Welcome To NotSee America
Part One: Magical Thinking
with Lorinda Birdwhistle
Hey friends! Hope your holidays were a blast. Mine weren’t. Not going to lie — even though I should, as I know my cousin Amanda is reading this and will, no doubt, be reporting every gory detail back to my folks (who invite her over for dinner every Sunday night). Amanda’s parents died of lung cancer after decades of smoking two packs of Lucky Strikes a day, and they left her with nada. Pretty sure every last cent they had went to booze, cigarettes, M&M’s, and Taco Bell.
Not my problem.
My guess — Amanda is angling for a share of my parents’ estate. My share, to be exact. Whatever.
I truly HATE partaking in this yearly holiday drama — so much so that I would happily relinquish the postmortem perks if it meant I never had to sit across the yuletide table from Uncle Ron ever again. Ron’s the one who, when I was 16, whispered in my ear: “You know… I can be really discreet.” He then rested his warm, greasy meat hook on my leg, well above the knee. You can bet that was the last time I wore a miniskirt to a family gathering. The really sick part: even after snitching on Ron, my stepmother insisted I give him a goodbye hug and thank him for the wildly inappropriate cubic zirconia tennis bracelet. His wife, by the way, got a Black & Decker Dustbuster.
Needless to say, after occasions like these, I would have preferred spending the holidays cuddling with a meth addict in a cardboard box on the streets of San Francisco. Another year of breaking bread with my stepmother’s gun-toting relatives from Wauwatosa, or watching endless hours of football and FOX News with my MAGA father — I no longer have the stomach for it.
I know. Hate is a strong word. But it’s the right word.
I hate the Birdwhistle family gatherings. I hate what MAGAs and their leader are doing to our country. I hate religion — every kind, though I have a special hatred for Unitarian-Universalists, Baptists, and Christian Reformed folks. If I could use one word to describe each of these groups, they would be smug, self-righteous, and arrogant. None is Jesus-like, or in the case of the UUs, open-minded.
And, I hate Christmas decorations, pfeffernüsse, and gingerbread. I hate Dodge Rams and Tucker Carlson. And I really hate holiday music, especially “Oh, Holy Night” and “Little Drummer Boy.”
I have always hated Christmas, and I’m talking way, way before not celebrating it became a felony.
Oops — jumped the gun on that felony bit, though I’m positive the Mandatory Yuletide Cheer Act will be near the top of Trump’s next pile of executive orders, which are slated for early January. The MYC Act will likely be co-signed by Erika Kirk, who I’ve heard loves sitting on Santa’s lap in her shiny black pleather mourning pants. JD is the new Santa/presidential hopeful, Erika his perfect running mate/sexual partner.
By the way, here is, hands down, the best rendition of “Oh, Holy Night” out there. 👇🏼 You’ve got to listen all the way to the end. It’s excruciatingly good.
Despite all the bad stuff, this year’s Christmas festivities have, at a minimum, been interesting, if in a schadenfreude sort of way. The difficulties my fiscally challenged MAGA cousins have been experiencing as of late confirm what even nematode worms know: we are, all of us, in deep shit — those who voted for the-bastard-who-shall-not-be-named, and those who long to see his death notice at the top of tomorrow’s news feed.
January, 2026, looks to be the month when many hard lessons will be learned. Very hard lessons. Many Americans will become familiar with what it’s like to spend half their income on health insurance and the balance on canned beans. To hell with beef and coffee being tariff-protected. Even if they do cost less, they will remain out of reach for many Americans in the coming year.
We may be back to enjoying Postum and powdered eggs. Y’all are going to love those.
And all of this (the rising cost of food and healthcare, plus fewer jobs) means there’s not gonna be much money for car payments, insurance, rent, and utilities. Oops! Then, imagine cousin Rob’s underage girlfriend getting pregnant, and both of them are living in Texas. Gosh, Rob, that’s a tough one — Londa getting knocked up, and despite both of you being unemployed and her still legally a child, she will be forced (by law) to carry the baby to term. How will you afford diapers? A crib and a car seat?
