Davin Auble

Seeking joy, with authenticity. Ally for social justice & advocate to ensure life choices for humans, especially the vulnerable. All opinions my own.

[Davin Auble @AubleTL]

John Kezdy: "Where do you go once you've seen the end? Do you jump, or pick spots to defend?
Not much of a choice but there it is"

#RIPJFK

I'll be here tomorrow.

https://t.co/27ZtQ3ga00

[Davin Auble @AubleTL]

@CarneyPurr67561 Marvelous! Who does Honey of the States live with?

[Davin Auble @AubleTL]

Katniss Everdeen lives 💙🔥

[UNITED24 Media @United24media]

⚡ Zelenskyy: "We do not want this war and never have. (...) But if Ukraine burns, your Moscow will burn too."

[Mayor Zohran Kwame Mamdani @NYCMayor]

MSG requested a permit for a watch party for 500-999 fans. We approved that permit for 999 fans.

Mr. Dolan has now decided to cancel the watch party.

I know this is breaking hearts across our city.

But if there's one thing Knicks fans don't need permission for, it's showing up for our team wherever we may be — no matter the block or the borough.

Knicks in five.

[Cory Booker @CoryBooker]

What a heartwarming moment when a woman encourages this man to let his inner child out, to run through sprinklers and ultimately beat the heat.

May we all encourage more, help more, and never lose the part of us that still wants to run through the sprinklers.

[Davin Auble @AubleTL]

@PollSter_Mike1 DIRTY HARRY

[Davin Auble @AubleTL]

@JebraFaushay @lgb625 Oh wow! At least it makes sense why I had such a huge childhood crush on Fonzie!!

[Davin Auble @AubleTL]

@gardenofgag Paparazzi
Applause
Joanne

[Davin Auble @AubleTL]

@Mishi_2210 2, the couple

[Gandalv @Microinteracti1]

Robert Mueller died last night.

He was 81 years old. He had a wife who loved him for sixty years. He had two daughters, one of whom he met for the first time in Hawaii, in 1969, on a few hours of military leave, before he got back on the plane and returned to Vietnam. He had grandchildren. He had a faith he practiced quietly, without performance. He had, in the way of men who have seen real things and survived them, a quality that is increasingly rare and increasingly mocked in the country he spent his life serving.

He had integrity.

And tonight the President of the United States said good!

I have been sitting with that word for hours now. Good. One syllable. The thing you say when the coffee is hot or the traffic is moving. The thing a man who has never had to bury anyone, never had to sit in the specific silence of a room where someone is newly absent, reaches for when he wants the world to know he is satisfied. Good. The daughters are crying and the wife is alone in the house and good.

I want to speak directly to the Americans reading this. Not the political Americans. Just the human ones. The ones who have lost a father. The ones who know what it is to be in that first hour, when you keep forgetting and then remembering again, when ordinary objects become unbearable, when the world outside the window seems obscene in its indifference. I want to ask you, simply, to hold that feeling for a moment, and then to understand that the man you elected looked at it and typed a single word.

Good.

This is not a country having a bad day. I need you to understand that. Countries have bad days. Elections go wrong. Leaders disappoint. Institutions bend. But there is a different thing, a rarer and more terrible thing, that happens when the moral center of a place simply gives way. Not dramatically. Not with a single catastrophic event. But quietly, in increments, until one evening a president celebrates the death of an old man whose family is still warm with grief, and enough people find it acceptable that it becomes the weather. Just the weather.

That is what is happening. That is what has happened.

The world knows. From Tokyo to Oslo, from London to Buenos Aires, people are not angry at America tonight. Anger would mean there was still something to fight for, some remaining faith to be betrayed. What I see, in the reactions from everywhere that is not here, is something older and sadder than anger. It is the look people get when they have waited a long time for someone they love to find their way back, and have finally understood that they are not coming.

America is being grieved. Past tense, almost. The idea of it. The thing it represented to people who had nothing else to believe in, who came here with everything they owned in a single bag because they had heard, somehow, across an ocean, that this was the place where decency was written into the walls. That idea is not resting. It is not suspended. It is being buried, in real time, with 7,450 likes before dinner.

And the church said nothing.

