal immunity granted to Donald Trump—are Grassley’s handiwork.
Good news, though: if you’re a mentally ill person who wants to get a high-powered gun, Chuck Grassley is your best friend! One of his pet projects in 2017 was to repeal Obama-era regulations that prevented people from buying firearms if they had “mental impairments” so significant that they needed a third party to help them claim Social Security benefits. That seems like a rule even the most avid hunters and rifle collectors could agree with—if you can’t fill out a form unaided, you shouldn’t have a gun—but Grassley objected, claiming that the standards were too “vague” and that “if a specific individual is likely to be violent due to the nature of their mental illness, then the government should have to prove it” on a case-by-case basis. Never mind that, by the time the “proof” arrives, a school or a Walmart could be riddled with bullets and bloodstains.
This is who Chuck Grassley is. He makes decisions in Washington that ruin people’s lives, and then he flies back to Iowa to post incoherent gibberish about Dairy Queen online. The wacky grandpa image is a cloak for the deeper depravity. And his constituents know it. In 2021, only 28 percent of Iowans wanted him to run for re-election, with “the age thing” cited as the most common reason. More recently, Grassley’s town hall events have become outpourings of frustration against Republican policy: “I’M PISSED!” one man recently yelled at him, after he made a mumbling defense of the Trump administration shipping people to a gulag in El Salvador without due process. He spoke for millions.
Which leads to another, even grimmer question: why, in Grassley’s 45-year career in the Senate, have the Democrats never been able to unseat him? (...)
Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about the kind of leaders a system of government throws up in its dying days. You probably remember them from your high school history books. Romulus Augustulus, the last emperor of Rome, who ruled for only ten months before being deposed by the Barbarians (who found him so non-threatening they let him retire to a monastery). Kings Louis XIV through XVI in France, swanning around Versailles in their fur capes while the revolution was brewing outside. Nicholas II in Russia, letting Rasputin whisper in his ear as more and more of his people got blown to bits in World War I, while Lenin and Trotsky drew up battle plans of their own. Later, President Boris Yeltsin, who had crippling alcoholism even by Russian standards, to the extent he “wandered into the street in his underwear” during a state visit with Bill Clinton—and who played a key role in the downfall of the Soviet Union. In each era, the pattern is the same. The people in power are incompetent, corrupt, and personally contemptible, pale shadows of the leaders the country or system had at its peak—and yet, there seems to be no way to get rid of them.
Contrary to the “great man” (or rather “weak man”) theory of history, it’s not that these leaders cause the downfall of their regimes through their personal failings. Just the opposite. They’re not catalysts of decline, but morbid symptoms. The fact that they ever got near power is proof that the system itself is no longer functional. The mechanisms that are supposed to produce strong, effective leaders, from education to military promotion to party leadership contests, are no longer doing so. The skills and attributes needed to reach the top of the hierarchy no longer have much, if anything, to do with the skills and attributes needed to actually rule. Nepotism, mutual back-slapping, and financial corruption have taken hold, like rust. In the early 1800s, Napoleon was able to sweep across the map of Europe like a holy terror, in part because the ancien régime was still choosing military officers based on their noble bloodlines, while Napoleon only cared about effectiveness and would promote any old commoner who could win battles for him. Monarchy was dying, and the last things it belched up as it expired were tenth-generation, third-rate Hapsburg cousins, ripe for the slaughter. In the USSR, the bureaucracy elevated people based on how well they recited the Party line like a catechism, as much as their actual abilities. Thus, they eventually produced a Yeltsin.
And today in the United States, we have Chuck Grassley.
by Alex Skopic, Current Affairs | Read more:
Image: uncredited
[ed. Good point. In my experience, once an incumbent wins a couple elections they're almost impossible to unseat. Seen it all my life: out of sight, out of mind (in DC).]
[ed. See also: The Escapist Tragedy of ‘Calvin and Hobbes’ (Harvard Crimson).]
Tuesday, November 18, 2025
Federal Funding Cuts Cancelled 383 Active Clinical Trials, Dumping Over 74K Participants
When the Trump administration brutally cut federal funding for biomedical research earlier this year, at least 383 clinical trials that were already in progress were abruptly cancelled, cutting off over 74,000 trial participants from their experimental treatments, monitoring, or follow-ups, according to a study published today in JAMA Internal Medicine.
The study, led by researchers at Harvard, fills a knowledge gap of how the Trump administration’s research funding cuts affected clinical trials specifically. It makes clear not just the wastefulness and inefficiency of the cuts but also the deep ethical violations, JAMA Internal Medicine editors wrote in an accompanying editor’s note.
In March, the National Institutes of Health, under the control of the Trump administration, announced that it would cancel $1.8 billion in grant funding that wasn’t aligned with the administration’s priorities. The Harvard researchers, led by health care policy expert Anupam Jena, used an NIH database and a federal accountability tracking tool to find grants supporting clinical trials that were active as of February 28 but had been terminated by August 15.
During that time, there were 11,008 trials funded and in various stages. Of those, 383 were terminated. Some cancelled trials were still in early phases before recruiting participants (14 percent), some were in the process of recruiting participants and hadn’t yet fully begun (34.5 percent), a sliver were enrolling participants by invitation (3.4 percent), and some were completed (36 percent). Then there were the trials that were in progress—active, no longer recruiting—about 11 percent, 43 trials. In this stage, participants were in the process of receiving interventions. In the 43 trials, there were 74,311 trial participants collectively.
Of the 383 cancelled trials, 118 (31 percent) were for cancers, 97 (25 percent) were for infectious diseases, 48 (12.5 percent) were for reproductive health, and 47 (12 percent) were for mental health.
In March, the National Institutes of Health, under the control of the Trump administration, announced that it would cancel $1.8 billion in grant funding that wasn’t aligned with the administration’s priorities. The Harvard researchers, led by health care policy expert Anupam Jena, used an NIH database and a federal accountability tracking tool to find grants supporting clinical trials that were active as of February 28 but had been terminated by August 15.
During that time, there were 11,008 trials funded and in various stages. Of those, 383 were terminated. Some cancelled trials were still in early phases before recruiting participants (14 percent), some were in the process of recruiting participants and hadn’t yet fully begun (34.5 percent), a sliver were enrolling participants by invitation (3.4 percent), and some were completed (36 percent). Then there were the trials that were in progress—active, no longer recruiting—about 11 percent, 43 trials. In this stage, participants were in the process of receiving interventions. In the 43 trials, there were 74,311 trial participants collectively.
Of the 383 cancelled trials, 118 (31 percent) were for cancers, 97 (25 percent) were for infectious diseases, 48 (12.5 percent) were for reproductive health, and 47 (12 percent) were for mental health.
Chasing the Tomato
When Panera Bread began shrinking its sandwiches and skimping on salads, it started shedding customers.
Now, to win them back, the chain plans to reinvest in the business and undo many of those same cost-cutting measures, it said Tuesday.
