Jess Lahitou

When Americans pick a president, they are looking for someone who is right for the moment. A person who speaks for the time, who is equipped to react and respond accordingly.

ICYMI, towards the close of last night’s final (handclap for that) presidential debate, Donald Trump lobbed an insult Clinton’s way.

The blatant promise of a career in the spotlight has stripped the Bachelor/Bachelorette of its beautiful, benign lie: that we could watch “regular” people navigate the perils and pitfalls of modern dating, that such a quest was in and of itself enough, and that a happy ending was a real possibility.

This is the first time I’ve seen a sitting president “spin” a clear military defeat to save his own ego, and use a bereft and heartbroken wife in order to get away with it. Disgust is not the right word. Horror, maybe. Disbelief and revulsion crashing into each other.

If I’m just online screaming, what am I not doing in physical reality?

Will every story that Trump doesn’t approve of get the “fake news” label, its authors permanently blacklisted forever?

We talk about having debate-watching parties, popping popcorn, making bets… it’s all a little weird, and probably not good for democracy.

Digital assistants such as Siri are not people. Yet, the way these female-voiced bots are programmed to react when being sexualized or sexually harassed paints a pretty bleak picture of how Silicon Valley organizes its values.

With Twitter awash in letters of goodbyes, 140-word final messages from “collateral damage,” my heart broke last night. That doesn’t mean anything, and neither does this: I want to say I’m sorry to Syria.

Millennials know the '90s were the best decade for music in our lifetime (arguably, best decade EVER). But it’s easy to forget just how many un-freakin-believably kick-butt-love tunes were packed into that 10 years. Let’s rehash the '90s for the autumn lover.