Seventy million people have decided that this man, this specific man who has cheated everyone he has ever made a promise to, who has mocked the disabled and the dead and the grieving, who celebrated tonight while a family wept, is an instrument of God. The pastors who made that bargain did not just trade away their credibility. They traded away the thing that made them worth listening to in the first place. The cross they carry now is a costume. The faith they preach is a loyalty oath with scripture attached. When the history of American Christianity is written, this will be the chapter they skip at seminary.

Now I want to talk about the men who stand next to him.

Because this is the part that actually breaks my heart.

JD Vance is not a bad man. I have to say that, because it is true, and because the truth matters even now, especially now. Marco Rubio is not a bad man. Lindsey Graham is not a bad man. They are idiots, but not bad, as in BAD! These are men with mothers who raised them and children who love them and friends who remember who they were before all of this. They are not monsters. Monsters are simple. Monsters do not cost you anything emotionally because there is nothing in them to mourn.

These men are something more painful than monsters.

They are men who knew better, and know better still, and will get up tomorrow and do it again.

Every small compromise they made had a reason. Every moment they looked the other way had a justification that sounded, at the time, almost reasonable. And now they have arrived here, at a place where a president celebrates the death of an old man and they will find a way, on television, to say nothing that means anything, and they will go home to houses where children who carry their name are waiting, and they will say goodnight, and they will say nothing.

Their oldest friends are watching. The ones who knew Rubio when he still believed in something. Who knew Graham when he said, out loud, on the record, that this exact man would destroy the Republican Party and deserve it. Who sat next to Vance and thought here is someone worth knowing. Those friends are not angry tonight. They moved through anger a long time ago. What they feel now is the quiet, irrecoverable sadness of watching someone disappear while still being present. Of watching a person they loved choose, again and again, to become less.

That is what cowardice costs. Not the coward. The people who loved him.

And in the comments tonight, the followers celebrate. People who ten years ago brought casseroles to grieving neighbours. Who stood in the rain at gravesides and meant the words they said. Who told their children that we do not speak ill of the dead because the dead were someone's beloved. Those people are tonight typing gleeful things about a man whose daughters are not yet done crying. And they feel clean doing it. Righteous. Because somewhere along the way the thing they were given in exchange for their decency was the feeling of belonging to something, and that feeling is very hard to give up even when you can no longer remember what you gave for it.

When Trump is gone, they will still be here.

Standing in the silence where the noise used to be. Without the permission the crowd gave them. Without the pastor who told them their cruelty was holy. They will be alone with what they said and what they cheered and what they chose to become, and there will be no one left to tell them it was righteous.

That morning is coming.

Robert Mueller flew across the Pacific on military leave to hold his newborn daughter for a few hours before returning to the war. He came home. He buried his dead with honour. He served presidents of both parties because he understood that the institution was larger than any one man. He told his grandchildren that a lie is the worst thing a person can do, that a reputation once lost cannot be recovered, and he lived that, every day, in the quiet and unglamorous way of people who actually believe what they say.

He was the kind of American the world used to point to when it needed to believe the story was true.

He died last night. His wife is alone in their house in Georgetown. His daughters are learning what the world is without him in it. And somewhere in the particular hush that falls over a family in the first hours of loss, the most powerful man and the biggest loser on earth sent a message to say he was glad.

The world that loved what America was supposed to be is grieving tonight. Not for Robert Mueller only. For the country that produced him and then became this. For the distance between what was promised and what was delivered. For the suspicion, growing quieter and more certain with each passing month, that the America people believed in was always partly a story, and the story is over now, and there is nothing yet to replace it.

That is all it needed to be.

A man died. His family is broken open with grief.

That is all it needed to be.

Instead the President said good.

And the country that once stood for something looked away 🇺🇸

Gandalv / @Microinteracti1

[The Movie Professor 🎬🎥📺 @FunMovieTVFan]

Celebrating a birthday January 28,
the legendary

Alan Alda (1936)

[Davin Auble @AubleTL]

@TheStourbridge 💛❤️

[Davin Auble @AubleTL]

@LASTEXITshirts I would be overjoyed to see him play Blackadder again!!! Yes, please!

