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Under Lincoln’s Gaze, the Water No Longer Reflects Us

A new essay about the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool, political accountability, and what happens when the stories we're told become more important than the evidence in front of us.

I opened the piece with Living Colour's “Cult of Personality” and closed it with Martin Luther King Jr.'s “I Have a Dream”—two very different voices that both fit the question at the heart of the essay: Can a democracy survive when we lose our ability to recognize reality?

The Reflecting Pool is also a reminder that places can carry memories. For generations, Americans have gathered around the Lincoln Memorial for moments of history, protest, hope, and family memories. What happens when the symbolism of those places begins to feel as cloudy as the water itself?

Read the full essay:

"Game Point, Nobody wins." — Queensrÿche

Sometimes a lyric captures a story better than a headline.

My latest investigation examines the newest controversy surrounding El Camino Real Charter High School, but it's really about something larger: what happens when transparency gives way to secrecy in publicly funded institutions.

The article looks at the reported departure of the school's executive director, a taxpayer-funded audit that was never released, and whether LAUSD missed opportunities to insist on greater accountability.

"Some say that's progress, I say that's cruel." — Midnight Oil

When does progress stop feeling like progress?

After moving to Washington, my family found a new home at Wild Waves. We thought we'd have years to build new traditions there. Instead, we learned the park's 2026 season will be its last, with plans to replace nearly 50 years of family memories with a massive warehouse.

This essay is about family, community, and the difficult choices that shape the places we call home. It's also inspired by two songs that have stayed with me for years: Midnight Oil's "Progress" and Nightwish's "Last Ride of the Day." Sometimes music captures what we're feeling long before we have the words ourselves.

Read A Final Ride Before the Wrecking Ball here:

"Meet the new boss, same as the old boss."

The Who's Won't Get Fooled Again has become shorthand for elections that promise change but deliver more of the same. That's the lyric that kept coming to mind as I looked at the results of this year's LAUSD school board races.

As a parent, I know that school board decisions shape children's futures in ways that last far beyond election day. As someone who follows politics closely, I also know that accountability only works when voters have meaningful choices. Yet another election came and went with the status quo largely intact.

My latest article explores why incumbents continued to win despite controversy, why so few challengers emerged, and what that means for the future of public education in Los Angeles.

I'd love to hear whether you think local elections are getting the attention they deserve.

Read the full article:

For a while, the headlines convinced me that patriotism was becoming impossible.

Then one night, Bruce Springsteen reminded me that the story of America isn't written only by the people in power. It's also written by families, neighbors, artists, and ordinary people who refuse to give up on the promise of a more perfect Union.

This essay traces my journey from hope, to doubt, to finding hope again—and how music helped me rediscover what it means to love my country.

Whether it's in politics, family traditions, or music, we often inherit unwritten rules without stopping to ask why they exist. Sometimes those traditions deserve to be challenged. Other times, they endure because generations learned hard lessons from breaking them.

Every previous U.S. president chose not to attend the NBA Finals. In my latest article, I explore what happened when Donald Trump broke with that precedent, why the reaction was so strong, and what it may say about leadership and political judgment.

"It has to start somewhere. It has to start sometime. What better place than here? What better time than now?" — Rage Against the Machine

I opened my latest article with those lyrics because they capture something I've been thinking about for a long time.

Politics isn't just about elections. It's about the communities we build, the examples we set for our families, and the future we leave behind. Music has always helped give voice to those ideas.

This year's Los Angeles mayoral race feels different. Instead of a familiar partisan matchup, voters will choose between two very different visions for the city. I explore how changing voting patterns made that possible—and why it's the mayoral election I've always wanted to vote in.

I was only eight years old during America's Bicentennial, but I still remember how much of an event it felt like. Red, white, and blue were everywhere. Families gathered. Music was part of the celebration. For all the turmoil following Watergate and Vietnam, there was still a sense that we were marking something together.

As America turns 250, this Independence Day feels very different.

In my latest essay, I reflect on how the unraveling of the Freedom 250 concert became a symbol of a country struggling to celebrate itself. It's about politics, but it's also about memory, patriotism, and the soundtrack of different generations—from the Bicentennial to today's culture wars.

I'd love to hear how you remember the Bicentennial—or how this July 4th feels to you.

Read the full essay:

"Cause I'm leavin' on a jet plane..."

John Denver's lyric has always captured something universal about saying goodbye.

