DeniseRoxanne

@EchoesofWarYT Could you recommend a good book about his life and work? I will read it and then pass it to my Dad.

George Washington never went to college. His father Augustine died when George was 11, and the money for English boarding school died with him. His two older half-brothers had already been polished at Appleby Grammar School across the Atlantic. George got Virginia, a demanding mother named Mary, and whatever books he could find at home. At 14 he tried to escape it all by joining the British Royal Navy. His mother shut it down. So he did the next best thing: he taught himself surveying from his late father's instruments, and at 16 he rode west into the Shenandoah wilderness on a commission from Lord Fairfax, who owned over five million acres of Virginia and needed them mapped. His teenage journal survives. It is brutal, funny, and absolutely not the voice of a marble statue. On his first night at a frontier inn, he stripped down and climbed into what passed for a bed, only to find "nothing but a Little Straw Matted together without Sheets or any thing else but only one Thread Bear blanket with double its Weight of Vermin such as Lice Fleas etc." After that he preferred sleeping outside by the fire, even when it rained, even when his clothes froze stiff on him by morning. One journal entry, almost in passing: thirty Native warriors walked into camp carrying a fresh scalp from battle. The teenage surveying party shared their liquor with them and watched them perform a war dance by firelight. George wrote it down the way a modern teenager logs a weird night out. He swam horses across swollen rivers. He ate roasted meat off forked sticks because "our Spits was Forked Sticks our Plates was a Large Chip as for Dishes we had none." He met German settlers and noted in frustration that they "would never speak English but when spoken to they speak all Dutch." He measured timber in country where almost no English speaker had ever walked. By 17 he was the commissioned surveyor of Culpeper County, the youngest official surveyor in the colony of Virginia. By 18 he had parlayed the earnings into nearly 1,500 acres of Shenandoah Valley land in his own name, bought outright, while boys his age back east were still reciting Latin in heated parlors. The man who would one day command the Continental Army, defeat the largest empire on earth, and then voluntarily refuse a crown, did not learn leadership in a lecture hall. He learned it at 16, in a tent, in the dark, hundreds of miles from anyone who could save him.

@E_Barcohana Thank you. My mom took me to California when I was 19 and I’d like to re do that trip. I will when Spencer is The Mayor of Los Angeles.

Never given the maximum contribution to a political candidate in my entire life. Until tonight.

@rickygervais Please remind me

My new series ALLEY CATS comes to Netflix on 7 August. I've never been so excited/worried about any show since The Office. There's nothing like it. And as with all my work, some people will hate it & some will fucking love it. But how can I make sure everyone watches it? Help!

@elonmusk is on @tiktok_us Yeah!!!

@DennysDiner Bound to happen

denise lost her admin privileges

@DennysDiner Me, mo fo.

who tf is denise

@BenStiller Come on, mannnn

Hey White House, please remove the Tropic Thunder clip. We never gave you permission and have no interest in being a part of your propaganda machine. War is not a movie.

@RealJamesWoods Thanks for the reminder!

Just a reminder to my friends in Texas.

Boy George is more patriotic than the Panicans...

Dear #JackWhite , No matter what you may think of other things done by this administration, the campaign to #FreeIran isn’t something you, or anyone for that matter, should be taking issue with. The Iranian people deserve their freedom. I say this with the UTMOST respect. I think you’re an absolutely brilliant artist. I’d love to have the opportunity to talk with you…not debate, about it, anywhere you like, in private, or public, whichever you prefer. Open invitation.

