I've been playing around with Suno for my livestreams, and I think I accidentally made my new anthem 🤣

🤣🤣🤣

Good morning from Virginia. 🇺🇸 The morning of October 7, 1777, came on clear above the Hudson. On Bemis Heights the American works, laid out by the young Polish engineer Thaddeus Kosciuszko, looked down on the river road to Albany. Horatio Gates had more than twelve thousand men behind those logs and earth, Continentals and militia who had walked in from the farms once word spread that Burgoyne was caught. Down in the British camp the ration was short, the horses were failing, and the road south was shut. Burgoyne, who had taken Ticonderoga in a rush back in July and had been losing ground ever since, chose not to wait. He sent Simon Fraser out with about fifteen hundred men, nearly a third of what he had left. They were to feel the American left and, if the ground allowed, open a way. They marched three-quarters of a mile beyond their own lines and formed in Barber’s wheatfield. A little after two in the afternoon the fight began. Daniel Morgan’s riflemen worked the British right, falling back behind Henry Dearborn’s bayonets when the muskets closed. Enoch Poor’s brigade struck the other flank. Both wings gave way. Fraser, the best officer Burgoyne still had in the field, tried to form a line between the wheat and the redoubts. One of Morgan’s riflemen, long remembered as Timothy Murphy, put a ball into him. Fraser fell from the saddle, mortally hurt, and was carried off. With him went the last steady hand on that part of the field. Gates stayed with the camp. Benedict Arnold, stripped of command after the quarrel that followed Freeman’s Farm, did not. He took a horse and rode for the firing. Men who had followed him at Quebec followed him again. Poor’s attack stalled against the heavier Balcarres Redoubt. Arnold swung Learned’s brigade and Morgan’s riflemen at the smaller work on the British right, the Breymann Redoubt, held by German grenadiers and light troops. A fellow officer later said Arnold behaved more like a madman than a cool and discreet commander. The redoubt was carried. Heinrich von Breymann, trying to hold his men, was killed by some of them as they broke. In the last rush Arnold’s horse was hit. The fall smashed the same leg already wounded in the snow before Quebec. By dark the British were shut inside the Great Redoubt by the river. The next morning Burgoyne started north. A cold, hard rain stopped the march. Within two days the Americans had the army surrounded near Saratoga. On October 16 the articles were signed. The next afternoon more than five thousand men marched out with the honors of war, piled their arms by their own word of command, and became prisoners. The news went to Paris in the winter. France, already sending covert help, now had proof that an American army could take a British army in the field. The alliance followed. A rebellion became a world war. On a wheatfield and a log redoubt above the Hudson, in the space of an afternoon, the shape of the fight changed. America 250 🇺🇸

Good morning, everyone. Happy Hump Day! Halfway through the work week 🙌 Let's roll!

Rise and Shine Patriots! It’s October 7th and President Donald J Trump is the GOAT! Have a great Wednesday and enjoy the Liberal tears! LFG!!🇺🇸🇺🇸👊🏻

And just when I thought we got away with a storm this year... (I'm in the middle) 🤦‍♂️

It's spooky time, so come hang out with us! youtube.com/live/Ske6V1rTfUA…

Dang, Mansion, You SCARY! Let's Check it Out! Luigi's Mansion Pt 2 x.com/i/broadcasts/1rGmqpQvW…

Best Halloween movie

At least we can agree on this 😁

Good Terrific Tuesday morning from South Texas and the Gulf of America! ☕🤠🇨🇱❤️🤍💙🇺🇸 Have an amazing day everyone! 🙏

Rise and Shine Patriots! It’s October 6th and President Donald J Trump is the GOAT! Have a great Tuesday and enjoy the Liberal tears! LFG!!🇺🇸🇺🇸👊🏻

Good morning X! Happy Tellavision Tuesday! Hope you have a moment to enjoy the song, and have a blessed day! 🙏🏼🛡🛡⛓️‍💥🙏🏼🇺🇸🙌🕊✝️🫶🏼👊🎶

Good morning, everyone. Happy Taco Tuesday! Have a great day, and enjoy your tacos 🌮 Let's roll!

