Swifties Don't Care Where You Pee

Lauren Boebert Can't Do Math

I am not a Swiftie, but I am the mother of teen/tween girls, one of whom got herself declared a superfan and managed to get face-value tickets the day on that Ticketmaster died. In the months between the ticket win and the concert this past weekend, we listened to pretty much nothing but Taylor whenever we were in the car. (Taylor Swift and the Hamilton soundtrack are the only points of musical agreement between my two daughters, so this wasn’t that much different than the last few years.)

Having heard her whole discography on shuffle so very many times, I felt prepared for the big day. I might not be the screamingest of fans, but I wasn’t going to be like the two guys sitting in front of us who’d clearly agreed to accompany their girlfriends having never heard a single Swift single. I was not excited per se, but I was glad to be going.

The experience entirely exceeded my expectations.

The party started in the train station. “What track is the train on?” “Who knows? Follow the sequins.” Everyone was jittering with anticipation and eager to chat. “Love the cowboy boots, you must be her debut album.” “That dress is purple, does that mean Speak Now is your favorite?” “I really hope she doesn’t do Welcome to New York as her surprise song, just because we’re at MetLife Stadium?” (For the record, she didn’t play that one and she appropriately acknowledged that the stadium is in New Jersey despite what the Giants and Jets would like to think.)

When asked, I explained my shirt with the snake-skin lips: “My kids got this shirt because I like lips and only wear black. It’s Reputation, but I don’t like that album as much as 1989.” (Okay maybe I’ve become a little bit of a Swiftie.) One woman on the train handed me stick-on face gems when I admired hers and then passed them back when others asked for some too. Later in the bathroom another woman added glittery silver eyeshadow to my look because we agreed I wasn’t sparkly enough.

Speaking of trips to the bathroom, while lawmakers across the country seem to care where we all pee, Swifties do not. My daughter and I conspired with the concertgoer in front of us to skip the long ladies’ room line and walk into the men’s room which appeared to be empty. Having made each other brave, we opened the door to find a line of about 10 women who’d had the same idea. The handful of men who came through while we were waiting seemed unfazed by our presence (though they may have stood a little closer to the urinal than usual).   

Even the security officers were friendly despite being tasked with keeping 85,000 fans who were hopped up on adrenaline (and maybe something else) in order and safe. (I have to imagine that TSwift concert goers are a little easier to herd than Giants fans after a game.) One security guard suggested we use the Club/Suite Level ticket entrance since there was no line and when I said we didn’t have those special tickets, he replied, “Everyone’s special tonight.”

The show was pretty impressive, too. Taylor doesn’t dance so much as she struts up and down the stage and strikes a legs-out-microphone-up-pose to sing. But there was always something to see between the outfits, the back-up dancers, the massive video display behind her, and a stage that kept morphing. Everyone other than those two bored boyfriends in front of us was singing and dancing along (and proving just how impressive it is that Taylor does this in four-inch heels for three-and-a-half hours, three nights in a row).

I realize, though, that what I liked most about it was the fans and the overall feeling. It was the first place I’d been in a long time where the default mood was happy, and everyone seemed to be assuming good intentions of others. We were there to experience joy and happy to share it with each other.

There’s no bigger moral to this story. This wasn’t my “aha” moment. I also understand that a Taylor Swift concert is not representative of our country—the audience was very white, overwhelmingly female, and had at least enough privilege to get tickets.

I’m not about to say that Taylor Swift changed my life or that I’m going to stop telling people that’s not how it f**king works in a tone that has been described as snarky, hostile, and condescending. (See story below on Lauren Boebert for proof that I’m still all of those things.)

I just realized that I’d missed this experience of collective joy amongst strangers, which I don’t think I’ve had since pre-pandemic, and that I hope we can all find a little more of it.

Monkey No More, But People Should Still Get Vaccinated

We’re not calling it monkeypox anymore (it’s mpox now), and we’ve come a long way since last August when there were reports of 460 cases each day, but the CDC recently issued an advisory statement to remind us that we still need to be vigilant about prevention. The alert warns that spring and summer season could lead to “a resurgence of mpox as people gather for festivals and other events.”

Like other poxes—small, chicken, camel, raccoon, and skunk (all of which are real, I swear)—the most notable symptom of mpox is a rash or sores on the skin. The virus is transmitted through close contact with those sores, which means that while it’s technically not an STI, it’s often spread during sex. It can also be spread through clothing and bed linens. In this most recent outbreak, the rash often appeared on the genitals and was sometimes mistaken for herpes or syphilis. Most cases of mpox are uncomfortable but not dangerous and resolve on their own, but some people do end up needing medical treatment. (I really liked my Hitchhiker's Guide to Monkeypox Q&A done in the style of Douglas Adams. The stats are outdated, but the rest still holds up.)

The JYNNEOS vaccine, which can protect against mpox and smallpox, is given in two doses, four weeks apart. The CDC is recommending that anyone at risk get the shot as soon as possible to prevent an uptick in cases this summer. Last year, we were afraid that we didn’t have enough doses for those who needed protection, but this year we have the opposite problem—the vaccine is available, but not enough people are getting it. The CDC estimates that the 1.2 million doses given out since last summer covered only 23% of the population at risk for mpox.

