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Conor Friedersdorf asks a tough one:

I’ve got a question for Kevin Drum. You and I presumably agree that California Republicans and Democrats are both exceptionally awful, so much so that it’s hard to even think about this state’s politics without despairing. Indeed, I’ll bet that despite our differences in political philosophy, we could hammer out some mutually agreed upon changes that would result in a 600 percent improvement in public policy.

But I also bet we’ll wind up voting differently come November. The last time Democrats controlled the statehouse and the governor’s mansion, Gray Davis and the legislature incurred some egregiously unsustainable costs related to state employees, whose unions are such a powerful interest group here. I’ll be the first to acknowledge the utter dysfunction of California Republicans, our current governor very much included, but I’m terrified to death that the end of divided government is going to maximize the chance that more catastrophic craziness passes into law. And I find it very hard to believe that unified government under Jerry Brown and the current legislature is going to bring about any significant reforms.

Am I wrong?

Wrong? The word hardly has any meaning in this context. A choice between imperious zillionaire Republican Meg Whitman and Democratic retread Jerry Brown is like being asked to choose between dog food and cat food for dinner tonight. Since I’m a cat person, I guess I’d choose cat food because I get to watch my cats lap it up adoringly every night. But that’s not much of a reason, is it?

I have no idea what to do. California is broken and there’s no political will to fix it. And by “political will,” I don’t mean that politicians are unwilling to fix it (though they are). I mean that the people of California are unwilling to fix it. Blaming things on our politicians feels good, but we the people are every bit as fractured.

And look: it’s not just Sacramento. I live in Orange County, ground zero for conservatism in the Golden State. In 2001, right after 9/11, the county board of supervisors unanimously voted to increase pensions for public safety workers by over 50% in a single stroke. Sure, the authorization for the increase was contained in a bill passed by the legislature and signed by Gray Davis. But guess what? Everyone bellied up to the bar, including the supposed fiscal hawks of The OC.

So would things be any better if the former CEO of eBay became our governor? It’s hard to see how. Whitman apparently doesn’t have the leadership chops to even risk talking to the press, let alone the leadership chops to bring some semblance of order to a legislature that’s (a) hopelessly divided and (b) governed by insane rules that practically guarantee deadlock. Would Jerry Brown do any better? I doubt it. But on non-budget issues at least he’s more likely to be on my side of things. So there’s that.

Bottom line: I don’t know what to do. If Arnold is to be believed, our shiny new redistricting and open primary laws will change things starting in 2012. I can’t wait.

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WE'LL BE BLUNT.

We have a considerable $390,000 gap in our online fundraising budget that we have to close by June 30. There is no wiggle room, we've already cut everything we can, and we urgently need more readers to pitch in—especially from this specific blurb you're reading right now.

We'll also be quite transparent and level-headed with you about this.

In "News Never Pays," our fearless CEO, Monika Bauerlein, connects the dots on several concerning media trends that, taken together, expose the fallacy behind the tragic state of journalism right now: That the marketplace will take care of providing the free and independent press citizens in a democracy need, and the Next New Thing to invest millions in will fix the problem. Bottom line: Journalism that serves the people needs the support of the people. That's the Next New Thing.

And it's what MoJo and our community of readers have been doing for 47 years now.

But staying afloat is harder than ever.

In "This Is Not a Crisis. It's The New Normal," we explain, as matter-of-factly as we can, what exactly our finances look like, why this moment is particularly urgent, and how we can best communicate that without screaming OMG PLEASE HELP over and over. We also touch on our history and how our nonprofit model makes Mother Jones different than most of the news out there: Letting us go deep, focus on underreported beats, and bring unique perspectives to the day's news.

You're here for reporting like that, not fundraising, but one cannot exist without the other, and it's vitally important that we hit our intimidating $390,000 number in online donations by June 30.

And we hope you might consider pitching in before moving on to whatever it is you're about to do next. It's going to be a nail-biter, and we really need to see donations from this specific ask coming in strong if we're going to get there.

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