Christmas in Eau Claire has finally started to feel normal again—right as winter reminded me how brutal it can be. Between snow that turns the city into planet Hoth, driving my wheelchair in traffic to avoid ice, a faceplant off a curb while carrying beer, and watching the news roll out battleships, ballrooms, and vanity projects, this feels like the perfect end-of-year snapshot. Funny, frustrating, and just a little surreal.

The federal government may finally move marijuana out of Schedule I, but calling that “legalization” is a stretch. After decades of hypocrisy, moral grandstanding, and selective outrage—especially when compared to alcohol and opioids—this latest move feels less like justice and more like the bare minimum. We’ve been “almost legal” before, and history suggests that’s exactly where they plan to keep it.

A bed-to-chair transfer derailed by a sneeze-hurricane broke a reacher-claw cord. Tools arrived zip-tied together until my girlfriend snipped both ties like a precision ruler. Add disability to a device name and the price explodes. Laughing at yourself is mandatory hardware. This is the Gospel of the Gimp Stick.

ock ’n’ roll didn’t collapse in one dramatic moment—it slowly eroded under shifting culture, digital noise, and a generation that no longer finds rebellion in guitars. This manifesto takes a hard look at the death of the garage band, the rise of hip-hop, the algorithmic takeover, and the moment a 14-year-old called Limp Bizkit “classic rock,” forcing us to confront what rock once was, what it became, and whether it can ever rise again.