I am a woman from Iran. Let me tell you honestly how women like me see politicians like you in America, women who speak about freedom from the safety of Congress while sympathizing with our killers under Islamic regimes. You stand next to the American flag, speaking about freedom. Now you launch campaigns saying, “No War With Iran.” Now I want to introduce you to a brave Iranian woman who understood America better than you ever will. Her name is Sara Saeidi. Born and raised in Iran. 39 years old. A mother of two daughters, 19 and 6. She was shot in the head for the “crime” of peacefully protesting while wearing a sweatshirt that said MANHATTAN, with the American flag beneath it. While you stood in Congress under that flag, she carried its name on her chest, not as symbolism for a photo opportunity but as a dream. Three days after she was killed, her body was returned to her family only after threats and money were taken from them. They were banned from holding a proper funeral. Authorities falsified the circumstances of her death. That is the regime you refuse to confront clearly. She wanted the freedom Manhattan represents, the freedom to live without fear, without morality police, without a bullet in her head. The same freedom protected by the Constitution you swore to uphold. You speak of “No War With Iran,” but you refuse to condemn the war being waged against us, the Iranian people, by the Islamic Republic. More than 30,000 unarmed civilians have been killed. Women blinded. Teenagers hanged. Mothers executed. When American lawmakers like you reduce this reality to a partisan talking point, you do the regime’s work for it. Dictatorships thrive when moral clarity disappears and when lawmakers choose ambiguity instead of standing firmly with victims. You call yourself anti war. But where is your condemnation of the regime’s massacre? Where is your outrage at its war against its own people? You are anti-Iranian women.💔 Peace without justice is surrender. Your hatred of President Trump appears stronger than your love for America, stronger than your love for Manhattan, for freedom, for women’s rights. That is why you sound sympathetic to the Islamic Republic while remaining silent about women like Sara, like me, and like millions of Iranians who are victims of this barbaric regime. You celebrating hijab day in Manhattan in beautiful New York and watching women get killed in Iran for not wearing hijab. I dare you to share the picture of Sara, and say no to the war being wage by Islamist terrorist on us, Iranians.

I’m a Latina and almost 48. I’ve been a registered Democrat my entire adult life. I believed in fairness, accountability, and standing up for the vulnerable. Before the speeches. Before the advocacy. Before the courtrooms. I was a crime victim. I know what it feels like to have your safety ripped away. To replay the moment in your head. To sit in court and realize the system moves on faster than your trauma does. That changes you. In Harris County, I’ve sat beside other crime victims and watched repeat offenders walk out on bond. I’ve looked into the eyes of families who feel invisible. I cannot support policies that prioritize offenders over the people they hurt. I no longer feel represented by the party I stood with for decades. When the focus shifted from crime victims to offenders, I shifted my vote. For the first time in my life, I voted in a Republican primary. Not out of anger. Not out of blind loyalty. But because my values have not changed. The party has. Note for the Democratic Party: I didn’t leave the party. You left me.

@JJWatt If you’re still in Houston I can bring you some. They are good.

I’m an OG guy all day (Samoas & Frozen Thin Mints) but The Adventureful has me intrigued. Actively looking to pick up a box if anyone’s got a plug. Need some reviews from those who’ve indulged…

@RobertIrvine Not this

.so here’s a question and I’m sure to get lots of answers.. school lunches .. thoughts ? Now I also want some constructive ideas not just hating please .. I’m interested in getting after it .. Seriously 😳 😎💯💪🙏

Four days ago, on January 30, the Governor of Texas issued a disaster declaration on the New World Screwworm as it nears closer and closer to the Texas border There are rumors there are other cases present in Texas that have fallen on deaf ears We have been sounding the alarm since July, but this is becoming more and more of a National Security crisis, and USDA’s lackluster response is threatening the safety of our citizens and ranching industry You think beef prices are high now? Imagine when the cattle supply in Texas is wiped out because of an infestation of flesh eating maggots WE ARE HUMBLY CALLING ON THE TRUMP ADMINISTRATION TO ISSUE A NATIONAL SECURITY DECLARATION IMMEDIATELY WE MUST PROTECT AMERICAN FOOD SUPPLY AT ALL COSTS

@FactsAboutTexas Tio tech Juan. That’s how you say it, not sure how to spell it.

🌮 What are the 🌮 Best Tex-Mex Restaurants in Texas?

