No one, making it perfect for this site.

Let’s dive in.

It’s 2026, meaning there are still eight US states that border the Great Lakes. Those eight account for a whopping 12 NFL teams, aka 37.5 percent of the league, a statistic that should end any discussion about the demise of said states.

But alas, you know I’m cheating.

New York: New York Jets, New York Giants, Buffalo Bills

No one in their right mind would consider the Jets or Giants to be a Great Lakes team. A map and home games in New Jersey cement that conclusion, leaving only Buffalo.

Pennsylvania: Philadelphia Eagles, Pittsburgh Steelers

Philly—no. Pittsburgh is more complicated—Rust Belt, yes, but Great Lakes not so much. Only pesky Erie can claim that status in the Keystone State.

Ohio: Cincinnati Bengals, Cleveland Browns

Cincy is way too Kentucky to be Great Lakes. Cleveland, on the other hand, basically plays in Lake Erie.

Indiana: Indianapolis Colts

Sorry, but Indy is too far from Gary to legitimately enter the discussion.

Michigan: Detroit Lions

Technically, Detroit is on a river, but c’mon now.

Illinois: Chicago Bears

The (current) stadium in Chicago is, for all intents and purposes, on Lake Michigan.

Wisconsin: Green Bay Packers

Green Bay, as in the water, is an appendage of Lake Michigan. Enough said.

Minnesota: Minnesota Vikings

Lake Superior and Duluth are a hike, leaving Minneapolis out in the cold.

All told, there are five teams that can undeniably be considered Great Lakes teams: the Buffalo Bills, Cleveland Browns, Detroit Lions, Chicago Bears, and Green Bay Packers.

Have a look.

In terms of the whole NFL preview thing, I’m equipped to make only one set of predictions:

• The Bills will make the playoffs.
• They will win a game or two.
• Then, prior to the Super Bowl, they will lose in absolutely devastating fashion.
• My son and/or daughter will cry.
• The kids will also be somewhat happy that they don’t have to see me in that slightly-too-tight Bills T-shirt until the next season.

The post The 2026 Great Lakes NFL Preview appeared first on ComposeMD.

Back in 1993, he opposed the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA), arguing it would accelerate the loss of American manufacturing jobs and drive down wages by incentivizing companies to move operations to Mexico.

Then, in 2000, he stood firmly against Permanent Normal Trade Relations (PNTR) with China, arguing again that it would simply allow corporations to offshore factories to low-wage nations and result in an epidemic of factory closures domestically.

Starting about a decade later, he fought against the Trans-Pacific Partnership (TPP), citing the benefit to multinational corporations at the expense of the American worker.

And when Trump 1.0 tore up NAFTA and drafted the United States-Mexico-Canada Agreement (USMCA), he opposed the new deal as well, stating it was a continuation of failed policies.

In his words, a major reason for the decline of the American middle class and the increase in wealth and income inequality in the United States is our trade policies.

On another occasion, he wrote, Let’s be clear: one of the major reasons that the middle class in America is disappearing, poverty is increasing, and the gap between the rich and everyone else is growing wider and wider is due to our disastrous unfettered free trade policy…we must rebuild our manufacturing sector and, once again, manufacture products that are made in the United States of America.

That was in 2011.

The man is a classic progressive, the East Coast dripping from every word he says.

He’s pro-tariff, in a targeted way, provided Congressional approval is part of the picture.

Some call him a tree-hugging socialist.

He prefers to be called Bernie Sanders.

Back in 2016 and 2020, he and Trump both campaigned against free trade agreements.

Are they crazy?

Or are they onto something?

The post The Other Guy Who Hates Free Trade Agreements appeared first on ComposeMD.

Sorry, Sohan.

You shouldn’t have grown up with introverted parents in Western New York. This is what happens.

But bear with me for a moment.

I’ve had a front row seat to something special, something that has flooded the household with all sorts of tunes.

Your mom and I have wondered for years if this was meant to be a gift for us or if it was meant to be shared.

In all honesty, our joy has already been delivered.

You, as a man, have opted to share. (In even more honesty, we love that decision.)

That gets me to now, September 4, 2026, the day you officially released your first single, not including the ones you sent out in boomerang fashion.

It’s called “Him Instead”.

After spending a decade and a half listening to you tinker, I didn’t know what to expect.

I’ve heard you shredding Beethoven on the piano.

And I’ve heard you doing Brubeck on the sax.

Just to please me (but not the neighbors), you banged out some grunge on the drums.

When you took a keyboard to Boston to dabble in funk, you came back playing the guitar instead.

