Michael Jackson’s drummer, Jonathan Moffett, performs “Smooth Criminal,”
MJ once said: “My bass player makes a mistake, my guitar player makes a mistake, I make mistakes sometimes, but Sugarfoot never makes a mistake.”
God does not bless any conflict. Anyone who is a disciple of Christ, the Prince of Peace, is never on the side of those who once wielded the sword and today drop bombs. Military action will not create space for freedom or times of #Peace, which comes only from the patient promotion of coexistence and dialogue among peoples.
it can be pretty rough living in New Orleans sometimes but all you have to do is walk around listening to Jazz and talk to your neighbor for a second then it’s all good
i don't think zoomers and gen alpha will ever properly comprehend how close america was to racial harmony prior to obama. yeah, the muslims were still on our shit list, but racism was on its way to dying out in a generation or two. now we're more racist than ever.
> yesterday I found out they’re rereleasing John Frusciante’s “To Record Only Water For Ten Days” for Record Store Day (one of my all time favorite albums)
> this morning I went out and asked two local record shops to hold me a copy if they get it
> later I went record shopping in another city and found the 2017 rerelease worth €150–€250
>I bought it for €48 in perfect condition
> life is very good
The Mississippi River is trying to change course and engineers are actively holding it in place.
For over a century, the river has been slowly pulling toward the shorter, steeper Atchafalaya River route to the Gulf. If it ever fully switches, major ports like Baton Rouge and New Orleans could lose their deepwater access overnight.
The Old River Control Structure exists for one reason: to force the Mississippi to stay where it is. Without constant management, North America’s largest river would likely begin moving west and the economic map of the lower United States would change with it.
La gente que nació entre 1975 y 1999 pertenece a una generación verdaderamente irrepetible.
No por moda, no por ego… sino por historia vivida.
Nacimos justo entre dos mundos.
Antes de que el internet dominara todo, pero lo suficientemente a tiempo para adaptarnos cuando llegó.
Crecimos sin pantallas táctiles, pero aprendimos a usarlas.
Jugamos en la calle hasta que oscurecía… y luego vimos cómo el mundo se volvía digital.
La generación anterior nos enseñó el valor del esfuerzo, la disciplina, la constancia, el respeto y la palabra.
La siguiente nos mostró el trabajo inteligente, la rapidez, la innovación y la tecnología.
Y nosotros… aprendimos de ambas.
Vimos pasar la historia frente a nuestros ojos:
📻 la radio
📺 la televisión
🎮 Mario Bros
📼 cassettes y VHS
📀 DVD
📱 Nokia
🕹️ Nintendo y PlayStation
🏬 los videoclubs
📲 Netflix, Snapchat
🤖 y ahora la realidad virtual
Somos la generación que recuerda y razona.
Que respeta la tradición, pero no tiene miedo de cuestionarla.
Que piensa antes de creer y analiza antes de seguir.
Los de antes no preguntaban.
Los de después muchas veces no recuerdan de dónde viene todo.
Somos el puente entre la era industrial y la era del internet.
Entendemos ambos lados porque los vivimos, no porque nos los contaron.
Por eso esta generación debería estar moviendo el mundo.
Porque los de antes ya no ven lo que está pasando…
y los que vienen no siempre saben de dónde salió lo que hoy tienen.
Somos la generación que conecta el pasado con el futuro.
Y eso… no se aprende, se vive…
This video should unsettle anyone who takes the United States seriously as a nation.
Because it exposes something dangerous: the trivialization of the world's most consequential office. It shows how carelessly the power, credibility, and accumulated moral authority of a superpower can be squandered for a few seconds of viral attention.
In any other major democracy, this behavior from a head of state would trigger a constitutional crisis. Paris would burn. Berlin would convene emergency sessions. In the Nordic countries, resignation would follow within hours. Across functioning democracies, the public, institutions, and political class would recognize this for what it is: an assault on the dignity of the state itself. Leaders are not free to perform as entertainers without consequence. National honor is not personal property, it's held in trust.
But the United States is not just another country with a provocateur in charge. It is the linchpin of global order. It maintains formal alliances and security guarantees with forty to fifty nations. It underwrites the financial architecture, trade systems, and diplomatic frameworks that billions of people depend on daily. When the American president speaks—or posts—it doesn't land as satire, meme, or personal whim. It reads as a signal about what the country is becoming.