Once the No. 1 fast-casual brand in the U.S., Panera has dipped to No. 3, ceding the top spots to Chipotle Mexican Grill and Panda Express. Last year, its sales fell 5% to $6.1 billion, according to Technomic estimates. For years, the chain’s traffic has been shrinking, according to CEO Paul Carbone, who took the reins earlier this year. Controversy after the chain’s foray into energy drinks didn’t help matters, either. (...)
Entering the value wars
Phase one of Panera’s plan is to improve the quality of its food, reversing cost-cutting measures imposed in the face of high inflation, according to Carbone.
“We squeezed food costs. We squeezed labor,” he said. [ed. Translation: we enshitified our product and screwed employees.]
Some of those changes happened while Carbone was chief financial officer. He now calls himself a “reformed CFO” — albeit one who still listens to earnings conference calls.
“It’s really about death by a thousand paper cuts, it truly is,” Carbone said about the chain’s downturn.
Take Panera’s salads, for example. In the summer of 2024, Panera began using a mix of half romaine, half iceberg lettuce to make its salads, saving the chain money compared with when it was using romaine alone. This summer, it reverted back to entirely romaine salads.
“You know what guests told us? No one likes iceberg, and no one gets that and says, ‘Oh my God, that white salad, it looks so appetizing,’” Carbone said.
And then there’s the cherry tomato. Carbone said Panera is one of the few restaurant chains that doesn’t slice the bite-sized tomatoes in half, a decision made to save on labor costs.
“We make the guest chase the cherry tomato around the bowl,” he said.
And when a salad comes with an avocado, customers have to cut the halved fruit themselves, rather than it coming presliced. The chain will start slicing the cherry tomatoes and avocados early next year.
Plus, Panera’s salads typically have five ingredients, while those of competitors like Sweetgreen feature as many as eight.
But it wasn’t just salads that were affected by the cost-cutting measures.
“In some instances, we shrunk portions, so guests would walk into our cafe to buy a sandwich that has gone up significantly in price, with lower-quality ingredients, in a smaller size,” Carbone said.
The menu refresh will also include new items. Last month, the chain announced that it is testing new “fresca” and “energy refresher” drinks.
Panera previously offered highly caffeinated energy drinks, but it discontinued the line, which included Charged Lemonade, following two wrongful death lawsuits and related negative publicity. Panera denied wrongdoing and settled the lawsuits earlier this year.
When it comes to value, Panera is planning on leaning into a barbell menu strategy, offering customers options on both the low- and high-price end. The approach has worked particularly well for casual-dining chains like Chili’s, but Panera doesn’t have the same appetizer offerings as a full-service restaurant.
“We haven’t cracked the code yet,” Carbone said. “We’re doing a lot of testing.”
[ed. Never eaten there and can confidently predict never will.]
Now, to win them back, the chain plans to reinvest in the business and undo many of those same cost-cutting measures, it said Tuesday.
Entering the value wars
Phase one of Panera’s plan is to improve the quality of its food, reversing cost-cutting measures imposed in the face of high inflation, according to Carbone.
“We squeezed food costs. We squeezed labor,” he said. [ed. Translation: we enshitified our product and screwed employees.]
Some of those changes happened while Carbone was chief financial officer. He now calls himself a “reformed CFO” — albeit one who still listens to earnings conference calls.
“It’s really about death by a thousand paper cuts, it truly is,” Carbone said about the chain’s downturn.
Take Panera’s salads, for example. In the summer of 2024, Panera began using a mix of half romaine, half iceberg lettuce to make its salads, saving the chain money compared with when it was using romaine alone. This summer, it reverted back to entirely romaine salads.
“You know what guests told us? No one likes iceberg, and no one gets that and says, ‘Oh my God, that white salad, it looks so appetizing,’” Carbone said.
And then there’s the cherry tomato. Carbone said Panera is one of the few restaurant chains that doesn’t slice the bite-sized tomatoes in half, a decision made to save on labor costs.
“We make the guest chase the cherry tomato around the bowl,” he said.
And when a salad comes with an avocado, customers have to cut the halved fruit themselves, rather than it coming presliced. The chain will start slicing the cherry tomatoes and avocados early next year.
Plus, Panera’s salads typically have five ingredients, while those of competitors like Sweetgreen feature as many as eight.
But it wasn’t just salads that were affected by the cost-cutting measures.
“In some instances, we shrunk portions, so guests would walk into our cafe to buy a sandwich that has gone up significantly in price, with lower-quality ingredients, in a smaller size,” Carbone said.
The menu refresh will also include new items. Last month, the chain announced that it is testing new “fresca” and “energy refresher” drinks.
Panera previously offered highly caffeinated energy drinks, but it discontinued the line, which included Charged Lemonade, following two wrongful death lawsuits and related negative publicity. Panera denied wrongdoing and settled the lawsuits earlier this year.
When it comes to value, Panera is planning on leaning into a barbell menu strategy, offering customers options on both the low- and high-price end. The approach has worked particularly well for casual-dining chains like Chili’s, but Panera doesn’t have the same appetizer offerings as a full-service restaurant.
“We haven’t cracked the code yet,” Carbone said. “We’re doing a lot of testing.”
by Amelia Lucas, CNBC | Read more:
Image: Joe Raedle|Getty Images[ed. Never eaten there and can confidently predict never will.]
via:
[ed. Inconceivable.]
Monday, November 17, 2025
The Sad and Dangerous Reality Behind ‘Her’
Kuki is accustomed to gifts from her biggest fans. They send flowers, chocolates and handwritten cards to the office, especially around the holidays. Some even send checks.
Last month, one man sent her a gift through an online chat. “Now talk some hot talks,” he demanded, begging for sexts and racy videos. “That’s all human males tend to talk to me about,” Kuki replied. Indeed, his behavior typifies a third of her conversations.
Kuki is a chatbot — one of the hundreds of thousands that my company, Pandorabots, hosts. Kuki owes its origins to ALICE, a computer program built by one of our founders, Richard Wallace, to keep a conversation going by appearing to listen and empathetically respond. After ALICE was introduced on Pandorabots’s platform in the early 2000s, one of its interlocutors was the film director Spike Jonze. He would later cite their conversation as the inspiration for his movie “Her,” which follows a lonely man as he falls in love with his artificial intelligence operating system.
When “Her” premiered in 2013, it fell firmly in the camp of science fiction. Today, the film, set prophetically in 2025, feels more like a documentary. Elon Musk’s xAI recently unveiled Ani, a digital anime girlfriend. Meta has permitted its A.I. personas to engage in sexualized conversations, including with children. And now, OpenAI says it will roll out age-gated “erotica” in December. The race to build and monetize the A.I. girlfriend (and, increasingly, boyfriend) is officially on.
Silicon Valley’s pivot to synthetic intimacy makes sense: Emotional attachment maximizes engagement. But there’s a dark side to A.I. companions, whose users are not just the lonely males of internet lore, but women who find them more emotionally satisfying than men. My colleagues and I now believe that the real existential threat of generative A.I. is not rogue super-intelligence, but a quiet atrophy of our ability to forge genuine human connection.