I recently flew home from a trip back to California to visit family. As we packed the rental car for the drive to the airport, I found myself thinking about why departures can feel so emotional. Maybe it's not just about the people we're leaving behind. Maybe it's the realization that another chapter of our lives has become a memory.

My latest essay, The Footprints We Leave Behind and What We Keep, is about family, change, memory, and the moments that shape us long after we've moved on.

Accessibility isn't just a policy debate—it's something families encounter in everyday life.

A recent visit to DreamWorks Water Park with my two adult daughters, both of whom are on the severe end of the autism spectrum, reminded me how much thoughtful design and inclusive policies matter. Outstanding employees made a real difference, but unnecessary barriers also turned simple moments into stressful ones.

My latest article isn't just a review of a water park. It's a look at what happens when exciting attractions meet the realities faced by families living with disabilities—and why accessibility should be part of every conversation about public spaces.

One of the most amazing parts about being at the first night of Rush's first tour since Neil Peart's passing was watching new touring drummer Anika Nilles win over the crowd. The amount of pressure she was under was immense, but she pulled off her debut with grace.

With every drum fill Anika executed, the roar of the crowd grew. The smile on her face showed her appreciation for the support. The pride plastered on Geddy Lee's face made the night even more special.

As the end of the evening neared and the opening chords of Tom Sawyer played, a sense of nervousness filled the air. Could she pull off the most famous of Neil Peart's solos?

As she played, the roar of the crowd crescendoed. By the time she reached the end, the smile on her face reached ear to ear, and the applause only got louder.

The answer was: yes, she could.

For more about my reaction to that emotional night, please read my article at

"Take this letter that I give you..."

From Queen's Brian May to Nine Inch Nails' "Hurt," music forms part of the soundtrack to my latest essay about fathers, sons, grandfathers, and the traditions that connect generations.

For 19 years, I celebrated Father's Day from both sides—as a son and as a father. Looking back, I realize I was a bridge between generations, carrying lessons from the past while trying to build something for the future.

This is a story about family, loss, legacy, and the people who shape us long after they're gone.

"The Bridge Between Fathers"

The pandemic changed more than our daily lives. It also changed how we grieved.

When Neil Peart died in early 2020, Rush fans never had the chance to gather, celebrate his life, or say goodbye together. Six years later, the band's return to the stage was a shared act of remembrance.

Watching thousands of people sing along, laugh, cry, and celebrate reminded me that music isn't just entertainment. It helps families and communities process loss, preserve memories, and find hope for what's next.

I was fortunate to be there for opening night, and I wrote about why this concert meant so much beyond the music.

Politics. Family. Music.

Those three interests often intersect in unexpected ways. This article begins with a lyric from Rush's Spirit of Radio before examining a question that's shaped American politics for the past decade:

Does repeatedly winning elections prove political brilliance, or can it obscure a pattern of poor governing decisions?

I take a look back at Donald Trump's political rise, his record in office, and whether the Republican Party may eventually pay the price for embracing his leadership.

I went to Brooklyn expecting to check a bucket-list concert off my list.

Instead, I found myself thinking about patriotism, community, and what it means to hope for a country that's still a work in progress.

Bruce Springsteen has spent decades writing about the American dream, the people left behind by economic change, and the belief that we can still build something better together. Seeing those songs performed in front of a hometown crowd made them feel more relevant than ever.

I wrote about why the night felt less like a concert and more like "A Prayer for My Country."

"Revolve around yourself, it's you and no one else." — Anthrax, "Only"

Sometimes a song lyric captures a political moment better than a campaign slogan.

My latest article examines California's gubernatorial primary and argues that one high-profile endorsement may have changed the strategic landscape. With the primary now over, the feared all-Republican general election never materialized—but the path the race took raises interesting questions about strategy, ego, and unintended consequences.

Whether you're interested in politics, history, or simply how one decision can reshape an election, I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Read the article here:

Bruce Springsteen once sang about "getting out."

That line has stayed with me through a life that has taken me from New York to Los Angeles and now to Washington.

I originally set out to write about a childhood baseball game where I literally ran to the wrong base. Somehow it became a story about chasing dreams, raising a family, finding love, leaving places behind, and wondering whether "home" is a location or the people who travel through life with us.

Maybe that's also a political question. We live in a time when people relocate for work, affordability, climate, or simply to find a community where they feel they belong. The idea of "home" isn't as fixed as it once was.

I'd love to hear what "home" means to you.