Bobbi Ann Johnson Holmes

Taylor Swift Hating is Just Pathetic 

The Beatles first appeared on The Ed Sullivan Show when I was in the fourth grade.  I remember the clutching of pearls by some adults regarding the length of the band members’ hair and their disdain for how emotional fans reacted to the group. I recall my fourth grade teacher telling our class the Beatles were a flash in the pan, a momentary fad, and they wouldn’t be around long. We all know how that prediction worked out.

At the time, I was a Beach Boy’s fan. My older sister, then in junior high, often played Beach Boy records in her bedroom. But the Beatles came along, and my sister started buying their albums, even our mom liked them.

While I enjoyed their earlier music, I wasn’t a fan of the Sargent Pepper era. And I still preferred the Beach Boys. 

Had the internet been a thing back then I can’t imagine myself commenting on the Beatle posts coming across my feed, telling the world their music sucked and then saying something nasty about one or more of the band members.  Maybe if one of them had done something horrible, but not if they are just living their lives, making their music. Why be snarky about someone I have never met? Who never did anything to me, and as far as I know, never hurt anyone?

Disliking someone’s music—especially a successful musician—does not mean their music is bad. It’s a ridiculously arrogant take to assume your taste in music is the definitive critique. I’m an author and I have readers who love my books, and readers who don’t care for them. Heck, it’s possible some people hate them. But so what? Everyone has different tastes in books and music.

And just because I never cared for the Sargent Pepper era, I can still appreciate and respect the talent of the Beatles and recognize their enormous contribution to music.  

This is where I come to Taylor Swift.  Until about three years ago, I hadn’t paid much attention to Swift or her music. I was still listening to musicians like Elton John, James Taylor, and the Beach Boys. 

But then I joined TikTok about three years ago, and I started paying attention to Swift and her music–especially the lyrics. While I won’t call myself a Swifty, I love some of her songs. I agree with the Swifties and many music critics, Taylor Swift is an extremely talented entertainer and songwriter. She’s also one hell of a businessperson. 

She has also proven to be an exemplary employer, considering the significant bonuses she has given to her staff. To the communities who welcome her concerts, she leaves behind generous food bank donations. And to her fans, she sets the example of kindness, inclusivity, and community.

And yet, Taylor Swift has some of the most vitriol haters on the internet who love to leave snarky comments about her. It isn’t just anonymous trolls trash talking, its people like Megyn Kelly and Elon Musk. Why? What bad thing did Taylor Swift ever do to them?

Is it because Swift didn’t want to endorse an adjudicated rapist and felon for president? It seemed like a smart call to me, considering Trump broke his oath of office on day one, proving he has no business in the White House.

Is it because Swift ignored Musk’s offer to give her a baby? An utterly gross and disgusting tweet for Musk to have made.

Some haters take issue with her billionaire status and claim she doesn’t give enough, ignoring all she regularly donates, while at the same time defending Elon Musk for his lack of generosity, insisting he has every right to spend his money as he wants.

One criticism from haters is the claim she is only successful because she had help from a rich dad. While I’m sure her parent’s support helped her—as all of us creatives are helped by support given to us by families—it is her talent and hard work that propelled her career to the heights it reached.  Even a favored child of Elon Musk could only go so far in a music career with limited talent. Ironically, someone whose career is not dependent on writing or musical talent, like Trump, would probably never have gotten rich without funding from a rich parent. But those haters of Swift ignore that truth.

An especially ridiculous complaint is that most of her songs are about heartbreak. According to Ai, 30-50% of pop songs are about heartbreak. So what is the problem? Is it just because it’s Taylor Swift? Or because she’s a woman? Also, they bitch that she only writes songs about her breakups, often claiming she’s self-absorbed, with a touch of slut shaming thrown in. I believe this bashing comes from a misogynist lens, as do many of the other negative things said about Swift.

Writers—including songwriters—typically find inspiration from their life experiences. And it may be something we write about decades later. One of Taylor’s gifts is the ability to write a song that her fans see themselves in. Her critics bitch Taylor is writing songs that are all about Taylor, yet Swifties see it different—Taylor gives them songs to which they can relate. 