American power has never relied solely on carrier strike groups or economic output. It has rested on something more fragile and more valuable: trust. The belief that beneath domestic turbulence lies institutional seriousness, predictability, and a baseline commitment to dignity. That belief is now disintegrating in real time.
Millions of American companies operate globally. They negotiate multibillion-dollar contracts in environments where reputation is currency. Boardrooms in Frankfurt, Singapore, and Dubai aren't debating whether a post was clever—they're asking whether the United States remains a reliable partner. Whether agreements signed today will be honored tomorrow. Whether American leadership has devolved from institutional to purely theatrical.
Consider tourism, which sustains millions of American jobs—airlines, hotels, restaurants, museums, entire regional economies. Soft power isn't an abstraction. It materializes in flight bookings, conference locations, study-abroad programs, and decades of accumulated goodwill. A quiet, decentralized boycott doesn't require government action—only a collective sense that a nation no longer respects itself.
Now picture this image being studied by foreign ministers, central bank governors, defense strategists, and sovereign wealth fund managers. Picture them asking a coldly rational question: How do we write binding thirty-year agreements with a country whose public face will be this, relentlessly, for years to come? How do we plan for the long term when the tone is impulsive, mocking, and unbound by the gravity of office?
This is where the real calculus begins. Trillions in foreign capital depend on confidence that America is stable, credible, and rule-governed. That confidence is now being traded for what, exactly? Applause from an online mob? A dopamine rush from manufactured outrage? Content designed to dominate the news cycle rather than serve the national interest?
Every serious nation eventually confronts this choice: burn long-term credibility for short-term spectacle, or safeguard the reputation previous generations bled to build. The United States spent eighty years constructing an image of reliability, restraint, and leadership under pressure. That image wasn't born from perfection—it came from a visible commitment to standards that transcended impulse.
This isn't a partisan issue. Europeans who value democratic norms recognize something ominously familiar here. Americans—Democrat and Republican alike—who believe in responsibility and restraint should see it too. Power attracts scrutiny. Leadership demands discipline. A superpower cannot behave like a reality TV contestant without paying a price.
The presidency is not a personal broadcast channel. It's a symbol carried on behalf of 330 million people and countless international partners who never voted but whose lives are shaped by American decisions anyway. Every post either reinforces or erodes the idea that America can be counted on when it matters most.
So the question is no longer whether this is offensive. The question is whether this is who America chooses to be: a nation that trades a century of hard-won reputation for viral moments. A country that replaces statecraft with content creation. A republic governed like a season of reality television.
History offers a harsh lesson here. Great powers don't fall because enemies mock them. They collapse when they begin mocking themselves—publicly, proudly, and without grasping the cost until it's far too late.
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"I'm not being persecuted. My life is in no way negatively affected by standing up and saying, this is the truth of what happened here: a child was tortured to death. Why can't we all confront it? I don't understand the cultural insecurity."
Wright Thompson joins @Timodc:
Arizona Senator @CaptMarkKelly and @JonStewart dissect Pete Hegseth's "sedition" accusation against the retired Navy captain and how it speaks to the fragile egos of the Trump administration
7 minute explanation by @SkyNews on why Trump wants Venezuelan oil so badly…..apparently we’re drilling a lot of it here but not the kind that our refineries are built for and since we currently have a tariff war with Canada….Venezuela is next best thing
The Killers performing "Mr. Brightside" during their SNL debut in January of 2005
The band formed in Las Vegas, but they broke through in the U.K. before they made it in the U.S.
"We were rejected by all the major labels in America," frontman Brandon Flowers said in a chat with fans for The Guardian. "It wasn't until we got positive reviews in the U.K. that it turned around for us in our country. That changed our life."
In 2002, The Killers passed out a demo of "Mr. Brightside" at their live shows, leading to British indie label Lizard King signing the band and releasing it as a single in the U.K. in 2003. Buzz kept growing, and eventually the band got signed by Island Records in the U.S. and released their debut album 'Hot Fuss' in June of 2004.
'Hot Fuss' topped the U.K. Albums Chart but took time to catch on in America. It wasn't until 2005 that it started getting regular airplay and climbing the charts, thanks in part to this SNL performance boosting their profile.
"Mr Brightside" went on to be The Killers' best-selling song. It has been certified Diamond in the U.S. by the RIAA.