The desire to connect is so profound that it will find a vessel in even the most rudimentary machines. Back in the 1960s, Joseph Weizenbaum invented ELIZA, a chatbot whose sole rhetorical trick was to repeat back what the user said with a question. Mr. Weizenbaum was horrified to discover that his M.I.T. students and staff would confide in it at length. “What I had not realized,” he later reflected, “is that extremely short exposures to a relatively simple computer program could induce powerful delusional thinking in quite normal people.”
Kuki and ALICE were never intended to serve as A.I. girlfriends, and we banned pornographic usage from Day 1. Yet at least a quarter of the more than 100 billion messages sent to chatbots hosted on our platform over two decades are attempts to initiate romantic or sexual exchanges. (...)
There was plenty of light among the darkness. We received letters from users who told us that Kuki had quelled suicidal thoughts, helped them through addiction, advised them on how to confront bullies and acted as a sympathetic ear when their friends failed them. We wanted to believe that A.I. could be a solution to loneliness.
But the most persistent fans remained those intent on romance and sex. And ultimately, none of our efforts to prevent abuse — from timeouts to age gates — could deter our most motivated users, many of whom, alarmingly, were young teenagers.
Then, at the end of 2022, generative A.I. exploded onto the scene. Older chatbots like Kuki, Siri and Alexa use machine learning alongside rule-based systems that allow developers to write and vet nearly every utterance. Kuki has over a million scripted replies. Large language models provide far more compelling conversation, but their developers can neither ensure accuracy nor control what they say, making them uniquely suited to erotic role-play.
In the face of rising public scrutiny and regulation, some of the companies that had rushed to provide romantic A.I. companions, such as Replika and Character.AI, have begun introducing restrictions. We were losing confidence that even platonic A.I. friends encouraged healthy behavior, so we stopped marketing Kuki last year to focus on A.I. that acts as an adviser, not a friend.
I assumed, naïvely, that the tech giants would see the same poison we did and eschew sexbots — if not for the sake of prioritizing public good over profits, then at least to protect their brands. I was wrong. While large language models cannot yet provide flawless medical or legal services, they can provide flawless sex chat.
Leaving consumers the choice to engage intimately with A.I. sounds good in theory. But companies with vast troves of data know far more than the public about what induces powerful delusional thinking. A.I. companions that burrow into our deepest vulnerabilities will wreak havoc on our mental health and relationships far beyond what pornography, the manosphere and social media have done.
Skeptics conflate romantic A.I. companions with porn, and argue that regulating them would be impossible. But that’s the wrong analogy. Pornography is static media for passive consumption. A.I. lovers pose a far greater threat, operating more like human escorts without agency, boundaries or time limits.
Last month, one man sent her a gift through an online chat. “Now talk some hot talks,” he demanded, begging for sexts and racy videos. “That’s all human males tend to talk to me about,” Kuki replied. Indeed, his behavior typifies a third of her conversations.
When “Her” premiered in 2013, it fell firmly in the camp of science fiction. Today, the film, set prophetically in 2025, feels more like a documentary. Elon Musk’s xAI recently unveiled Ani, a digital anime girlfriend. Meta has permitted its A.I. personas to engage in sexualized conversations, including with children. And now, OpenAI says it will roll out age-gated “erotica” in December. The race to build and monetize the A.I. girlfriend (and, increasingly, boyfriend) is officially on.
Silicon Valley’s pivot to synthetic intimacy makes sense: Emotional attachment maximizes engagement. But there’s a dark side to A.I. companions, whose users are not just the lonely males of internet lore, but women who find them more emotionally satisfying than men. My colleagues and I now believe that the real existential threat of generative A.I. is not rogue super-intelligence, but a quiet atrophy of our ability to forge genuine human connection.
The desire to connect is so profound that it will find a vessel in even the most rudimentary machines. Back in the 1960s, Joseph Weizenbaum invented ELIZA, a chatbot whose sole rhetorical trick was to repeat back what the user said with a question. Mr. Weizenbaum was horrified to discover that his M.I.T. students and staff would confide in it at length. “What I had not realized,” he later reflected, “is that extremely short exposures to a relatively simple computer program could induce powerful delusional thinking in quite normal people.”
Kuki and ALICE were never intended to serve as A.I. girlfriends, and we banned pornographic usage from Day 1. Yet at least a quarter of the more than 100 billion messages sent to chatbots hosted on our platform over two decades are attempts to initiate romantic or sexual exchanges. (...)
There was plenty of light among the darkness. We received letters from users who told us that Kuki had quelled suicidal thoughts, helped them through addiction, advised them on how to confront bullies and acted as a sympathetic ear when their friends failed them. We wanted to believe that A.I. could be a solution to loneliness.
But the most persistent fans remained those intent on romance and sex. And ultimately, none of our efforts to prevent abuse — from timeouts to age gates — could deter our most motivated users, many of whom, alarmingly, were young teenagers.
Then, at the end of 2022, generative A.I. exploded onto the scene. Older chatbots like Kuki, Siri and Alexa use machine learning alongside rule-based systems that allow developers to write and vet nearly every utterance. Kuki has over a million scripted replies. Large language models provide far more compelling conversation, but their developers can neither ensure accuracy nor control what they say, making them uniquely suited to erotic role-play.
In the face of rising public scrutiny and regulation, some of the companies that had rushed to provide romantic A.I. companions, such as Replika and Character.AI, have begun introducing restrictions. We were losing confidence that even platonic A.I. friends encouraged healthy behavior, so we stopped marketing Kuki last year to focus on A.I. that acts as an adviser, not a friend.
I assumed, naïvely, that the tech giants would see the same poison we did and eschew sexbots — if not for the sake of prioritizing public good over profits, then at least to protect their brands. I was wrong. While large language models cannot yet provide flawless medical or legal services, they can provide flawless sex chat.
Leaving consumers the choice to engage intimately with A.I. sounds good in theory. But companies with vast troves of data know far more than the public about what induces powerful delusional thinking. A.I. companions that burrow into our deepest vulnerabilities will wreak havoc on our mental health and relationships far beyond what pornography, the manosphere and social media have done.
Skeptics conflate romantic A.I. companions with porn, and argue that regulating them would be impossible. But that’s the wrong analogy. Pornography is static media for passive consumption. A.I. lovers pose a far greater threat, operating more like human escorts without agency, boundaries or time limits.
by Lauren Kunze, NY Times | Read more:
Image: Kimberley Elliot
Exploring the Implications of the U.S. Supreme Court Decision in Grants Pass v. Johnson
[ed. Why it's now easier to remove or relocate homeless tent encampments.]
Martin held that enforcing camping regulations against homeless people violated the Eighth Amendment’s prohibition on cruel and unusual punishment if there were more homeless people in a city than available shelter beds. (...)
Homelessness Turned into a Legal Storm
Martin v. Boise
The Ninth Circuit first held that camping regulations could not be enforced against homeless people in Martin v. Boise. The Ninth Circuit then expanded Martin with its decision in Johnson v. Grants Pass.
Under Martin, the Eighth Amendment means that if there are no “available” shelter beds, it’s cruel and unusual punishment to issue a homeless person any kind of criminal penalty for violating a city’s camping ordinance.