And where is the slut shaming for the male musicians? 

Hey, you can hate her music, that is your prerogative. However, there are a lot of very popular musicians whose music I don’t care for, yet I don’t feel compelled to go on social media and leave trash talk comments in threads discussing those musicians. 

And I am not talking about legitimate critical discussions about music—done without malice. There is a place for critical reviews. It is like book reviews. It is one thing to leave a negative book review on someplace like Amazon, and another to make it a point to trash talk an author or their books in every post that comes across your social media, letting the world know you hate their books and anyone who does enjoy them has no taste. Makes me think of the expression, “Don’t yuck someone else’s yum.”  

It’s not just her music these haters have an issue with, it is the person. But what exactly has Taylor Swift done to deserve such vitriol hurled at her personally?

The truth is none of it is really about Taylor Swift; it’s about her haters. Their comments are not telling us anything about Swift, they are telling us about the person leaving the comment. And just what are they exposing about themselves? 

I am a troll. I just like to talk shit, so people pay attention to me.

Successful women make me feel like a loser.

I want her.

Smart women make me feel dumb.

Talented women make me feel bad about myself.

It should be me, not her!

She needs to stop giving such generous bonuses to her crew, because I look like a jerk when I don’t do the same.

Successful, beautiful, unmarried, talented women irritate the hell out of me.

I’m so jealous of her I could scream.

Her success threatens me.

I hate women.

Her success makes me so angry!

Meanwhile, Taylor Swift is out there living her best life, doing what she loves, spreading kindness, bringing joy to millions of fans, and positively contributing to society. Heck, maybe I am a Swiftie after all. 

Olon Dusk and the Star Stones

Once upon a time, there was a boy named Olon Dusk. He lived in a country that used star stones as currency. Star stones were believed to have been placed on the planet by space aliens thousands of years ago and hidden in the back of caves. They were very rare.

Unlike common rocks, these stones had a unique quality, as each was purple, perfectly flat, round, and the size of a grape. Unlike gold or turquoise, no one made jewelry from them, because melting or cutting them was impossible, and despite their small size, they were far too heavy for a person to wear comfortably in a piece of jewelry.

Because of their uniqueness, they were far too valuable to be used like tile to decorate countertops or walkways. But even if they had been plentiful and common, that would not have been possible, because material like concrete, mortar or any adhesive would not adhere to star stones.

And so, star stones became the country’s currency.

Olon Dusk dreamed of someday being the richest man in the world. He spent his free time exploring caves. His father had a job that took his family traveling with him all over the country, so Olon always had new caves to explore.

By the time Olon started college, he had mined enough star stones to buy himself an expensive new automobile. Yet, it was not enough for Olon.

One night when he was alone, he walked outside and looked up at the night sky and studied the stars. Focusing on the brightest star, he asked, “Why can’t I find a cave filled with star stones? Why are there so few of them? I wish I had an endless number of star stones. I would be the richest man in the world.”

To his astonishment, the star he had been watching grew noticeably brighter and the next moment he heard someone to his left say, “Hello.”

Startled, Olon turned abruptly to his left and found a woman standing next to him. But she was not a normal woman. Her skin was purple, like a star stone.

Olon’s eyes widened at the sight. “Who are you?”

“I’ve come from where star stones are born. And I am here to grant your wish.” She held out her open palm to him and a star stone appeared. “Take it.”

Hesitantly, Olon took it from her hand. It wasn’t heavy like a regular star stone. “I don’t understand.”

“Squeeze it gently and another one will appear. But be careful…”

She didn’t finish her sentence because he abruptly squeezed the stone, and another star stone appeared, hovering a moment in midair before it fell to the ground and landed on his toe. Unlike the star stone she had given him, this second one was heavy.

“Ouch!” he shouted.

She cringed. “I wish you would have let me finish what I was saying. But you will get the hang of it in no time, without breaking toes.”

He wiggled his toes. Nothing was broken. He leaned down and picked up the star stone from the ground and looked at it, glancing back at her. “How did you do that?”

