Category Archives: The Everyman Chronicles

If A Bigly American Can’t Win The Nobel, Why Give It?


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abashedly History will record Oct. 10, 2025, as the day the latest rigged election.

You see, the Norwegian Nobel Committee snubbed one of the gentlest souls ever to wage a culture war: President Donald J. Trump.

The man wanted peace. He said it. Often. Loudly. He even nominated himself. That alone takes humility.

Yet when the Nobel Committee met, they ignored this modern Gandhi and gave the prize to María Corina Machado — a Venezuelan opposition activist who, according to the press release, “risked her freedom for democracy.”

Which is fine, I guess, but can she draw a crowd in Dayton? And Maria sounds like a girl’s name; they don’t give ’em to chicks, right?

The backlash came fast. MAGA influencers melted down online like teenagers denied prom queen.

Laura Loomer fumed, “What an absolute joke. Everyone knows President Trump deserves the Nobel Peace Prize. More affirmative action nonsense.”

Another account thundered: “Some random person that nobody knows just won the Nobel Peace Prize. THE NOBEL PEACE PRIZE IS A JOKE.”

Hard to argue. Because if Trump can’t win a peace prize, who can?

This is a man who brokered calm in places that barely existed on maps, who once stopped a war by saying he did. A man who united the country, albeit briefly, in disbelief.

Even Vladimir Putin weighed in, calling the Nobel’s decision a “disgrace.” And if there’s one thing Putin knows, it’s peace through strength, or at least peace through drone.

Trump himself predicted this tragedy. “They will never give me a Nobel Peace Prize,” he told supporters in February. “It’s too bad. I deserve it.” It was less prophecy than martyrdom.

When the snub became official, his communications director, Steven Cheung, issued the statement of the year: “He has the heart of a humanitarian, and there will never be anyone like him who can move mountains with the sheer force of his will.”

You almost expect angels to hum “YMCA.”

Meanwhile, the actual winner, Machado, has spent years facing arrest, exile, and threats for speaking out against Venezuela’s dictatorship.

Admirable, sure, but she clearly failed to see the bigger picture: you can’t get peace by being peaceful. You get peace by demanding it, tweeting about it, and occasionally deploying the National Guard.

Georgia congressman Buddy Carter has proposed a sensible fix: a resolution to give Trump an American Peace Prize. Because why should Norwegians decide what peace means to us? They have fjords. We have Florida.

And when that great day comes, I hope Trump accepts his prize the only way he knows how — by taking credit for inventing it, then taking an escalator down to accept it.

Because if wanting the world to worship you disqualifies you from a peace prize, then maybe peace was overrated all along.

Finding Your Inner Journalist


You already have a journalist in you.

You were born asking questions. Every kid is. Why is the sky blue? Why does the dog tilt its head? Why does Dad mutter at the newspaper? Curiosity is the first skill of a reporter.

Somewhere along the way, we stop using it. We accept what we’re told. We scroll headlines instead of asking what’s behind them. That’s when the muscle weakens. Journalism is the act of flexing it again.

I grew up with ink on the kitchen table. Dad carried a notepad in his left back pocket and a story in his eyes. He believed the simplest question in the world could be the hardest to ask: Why?

I watched him listen more than he talked, though he never shied from the word. I learned early that information is power, and that power ought to be shared.

Forty years later, I still believe journalism is the highest form of citizenship. It is not just the job of a newsroom. It belongs to anyone who gives a damn about what’s true.

A journalist pays attention. A journalist wants to know how things work, who benefits, and who pays the bill. You don’t need a byline to do that. You only need to care enough to look.

And in this Trumpian era of wild claims and louder microphones, that instinct has never mattered more. Every day, falsehoods parade as fact. Platforms reward outrage more than accuracy. It takes a working journalist’s mind to cut through the fog.

The country doesn’t need more pundits. It needs more reporters, even unpaid ones. You can be one every time you ask, Is that true?

You can find your inner journalist every day. Start by noticing. Notice who speaks for the group and who doesn’t get to. Notice which streets get fixed first. Notice the way a neighbor’s tone changes when politics comes up. Notice how every commercial is a little lie wearing good lighting.

Observation is reporting. The rest is craft.

Then ask. The question is the journalist’s instrument. Not the argument, not the opinion. The question.

What happened? Who decided that? When did this start? How do you know? Those five words—what, who, when, how, why—can peel the varnish off anything. They can turn gossip into fact. They can turn noise into signal.

The best journalists I know have curiosity wired to empathy. They don’t see sources or sides. They see people. They ask, then listen, and then ask again.

The secret is silence. Let someone talk long enough, and they will tell you the truth without realizing it.

The inner journalist does not hunt scandal. It hunts understanding. It searches for the small stories that explain the large ones.

A stoplight that never works says more about a city than a mayor’s press conference. A single parent trying to pay rent says more about an economy than a stock chart. Journalism is the art of connecting dots that people pretend are separate.

Technology has made everyone a potential reporter. We have cameras in our hands and archives in our pockets.

But the tools are only as good as the questions we ask. A smartphone can record, but it can’t discern. The journalist’s eye is still human. It knows tone, motive, timing, silence. It knows what’s missing.

Good reporting begins with questions. Each question, a step toward clarity. Each answer is provisional. Curiosity is a discipline.

So go find your inner journalist. Ask the next question. Then one more.

The truth is still out there. It’s just waiting for someone curious enough to care.