And then I heard those Green Day covers—on the bass.

More recently, you decided to learn a new instrument, the kind that requires vocal chords.

All this, over time, has made its way through the filter that is your brain.

What could the result possibly be?

There’s only one word for it: Sohan.

As your vocals continue to meet your innate musicianship, and as my vocals (otherwise known as unsolicited comments) continue to drift into the background, something tells me that your mom and I won’t be the only ones who know what you can do.

No matter what, thank you for giving me my favorite song from Rochester.

The post My Favorite Song From Rochester (NY) appeared first on ComposeMD.

According to reports, the man did not appear to have Indigenous features, looking almost white except for the distinctly brown skin.

When confronted regarding his actions, the man insisted he had been born in Milwaukee along Lake Michigan and simply enjoyed the Great Lakes.

He went on to claim that his American accent was not a fake—apparently, he just talked like that.

After being taken in for formal questioning, his account of events raised further suspicion.

The brown man repeatedly pointed to his large gut, asking, Is this not American?

He insisted on hating all Canadians except for a former neighbor from Nova Scotia who had once invited his family over for snacks.

Get me a Garbage Plate, he requested. Actually, get me two—one with Zweigle’s white hots and the other with cheeseburgers. I eat beef dammit.

He went on to start naming various Buffalo Bills.

I even know the offensive linemen!

Increasingly desperate, his biography began to lose credibility.

I like Morgan Wallen.

I have family who are members of Mar-a-Lago.

My son is at a Christ-centered school in Tennessee.

I shot guns with a former Marine.

Unimpressed, the authorities asked him to really prove he was American.

What’s the name of the lake we’re on? they asked.

Lake America, the man replied.

Who won the 2020 Presidential election?

White man, said the brown man.

What’s your favorite song?

“God Bless the U.S.A.”

What’s your favorite book?

The Turner Diaries.

After conferring with their superiors, the authorities released the man on the condition that he refrain from eating samosas for one month.

The post Indian Man Found Wandering Along Lake America appeared first on ComposeMD.

That includes me, the wannabe coastal elite with the superiority complex.

It comes with the territory, I suppose, when your formative years are in a place like Connecticut.

That’s where I “met” Dolly Parton the caricature, the one with the blonde wig, feminine silhouette, and love for attention.

In my world of conformity and college degrees, I had her all figured out.

My world, however, was not particularly worldly.

I learned this in Missouri, courtesy a girlfriend who never could get rid of me, resulting in an invitation to her Appalachian hometown of Williamson, West Virginia.

There, Dolly Parton, born just a few hours away in Sevier County, Tennessee, figuratively took my hand.

She knew what I saw—coal mines, outhouses, tobacco, and poverty.

And she showed me, slowly, what else there was to see—intellect, sunshine, music, and creativity.

Eventually, at the local bowling alley, along with gutters and pins, I saw entrepreneurship and ingenuity.

That, of course, was just the beginning.

Armed with a few degrees, I entered the real world, fully understanding concepts like feminism thanks to a women’s studies class.

I had read Gloria Steinem and Betty Friedan and intellectualized a New-York-City version of progress.

Then, Dolly, via Sarah Smarsh, showed me a different version of feminism.

In this version, the word was never uttered—it was lived.

It came with all sorts of humor, self-deprecation, and independence.

Prose, in this case, was replaced by lyrics and business ventures.

That education, as time moved on, began to blend with my son’s education.

And Dolly, as she tended to do, gave me yet another hand.

As I grappled with a question—what is a kid of Indian origin raised without religion by doctor parents in the Northeast doing at a Christian school known for music in the middle of Tennessee—she was there with an answer.

It was August 2025, and Dolly: A True Original Musical—destined for Broadway—was having its world premier at Belmont University, my son’s school of choice.

As I soaked in the familiar life and the familiar tunes, I took solace in one of Dolly’s simple quotes:

You’ll never do a whole lot unless you’re brave enough to try.

Twelve months later, in August 2026, as I dropped my son off in Nashville for year two, Dolly herself was just down the street—at Vanderbilt-Ingram Cancer Center.

Her time had come, but her hand, and her words, will always remain.

The post When Dolly Parton Held My Hand appeared first on ComposeMD.

Two years earlier, I had moved with the family to Rochester, New York, tattooed metaphorically with the word success.

The cookie-cutter house in the suburbs simply sealed the deal.

That’s when, according to the script, I was scheduled to shift my focus.

First, of course, would be the car.

And next, as I was told, would come the country club.

Instead, on a misty day about a decade and a half ago, I found myself hiding in a musty corner.

