The Grudge Report

Today, The Daily Beast published Natalie Harp’s humiliating love letters to President Trump. In the letters, Harp repeatedly professes her devotion and eagerness to please the president, and, as troublingly, she self-flagellates to the point where she apologizes for her own existence. She begs his forgiveness for the scars on her hands, for walking on a golf course instead of taking a cart, and for being tired after sleeping only two hours.

I wake up and think: It is cold. Colder than usual.And darker than usual? Until now, I lived in a perfect house that was fully staffed, I had five children, I posted highly edited pictures of myself to social media constantly, I believed women should have Christian fundamentalist gender roles, and I did not believe in vaccines. I was a Trad President. But this cold, dark place is entirely unfamiliar. Panic seizes me. I lurch for the Diet Coke button on my bedside table.

This is not a funny situation. This is a tragic absurdity. The statement put out on behalf of a gloriously talented megastar today is a craven masterclass in gaslighting collective concern by casting the worried public as the antagonist guilty of inflicting “scrutiny.” Fuck that. Anyone who has survived an eating disorder or who has loved someone with an eating disorder is being tsk tsk’d for crying out for the urgent help nobody within this woman’s circle is offering. Until September 1st.

There is a predatory vanity scam targeting authors, in which the scammer writes an email lavishing an author’s work with effusive, specific praise, then invites the author to take part in a book club event, then charges the author to promote the event. The “book clubs” all have European-sounding names, and lack a website or any online footprint, and the emails are glaringly AI-generated.

Here is Part 1 of Scamming the Scammer. And here is the completely deranged, morally ambiguous exchange that happened the following morning. At a certain point, the scammer got scared and tried to get out of the entanglement, but I think we ended in a good place:

Today, a man on Instagram, that forum for nuance and measured discourse, wrote that yesterday’s stabbings were “[my] fault.” I grew up half a block from the attacks, on 84th Street and Central Park West. There is a synagogue on that block, where I went to nursery school. It’s unsettling to read that Raul Morales shouted “Allahu akbar” before stabbing an Asian man and then a kippah-wearing Jewish man yesterday.

Hey, Mommy. Hate to say “I told you so,” but I wanted to make sure you’re aware the press is now saying Vegetables are super toxic, and it’s looking like they’re straight up canceled. As an ally, I obviously do not feel good about working with them, and just want to put that in writing. Feels like we should definitely pass on them going forward on involving any of them in Dinner-related projects, as I have continuously said.

A picture of him holding today’s newspaper while riding on a horse. A picture of him holding today’s newspaper while wrestling a cheetah. A picture of him holding today’s newspaper while having tea with the Queen. A picture of him holding today’s newspaper while at the newspaper factory watching the all newspapers get printed on the press. A note on personalized stationery that says: “I am not currently dead.” A grainy video of him begging for his life (holding today’s newspaper).

Getting really into “Real Housewives of Rhode Island,” arguably the crown jewel of the franchise. • Lost his phone Memorial Day weekend at Surf Lodge! Get “Find My,” Mitch! This keeps happening!! • Accepted to writer’s residency at Yaddo and is working on an autofiction novel about…

Trans girls actually survive by drinking pool water (it makes them trans) so if we let them swim around in pools pretty soon there will be no pools. • Trans girls cheat at badminton. They keep a secret extra birdie in their tote bags from independent bookstores. • Trans girls often use mineral sunscreen which, though reef safe, leaves a white cast on the skin which can be really reflective and distracting for other kids just trying to have fun and play field hockey without going blind.