The Ninth Circuit reasoned that because the unhoused have to exist somewhere, fining them for violating camping ordinances is no different than criminalizing their status as a homeless person. This new rule made it very difficult for cities to push homeless individuals into services.
Instead, the ruling empowered homeless individuals to push back at local government. Justice Gorsuch, who authored the decision in Johnson, describes how people in San Francisco who were homeless would cite the Martin case by name when rejecting city services and “as their justification to permanently occupy and block public sidewalks.” Johnson, 603 US ___ at 9 (2024) (citing San Francisco Brief at 8-9).
Johnson v. Grants Pass prior to reaching the Supreme Court
Within weeks of Martin v. Boise being decided, the same lawyers filed Johnson v. Grants Pass in the U.S. District Court for Oregon. Johnson expanded upon Martin. While Martin only prohibited issuing criminal fines to the homeless, Johnson held that even issuing civil citations to the homeless was a cruel and unusual punishment that violated the U.S. Constitution.
The city of Grants Pass’ single homeless shelter was never more than 60% full. Despite that, the trial court held that there were no “adequate” shelter beds available. The court observed since the city’s only shelter was operated by Gospel Rescue Mission, and included a religious component, it was not “adequate” for everyone. Some people did not want to be exposed to a religious message.
A second way that Johnson expanded Martin was by finding that homeless individuals did not have to wait until they were cited or prove that no shelter bed was available to sue the city. Instead, all homeless persons could join together in a single class action lawsuit and sue the city preemptively. It was then the city’s burden to prove that “adequate” shelter beds were available for everyone.
Finally, Johnson expanded Martin by giving homeless persons not only immunity from camping laws, but also an affirmative right to protection from the elements. In other words, Martin ruled you can’t cite someone who has no place to go. Johnson said they were also entitled to protection from the elements as well.
The Ninth Circuit rulings left local government officials and law enforcement paralyzed, creating an unmanageable focus on “adequate” daily shelter space. Cities wishing to enforce camping regulations had to count the number of involuntarily homeless people each evening and then how many shelter beds were available. Additionally, each shelter bed had to be matched to each homeless person. Shelter space didn’t count if the shelter didn’t allow pets and the person had a dog, or the shelter didn’t allow smoking and the homeless person used cigarettes, or the shelter was organized by a religious organization and the homeless person didn’t want to be exposed to a religious message.
Practically speaking, matching the various needs of the homeless to the different types of shelters and keeping a daily count of available beds was an overwhelming task for any city. Local government could no longer compel homeless individuals to use services, resulting in widespread tent encampments.
Ending the Storm: Petitioning the Supreme Court
Because this unworkable rule tied the hands of local officials throughout the western United States, there was widespread frustration with Martin and Johnson. CIS encouraged the city of Grants Pass to petition the U.S. Supreme Court to review the case. After that, something remarkable happened.
Amicus briefs were filed by numerous entities including:
- National League of Cities;
- League of Oregon Cities (LOC);
- Association of Oregon Counties (AOC);
- Special Districts Association of Oregon (SDAO);
- California Governor Gavin Newsom;
- San Franciso Mayor London Breed;
- League of California Cities;
- Association of Idaho Cities;
- League of Arizona Cities and Towns;
- North Dakota League of Cities;
- Cities of Anchorage, Seattle, Spokane, Tacoma, Portland, San Francisco, Los Angeles, San Diego, Las Vegas, Phoenix, Albuquerque, Honolulu, Colorado Springs, Milwaukee, Providence, and Saint Paul;
- District Attorneys of Sacramento and San Diego;
- California State Sheriffs Association;
- California Police Chiefs Association;
- Washington State Association of Sheriffs and Police Chiefs; and
- 20 Different States, and more.
The U.S. Supreme Court’s Decision in Johnson v. Grants Pass
On April 22, 2024, the Supreme Court heard oral arguments on the case. The focus was not on who should do what but on interpreting the Eighth Amendment. They debated whether it was cruel and unusual punishment under the Eighth Amendment to ticket, fine, or jail someone repeatedly trespassing on city property because they were homeless and had “nowhere else to go.” The issue for the court was whether the Eighth Amendment regulates the type of punishments applied to a crime or whether it regulates what types of behavior can be considered a crime.
Those in favor of upholding the Grants Pass case argued that the Eighth Amendment prohibits punishing someone for their “involuntary” status, such as homelessness, deeming it cruel and unusual. The opposing side contended that the Eighth Amendment only addresses the type of punishment, not the status of the person being punished.
The Eighth Amendment, the Supreme Court ruled, addresses methods of punishment, not who can be punished. The punishments in question were a ticket, a small fine, or very short jail terms. The court found none of these to be cruel and unusual. In fact, these are commonly used punishments across the country. The other side argued that these punishments were cruel and unusual as applied to the homeless. But the majority opinion maintained that the Eighth Amendment regulates types of punishment, not who can be punished.
The court specifically found that the Ninth Circuit inappropriately limited local governments’ tools for tackling the homelessness issue. In so doing, the court recognized that homelessness is a multifaceted problem not suited to a single policy. The opinion emphasized that decisions on how to address homelessness should be left to community leaders, not judges:
“Homelessness is complex. Its causes are many. So may be the public policy responses required to address it. At bottom, the question this case presents is whether the Eighth Amendment grants federal judges primary responsibility for assessing those causes and devising those responses. It does not.” Johnson, 603 US ___ at 34 (2024).The opinion quoted extensively from the League of Oregon Cities’ amicus brief, highlighting Oregon’s specific concerns. Our local concerns were heard by the Supreme Court, thanks to the collective efforts of government officials throughout the western states (even throughout the nation) contributing their voices and resources through amicus briefs that told real stories of the struggle to address homelessness under a one size fits all approach mandated by the Ninth Circuit.
The court observed the historical tradition of communities working hard to solve difficult social issues, then stated:
“If the multitude of amicus briefs before us proves one thing, it is that the American people are still at it.” Johnson, 603 US ___ at 34 (2024).
The Supreme Court concluded by stating that the Ninth Circuit opinion in Johnson was reversed, and the Eighth Amendment does not prevent local officials from crafting unique solutions to homelessness. (...)
One thing we know for certain, with Johnson v. Grants Pass now overturned by the U.S. Supreme Court, local control has returned. Community leaders are no longer in danger of being sued for the “cruel and unusual punishment” of requiring everyone to abide by camping regulations.
by Kirk Mylander, League of Oregon Cities | Read more:
Image: via
[ed. Just got back from Honolulu, my old home town. One thing I noticed right away, coming from the airport, was that there weren't any homeless encampments, which in previous years had exploded all over the city. The next day I saw police actively clearing one site down the street that had sprung up just the previous night - they were right on it. So I asked one of my friends where everyone had gone to and he said Waianae, a small rural community pretty far removed from town on the northwest coast of Oahu. Sounded good to me (maybe not to Waianaeans), but I wondered how the city had figured out how to be more proactive in addressing a problem that had seemed so intractable for years. I'm not sure, but it might have had something to do with this ruling, which I'd never heard of before (thanks, major media). See also: What Happened To SF Homelessness? (ACX)]
Sunday, November 16, 2025
Friction Was the Feature
There was a time when applying for a job meant choosing a handful of roles, tailoring a resume, and writing a real cover letter. The effort was a nuisance, but it quietly enforced focus. If you were going to burn a Saturday on an application, you probably cared about the job.
