Today, America wakes 250 years later as a beacon of hope, a republic entrusted to its people, an idea that changed the world.
A nation worth preserving. A dream worth pursuing. A freedom defended by every generation.
Happy 250th, America! 🇺🇸
Your heart should breaking as you read this. Because you all need to realize something about Usha Vance Karoline Leavitt Jennifer Hegseth and Jeanette Rubio These four women right now are each carrying something that most people will never fully understand. Usha Vance pregnant with her fourth child baby boy coming in July and JD chose no formal leave. She is home. Alone. Counting the days. While her husband carries America. Karoline Leavitt who stood at the most powerful podium in America for 39 weeks pregnant never missed a single day. Came back to work four days after having baby Niko. And today holds baby Vivi knowing another briefing is always just around the corner. Jennifer Hegseth who holds seven children together every single time Pete boards that plane. Every deployment. Every trip. Every morning the kids ask where dad is. She answers. Alone. And Jeanette Rubio who has watched her husband cross three continents in one week away from her away from their children for a country that may never fully know her name.
Four women. Four completely different sacrifices. One identical truth. They never asked America to see them. They never posted about what it costs. They never once made it about themselves. They just held everything together. Quietly. Completely. So their husbands could hold America. And today we just need every American to stop for one moment. And say something these four women have waited too long to hear. Thank you. Not for your husbands. For you. For everything you carry that nobody films.
God cover Usha. Cover Karoline. Cover Jennifer. Cover Jeanette. And remind every one of them America sees you. Even on the days it forgets to say it. Make sure to repost this today. Because these women deserve to be seen.
The advanced nanobubbler technology very effectively killed the algae that has plagued every Lincoln Reflecting Pool reopening—most infamously Obama's reopening—since 1922.
The Reflecting Pool water is crystal clear, and our National Park Service team is now vacuuming up the dead algae resting on the bottom of some parts of the Reflecting Pool—just like the destroyed Iranian Navy resting on the bottom of the Persian Gulf.
USA. Your weather report is performed as THEATER, and I have become a devoted patron.
In Japan, the forecast is read calmly. Rain tomorrow. Carry an umbrella. Farewell. Sixty seconds, a bow, the nation equipped.
Here, a man named Chip stands before a LIVING MAP, sleeves rolled to the elbow, and delivers the coming of a thunderstorm like news from a battlefield where he personally fought.
"Folks, I want you to look at this system moving in from the west—"
FOLKS. He addresses the entire region as kin. He sweeps his arm and the clouds OBEY HIS GESTURE. He warns of hail with grave eyes, then promises a beautiful weekend with the smile of a man delivering a peace treaty — both within ninety seconds, both with total sincerity.
And when true severe weather comes, America? Chip removes his jacket.
THE JACKET COMES OFF. And the entire state understands instantly: this is now serious. There is a doctrine of sleeves in your meteorology — unwritten, universally read. My neighbor glanced at the television, saw the bare forearms, and said, "Jacket's off. Better bring the grill cover in."
A NATION READING A MAN'S SLEEVES FOR SURVIVAL INSTRUCTIONS. We have early warning systems in Japan that cost billions, and I am no longer certain they outperform Chip's wardrobe.
Last week: hail. Chip stayed on air for hours. No jacket. Sleeves climbing toward the elbow like a rising river gauge. He tracked every cell. He told specific streets when to shelter. MY street. He said its name. A man on television guarded my street BY NAME until the storm passed.
Samurai have served lords for less devotion than Chip shows a cold front.
I watch nightly now. I have opinions about the rival station's radar. The radar is inferior. I trust Chip's seven-day outlook because he tells you when he is UNSURE — and a forecaster who admits doubt is a forecaster whose certainty means something. That sentence is free, America. Give it to your generals.
A man does not ask the storm to explain itself. He watches the sleeves, as his ancestors watched the sky.
Tonight Chip is in the full jacket, laughing with the sports desk.
Stand down, everyone. The realm is at peace.
The sleeves have spoken.
@exQUIZitely I loved playing River Raid on my Atari. You could beat a certain score, take a photo of your tv screen and send it in for your River Raiders patch (and others…).