This outbreak of mpox has thus far primarily been seen in men who have sex with men (MSM). The CDC is recommending the vaccine for MSM who—in the last six months—have had more than one partner, been diagnosed with an STI, visited commercial sex venues (like sex clubs or parties), or had sex at a large public event (like a festival) in areas where mpox transmission is occurring. Partners of people who fit these criteria should also get vaccinated, and the vaccine is recommended for anyone who has HIV or other immune system issues.

For those who’ve already gotten the vaccine, yay, but don’t let your guard down. There was a recent outbreak in Chicago in which nine of the 13 people involved (12 confirmed cases and one suspected) had received both doses. The CDC expects to see more cases in vaccinated people but reminds us that those who are vaccinated are likely to experience less severe symptoms if they do become infected.   

In addition to suggesting everyone who fit these criteria get vaccinated, the CDC has put out  mpox-specific safer sex guidelines. Changes in behavior among gay, bisexual, trans, and other MSM were credited with keeping the virus in check last summer. As I noted last year, the agency’s advice boils down to this: keep as much clothing on as possible and wash everything as soon as you’re done. (I recommend reading the more specific version if only to witness the CDC actually discuss fetish gear.)  

We are far more prepared for mpox than we were last. As the CDC said in a tweet:

“We have the tools to make our summer healthy and fun! Get your #mpox summer anti-body on! Get 2 shots and make all the plans to be summer health ready."

I’ll give them a few points for the summer anti-body play on words. It’s been hard to make a good pox joke since we stopped talking about monkeys.

Lauren Boebert Thinks Birth Control is More Expensive Than Kids  

Lauren Boebert—the gun-toting, MAGA representative from Colorado who held on to her seat by just 546 votes—proved once again that she can’t do math and doesn’t understand her job.

In a House Oversight and Accountability hearing about prescription drug prices, Boebert asked Kevin J. Duane, a pharmacist and store owner, about whether people ever walked away without their medication once they learned the price. (For those fellow New Yorkers who are picturing his name on every other street corner, I looked: he owns a pharmacy in Florida, not Duane Reade.) This is a serious question, but she quickly reminded us that she’s not a serious person when she told this story:

I left a prescription at a pharmacy once. I went to get birth control. And I was there at the counter and went to pay for it, and the price was very, very high. I said, ‘Wow, is this a three-, six-month prescription?’ ‘No ma’am, this is one month’ And I said, ‘It’s cheaper to have a kid,’ and I left it there.

As the great sage Barbie once said, “Math is hard.” Don’t worry, Lauren, we’ll help you out with the numbers, but just know that there’s no way having a kid is cheaper than any kind of birth control.

Most sources say that the average cost of a package of birth control pills without insurance is $50, but I remember paying $135 once during an insurance snafu, so let’s see how far that would go for stuff kids need and want. My barebones research and savvy calculator use has determined that $135 can buy you 33 Happy Meals, 10 cans of powdered formula, five big boxes of diapers, most of an inexpensive crib, half a month of day care, four days of day camp, or braces for one tooth only. (To be clear, there’s no plus sign between these, it’s an either/or kind of proposition.)

Boebert went on to say:

And now I have my third son, Kaydon Boebert. It turned out to be a really great thing. But I personally experienced that when times were tough.

I am by no means belittling the fact that she personally experienced tough financial times even before she tried to open a gun-themed Hooters knock-off restaurant. Okay, I’m belittling it a little bit, but only because she’s now in a position to help others, and she’s doing exactly the opposite. Her first bill this year was to defund Planned Parenthood, which offers what, again? Oh, right, affordable birth control for people going through tough times.

Lauren, you are now in a position of power. You can help other women who can’t afford their prescriptions be able to walk out of the pharmacy with their pills in hand. You have the power to help them prevent an unintended pregnancy like yours. You could start by funding Title X clinics and making sure your colleagues don’t try to mess with the ACA’s birth control benefit. You could also help the ones who want to become parents by providing paid family leave, upping SNAP benefits, and making sure Medicaid is fully funded.

Of course, all of that is unlikely given that Boebert voted against the bills designed to solve the formula crisis and joined fellow MAGA Republicans Matt Gaetz and Andy Biggs in referring to SNAP benefits as a “poverty trap.” (Their warped logic seems to be that letting kids go hungry will help their parents find jobs or something equally mean.)

There it is folks, the crash of my Taylor Swift shared joy high.

Lauren Boebert is why I rarely assume good intentions. Here she is telling a story about how she got pregnant because she couldn’t afford birth control, and yet she has no intention of helping others in a similar situation. We now know that two of her pregnancies were unintended, but she continues to do her best to deny other women in that situation the option of abortion. The bottom line is that Boebert and her GOP colleagues have no empathy, and in the absence of empathy its hard to assume good intentions.

You know what else costs more than $135? Each of the guns she and her children posed with in their family Christmas card.

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