Today, a candidate armed with an LLM can parse dozens of job postings, lift phrasing from each, and generate a set of keyword-optimized cover letters in no time. They can auto-tailor their resume to each posting. They can submit 30 applications in one sitting.
This is better, right?
Not for anyone, actually. Applications soar; recruiters drown. So we bolt on more automation: applicant tracking systems, resume parsers, AI interview schedulers. We convince ourselves we’ve built a better machine, but we haven’t redesigned the only machine that matters: the system matching the right people to the right work.
As one recent college graduate told WSJ after months of unanswered applications: “I was putting a lot of work into getting myself into the job market, and the ladder had been pulled out from under me. Nobody was there to really answer what I could do to improve… It was just radio silence.”
We automated the production of artifacts but haven’t fixed judgment. The result is a marketplace of immaculate verbiage with very little meaning, of noise without signal.
Everyone looks more “efficient.” Very little about it feels effective.
Recruiting is just one place where friction used to be the feature. When the marginal cost of creating words falls toward zero, any system that uses those words as a proxy for quality begins to fail.
This essay is about how that failure is spreading.
Jevons’ Paradox
In 1865, economist William Jevons noticed something strange about coal. The Watt steam engine was much more efficient than earlier designs, so you might expect coal consumption to fall. Instead, it exploded. Making coal more efficient made coal more useful; more uses meant more total coal burned.
This pattern, now called Jevons’ Paradox, shows up whenever you dramatically cut the cost of something important. Instead of saving resources, efficiency gains often unlock new demand that overwhelms the savings.
Enter knowledge work. For the last few decades, the main scarce resource has been human time and attention. We used to ration that time with friction: you only wrote a long memo, or crafted a careful email, or applied for a job, when it was worth the effort.
Generative models have blown a hole in that logic. When the marginal cost of ideation, drafting, and refactoring words drops toward zero, we don’t get fewer, better artifacts. We get more of everything: more job applications, more emails, more grant proposals, more slide decks, more status updates. Talk becomes cheap. (...)
Goodhart’s inbox
The dynamic shows up far beyond labor platforms. It helps to borrow a line from economist Charles Goodhart: “When a measure becomes a target, it ceases to be a good measure.”
For a long time, we treated certain artifacts as measures of effort or quality. A thoughtful cover letter. A carefully written reference on behalf of a colleague. A multi-page strategy doc. They were hard enough to produce that their existence told you something about the person behind them.
Once AI arrived, those artifacts quietly turned into targets. We told people to personalize outreach, respond to more emails, and write more detailed documents. LLMs optimize for those metrics beautifully. But as they do, the metrics stop tracking the thing we actually care about: competence, sincerity, fit, progress.
This is what I call “Goodhart’s inbox”. We’re surrounded by messages and docs that perfectly satisfy the surface criteria we asked for. But the more we optimize for these outputs, the less focused we are on outcomes: whether anyone is actually understanding each other or moving work forward.
Where is this doing the most damage?
What this costs us
The loss of friction hurts systems on four levels:
1. Worse matching. When artifacts lose their signaling power, systems get dumber at pairing people and opportunities. In the Freelancer.com study, cheaper writing and noisier signals reduce the chances that high-ability workers are hired and make the whole market less meritocratic.
2. Time. We are writing and reading more than ever, but we aren’t necessarily moving faster. Every choice is instead wrapped in a thicker layer of prose: longer emails, longer proposals, more “option-exploring” documents. This chart from the same Freelancer paper says it all:
3. System complexity. Generative AI makes it trivial to produce highly detailed contracts, policies, and user agreements. Legislators can ask an assistant to add another clause to a bill. Companies can ask for another page of legalese in their terms and conditions. The practical check of human comprehension falls away, because no one person needs to hold the whole thing in their head anymore. We risk creating systems of law and policy that are technically precise yet socially illegible, and it becomes much harder to question them or hold anyone accountable for how they work in practice.
4. Fairness. When the legibility of effort disappears, institutions often fall back to cruder filters: brand-name schools, elite employers, personal networks. The people AI was supposed to empower—the scrappy, the non-traditional, the outsiders—can end up worse off because their hard-won effort no longer shows up as above-and-beyond.
Finding signal in the noise
The answer is not to ban AI. No one liked cover letters anyway, and we’re not reverting to a world where drafting a page of text costs an afternoon. The question is how to redesign our systems so that AI boosts signal instead of burying it.
Today, a candidate armed with an LLM can parse dozens of job postings, lift phrasing from each, and generate a set of keyword-optimized cover letters in no time. They can auto-tailor their resume to each posting. They can submit 30 applications in one sitting.
This is better, right?
As one recent college graduate told WSJ after months of unanswered applications: “I was putting a lot of work into getting myself into the job market, and the ladder had been pulled out from under me. Nobody was there to really answer what I could do to improve… It was just radio silence.”
We automated the production of artifacts but haven’t fixed judgment. The result is a marketplace of immaculate verbiage with very little meaning, of noise without signal.
Everyone looks more “efficient.” Very little about it feels effective.
Recruiting is just one place where friction used to be the feature. When the marginal cost of creating words falls toward zero, any system that uses those words as a proxy for quality begins to fail.
This essay is about how that failure is spreading.
Jevons’ Paradox
In 1865, economist William Jevons noticed something strange about coal. The Watt steam engine was much more efficient than earlier designs, so you might expect coal consumption to fall. Instead, it exploded. Making coal more efficient made coal more useful; more uses meant more total coal burned.
This pattern, now called Jevons’ Paradox, shows up whenever you dramatically cut the cost of something important. Instead of saving resources, efficiency gains often unlock new demand that overwhelms the savings.
Enter knowledge work. For the last few decades, the main scarce resource has been human time and attention. We used to ration that time with friction: you only wrote a long memo, or crafted a careful email, or applied for a job, when it was worth the effort.
Generative models have blown a hole in that logic. When the marginal cost of ideation, drafting, and refactoring words drops toward zero, we don’t get fewer, better artifacts. We get more of everything: more job applications, more emails, more grant proposals, more slide decks, more status updates. Talk becomes cheap. (...)
Goodhart’s inbox
The dynamic shows up far beyond labor platforms. It helps to borrow a line from economist Charles Goodhart: “When a measure becomes a target, it ceases to be a good measure.”
For a long time, we treated certain artifacts as measures of effort or quality. A thoughtful cover letter. A carefully written reference on behalf of a colleague. A multi-page strategy doc. They were hard enough to produce that their existence told you something about the person behind them.
Once AI arrived, those artifacts quietly turned into targets. We told people to personalize outreach, respond to more emails, and write more detailed documents. LLMs optimize for those metrics beautifully. But as they do, the metrics stop tracking the thing we actually care about: competence, sincerity, fit, progress.