“On our planet, we have mountains and mountains of what you call star stones. While you see them as valuable and rare, where I come from, they are abundant and have no purpose. Plus they take up too much land, rendering it unusable. Centuries ago, some of our people traveled to other planets, leaving the star stones in random caves. But later, wanting a more efficient way to remove star stones, scientists worked together to find an alternative, which is how they came up with the one I handed you. But as you can see, it didn’t work.”

“Look like it worked to me.”

She laughed. “No. They were trying to eliminate star stones, not create more.”

He looked back to the two star stones in his hand. “How was it supposed to work?”

“The star stone I handed you was sprayed with a compound developed by a team of scientists. They were trying to dissolve the stones. Instead, it made them lighter, but what was even worse, if squeezed by the right person, it would create another stone.”

“What happens if I squeeze it again?”

She smiled. “Every time you squeeze, it creates another star stone.”

“Indefinitely?”

“At least until it stops working. Which you don’t have to worry about, because according to extensive research by our scientists, it will keep producing star stones for two hundred years. Of course, you will be gone by that time, so I suppose it is indefinitely from your perspective.”

“What happens if I lose it, or someone takes it from me?” he asked.

“That won’t happen. Don’t ask me how it works. But once the stone is freely given to another person, it can’t be stolen or lost. It will always stay with you until you freely pass it on to another person. But even if you could lose it, there is always the X Depository.” She laughed. “But that won’t be necessary, because you will have all the star stones you could ever need. Having more would be a nuisance.”

He frowned. “What’s X Depository?”

“It’s where our people put the last load of star stones they brought to your planet. It was the largest shipment ever brought. From what I understand, it’s never been discovered.” She then told him the depository’s location.

* * *

The next morning, Olon drove to the site of the X Depository, located in a rural area, several hours from his home. Fencing surrounded the acre parcel of property, which only had a small section of buildable land, where a small, dilapidated house stood. A steep hill took up most of the property. He noticed an old woman sitting on the front porch of the house. The gate to the fencing was wide open, so Olon entered the gate and walked up the dirt driveway to the front porch.

“Hello,” the woman greeted him when he reached the porch. “How can I help you?”

“Do you own this property?” he asked.

“Yes, I do. It’s been in my family for three generations.”

“Would you like to sell it?” he asked.

“You don’t want to buy this property. My house is getting ready to fall down, and most of the land is useless. The hill’s too steep to even walk on.”

Olon talked to the woman for a while and finally convinced her to sell. He didn’t want to seem too anxious, so he offered her a fair price—for a piece of property with a steep hill and small building lot with a dilapidated building.

It took him several minutes to make enough stones to buy the property with the hidden cave, and once the woman moved out, he paid excavators to locate the cave by removing the extensive overgrowth of shrubbery and trees. 

They extracted the star stones. It proved to be the biggest discovery of star stones in history, making Olon the richest man in the world. According to newspaper articles, the stones discovered were more than the net worth of many countries.

He built an enormous vault on another piece of property, surrounded by extensive security fencing and guards, and moved the stones into the vault. For the next twenty years, Olon did not spend a single star stone retrieved from the X Depository. Not even for building the vault or fencing or guards. He didn’t need to.

* * *

Olon followed the mysterious purple woman’s advice and told no one about the magic stone. As years moved by, Olon no longer related to the average citizen. He associated with those at the very top of the income ladder. Like in all countries, regular citizens had ongoing challenges. Many dealt with inadequate health care and food and housing scarcity. Even the old woman who had sold Olon the property with the X Depository had problems. Her health issues forced her into a care home, and before long, the money Olon had paid for her property was gone, and she found herself on the street. Olon heard about the woman’s fate, yet didn’t see it as his problem.

Olon eventually married. But then he divorced. And then he married again and then divorced. He had children, some with wives, and some with girlfriends. None of them knew about the magic star stone. They just knew that Olan was the richest man in the world, and he had enough money that he never needed to spend what was stored in the vault.

Olon, who had enjoyed exploring caves in his youth, took it up as a hobby, and when he found more star stones, he placed them in the vault. Some criticized Olon for not using those star stones to help others, but those who idolized him for his wealth insisted they were Olon’s star stones, and he had the right to do what he wanted with them. And he did.