Whenever I visit the fam in Michigan, I come away with a few insights. Also, a bad sinus infection from all that forced air heating and the 10% humidity in my bedroom at Granny’s house. If I’m there for the week, I have to start using Head and Shoulders as a body wash because my entire epidermis develops dandruff. And don’t bother styling your hair in the morning, because the minute you take off your Carhartt knit beanie after shoveling snow, well, you know what happens. Your hair — it’s a fucking joke. And if you’ve been eating beans (which all of us will be doing soon), the sparks could set off an explosion (if you catch my drift).
Thank god I now live in California, because, like wow, this state of Michigan is WHITE. I’m talking all white, at least the parts I’ve been visiting, namely Grand Rapids and western Michigan. I guess that didn’t really sink in when I was a kid, but now, after years away… holy shit. Upon exiting baggage claim at the Gerald R. Ford International Airport, I found myself suffering from photokeratitis, a sunburn on the cornea caused by intense ultraviolet rays reflecting off snow and the white skin of all those Dutch Reformed kids working the Enterprise parking lot. These Michigan folks — they seem super chill about living in an ethnic void, a galaxy free of brown people and the reality of the world outside of winter wonderland.
White, white, white, and Christian with a capital C. Pretty sure I was the only evangelical atheist sitting at Aunt Elaine’s Christmas dinner table.
While Granny was slaving over a hot stove making biscuits and gravy for the whole clan on Christmas Eve morning, I snuck over to Wesco to fill up my rental car (a micro Mitsubishi with Florida plates) and to get something, ANYTHING really, to eat that had less cholesterol and at least one leaf of iceberg lettuce. Didn’t score on the sandwich, but holy shit — gas was listed at $2.86 per gallon for regular. And this, in Saugatauk (or Sausage Tuck as the homophobic rednecks in Holland refer to it). Though Saugatauk is an affluent place, and most everything is priced comparably to the Northalsted neighborhood in Chicago (where much of the population resides during the winter months), the gas prices were incredibly low. Hell, I’d been paying $4.10 for regular in the SF Bay Area, and that was after the price had come down.
Everyone filling up their gas tanks was feeling pretty damn cheerful, especially the MAGA dude with the Silverado 1500. He was blasting Whistlin’ Dixie while filling up his 28.3-gallon tank, enthusiastically chiming in with Randy Houser when his tab rolled to a stop at $76.02 on the pump display. Compared to November’s gas prices, Derek was saving $3.11. Merry Fucking Christmas.
For Derek, this new pricing works out to a savings of about $12.45 per month — the cost of a pack of Marlboros (with tax), or if Derek saved up for two months, he could score a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. Thank you, 47.
The overall Western Michigan Wesco vibe: Trump was making good on his campaign promises. Fuck those libtards. All I could think was alrighty, gas prices are down, but what about every other fucking thing — the dehumanizing immigration policies, the military strikes in Venezuela, cutting off aid to USAID, the irresponsible public health changes, gun violence, the end of SNAP benefits, the soon-to-be unaffordable healthcare system, the gutting of the Voting Rights Act, the gerrymandering, burgeoning racial discrimination, cruelty toward the LGBTQ community, the decimation of Veterans’ healthcare, the erosion of women’s rights, the end of public education as we know it.
I know, I know, this is just the tip of the iceberg. Fuck.
But then there was Trump’s declaration on December 17 ☝️ about dramatically lower drug prices. Now there was some Christmas cheer for the masses, right?! Trump has purportedly reduced drug prices by “400, 500, and 600%.” His new policy: “… it’s called Most Favored Nation, and no president has ever had the courage or ability to get this done until now.” Thus Spake Zarathustra.
Here’s how this new drug policy apparently works: instead of Granny paying $35/month for her insulin through Blue Cross Blue Shield, she will now be paid $175 for taking insulin. You heard that right.
Here’s the math, according to Sam Altman:
With all of Granny’s prescriptions taken into account — the statins, beta-blockers, calcium channel blockers, Omeprazole, Levotiroxine, and Daridorexant — it looks like Trump will be sending Granny a check for about $1432 per month. Well, fuck me. POTUS is the man!
I hate to say what I know many of you are already thinking… won’t some people start taking more medication just so they can make rent? Yes. They will.
This is where we’re at, friends. 2026 is looking to be a great year.
FYI, Rancho Gordo beans are to die for. Cheap food that is delicious and healthy.