Good morning from Virginia. 🇺🇸 On the sixth of October, 1783, in the town of Litchfield, Connecticut, a man sat down and put his name to a piece of paper that asked for nothing less than the exclusive right to sell time that wound itself. His name was Benjamin Hanks. He was twenty-seven years old, born in Mansfield on the twenty-ninth of October, 1755, the son of a farmer and mechanic named Uriah, and he had already lived more than one life. He had apprenticed under Thomas Harland, the Norwich clockmaker. He had advertised himself in Windham, opposite the courthouse, as a maker of clocks and watches, and of spurs, buckles, and hilts besides. He had taken the Revolutionary side, risen to colonel, married Alice Hovey, and in 1780 moved his household to Litchfield, where he built a house and shop at 39 South Street and went to work. What he had built, and what he now wished to protect, was a tower clock that wound itself by air. The machine had already gone to New York. Shortly after the move to Litchfield he had taken the contract for the clock of the Old Dutch Church at Nassau and Liberty Streets, the first public clock in the city, and he had fitted it with a wind attachment so that no sexton need climb the tower with a key. In Litchfield he asked the General Assembly for fourteen years’ sole privilege of making and vending such clocks. The federal patent office did not yet exist. A man went to his own legislature. He explained the thing in the plain language of the shop. Put the works in a close room with a small inlet. The air inside is thinner than the air outside, and the outside air presses in to restore the balance. That moving air is enough to raise the weights. One good hour of wind, he would later tell the American Academy of Arts and Sciences, through Ezra Stiles of Yale, would lift them for ten days, and seldom did three days pass without the clock standing fully wound. The difficulty was not the wind. The difficulty was the gearing. The weight had to drive the train with the same power while it was rising as while it was falling. Otherwise the clock would stop every time the air tried to wind it. His petition, dated at Litchfield that October day, has the sound of a man who has spent years at a bench and does not intend to be modest about it. After unwearied trouble, pains, and study, he wrote, not only for his own pleasure but for the benefit of mankind, he had made a clock that would continue of itself until the parts were destroyed by friction, keeping the most regular time of any machine yet invented, because it was ever wound, without variation or stop. He asked their honors to consider the matter. They did. The right was granted. He did not rest on it. By 1785 he was advertising church clocks, pneumatic clocks, watches with a center-sweep seconds hand, and surveyor’s compasses. In 1786 he opened a foundry just south of the courthouse and began to cast bells. He is credited with the first bronze cannon made in the country, a pair in 1797 for the First Company of Connecticut Artillery. Bells for meetinghouses. Guns for the militia. Compasses for men laying out new land. And a clock that listened to the wind. It is worth pausing over the date. Yorktown was two years behind them. The Constitution was four years ahead. In a Connecticut hill town, a colonel who had learned his trade in another man’s shop was measuring the difference between the air in a closed room and the air outside it, and calculating a train of wheels so that a weight could climb and descend without ever letting the hands stand still. He was not waiting on London. He was not waiting on anyone. He was keeping America’s time with the weather that came in through a small hole in the wall. America 250 🇺🇸

Well, I got back late from Birmingham, so guess I'll just go home and be a sloth... KIDDING! It's time to pick some stuff up and put it down! 🦵

Me trying to drive in Birmingham today:

Looks like my kids pulled a fast one on my wife this morning 😂 Wonder where they got these crazy shenanigans from 🤔

Good morning from Virginia. 🇺🇸 In the first week of October 1775, with the British still shut up in Boston and the American lines drawn tight around the town, George Washington took up his pen at headquarters in Cambridge and wrote John Hancock a letter he would rather not have written. “I have now a painful tho’ a necessary Duty to perform,” he began, “respecting Doctor Church, Director General of the Hospital.” Benjamin Church was not a man anyone in the camp would have picked for a traitor. He was a Boston physician, Harvard-trained, well known in the town, and loud in the patriot cause before the shooting started. He had sat in the Provincial Congress. He had carried Massachusetts’s appeal to Philadelphia. In July, when Congress created a medical department for the new army, Church was named its first Director General — surgeon general, in everything but the later title. He was forty-one, respected, and inside the circle. The letter that undid him had been written in cipher in late July and handed to a woman who was his mistress. She pressed it on Godfrey Wenwood, a baker in Newport and a man she had known before, and begged him to get it into Boston — to Major Cane, or to Captain Wallace of the Royal Navy, or to anyone who could pass it to the British command. Wenwood kept the paper. Weeks later a second, anxious note from the woman reached him. He took the story to Henry Ward in Providence, and Ward sent him up to Cambridge. Washington had the woman secured. For a long time she would say nothing. At length she named Church. He was arrested at once and his papers taken. Brought before the general, he admitted the letter without much fuss. It was meant for his brother-in-law, he said. Once deciphered it would show nothing criminal — only an effort to impress the enemy with American strength and nudge both sides toward an accommodation. The deciphered text did not read that way. Three earlier attempts to get a letter through had failed. One courier had been caught with the paper sewn into the waistband of his breeches. Church reported the army’s numbers and its cannon. He wrote that a view to independence was growing more general. He asked how the correspondence might be continued, and he ended with a line that left little room for argument: make use of every precaution, or I perish. On October 3 and 4 a council of general officers met at headquarters, Washington presiding. Church repeated his defense. The council judged the correspondence criminal and advised that he be held for Congress. He was dismissed from the hospital department, confined, and in time allowed to leave for the West Indies. The ship he sailed on disappeared. He was not heard from again. What the army could not then know, and what Gage’s papers would later show, was that the cipher letter was not a single misstep. Church had been supplying the British commander with information since early in 1775, while standing among the men who trusted him with the wounded. He was the first high-ranking American caught in the act. Washington sent the whole record to Hancock on October 5. Within weeks Congress added the death penalty for espionage to the articles of war. The siege had already taught the army how to dig and how to wait. The Church case taught it something harder: that the danger was not only the army across the water. America 250 🇺🇸

Rise and Shine Patriots! It’s October 5th and President Donald J Trump is the GOAT! Have a great Monday and enjoy the Liberal tears! LFG!!🇺🇸🇺🇸👊🏻

And just like that, another weekend has come and gone too soon... Good morning, everyone. Have a great Monday!