The place was called the Record Archive, and I had just landed on a bin of $1 vinyl. It was next to the T-shirts, which at that point in my trajectory fit rather well.

A few years later, the place would add beer and wine, all for no membership fee.

Needless to say, the hourglass of life had been flipped, and there was no stopping the hipster sand.

The hair started to change color. Some landed on the floor.

By necessity, T-shirts were replaced with sweatshirts.

The Post Malone song “Circles” began to remind me of my eyes.

And most importantly, the shorts gained pockets.

The toddler, well, he ended up taller than me—in Middle Tennessee.

That’s where, sometime in 2026, this story really picked up speed.

The new chapter began with a one-stop flight followed by a Waymo ride.

I said bye to the imaginary driver and took a look around the capital of Tennessee. Eyes closed, I visualized the wave of economic uplift, and suddenly, I embraced adulthood.

I began to snatch up property and talk insurance, equity, and rental income.

Then, to display relaxation, I dabbled in label-approved country music and the Gulch, adjusting my blazer to make sure Nashvillians knew what was up.

Just kidding.

Here’s what really happened.

I took a look around the capital of Tennessee, realized my left pocket had a hole in it, and marveled at the brilliance of having backup pockets just below that one.

I proudly moved the pen I had just bought from Third Man Records to secure territory, praising Jesus—make that Jack White.

After stepping into a honky-tonk and absorbing a few tunes, I had a nagging sense that I could do better.

I remembered the alternative newsweekly I had seen earlier:

Because Nashville is so much more than honky-tonks and bachelorettes…

And, like a good hipster, I crossed the Cumberland River to East Nashville.

I nabbed a slice at Five Points Pizza for $4.25 and washed it down with an IPA.

I eagerly made my way to the next stop, one that, it could be said, was written. It had to be a record store, and it had to be called Grimey’s.

I hit the checkout hard—the proud progressive that I am—with a retro music mag from 1987 for $1.99.

My wife, on the lookout for a different type of progress, looked at me with disgust and said, I prefer the first version.

The post I’m a Hipster in Dad Shorts appeared first on ComposeMD.

It’s a moratorium barring state approvals of hyperscale data centers (those using 50 megawatts or more of power) for up to one year.

But that’s not the point.

The point is that Downstate New York, once again, has found the rope, the one it uses to suffocate its Upstate cousins.

Let’s rewind the clock.

It’s 2008, and everyone is talking about hydraulic fracturing, aka fracking, the process by which underground rock layers are blasted with a high-pressure mix of water, sand, and chemicals to release trapped oil and natural gas.

The economically depressed Southern Tier of New York, along the Pennsylvania border, is rich in such shale (rock) formations.

Localities there debate the pros and cons. When you’re in the middle of nowhere, economics and the environment are not abstractions—they’re about survival.

Eventually, in 2014, those conversations are silenced by a statewide fracking ban, something pushed heavily by a primary challenger to Governor Andrew Cuomo, leaving him with little political choice. That challenger, needless to say, is from New York City.

Meanwhile, nearby Pennsylvania and Ohio continue to cash in.

Fast forward to 2011, when ridesharing services begin in New York City. Existing commercial licensing infrastructure in the city allows this to proceed, while New York State law prohibits the use of personal vehicles in this capacity.

That means that Upstate New York has to wait six more years for Uber and Lyft. In fact, New York State is the last state in the continental US to allow ridesharing.

And that gets us to these hyperscale data centers, used to support cloud computing and, of course, AI.

By definition, they use a massive amount of power, potentially driving up electricity costs for those in the vicinity.

They also require millions of gallons of fresh water for cooling, make a lot of noise, and result in a relatively modest number of permanent jobs.

Finally, they are the backbone of an industry that sells itself as Brahma but might actually be Shiva, at least from a societal employment standpoint.

All this, and the powers that be often seek tax breaks to boot.

In other words, the plot is worthy of rigorous debate—just not at the state level.

The author of the legislation that resulted in a parallel executive order (courtesy Governor Kathy Hochul) is State Senator Kristen Gonzalez from, yes, New York City—Brooklyn to be exact. Brooklyn, at last check, is nowhere near the proposed facilities.

Then there’s Niagara County, home to its namesake waterfall that provides hydroelectric power, lying in a cool climate near two Great Lakes (i.e. fresh water that can be used for further cooling), and the site of abundant industrial infrastructure based on a manufacturing past.

The city of Niagara Falls (NY) is an eyesore, the victim of a loss of geographic relevance—that is, until now.