Just after noon on September 5, 1936, two fishermen on Cape Breton Island spotted something strange in the boglands along Nova Scotia’s eastern shore: a woman struggling through thick peat, blood running down her face, her white flying overalls soaked and blackened to the waist. Behind her, half-swallowed by moss and mud, was a small single‑engine plane—its nose buried deep in the ground, its tail jutting awkwardly into the air. “I’m Mrs. Markham,” she told them calmly. “I’ve just flown from England.” That woman was Beryl Markham, 33 years old, and she had just done something no one else had ever done before. She had flown solo, non‑stop, from Europe to North America—against prevailing winds, through unpredictable weather, entirely alone. At a nearby farmhouse, she asked for two things: a cup of tea and a telephone. The phone, she later recalled, sat in a tiny cubicle bolted to the rocks, installed in case of shipwrecks. Over the crackling line, she politely requested that the airport be notified—and asked if someone might send a taxi. At first, Markham thought she’d failed. She hadn’t reached her planned destination of New York City. But the world quickly corrected her. Within hours, she was hailed as one of the great aviators of the era, alongside Charles Lindbergh, Amelia Earhart, and Amy Johnson. Earhart herself praised the flight publicly, calling it a triumph. The next day, Markham arrived in New York to a hero’s welcome: a motorcade, a suite at the Ritz‑Carlton, and a city eager to celebrate her nerve and skill. America, she said simply, was “jolly grand.” © Women In World History #archaeohistories

@JamesHu27192912 Same in Houston

North Carolina the moment the word blizzard gets whispered is pure chaos. One county is canceling school for the rest of the week, another is still grilling in flip-flops, and somebody’s uncle swears this “ain’t nothin’ compared to ’93.” The weather app says snow, the sky says rain, and your neighbor is already posting blurry radar screenshots like they’re a meteorologist for WRAL. Folks are arguing over whether it’s gonna be ice, sleet, snow, or “that cold wet mess,” while simultaneously deciding this is absolutely the perfect time to go to Ingles. By the time the first flake hits, half the state has emotionally prepared for a six-month winter, the other half refuses to put on a jacket out of spite, and everyone is mad at Duke Energy just in case. Roads will be empty except for one Honda Accord doing 15 mph and a lifted truck flying by at 80 to prove a point. If we get a dusting, we’ll talk about it for years. If we get nothing, we’ll still talk about it for years. Either way, North Carolina will survive… but not without drama. ❄️😂

@ChefGruel Not you.

$.67 meal

On December 25, 1983, Ronald and Nancy Reagan quietly broke presidential protocol in the most beautiful way imaginable. Before dawn, at 6 a.m., they slipped out of the White House without fanfare, drove themselves to a small suburban Virginia nursing home, and spent the morning serving breakfast to elderly residents who had no family to visit them on Christmas Day. Nancy stood at the griddle flipping pancakes, while Ronnie sat beside a 90-year-old woman with dementia who kept calling him “son.” He never corrected her. He simply held her hand and whispered, “I’m here, Mama. I’m here.” The Secret Service was frantic—there was no full security detail, no advance planning, no press. This wasn’t a staged moment or a political gesture. It began because Nancy had read a letter from a nursing home administrator describing the crushing loneliness many residents felt during the holidays. She turned to Ronnie and said, “We have to do something. These could be our parents.” What few people knew at the time was that this wasn’t a one-day act of kindness. It became a private tradition the Reagans repeated every Christmas throughout all eight years of the presidency. Always in secret. Always without cameras. Nancy baked cookies herself the night before. Ronnie brought letters from soldiers overseas and read them aloud to veterans whose eyes could no longer manage the words. One Christmas, Reagan spent forty-five minutes sitting beside a dying Korean War veteran, holding his hand and praying quietly so he wouldn’t have to leave this world alone. When Nancy found them, Ronnie was crying. “No hero,” he told her, “should die without someone telling them thank you.” These stories only surfaced years later, shared by nursing home staff after Reagan’s death. They endure because they reveal something rare and enduring—that the most meaningful acts of love and service are often the ones no one sees, done not for recognition or applause, but simply because the heart knows it must show up.