[ArchaeoHistories @histories_arch]

In the autumn of 1952, a thin and hungry tabby cat walked into a classroom at Elysian Heights Elementary School in Los Angeles.

A lesson was already in progress.
The cat calmly entered, sat down in the middle of the room, and began to groom himself.

The students were delighted.
The teacher allowed him to stay.

When the school day ended, the cat quietly left.

The next morning, he came back.
Then he returned again the day after that.

Soon, it was clear this was not an accident.
The cat had chosen the school.

The students named him Room 8, after the classroom he first entered.

Room 8 quickly found his routine.
Each morning, he arrived at school.
During the day, he rested in sunny spots, let children pet him, and moved calmly from room to room.
In the afternoon, he left.

He never disrupted lessons.
Teachers and students noticed his gentle and quiet presence.

Small privileges became important to the children.
Feeding him was special.
So was carefully moving him if he fell asleep in an awkward place.

Over the years, Room 8 became part of everyday school life.
He was there during reading time, math lessons, and art classes.
He did not take part.
He simply watched.

When yearbook photos were taken, Room 8 was often included.
From 1952 through the late 1960s, he appeared in class photos, sitting among the students as if he belonged.

By the early 1960s, his story spread beyond the school.

In 1962, LOOK magazine published a feature about him.
It brought national attention to the school cat.

Soon, fan mail began to arrive.
The letters were addressed to “Room 8, Elysian Heights Elementary School, Los Angeles.”

Children and adults from across the country wrote to him.
Some sent small gifts or drawings.
Room 8 had become a celebrity.

Years later, guitarist Leo Kottke composed an instrumental piece titled Room 8, inspired by the cat.

As Room 8 grew older, his health declined.
By the mid 1960s, he was injured in a fight and later developed pneumonia.

One of the teachers, Virginia Finley, offered him a home.
She lived in a house directly across the street from the school.

From then on, Room 8 spent his nights with her and his days at Elysian Heights.

When he was strong enough, he crossed the street on his own each morning.
As he grew weaker, teachers and students sometimes carried him so he could keep his routine.

On August 11, 1968, Room 8 died peacefully.
His exact age was unknown, but he was believed to be about 20 to 22 years old.
This was very old for a cat who had once lived as a stray.

The Los Angeles Times published a long obituary about him.
It described his years at the school, his national fame, and the love students felt for him.

Room 8 was buried with care.
Teachers, students, and admirers mourned his passing.

In 2006, Virginia Finley wrote a children’s book titled “Room 8: The True Story of the School Cat.”
The book preserved his story for future generations.

Through the book, new readers learned about the cat who slept in classroom windows and sat quietly during lessons.

Room 8 was never trained.
He was never officially adopted by the school.
No one planned for him to stay.

He simply arrived.
And the community made space for him.

For sixteen years, Room 8 was a steady presence in the lives of thousands of children.
He became part of their memories, their yearbooks, and their lessons about kindness and care.

His legacy is not about fame.
It is about belonging.

Sometimes, all it takes to find a place in the world is to walk through an open door and be allowed to stay.

© Reddit

#archaeohistories

[Davin Auble @AubleTL]

@Matt_Pinner ALL 20

[Vincent D'Onofrio @vincentdonofrio]

It's new day for me.
I'm hoping it lasts as long as i do.
I am strong enough to take it all the way.
Nothing else to live for except happiness.
I will keep that nourished.
Keep it alive.
Through thick and then.
Treating everyone equally always. No matter their beliefs.
My rule, don't hurt yourself and don't hurt others.
Believe what you want.
Use it as a crutch. Humans always have.
Why not.
If it keeps you on your feet then you are onto something.
Happiness is what's important to me.
And all of you. All of you.
It's a new day again.
Again and again.
Smile at your neighbor.
Expect nothing in return.
Happiness, nothing else to live for.
Everybody hurts.

[Davin Auble @AubleTL]

@Wisdom_HQ 2

[Davin Auble @AubleTL]

@Wisdom_HQ 95

[Davin Auble @AubleTL]

@_stainless0_ 10

[Davin Auble @AubleTL]

@fopminui It's beautiful

[Davin Auble @AubleTL]

@MrPitbull07 So deeply, deeply sorry for your loss 🙏