lenrod

[lenrod @lenrod]

@JustinRose99 You’re a class act!!!

[Molly Jong-Fast @MollyJongFast]

I bet @benwikler wouldn’t have had that problem

[Scott MacFarlane @MacFarlaneNews]

Big loss in court for Trump Administration. Federal judge rules Pentagon and Hegseth must restore press access

Judge says he's ruling against the "attempt by the Secretary of Defense to dictate the information received by the American people, to control the message so that the public hears and sees only what the Secretary and the Trump Administration want them to hear and see. The Constitution demands better. The American public demands better, too"

[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

[lenrod @lenrod]

@JAYChi_Bears @AdamSchefter Nope

[Michael Embrich @MikeEmbrich]

Freedom of speech doesn't crumble under tough questions.
Freedom of the press doesn't collapse under scrutiny. When you target reporters for telling the truth, you aren't defending democracy, you're dismantling it plank by plank.
Transparency isn't the enemy.

[Ethical American @AmericanEthical]

Michael Garrett - NC Senate's Viral Statement on the Bad Bunny Halftime Show

“I watched #BadBunny deliver the most American halftime show I have ever seen. Then I came home and watched it again. And I am not okay. In the best possible way.

He sang every single word in Spanish. Every. Single. Word. He danced through sugarcane fields built on a football field in California while the President of the United States sat somewhere calling it “disgusting.” Lady Gaga came out and did the salsa. Ricky Martin lit up the night. A couple got married on the field. He handed his Grammy, the one he won eight days ago for Album of the Year, to a little boy who looked up at him the way every child looks up when they dare to believe the world has a place for them.

And then this man, this son of a truck driver and a schoolteacher from Vega Baja, Puerto Rico, stood on the biggest stage on the planet and said “God bless America.”
And then he started naming them.

Chile. Argentina. Uruguay. Paraguay. Bolivia. Peru. Ecuador. Brazil. Colombia. Venezuela. Panama. Costa Rica. Nicaragua. Honduras. El Salvador. Guatemala. Mexico. Cuba. Dominican Republic. Jamaica. The United States. Canada. And then, his voice breaking with everything he carries, “Mi patria, Puerto Rico. Seguimos aquí.” My homeland, Puerto Rico. We are still here.
The flags came. Every single one of them. Carried across that field by dancers and musicians while the jumbotron lit up with the only words that mattered: “THE ONLY THING MORE POWERFUL THAN HATE IS LOVE.”

I teared up. I’m not ashamed to say it. I sat on my couch and I wept because THAT is the America I believe in. That is the American story, not the sanitized, gated, English-only version that small and frightened people try to sell us. The REAL one. The messy, beautiful, multilingual, multicolored, courageous one. The one that has always been built by hands that speak every language and pray in every tongue and come from every corner of this hemisphere.

That is the America I want Jack and Charlotte to know. That when the moment came, when the whole world was watching, a Puerto Rican kid who grew up to become the most-streamed artist on Earth stood in front of 100 million people, sang in his mother’s language, blessed every nation in the Americas, and spiked a football that read “Together, we are America” into the ground. Not with anger. With joy. With love so big it made hate look exactly as small as it is.

And what did the President do? He called it “absolutely terrible.” He said “nobody understands a word this guy is saying.” He called it “a slap in the face to our Country.” The leader of the free world watched a celebration of love, culture, and everything this hemisphere has given to the world, and all he could see was something foreign. Something threatening. Something disgusting.

Let that sink into your bones.
The man who is supposed to represent all of us looked at the flags of our neighbors, heard the language of 500 million #Americans across this hemisphere, and felt attacked. That’s not strength. That’s not patriotism. That is poverty of the soul.

Here’s what I want to say to everyone who posted about that show tonight, who shared it proudly, who turned away from Bad Bunny’s celebration because it was in Spanish and the flags weren’t only red, white, and blue:

Your children will see those posts. Your grandchildren will find them. The internet doesn’t forget. And one day, when the history of this moment is written, when our kids and their kids look back at 2026 the way we look back at the people who stood on the wrong side of every bridge and every march and every moment that mattered, they will know exactly where you stood. They will see who chose Kid Rock over a hemisphere of flags. They will see who called love “disgusting.” And they will carry that knowledge the way all of us carry the knowledge of what our ancestors did when they were tested.

The only thing more powerful than hate is love”

[Joe Newberry @JoeNewberry]

An old friend and his wife came to the show last night. She has been in ill health for a long time. After the show, he came up and hugged my neck, and said that our music was the best medicine she could have had. I don't take what we do for granted. A high honor to play for her.

[lenrod @lenrod]

@SarahSevans2000 👋

[Jamie Schler @lifesafeast]

No one sees my tweets anymore but it’s my birthday today and I brought cake for everyone 🎂🥳

[lenrod @lenrod]

@dmihalopoulos Thank you Dan for your continued reporting on this

[Robby Roadsteamer @RobbyRoadsteame]

🚨 Breaking News! Robby Roadsteamer has been arrested by ICE in Minnesota today! Please RT

[Protect Kamala Harris ✊ @DisavowTrump20]

This is U.S. Army Veteran Ronn Easton, who was injured while serving in Vietnam. Today, he stood in the streets of Minneapolis and confronted ICE to defend his community.

