Talking Points Memo

I've always associated the "dog days of summer" with the period that begins after the Major League All-Star game (mid-July) and continues until school starts in September. Technically, the dog days are more like the beginning of July through mid-August. Regardless, I associated that phrase with that time of the year when the heat is at its most unbearable and dogs have no interest in doing anything outside besides finding shade and panting. Later in life, the phrase would remind me of a particularly fun wedding I attended that featured the eponymous song by Florence and the Machine. But I digress…
 

The phrase "dog days of summer" is actually astrological in origin. It's when the "dog star" Sirius appears in the sky. In fact, Polynesian cultures associated this period with the onset of winter. Nevertheless, the phrase conjures up sloth and laziness, a sense that the good part of something has ended and now we're in the slog. 
 

It sort of feels to me that we're in the dog days of the general election. 
 

The VPs are set. The conventions are over. There will likely be no more debates. Most likely no more major twists and turns in any of Trump's many legal entanglements. Taylor Swift has made her endorsement. All that is left is to vote. 

However, the world keeps turning. Today, for example, we learned that another right-wing lunatic is alleged to have killed a dog. Meanwhile, JD Vance continues lying about immigrants eating dogs. (While looking for a third-dog related story, I found that there is a famous 18th century self-portrait of William Hobarth that includes his pug and that pug is named, I kid you not, Trump.)
 

Anyway, the point is everyone is feeling a bit restless, a bit rudderless, and a lot "over it." Media has a tendency to move on from things in these periods and find new things. But here at TPM we keep the main thing the main thing. The Republican Senate nominee in Ohio is blatantly misogynistic. The right continues spewing misinformation about non-citizens voting, with help from friends. And Trump (the presidential candidate, not the pug) somehow gets creepier every time he talks.

We're in the shit now, folks. Keep an eye on which outlets get distracted by bright shiny new objects and which keep focused. We hope you'll join us in the latter category.