 Of all Olon’s children, his middle son was his favorite. When the boy was a small lad, Olon would dress him in a suit matching his own and carry him around on his shoulders to show the world his son. The boy was charming and well behaved, which pleased Olan. His critics accused Olan of using the boy as a shield from would-be assassins, while Olan’s fan said that was ridiculous. He simply loved his son and wanted to be with him.

As the boy grew older and too big to sit on his father’s shoulders, he was expected to walk by his father’s side whenever they went out in public. While the boy may have enjoyed being paraded around on his father’s shoulders and receiving attention as a small child, as he grew up, he—like all normal children—wanted to be with other children. He found his father’s limited world boring.

Eventually, Olan relented and sent his son to a private boarding school, guarded by a private security detail. However, as Olan’s dream had been to be the richest man in the world, his son’s dream had been to travel. Throughout his school years, he saved most of the star stones his father had given him for an allowance, and on his eighteenth birthday, he silently disappeared, removing himself from his father’s world and the security detail.

Over the next decade, the son traveled the world, meeting people from all walks of life. He shared meals with them, talked to them, and learned about their dreams and struggles. He befriended them. People and their lives facinated him. Sometimes he enjoyed visiting cemeteries and reading the markers, imagining what the people buried there were like. Once, when visiting a cemetery, he met a grieving woman whose husband had died because they didn’t have enough star stones to pay for his insulin, and they had been rationing the medication. He thought of the star stones in his father’s vault, never touched and just sitting there, and how his father could easily pay for everyone’s insulin in his country, and it would only take a fraction of the star stones in the vault—stones that sat there unspent.

Another time, he visited a hospital that was woefully understaffed and lacked the necessary medical equipment to serve the community. He asked someone why, and they explained they simply did not have the funding. When he asked how much they needed, while the amount was high, to his father it would be like having lunch at a restaurant.

One thing the son learned during his travels; most people worked very hard. They weren’t lounging around waiting for a handout, like he had once heard his father say. This new knowledge and outlook on life filled the son with ideas, and he returned to his father.

* * *

Olan was thrilled to see his son, especially because Olan knew he was getting older and needed to decide who he might one day pass the star stone to.

“I am glad you have returned,” Olan said.

The son told his father about his adventures, but he didn’t mention his ideas about spending some of his father’s star stones on philanthropy endeavors to help others. One reason, he did not know if his father had actually been doing this during the years he had been away and had made his donations anonymously.

“We need to talk about something,” Olan finally said. He then pulled out the magic star stone from his pocket. He handed it to his son, allowing him to feel its weight, much lighter than a regular star stone. And then he told his son about how he had received the magic stone. After he finished the telling, he took the magic stone, squeezed it, and then handed his son the newly created star stone.

The son stared at it. “And you never need to spend the star stones in the vault? You can get what you need with that?”

Olon laughed. “I haven’t removed a single star stone since I initially built the vault. In fact, I expanded the vault last year, because I’ve added so many more.”

“Added how?” the son frowned.

“Sometimes, when I’m watching television, I absently squeeze the magic stone, creating hundreds more. I then take them to the vault. Because I don’t really need them here. And I still enjoy treasure hunting in caves.”

“So you aren’t using the stones in the vault to buy anything?”

Olon shrugged. “Why would I need to do that? This magic stone gives me more than enough star stones to purchase whatever I need—whatever I want.”

“Why not use what is in the vault to help other people?”

Olon frowned. “Help what people? My friends don’t need help. They have their own star stones. Maybe not as many as me, but more than they will ever need.”

“What about the people you don’t know? Many people in our country aren’t as lucky as you.”

“Luck had nothing to do with it!” Olon snapped. “I’ve worked hard for my money. It is my money. I’m the one who was clever enough to purchase the land holding the X Depository. I’m the one exploring caves, collecting more star stones. Even when I watch TV, I am making star stones. I’m not responsible for those people.”

“You never plan to spend the vaulted star stones?”

“Why would I? I don’t need to go down there when I have this.” Olon waved the magic star stone briefly before putting it in his pocket.

“Why bother filling a vault with star stones?”

