Kasi

Psychologist, Detroit Improv Festival Producer #SPNfamily #AKF

[Kasi @glambrt]

@GMMTV Is there any chance of a second date?? Tickets sold out so fast

[Kasi @glambrt]

@9novemdiary Sometimes the only thing that keeps me going is seeing @jnnrrs smile.

[Kasi @glambrt]

Selling 1 ticket to Date 1!
https://t.co/1JwtuhUG6R
#datesacrossthepond #pondPonlawit #starstruckmedia

[The Boys Out of Context Clips @TheBoysOOCC]

Jensen Ackles has been nominated for Best Supporting Actor in a Drama series for his role as Soldier Boy at ASTRA. #TheBoys

[Brian Krassenstein @krassenstein]

INCREDIBLE!

Washington Post journalist Hannah Natanson who had Trump’s FBI raid her home and take her phones and laptops, just won the Pulitzer Prize with the Washington Post.

Congrats!!

[Kasi @glambrt]

@RunningMan_TH Hello from Detroit, Michigan USA
#RunningManTH

[THE BOYS @TheBoysTV]

Exploding people, humping things. The Boys business.

[kyle. @sammybeanss]

Haftaya çarşamba günü The Boys’ta televizyon tarihinin gelmiş geçmiş en iyi ikilisini tekrar bir arada görücez

[Kasi @glambrt]

@bvtterflyxv United States #CatForCashEP5

[Kasi @glambrt]

@___xihuan I would like to hear your thoughts as well.

[Kasi @glambrt]

@porsuppakarn Watching from America 🇺🇸
DUANG WITH YOU EP2
#ด้วงกับเธอEP2

[Governor Tim Walz @GovTimWalz]

I just spoke with the White House after another horrific shooting by federal agents this morning. Minnesota has had it. This is sickening.

The President must end this operation. Pull the thousands of violent, untrained officers out of Minnesota. Now.

[Kasi @glambrt]

#GMMTVFD29INNYC #GMMTVFANDAY29 YAYAYAYAYAY pondphuwin I’m coming!!!!!!!! @GMMTV @ppnaravit @phuwintang

[Anonymous @YourAnonNews]

Exactly.

[James Tate @JamesTate121]

Exactly how I feel. 💯

[Brian Stelter @brianstelter]

Here's the text of Sharyn Alfonsi's memo about "corporate censorship" and a "betrayal of the most basic tenet of journalism:"

News Team,

Thank you for the notes and texts.  I apologize for not reaching out earlier.

I learned on Saturday that Bari Weiss spiked our story, INSIDE CECOT, which was supposed to air tonight.  We (Ori and I) asked for a call to discuss her decision. She did not afford us that courtesy/opportunity.

Our story was screened five times and cleared by both CBS attorneys and Standards and Practices.  It is factually correct.   In my view, pulling it now—after every rigorous internal check has been met is not an editorial decision, it is a political one.

We requested responses to questions and/or interviews with DHS, the White House, and the State Department.   Government silence is a statement, not a VETO. Their refusal to be interviewed is a tactical maneuver designed to kill the story.

If the administration’s refusal to participate becomes a valid reason to spike a story, we have effectively handed them a "kill switch" for any reporting they find inconvenient.

If the standard for airing a story becomes "the government must agree to be interviewed," then the government effectively gains control over the 60 Minutes broadcast. We go from an investigative powerhouse to a stenographer for the state.

These men risked their lives to speak with us. We have a moral and professional obligation to the sources who entrusted us with their stories. Abandoning them now is a betrayal of the most basic tenet of journalism: giving voice to the voiceless.

CBS spiked the Jeffrey Wigand interview due to legal concerns, nearly destroying the credibility of this broadcast. It took years to recover from that "low point." By pulling this story to shield an administration, we are repeating that history, but for political optics rather than legal ones.

We have been promoting this story on social media for days. Our viewers are expecting it. When it fails to air without a credible explanation, the public will correctly identify this as corporate censorship. We are trading 50 years of "Gold Standard" reputation for a single week of political quiet.

I care too much about this broadcast to watch it be dismantled without a fight.

Sharyn

[SuperSisi @SuperSisi]

Good luck finding a wedding photo better than this

[Cookie Monster @MeCookieMonster]

Happy Hanukkah! Me hope you have eight days of latkes with your festival of lights! 🕎

[Hoodlum 🇺🇸 @NotHoodlum]

Outside the American Embassy in Dublin. ☘️

[Travis Akers 🇺🇸 @travisakers]

A message from a Kindergarten teacher:

After forty years in the classroom, my career ended with one small sentence from a six-year-old:

“My dad says people like you don’t matter anymore.”

No sneer. No malice. Just quiet honesty — the kind that cuts deeper because it’s innocent. He blinked, then added, “You don’t even have a TikTok.”

My name is Mrs. Clara Holt, and for four decades, I taught kindergarten in a small Denver suburb. Today, I stacked the last box on my desk and locked the door behind me.

When I started teaching in the early 1980s, it felt like a promise — a shared belief that what we did mattered. We weren’t rich, but we were valued. Parents brought warm cookies to parent nights. Kids gave you handmade cards with hearts that didn’t quite line up. Watching a child sound out their first sentence felt like magic.

But that world slowly slipped away. The job I once knew has been replaced by exhaustion, red tape, and a kind of loneliness I can’t quite describe.

My evenings used to be filled with construction paper, glitter, and glue sticks. Now they’re spent filling out digital reports to protect myself from angry emails or lawsuits. I’ve been yelled at by parents in front of twenty-five children — one filming me with his phone while I tried to calm another child mid-meltdown.

And the kids… they’ve changed too. Not by choice.

They arrive tired, anxious, overstimulated. Their tiny fingers know how to swipe a screen before they can hold a crayon. Some can’t make eye contact or wait in line. We’re expected to fix all of it — to patch the gaps, heal the trauma, teach the curriculum, and document every move — in six hours a day, with resources that barely fill a drawer.

The little reading corner I once built, full of soft beanbags and paper stars, was replaced by data charts and “learning metrics.” A young principal once told me, “Clara, maybe you’re too nurturing. The district wants measurable results.”

As if kindness were a weakness.

Still, I stayed. Because of the small, holy moments that no spreadsheet could measure —
a whisper of, “You remind me of my grandma.”
a shaky note that read, “I feel safe here.”
a quiet boy finally meeting my eyes and saying, “I read the whole page.”

Those tiny sparks were my reason to keep showing up.

But this last year broke something in me.

The aggression grew sharper. The laughter in the staff room turned to silence. The light went out of so many eyes. I watched brilliant teachers — my friends — vanish under the weight of burnout, their joy replaced by survival.

I felt myself fading too, like chalk on a board that’s been wiped one too many times.

So today, I began my goodbye. I pulled faded art off the walls and tucked thirty years of handmade cards into a single box. In the back of a drawer, I found a letter from a student from 1998:

“Thank you for loving me when I was hard to love.”

I sat on the floor and cried.

No party. No applause. Just a handshake from a young principal who called me “Ma’am” while checking his notifications.

I left my rocking chair behind, and my sticker box too. What I carried with me were the memories — the faces of hundreds of children who once trusted me enough to reach out their hands and learn. That can’t be uploaded. It can’t be measured. It can’t be replaced.

I miss when teachers were partners, not targets. When parents and educators worked side by side, not in opposition. When schools cared more about wonder than numbers.

So if you know a teacher — any teacher — thank them. Not with a mug or a gift card, but with your words. With your respect. With your understanding that behind every test score is a heart that cared enough to try.

Because in a world that often overlooks them, teachers are the ones who never forget our children.