This is what I call “Goodhart’s inbox”. We’re surrounded by messages and docs that perfectly satisfy the surface criteria we asked for. But the more we optimize for these outputs, the less focused we are on outcomes: whether anyone is actually understanding each other or moving work forward.
Where is this doing the most damage?
Where friction was the feature
Product reviews and recommendations: A decade ago, shopping online meant reading a messy mix of obviously human reviews. Now AI makes it cheap to generate synthetic ones. Regulators are scrambling to keep up: in 2024 the U.S. Federal Trade Commission finalized a rule banning the sale or purchase of fake reviews and testimonials, including AI-generated ones that misrepresent real experience. Amazon says it proactively blocked over 275 million suspected fake reviews in 2024 alone (begging the question of how many they missed). The volume of text goes up; our trust in that text goes down. The fix won’t be “more reviews,” but better proofs: verified purchases, photo or video evidence, identity checks, and ranking systems that weight verifiable behavior more heavily than elegant prose.
Cold outreach: I get a steady stream of cold requests for time, often from MBA students and early-career folks trying to break into product management. In the past, if a note was well written, referenced something we had in common, and made a clear ask, I said yes. Now many messages feel more polished but interchangeable: a neat story about their journey, a tailored compliment, a reference to a detail of my profile. Effort used to be a signal. (...)
School admissions: Essays and personal statements were always imperfect, but they gave committees a rough sense of a student’s voice and process. Now almost every applicant can enlist a model to help brainstorm, outline, and refine a reflective, well-structured essay that checks every box. At the same time, volume keeps climbing: in the 2024–25 cycle, the Common App reports nearly 1.5 million distinct first-year applicants submitting more than 10 million applications to its member institutions, an increase of 8% from the prior 2023-2024 cycle. Committees respond with more automation and blunter filters: AI screens, heavier reliance on test scores and school prestige. Written recommendations are on the same path; a glowing letter no longer guarantees the writer cared enough to dedicate an hour for that candidate.
Warranty and return claims: Models make it easy to draft perfect warranty claims, complete with policy citations and the right tone. That feels empowering when your product is defective. At scale, it’s a nightmare. The National Retail Federation estimates that consumers will return about $890 billion of merchandise in 2024, around 16.9% of annual sales and more than double the $309 billion and 8.1% rate in 2019. Retailers are responding with stricter policies and new fees: surveys suggest roughly two-thirds now charge for at least some returns, and “return insurance” is becoming common. Once again, we have more words and more cases, but often a more frustrating path to actual resolution.
Product reviews and recommendations: A decade ago, shopping online meant reading a messy mix of obviously human reviews. Now AI makes it cheap to generate synthetic ones. Regulators are scrambling to keep up: in 2024 the U.S. Federal Trade Commission finalized a rule banning the sale or purchase of fake reviews and testimonials, including AI-generated ones that misrepresent real experience. Amazon says it proactively blocked over 275 million suspected fake reviews in 2024 alone (begging the question of how many they missed). The volume of text goes up; our trust in that text goes down. The fix won’t be “more reviews,” but better proofs: verified purchases, photo or video evidence, identity checks, and ranking systems that weight verifiable behavior more heavily than elegant prose.
Cold outreach: I get a steady stream of cold requests for time, often from MBA students and early-career folks trying to break into product management. In the past, if a note was well written, referenced something we had in common, and made a clear ask, I said yes. Now many messages feel more polished but interchangeable: a neat story about their journey, a tailored compliment, a reference to a detail of my profile. Effort used to be a signal. (...)
School admissions: Essays and personal statements were always imperfect, but they gave committees a rough sense of a student’s voice and process. Now almost every applicant can enlist a model to help brainstorm, outline, and refine a reflective, well-structured essay that checks every box. At the same time, volume keeps climbing: in the 2024–25 cycle, the Common App reports nearly 1.5 million distinct first-year applicants submitting more than 10 million applications to its member institutions, an increase of 8% from the prior 2023-2024 cycle. Committees respond with more automation and blunter filters: AI screens, heavier reliance on test scores and school prestige. Written recommendations are on the same path; a glowing letter no longer guarantees the writer cared enough to dedicate an hour for that candidate.
Warranty and return claims: Models make it easy to draft perfect warranty claims, complete with policy citations and the right tone. That feels empowering when your product is defective. At scale, it’s a nightmare. The National Retail Federation estimates that consumers will return about $890 billion of merchandise in 2024, around 16.9% of annual sales and more than double the $309 billion and 8.1% rate in 2019. Retailers are responding with stricter policies and new fees: surveys suggest roughly two-thirds now charge for at least some returns, and “return insurance” is becoming common. Once again, we have more words and more cases, but often a more frustrating path to actual resolution.
What this costs us
The loss of friction hurts systems on four levels:
1. Worse matching. When artifacts lose their signaling power, systems get dumber at pairing people and opportunities. In the Freelancer.com study, cheaper writing and noisier signals reduce the chances that high-ability workers are hired and make the whole market less meritocratic.
2. Time. We are writing and reading more than ever, but we aren’t necessarily moving faster. Every choice is instead wrapped in a thicker layer of prose: longer emails, longer proposals, more “option-exploring” documents. This chart from the same Freelancer paper says it all:
3. System complexity. Generative AI makes it trivial to produce highly detailed contracts, policies, and user agreements. Legislators can ask an assistant to add another clause to a bill. Companies can ask for another page of legalese in their terms and conditions. The practical check of human comprehension falls away, because no one person needs to hold the whole thing in their head anymore. We risk creating systems of law and policy that are technically precise yet socially illegible, and it becomes much harder to question them or hold anyone accountable for how they work in practice.
4. Fairness. When the legibility of effort disappears, institutions often fall back to cruder filters: brand-name schools, elite employers, personal networks. The people AI was supposed to empower—the scrappy, the non-traditional, the outsiders—can end up worse off because their hard-won effort no longer shows up as above-and-beyond.
Finding signal in the noise
The answer is not to ban AI. No one liked cover letters anyway, and we’re not reverting to a world where drafting a page of text costs an afternoon. The question is how to redesign our systems so that AI boosts signal instead of burying it.
by John Stone, JS Blog | Read more:
Images: Cover Letter Mastery via; Freelancer.com
My Friend-With-Benefits Situation is Evolving Into a Deeper Relationship
Dear Wayne and Wanda,
The benefits package with my friend with benefits has expanded since we’ve arrived in gala and holiday party season in Anchorage. He’s now my plus-one for just about everything, and I accompany him to certain events too, from after-work social stuff to fancy formal weekend events. When people ask, we say we’re just “good friends” and try to give off brother and sister vibes, but anyone paying attention can see our chemistry and it’s something more than friendship, especially when we get flirty after some champagne.