“So people can’t steal them, of course.” Olon frowned.

“What good are they doing just sitting there in a vault?”

“If I didn’t have them, I wouldn’t be the richest man in the world, would I?”

What does it mean to be an American?

Conservatives like to say public schools indoctrinate children. I supposed they’re right. When I went to school, I stood up every day in class and said the Pledge of Allegiance. I was told ours was the land of the free, home of the brave, and everyone wanted to live here.

They did a good job of skimming over the slavery part in school, not distracting from the “land of the free” message. 

They softened slavery by reminding us it had been common throughout human history, not a sin specific to America, plus most white Americans didn’t own slaves. Of course, later, when I dived into genealogy, I discovered it wasn’t uncommon to come across slave ownership in someone’s family tree. 

I remember learning about Betsy Ross in grade school—the folk lore not the truth—and later going to a friend’s house where we took turns pretending one of us was Betsy Ross, designing a flag for our new country. This was at the same time we learned about Francis Scott Key’s inspiration when writing The Star-Spangle Banner. The dramatic imagery of our flag, tattered but still flying after a battle during the War of 1812, infused a sense of patriotism in my soul that swelled whenever I heard the song.

Grade schools in California, when I was a child, taught about Mission Indians, which was a fun course where we visited a mission and made mission dioramas. I can’t recall discussing the negative impacts missions had on Natives. 

In high school history, I don’t remember studying about the Trail of Tears or Japanese internment camps, those may have been side bar mentions. We didn’t learn about Black Wall Street or the Tulsa massacre. It wasn’t until college that we dived into those unsavory topics, which might explain why some conservatives oppose college and accuse teachers of indoctrinating student. 

During the Vietnam and Watergate era my patriotism waned considerably. I was in college during the Watergate trials, and I remember watching them when I wasn’t in class.

Not long after I graduated from college and got married, I, along with a large part of America learned more about slavery when the mini-series, Roots, by Alex Haley’s came out. While the mini-series is over 45 years old, I highly recommend it. You can find it on various cable and movie streaming channels, and it would be an excellent watch for Black History Month.

As Roots gave me some fresh insight into slavery, my father-in-law gave me a brief glimpse into the Japanese internment camps during World War II. My father-in-law was born in Hilo, Hawaii, to a Puerto Rican father and a Portuguese mother, who worked on a sugar cane plantation. My father-in-law, Walter (yes, he had the same name as my father) was twenty years old and lived in Hawaii when Pearl Harbor was attacked.  He told us of having to drive busloads of Japanese Americans to internment camps. Not only were they American citizens, but many of them were his friends. This was not something he wanted to do.

It was at the 1984 Opening Ceremonies at the California Olympics that I felt my first wave of patriotism in years.  Don got tickets through his work for the opening ceremony and several events. But it was the Opening Ceremony that pushed my patriotic buttons. Perhaps it was the indoctrination of my youth lying dormant, after all those years saying the Pledge of Allegiance.

While I never forgot our country’s sins, I embraced the mantra that we as a collective were striving for a more perfect union. I totally—1000% bought into that belief.

When I was in college, I started getting interested in genealogy after my paternal grandmother shared with me her professionally prepared family tree. In the early years of my marriage, I visited LDS libraries, which had great family records. I wasn’t Mormon, and neither was my family, yet they still had a wealth of information. When the internet came along, I started searching online and eventually signed up for Ancestry.com.

I became friends with a member of Colonial Dames, attending some meetings with her. While I toyed with the possibility of finding a family line for membership, I discovered I was eligible for Daughter’s of the American Revolution (DAR). 

I didn’t do it immediately; it took a number of years, but I finally had the documentation necessary for me to apply for membership. Connecting with an ancestor who fought in the American Revolution can give someone a strong sense of patriotism, and joining an organization like DAR can stoke that patriotism.

I joined a chapter in Lake Havasu City, and for about a year I regularly attended the meetings. My brief exposure to the group showed them to be inclusive, non-political, and hopeful. But then Covid hit, there was the shut down, and the following year my husband and I decided to move to Oregon to be closer to our kids.