RETWEET to thank Easton for his service and standing up for the Constitution!

[Protect Kamala Harris ✊ @DisavowTrump20]

RETWEET if you support Minneapolis Mayor Jacob Frey against Trump and ICE!

[Crazy Vibes @CrazyVibes_1]

I almost called the police that night. That’s the instinct when you see a seven-year-old boy sitting alone on a curb at 8:00 p.m. soaked by freezing rain, no adult in sight, clutching a backpack like it’s the only thing keeping him upright.

I was pumping gas at a rundown station on the edge of town. Flickering lights. Buzzing signs. The kind of place people don’t linger.

But I couldn’t ignore him.

He sat perfectly still, hoodie plastered to his skin, shivering, staring across the lot at the glowing 24-hour store beside a massive warehouse. Too small. Too quiet. Too alone.

At 68, my knees ache in the cold and I don’t move fast anymore. But I move when it matters.

I walked over slowly.
“Hey, buddy. You okay? Waiting for someone?”

He jumped, eyes wide.
“My mom said stay right here. Don’t move. Don’t talk to strangers.”

“In this rain? Where’s your mom?”

He pointed at the warehouse.
“She’s working overtime. If she leaves early, they fire her. She said it would be quick.”

He said it calmly, like someone repeating rules they learned too early. No complaints. Just facts. It hit me hard.

“Come inside,” I said. “You can’t sit out here like this.”

I bought him hot cocoa and a warm sandwich. We sat by the window on those uncomfortable stools, watching rain pound the pavement.

“I’m Frank,” I said.

“Leo,” he whispered, cupping the mug.

We talked. He loved Minecraft. Hated math because “numbers don’t make sense.” Wanted to be an astronaut.
“Up there,” he said, “it’s quiet. No one yells.”

Around 10:30, a woman burst through the door, drenched and frantic in a warehouse uniform. Sarah. She grabbed Leo, checking him over, crying as rain mixed with tears.

Then she saw me.

Panic flashed across her face.
“Please don’t call anyone. I’m a good mom. The sitter canceled. I tried everyone. If I miss a shift, we lose the apartment. Rent’s almost $2,000. Childcare is impossible. I had no choice.”

She braced for judgment.

“Easy,” I said, raising my hands. “No one’s calling anyone.”

I saw my younger self in her. The exhaustion. The fear. Parents today juggling impossible costs with no room to breathe.

“I’m retired,” I told her. “Old mechanic. My days are long and quiet. Here’s my number. Next emergency, call me. I’ll watch him. Help with homework. No charge.”

She stared at the napkin.
“Why would you help us?”

“Because no child should sit in the rain,” I said. “And no parent should have to choose between a paycheck and their kid.”

That was over a year ago.

Now I pick Leo up from school a couple days a week. We hit the library. Build things inspired by Minecraft. Work through math problems. When he gets one right, his whole face lights up. Sarah joins us for dinner when her shift ends.

But the ripple didn’t stop there.

I told the story at the VFW. Retired guys. Veterans. Men who thought their useful years were behind them.

Now we’ve got an informal “Grandpa Network.”

Mike drives a neighbor’s daughter to dance.
Dave watches the bus stop for a single dad.
Others tutor, fix bikes, offer safe porches and steady eyes.

No titles. No applause. Just filling gaps in a system that leaves families stretched thin and silent.

Sarah recently got a better job. Day shifts. No warehouse. She hugged me and said, “You changed everything.”

I shook my head.
“I just noticed.”

That’s the first lesson. Notice.
Look up. See the quiet struggles.

Second. Small acts multiply. One cup of cocoa. One offer. One umbrella.

Third. Community still works. We just forgot how to build it.

Fourth. Judgment shuts doors. Grace opens them.

Fifth. Purpose doesn’t expire. Helping others gave my days meaning again.

There are Leos everywhere.
There are Sarahs everywhere.

You don’t need money or authority.
Just the courage to care.

Look around.
Ask if someone’s okay.
Offer help.

Rebuild the village.

One child.
One act.
One umbrella at a time.

[Senator Scott Wiener @Scott_Wiener]

My anti-masking law is now officially in effect. In California, law enforcement can no longer hide behind face coverings. I've stood up to Trump and his reign of terror as your State Senator, and I will continue to do so as your future Congressman.

[Thomas Massie @RepThomasMassie]

A future DOJ could convict the current AG and others because the Epstein Files Transparency Act is not like a Congressional Subpoena which expires at the end of each Congress.

[Brian Allen @allenanalysis]

BREAKING: Jack Smith is pushing to speak publicly.

In a new letter, Smith says the American public deserves to “hear the facts” about his two criminal cases against Trump. He’s asking the House Judiciary Committee to release video of his closed-door deposition and to schedule an open, public hearing.

This is not subtle. He wants it on the record.

[Protect Kamala Harris ✊ @DisavowTrump20]

RETWEET if you stand with Jack Smith against Donald Trump!

[Annie @AnnieForTruth]

Despite not appearing for his OWN lawful subpoena, Jim Jordan has issued 91 subpoenas for others, including Jack Smith. Smith had the balls to appear, Jordan did not. Jim hasn’t passed a bill in 18 years in congress, & knew about the sexual abuse at OSU.
https://t.co/WRdR0LlWC3