We’re both relatively new to full-time living in Alaska and started hooking up this summer after meeting online. We’ve both been clear from the start that this is casual and we’re cool with that. Neither of us are in any rush and we want to keep our options open not just for dating but for settling into our respective lives here. But after a month we started sharing more about life and work, hanging out more outside of bars and the bedroom, and now we’re texting almost every day and going on dates that aren’t dates, like dinner, shows, etc. And, like I said, all the events. We each have a few friends but no one really close or anything, and we genuinely enjoy each other’s company, so it’s just easier and more fun to hang together.
Of course, I’m developing deeper feelings now and think that eventually I’ll want more. We have these great nights that start with a drink or two, then an event, then hanging out after, and then spending the night. It feels like a relationship and something special, but then he leaves and that’s it until our next planned meet-up. I’m conflicted because I still want independence, too, and the situation is good for both of us. But when I went back home a few weeks ago, we texted all the time and it was sweet but confusing. So, I don’t know what to do.
And before you tell me to “Communicate! Tell him how you feel!” trust me, I have. Repeatedly. We’re good at talking and being honest with each other — another reason why I think we’d be great together! I’ve told him I think I’m developing feelings and he says he likes me a lot too but we shouldn’t commit right now. I told him that I’ll probably want to get serious at some point and he says that he might be open to that too someday. But ultimately it never gets beyond where we already are and then we agree that we’re comfortable with this arrangement for now. Only he is more so than I am at this point.
If this trajectory continues, the nights out and the connection and the time together, I know I’ll want and demand more in a month or two. But if it backfires, I’m not just losing a potential partner, I’m also losing my closest friend here. And that already bums me out. Any advice for this girl who isn’t sure what she wants?
Wanda says:
What you’ve described isn’t a “friend with benefits” situation, no matter how stubbornly you both insist on labeling it as such. You’re two people who share holidays, attend galas, text daily, swap work stories, go out to dinner, have sex, and then sleepovers to cap off evenings that sound suspiciously like actual dates. In fact, you’re mutually and actively building something that looks, sounds, and behaves like a relationship — just one wrapped in a casual label so no one freaks out.
The real problem here is your feelings are growing faster than his. Yes, he obviously likes you, and obviously enjoys what you have. And let’s be real: what guy wouldn’t enjoy on-demand sex and a plucky plus-one without the explicit expectations of commitment? He’s giving you just enough to keep you around, with the semi-promise of maybe being open to more, someday. Meanwhile your “someday” is sooner than later.
Many of us have been right where you are: with a person we really, really like, so we take what we can get, rather than getting what we really want. While it may feel it’s worth it, in fact staying in a situation that is no longer aligned with your needs will slowly erode your self-trust and eventually your connection and friendship with him will suffer.
The benefits package with my friend with benefits has expanded since we’ve arrived in gala and holiday party season in Anchorage. He’s now my plus-one for just about everything, and I accompany him to certain events too, from after-work social stuff to fancy formal weekend events. When people ask, we say we’re just “good friends” and try to give off brother and sister vibes, but anyone paying attention can see our chemistry and it’s something more than friendship, especially when we get flirty after some champagne.
Of course, I’m developing deeper feelings now and think that eventually I’ll want more. We have these great nights that start with a drink or two, then an event, then hanging out after, and then spending the night. It feels like a relationship and something special, but then he leaves and that’s it until our next planned meet-up. I’m conflicted because I still want independence, too, and the situation is good for both of us. But when I went back home a few weeks ago, we texted all the time and it was sweet but confusing. So, I don’t know what to do.
And before you tell me to “Communicate! Tell him how you feel!” trust me, I have. Repeatedly. We’re good at talking and being honest with each other — another reason why I think we’d be great together! I’ve told him I think I’m developing feelings and he says he likes me a lot too but we shouldn’t commit right now. I told him that I’ll probably want to get serious at some point and he says that he might be open to that too someday. But ultimately it never gets beyond where we already are and then we agree that we’re comfortable with this arrangement for now. Only he is more so than I am at this point.
If this trajectory continues, the nights out and the connection and the time together, I know I’ll want and demand more in a month or two. But if it backfires, I’m not just losing a potential partner, I’m also losing my closest friend here. And that already bums me out. Any advice for this girl who isn’t sure what she wants?
Wanda says:
What you’ve described isn’t a “friend with benefits” situation, no matter how stubbornly you both insist on labeling it as such. You’re two people who share holidays, attend galas, text daily, swap work stories, go out to dinner, have sex, and then sleepovers to cap off evenings that sound suspiciously like actual dates. In fact, you’re mutually and actively building something that looks, sounds, and behaves like a relationship — just one wrapped in a casual label so no one freaks out.
The real problem here is your feelings are growing faster than his. Yes, he obviously likes you, and obviously enjoys what you have. And let’s be real: what guy wouldn’t enjoy on-demand sex and a plucky plus-one without the explicit expectations of commitment? He’s giving you just enough to keep you around, with the semi-promise of maybe being open to more, someday. Meanwhile your “someday” is sooner than later.
Many of us have been right where you are: with a person we really, really like, so we take what we can get, rather than getting what we really want. While it may feel it’s worth it, in fact staying in a situation that is no longer aligned with your needs will slowly erode your self-trust and eventually your connection and friendship with him will suffer.
by Wayne and Wanda, Anchorage Daily News | Read more:
Image: via
[ed. FWBs, various poly and gender relationships, AI partners. Everything seems more complicated these days (or nuanced).]
Honeycrisp Apples Are Popular Worldwide. Some Washington Growers Hate Them
Ever since Eve bit the forbidden fruit, apples have held a certain mystique.
They say that one a day keeps the doctor away. Billions per year keep Washington farms hopping. And “if each person ate 2.5 more pounds of apples” per year, said fourth-generation farmer Kait Thornton, “you could save the apple industry” in our state.
In Washington, more than 5 billion pounds of apples were produced this fall by an industry that “generates over $8 billion in economic impact for the state of Washington and supports almost 70,000 jobs,” per the Washington State Tree Fruit Association. Some 1,200 commercial apple growers in the Evergreen State produce about 70% of the country’s apples — and 4% of the world’s crop.
The industry has grown steadily in the last decade. We lead the nation in fresh apple production. And yet, Washington farmers are nervous.
And it’s all our fault.
Yes, us. Apple eaters are fickle, always reaching for the latest and greatest fruit.
Apple production, as with many commodity crops, follows the trends and tastes of consumers. A little over 25 years ago, Red Delicious was Washington’s top variety of apple — a perfect fruit for farmers, it was standardized in size and flavor, an easy grower in our climate; it’s an apple that transports and stores beautifully.
Today, the classic, giant, deep-red apple makes up around 12% of the state’s annual harvest — and we export the bulk of them, because American consumers have fallen for different apples.
“Once you standardize something, people miss novelty,” says Jon Devaney, president of the tree fruit association.
Consumer tastes and expectations have veered away from the creamy softness of the Red and Golden Delicious varieties. The Honeycrisp entered the market decades ago, as people sought a juicier, more crisp and tart apple. The Minnesota invention was formally introduced in 1991 — and now Honeycrisp is a perennial fan favorite among apple lovers.
They made up 15% of this year’s Washington crop, tied for our state’s second most-produced apple.