But, alas, New York City, located seven hours away, always knows what’s best.

And big tech, when confronted with a data center ban, knows something too—where to find the other seven Great Lakes states.

The post How New York’s Data Center Ban Kills Upstate (Again) appeared first on ComposeMD.

In Upstate New York, it’s usually a full-on temper tantrum.

Sure, we’re supposed to run our own race, but the head, whether intentionally or not, often turns west.

There, somewhere near the Great Lakes, lie places like Columbus (OH), Indianapolis (IN), Madison (WI), and Grand Rapids (MI).

They’re all growing.

Even worse is Fort Wayne. Fort Freakin’ Wayne, Indiana, is growing, too!

New York State, of course, likes to make excuses for itself—mother nature and bad luck are two favorites.

The Cato Institute, however, has identified the best explanation of all—ineptitude.

In case you don’t know, the Cato Institute is a libertarian think tank founded in 1977 and headquartered in Washington, DC.

One of the founders was Charles Koch—in other words, nothing in life is pure. Regardless, the gist of the institute’s philosophy boils down to limited government, free markets, and individual liberty, the ultimate goal being for locales to meet its definition of freedom.

In that regard, in 2023, the institute published its most recent Freedom in the 50 States report, focused on personal and economic freedom and resulting in an overall freedom ranking.

At number 50, a spot it has occupied since the first report in 2000, was none other than New York State.

Personal freedom is not the issue—New Yorkers can chomp on marijuana, gamble, and do whatever else it is that makes them feel free.

Economic freedom, on the other hand, is a disaster, leading to the disastrous overall score.

To paraphrase the Cato Institute’s own words:

New York’s greatest challenge is the monstrous culture Big Government has created — one marked by waste, incompetence and sclerosis.

Simply put, people can’t handle the crushing taxes and labor regulations.

The Empire State just can’t get things done anymore.

Things weren’t always rotten. In 1962, New York’s state-level tax burden was lower than the national average.

But progressive programs required major tax and spending hikes, which in turn attracted interest groups eager to get a slice of the pie.

Ideologues and concentrated interests gained enough influence in the Legislature to steer policy, creating regulatory sludge that gummed up innovation and commerce.

Manufacturers compete in a global marketplace, so when you drive up their costs, they have the choice of going out of business or moving production elsewhere.

New York’s terrible economic freedom score is going to continue to drag the state down—and harm its ability to realize its full economic potential.

And how about those other places, the ones to the west, where despite frigid air and reliable snow, humans are moving?

What are their overall freedom rankings?

Ohio: 21

Wisconsin: 13

Indiana: 10

Michigan: 7

Are you surprised?

The post How New York State Is Digging Its Own Grave appeared first on ComposeMD.

I know what it’s like to be misunderstood.

I am from the Rust Belt, after all.

But you—I get the sense that you don’t even know who you are.

It started in 1796, when you joined the Union, as in became a state.

Your eventual capital, Nashville, was even named after a Revolutionary War hero.

But then, in 1861, you pulled a South Carolina and left to join the wannabe country with the copycat flag. You were confused, as East Tennessee wanted no part of secession.

Of course, like a little sh*t, you came crawling back.

And ever since then, say 1865, you’ve stayed confused as hell.

You and Nathan Bedford Forrest gave us the Ku Klux Klan.

You also gave us some of the best HBCUs the country has known.

Like most US states, you treated women like second-class citizens.

By being the 36th state to ratify the 19th Amendment, you also gave women the right to vote.

You prosecuted John Scopes for teaching evolution.

Then you did God’s work at Oak Ridge by helping make the first atomic bomb.

You’ve provided a safe haven for climate skeptics.

You’re also a leader in nuclear and hydroelectric power.

You became the home of the lefty Al Gore, whose wife, Tipper, tried to stifle artists and their lyrics.

You’re also the home of the right-wing nut job Marsha Blackburn, who has made a career of supporting artists.

It’s safe to say you’re into the Bible—I have firsthand knowledge.

You’ve also opened your arms to the largest Kurdish community in North America—it prefers the Quran.

Nashville has gone from a shade of blue to really damn blue.

It presides over a state that has gone from a battleground to really damn red.

You have no state income tax.

But you’re obsessed with consumption tax.

You love your hot chicken.

And you apparently like chicken vindaloo as well.

But despite it all, Tennessee, you are still a state that preserves the past.

Just ask your transplants who work at Oracle and Amazon.

Sincerely,

Khan Trae Dick Shin

The post Dear Tennessee: Who Are You Anyway? appeared first on ComposeMD.