How Many Conspiracy Theorists Does it Take to Change a Lightbulb?
None. The lightbulb has to want to change on its own.
I’ve spent the last four years thinking about conspiracy theories. A lot. I’ve broken down their literal definition, explored their innately contagious nature, and mocked the dubious “fact checkers” determined to debunk them. I may have contributed to the spread of a few myself.
Also, what did happen to Kate? Did we all just decide to pretend that super sketchy, deepfake CGI video of the pale, poorly princess announcing her cancer diagnosis was legit and agree to graciously give her the space she requested?
Mkay.
Anyhow, way back in the year 2019 BC [Before Covid], “conspiracy theorist” was a dirty slur that described science-denying, UFO-obsessed, witch-hunting wackjobs. But if you look at the long, illustrious list of “conspiracy theories” that have turned out to be true—from CIA mind control to the US government’s decades of secret media manipulation—you’ll probably feel as I do that the term is merely an attempt to malign and discredit us Reality Investigators, Early Truth Seers, and Relentless BS Detectors.
Over the past few years, I’ve embraced the title. Hell, I own a conspiracy theorist t-shirt. (And a domestic terrorist one, but my hubby won’t be seen with me in public in that one.) I’ll gleefully fly the Skeptical Sleuth flag all day long, because it turns out I’m in the world’s best, bravest, most articulate and admirable and courageous company—many of whom I am delighted to feature in the forthcoming, bound-to-be-bestselling anthology I had the honor of conceiving, creating, and editing, Yankee Doodle Soup for the Fringy, Tin Foil Hat-Wearing Conspiracy Theorist’s Soul: An uplifting collection of reflections on the wacky state of the world.
This morning, YDS went to the printer. Printer Day is always equal parts thrilling and nauseating, because no matter how psychotically OCD diligent you are or how many amazing people you hire and enlist to comb a manuscript for mistakes, at least one is bound to squeeze through.
Regardless, I am dizzy with excitement about this book and I think you will be, too. In case you missed the memo, Yankee Doodle Soup is a collection of essays by an enormously talented group of writers with two things in common: 1) They are esteemed, outspoken, proud-card-carrying members of the Conspiracy Theory Club, and 2) they have something positive to say about the pandemic. (Really! Those were the rules and my collaborators did not disappoint.)
Contributors range from well-known doctors and scientists to speakers, podcasters, authors, attorneys, and editors. There’s an Emmy Award-winning former news anchor, a bridal gown designer, a paramedic whistleblower, a rock band, and one “pissed-off, childless, married woman of a certain age who didn’t do anything meaningful in her life until [Covid].” The essays are warm, witty, wise, wondrous, and—I believe—exactly what the world is hungry for right now.
The book’s official publication date is June 1, but today I’m announcing the “soft launch” of the website. [Translation: If you find a typo or a broken link or a glitch in the matrix, for the love of lizard people, please let me know!] You can pre-order the paperback right now (books will ship the first week in June; eBooks will be available on Amazon and Apple on or after that date as well), read a few excerpts, check out or submit to the Tin Foil Hat Gallery, peruse the contributor list, or request a custom or bulk order for your upcoming event or just to hand out on street corners, cuz you’re generous that way.
(If you’re not a speed-reader, you can enjoy these excerpts at YankeeDoodleSoup.com at your own pace.)
A million heartfelt thanks to this incredible army I’m beyond blessed to be part of. I might be able to do this without you—but I sure as hell wouldn’t want to.
Oh, and pretty-please share the book/site with all of your fringy, anti-vax, right-wing, conspiracy theorist friends! If I sell the entire first print run, I’ll only be a few grand in the hole on this little labor of love hahahahaha I wish I was kidding.
Unrelated to today’s post but nonetheless important:
Exactly eight thousand, seven hundred sixty days ago today, I signed a contract with a tall, dark, and very handsome man (who relatively speaking, I barely knew). In that contract, I agreed that I would love him no matter how poor, sick, or miserable we ever got. I wasn’t even drunk.
Since that day, we have made two people, bought seven properties, buried countless pets, appeared on one reality TV show, killed a lot of plants, survived earthquakes and wildfires, said goodbye to parents, assembled literally thousands of Ikea items, and sent those two incredible people we made out into the world. Also we look exactly the same. Weird, right?
It’s been a wild and mostly wonderful ride, and I just wanted to tell my goofy groom that there’s not another man on the planet I’d rather bug the crap out of for the next twenty-four years.
Happy anniversary, baby. I got you on my mind.
Ha! Love you too honey. Was that a test to see if I was going to read your post today? I win!
You are and always have been an inspiration. Keep challenging the status quo. You are the light in my life.
The happiest of anniversaries to you and your husband, Jenna! As one of the wacko conspiracist contributors to your book, I am proud to be in your company and the company of all my contributor colleagues.