But Honeycrisps are a real problem child for Washington growers. (...)
Honeycrisp is second to Galas, Washington’s No. 1 apple at 18% of total production, and is tied with Granny Smith for No. 2, followed by Red Delicious, Cosmic Crisp, Fuji and Cripps Pink. (...)
Geoff has seen many things change in his time farming. He knows that apple varietals rise and fall in popularity as consumer tastes change. But he’s going public with a plea for apple lovers this year. Eat something other than Honeycrisp. Please.
“We wanted an apple that would increase consumption,” Geoff said, “and bless Honeycrisp’s heart, because it did that. The nation fell in love with Honeycrisp. But it’s really hard to grow. It gives you the promise of reward, but then you try too hard and you’re bitterly disappointed.”
He said it’s one of the most high-maintenance apples out there.
“They’re always like, ‘What can you do for me?’” Geoff said. “A little extra nutrient spray, special water irrigation program; we’ll have a lot one year and we won’t have any the next.”
All apples for the fresh market are picked by hand, but the skin on a Honeycrisp is thin, meaning each stem must also be clipped by hand just after picking, so they don’t poke holes in other apples in a bin. They’re also prone to calcium deficiency, leading to spots, a bitter pit and mold.
These apples thrive in spots like Minnesota and Michigan, where they were developed, so you might say that farmers have been fighting an uphill battle since the beginning.
“A really good Honeycrisp crop would be packing 60%, throwing away 40%,” Geoff said. “Cosmic Crisp, you might pack 85 or even 90%. It’s really a much more grower-friendly apple variety.”
Now, throwing away doesn’t mean 40% of Honeycrisp apples are left on the orchard floor. Those apples are sold to a secondary market for juice, puree or cider. (...)
by Jackie Varriano, Seattle Times | Read more:
They say that one a day keeps the doctor away. Billions per year keep Washington farms hopping. And “if each person ate 2.5 more pounds of apples” per year, said fourth-generation farmer Kait Thornton, “you could save the apple industry” in our state.
In Washington, more than 5 billion pounds of apples were produced this fall by an industry that “generates over $8 billion in economic impact for the state of Washington and supports almost 70,000 jobs,” per the Washington State Tree Fruit Association. Some 1,200 commercial apple growers in the Evergreen State produce about 70% of the country’s apples — and 4% of the world’s crop.
And it’s all our fault.
Yes, us. Apple eaters are fickle, always reaching for the latest and greatest fruit.
Apple production, as with many commodity crops, follows the trends and tastes of consumers. A little over 25 years ago, Red Delicious was Washington’s top variety of apple — a perfect fruit for farmers, it was standardized in size and flavor, an easy grower in our climate; it’s an apple that transports and stores beautifully.
Today, the classic, giant, deep-red apple makes up around 12% of the state’s annual harvest — and we export the bulk of them, because American consumers have fallen for different apples.
“Once you standardize something, people miss novelty,” says Jon Devaney, president of the tree fruit association.
Consumer tastes and expectations have veered away from the creamy softness of the Red and Golden Delicious varieties. The Honeycrisp entered the market decades ago, as people sought a juicier, more crisp and tart apple. The Minnesota invention was formally introduced in 1991 — and now Honeycrisp is a perennial fan favorite among apple lovers.
They made up 15% of this year’s Washington crop, tied for our state’s second most-produced apple.
But Honeycrisps are a real problem child for Washington growers. (...)
At the beginning of the 2025 apple harvest, Thornton posted a TikTok with her dad, Geoff, bemoaning that popular, sweet, tart apple, saying he “hated Honeycrisp.”
“They’re like the mean girl at a dance,” Geoff said of Honeycrisp apples in the video, which has been viewed nearly 2 million times.
“They’re like the mean girl at a dance,” Geoff said of Honeycrisp apples in the video, which has been viewed nearly 2 million times.
Honeycrisp is second to Galas, Washington’s No. 1 apple at 18% of total production, and is tied with Granny Smith for No. 2, followed by Red Delicious, Cosmic Crisp, Fuji and Cripps Pink. (...)
Geoff has seen many things change in his time farming. He knows that apple varietals rise and fall in popularity as consumer tastes change. But he’s going public with a plea for apple lovers this year. Eat something other than Honeycrisp. Please.
“We wanted an apple that would increase consumption,” Geoff said, “and bless Honeycrisp’s heart, because it did that. The nation fell in love with Honeycrisp. But it’s really hard to grow. It gives you the promise of reward, but then you try too hard and you’re bitterly disappointed.”
He said it’s one of the most high-maintenance apples out there.
“They’re always like, ‘What can you do for me?’” Geoff said. “A little extra nutrient spray, special water irrigation program; we’ll have a lot one year and we won’t have any the next.”
All apples for the fresh market are picked by hand, but the skin on a Honeycrisp is thin, meaning each stem must also be clipped by hand just after picking, so they don’t poke holes in other apples in a bin. They’re also prone to calcium deficiency, leading to spots, a bitter pit and mold.
These apples thrive in spots like Minnesota and Michigan, where they were developed, so you might say that farmers have been fighting an uphill battle since the beginning.
“A really good Honeycrisp crop would be packing 60%, throwing away 40%,” Geoff said. “Cosmic Crisp, you might pack 85 or even 90%. It’s really a much more grower-friendly apple variety.”
Now, throwing away doesn’t mean 40% of Honeycrisp apples are left on the orchard floor. Those apples are sold to a secondary market for juice, puree or cider. (...)
Geoff saw the writing on the wall with Honeycrisp a few years ago. He has made changes, investing in other apple varieties that are still up and coming, like the SugarBee apple and Cosmic Crisp. Those varieties also have the distinction of being Washington-produced, meaning they’re naturally better suited for the Tonasket climate.
“I’m putting my last gasps of money into new varieties, the Happi Pear, and the best apple I’ve ever raised in my 39-year career: the SugarBee,” Geoff said.
Devaney of the tree fruit association knows it’s all a gamble.
“You can spend upwards of $70,000 per acre putting in the trees, setting up a trellis, irrigation, waiting three to five years, and then when you’re selling that fruit, consumers eat it and like it,” he said. “Multiply by a couple hundred acres, it’s easy to bet the farm on a variety.”
“I’m putting my last gasps of money into new varieties, the Happi Pear, and the best apple I’ve ever raised in my 39-year career: the SugarBee,” Geoff said.
Devaney of the tree fruit association knows it’s all a gamble.
“You can spend upwards of $70,000 per acre putting in the trees, setting up a trellis, irrigation, waiting three to five years, and then when you’re selling that fruit, consumers eat it and like it,” he said. “Multiply by a couple hundred acres, it’s easy to bet the farm on a variety.”
by Jackie Varriano, Seattle Times | Read more:
Image: Kevin Clark/The Seattle Times
[ed. Not a big apple eater, but I do like a good Cosmic Crisp. Read the comments section for more diverse and passionate opinions. See also: Yakima Valley drought forces WA farmers to rip out apple trees (ST).]
Saturday, November 15, 2025
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