Republican presidential candidate Ben Carson's latest fundraising report with the Federal Election Commission shows that his campaign brought in an impressive $8.5 million over the last three months—four times as much as Mike Huckabee, a politician with comparable appeal among Sean Hannity-watching conservative activists. Yet during that same period—a time in which Carson was sporadically campaigning while giving paid speeches, struggling to retain staff, and not running any television ads—Carson managed to spend a whopping $5.4 million. Much of that money went toward more fundraising, because his campaign depends heavily on third-party direct-mail firms. But, in stark contrast to Carson's fiscal conservative message, his campaign spent big money on private jets, luxury hotels, and slickly produced events.
Carson's campaign kickoff, for instance, came with a hefty price tag. While other candidates, such as Vermont Sen. Bernie Sanders, have taken advantage of cheap outdoor public spaces and free media, Carson dropped $25,448 to rent the Detroit Music Hall. The campaign also spent $64,521 on "musical entertainment" over the last quarter, much of it on the kickoff event. That included $20,000 paid to Alexi von Guggenberg, the producer of the song that plays in the background of this Carson campaign video, which has less than 30,000 views on YouTube; $15,500 to the Selected of God choir, which performed at his Detroit event; $10,271 to the contemporary classical vocal group Veritas, which also performed a few songs at his kickoff; and $18,750 to producer Kevin Cates.
Vermont Sen. Bernie Sanders has a few things in common with a superhero from the Marvel universe. The Democratic presidential candidate bills himself as an underdog waging battle against evil tycoons who exploit the citizenry in pursuit of cartoonish riches. A band of loyal followers hangs on his every adventure. And some people think he's from another planet.
His is an unconventional campaign, so it was only logical that in May he picked an unconventional operative to run it—the owner of a comic book shop. A longtime Sanders friend and advisor, Jeff Weaver had worked on Sanders' campaigns and in his Washington offices for more than two decades. But before he came on board Bernie 2016, Weaver had retired from politics to launch one of the DC-area's biggest gaming businesses.
Last month Sen. Bernie Sanders, the Vermont independent socialist seeking the Democratic presidential nomination, repudiated a 1972 essay he wrote for the Vermont Freeman, an alternative newspaper, which included depictions of a rape fantasy from male and female perspectives. On Meet the Press, he dismissed the article as a "piece of fiction" exploring gender stereotypes—"something like Fifty Shades of Grey."
Yet as the New York Timesrecently reported, during his years as a contributor to the Freeman in the late 1960s and early 1970s, Sanders often wrote about sexual norms, as he presented a broader critique of repressive cultural forces that he believed were driving many Americans literally insane. His early writings reflect a political worldview rooted in the fad psychology and anti-capitalist rhetoric of the era and infused with a libertarianesque critique of state power. Sanders feared that the erosion of individual freedom—via compulsory education, sexual repression, and, yes, fluoridated water—began at birth. And, he postulated, authoritarianism might even cause cancer.
Yet he insisted that individual acts of protests could turn things around—a belief that would give rise to his political career.
On Wednesday, after the New York Times proposed adding peas to guacamole (what's next, mayonnaise?), President Barack Obama announced that the proper way to make guacamole is with avocado, onions, garlic, and hot pepper. It wasn't the first time the leader of the free world had disparaged peas. In 2011, when Congress stalled on raising the debt ceiling, he announced that it was time for all parties involved to "eat our peas"—swallow the tough pill, if you will.
But Obama's anti-pea polemic, published just days before the Fourth of July, puts him at odds with an important group of Americans—the Founding Fathers. The Founding Fathers loved peas.
Thomas Jefferson's favorite vegetable, according to the Thomas Jefferson Foundation, was the English pea. He cultivated 19 different kinds of peas in the Monticello vegetable garden, including 15 kinds of English peas. Among them were Marrowfat, Hotspur, Blue Prussian, and Early Frame. (Jefferson even spoke with Mother Jones about his peas in February.) Letters to his daughter, Mary, often made reference to the status of the peas. Here he is discussing peas in a letter to George Washington:
Peas weren't just sustenance for Jefferson. They were a way of life; every year he would hold a contest with his neighbor to see whose peas would sprout first. Per the Monticello website:
Though Jefferson's mountaintop garden, with its southern exposure to warmth and light, should have provided an advantage for the contest, it seems that the contest was almost always won by a neighbor named George Divers.
As Jefferson's grandson recalled: "A wealthy neighbor [Divers], without children, and fond of horticulture, generally triumphed. Mr. Jefferson, on one occasion had them first, and when his family reminded him that it was his right to invite the company, he replied, 'No, say nothing about it, it will be more agreeable to our friend to think that he never fails.'"
Divers, that clever knave! There's even a children's book, First Peas to the Table, inspired by Jefferson's fruitless obsession with winning at peas.
Jefferson's friends in government got in on the action too. At his prodding, George Washington attempted to plant English peas at Mount Vernon, with mixed results. But Washington loved peas so much that when a bunch Tories attempted to kill him, they did so by poisoning a dish of his favorite food—peas. Wise to the plot, a 13-year-old girl fed them to his chickens first as a precautionary measure. (Or at least, that's the legend. It's probably apocryphal.)
The point is, Thomas Jefferson and George Washington loved peas. If avocados had even been around when they were president, they would have made pea guacamole. And they would have loved that, too. Pea hold these shoots to be self-evident.
Sanders' campaign estimated the crowd at about 10,000 people, the largest rally by any candidate during the 2016 campaign. Granted, it's not even 2016 yet, but Sanders has continued to draw massive crowds everywhere he has gone (5,000 people in Denver; 300 people in an Iowa town of 240). It's not necessarily a barometer for public support—Hillary Clinton still holds a comfortable lead in national polls—but it does show that his popularity stems from something much deeper than just good name recognition.