I’ve always compared one’s country to a family. A big dysfunctional family. We have problems, but we will work them out together. I once never understood why an American would want to move to another country. Not because I thought mine was the best country in the world. That would be an ignorant statement, since I have never been out of the country aside from Mexico. But because it was home. Yet now, I understand why some Americans consider leaving.


Since I had first studied the Constitution in Junior high, and again in High School Civics, I had been taught the beauty of our democracy was the three equal and separate branches of government. Our freedoms and liberties were protected by checks and balances. 

The members of each branch of government take an oath to solemnly swear to support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic. 

It breaks my heart to say this,  but on day one President Trump broke his oath to uphold and protect the Constitution, by flagrantly issuing unconstitutional executive orders.

Over the last few years white Americans have learned the excruciating lesson that black Americans have been telling us for years—and that is, the notion that no person is above the law in this country is blatantly false. We have an adjudicated rapist and felon, who has not spent a single night behind bars, yet sits in the White House.

Trump has attempted to usurp the powers of Congress, and he handed the keys to the US Treasury to his major political donor, a foreign born billionaire who holds citizenship in three countries and who has US government contracts worth more than 15 billion, funded by US taxpayers.

His supporters may love all Trump and Musk are doing, seeing it as a show of power, but they are not patriots. A patriot supports the US Constitution. 

Our constitution gives each state two representatives in the Senate, and the members of the House are divided up amongst the population of the state.  Congress is elected to represent WE THE PEOPLE.

We have over 300 million people in the United States. One person cannot fairly represent all the citizens. Our founders knew that. That is why we have Congress. None of us is going to get exactly what we want. We share our country with fellow Americans.

The president is responsible for executing and enforcing the laws created by Congress. His job is not to change the laws at his whim. That’s why there is a mechanism for the Congress to override a presidential veto.

While a president presents a budget proposal to Congress, he is not the one who ultimately decides how the money will be spent. Congress is supposed to do that. Sure, he can veto the Congress’s budget, yet they can turn around and override him with enough votes.


That’s why Trump changing laws and deciding to disregard already passed budget expenses is a clear violation of our US Constitution. Trump is attempting to rule as a king, yet our constitution did not set up a monarch. My ancestors who fought and died for this country did not do so to establish a king.

Trump’s team is proudly and openly implementing the “Flood the zone shit” strategy that Steve Bannon bragged about. It is about overwhelming and breaking down the American spirit by throwing so much at them they feel hopeless.

That doesn’t seem like something a President of the United States should be doing to the citizens who elected him into office. It is a far cry from the image of America I was taught for most of my seventy years.

Trump has been in office for a little over two weeks and already he has talked about going to war with Canada, Panama, Greenland, and Gaza over some land grabs I can say with certainty most Americans don’t want. The havoc he has set loose on the American people, the embarrassment he has brought to our country, the real harm and suffering he has brought to thousands of people, the financial disasters he is courting for not just the US but the world, the utterly incompetent cabinet choices, scrubbing government websites of vital resources, while threatening the financial and physical health of Americans doesn’t even cover it all. 

Trump is intentionally trying to hurt American citizens. Unless we are a country of masochists, I don’t believe we voted for this.

Recently I read a comment on social media from a Canadian that said, “We can no longer trust America.” That broke my heart.

When I first sat down and started this post, I had a different ending in mind. But then I remembered a quote from the movie, The American President. Recently I came across an excerpt from that movie on YouTube and posted it on my personal Facebook page. That excerpt was from a speech given by President Andrew Shepherd, the main character in the movie played by Michael Douglas. In many ways, that scene brings into focus what is happening in our country.

Shepherd tells us, “America isn’t easy. America is advanced citizenship. You’ve gotta want it bad, ’cause it’s gonna put up a fight.” 

He is right. America isn’t easy. There are currently elected officials—and some overstepping donors—who are attempting to undermine not just the spirit of the United States of America, but the U.S. Constitution, which is the very foundation of our country.

Fellow Americans, it’s not easy, but do you want advanced citizenship? Or are you willing to allow Trump to rip up the foundation of our country? 

One final quote from that movie which I believe is worth sharing:  “Being President of this country is entirely about character.”