Eric Gutenberg retweeted
Remember falling asleep on the couch during family holiday gatherings?
You could hear the adults talking and laughing in the background, dishes being put away, and the TV playing softly.
You didn't have a care in the world. You just knew everyone was there, and you were safe.
It's funny how much you miss those ordinary nights, especially the people who made them feel like home.
Anyone know why @vivachicken seems to consistently have terrible sanitation scores? Are they just trying to keep up with @Bojangles ?
Bingo
Here’s the part builders should be paying attention to:
There are now 1.62 million existing homes for sale in the U.S.
And new-home inventory is sitting at 9.6 months of supply.
The market isn’t saying “stop building.”
It’s saying stop building average.
Buyers have more options, rates are still high, and weak product is getting exposed faster.
The next cycle won’t reward whoever builds the most.
It will reward whoever builds the right product, at the right price, in the right location.
And builders who ignore that may end up sitting on inventory they can’t move without cutting margins.
Absolute legend
Twenty five years ago today, a 62 year old man with cancer in his bones walked 2,687 people out of the South Tower, and then he went back inside.
Rick Rescorla was born in Hayle, Cornwall in 1939. British Parachute Regiment in Cyprus at 18. Colonial police in Northern Rhodesia. Then he came to America, enlisted in the US Army in 1963, and in November 1965 he went into the Ia Drang Valley as a platoon leader with the 2nd Battalion, 7th Cavalry.
Hal Moore called him the best platoon leader he ever saw. His men called him Hard Core. He sang to them in the dark, Wild Colonial Boy in an Australian accent, because he had worked out that men who are singing are not men who are panicking. That is Rescorla on the cover of We Were Soldiers Once and Young, bayonet fixed.
Thirty five years later he was head of security for Dean Witter, later Morgan Stanley, in the South Tower of the World Trade Center.
In 1990 he brought in his old friend Dan Hill and the two of them walked the basement. He warned the Port Authority that the parking garage was wide open, that somebody could drive in a truck full of explosives, walk out and light it off. Nothing was done. Three years later the 1993 bomb went off about thirty feet from the spot he had flagged.
After that he told Morgan Stanley the towers were still a target and the next attack would come out of the sky. He wanted the firm to leave Manhattan. The lease ran to 2006, so they stayed. Twenty two floors of the South Tower, roughly 2,700 people.
So he drilled them. Every three months, everyone, no exceptions, down the stairwells two abreast while he stood there with a stopwatch. Traders pulling seven figures resented being marched down concrete stairs by a Cornishman with a clipboard. He kept doing it anyway.
8:46 a.m. The North Tower is hit. Port Authority comes over the South Tower loudspeakers and tells everyone the building is secure and to go back to their desks. Rescorla picks up a bullhorn and tells his people to get out.
He phones Dan Hill. "The dumb sons of bitches told me not to evacuate. They said it's just Building One. I told them I'm getting my people out of here."
9:03 a.m. The second plane hits the South Tower, floors 77 through 85. His people are already in the stairwells, moving exactly the way they had been drilled, and Rescorla is on the bullhorn singing to them. Cornish songs. A version of Men of Harlech he had rewritten for Cornwall. Men of Cornwall stop your dreaming, can't you see their spearpoints gleaming.
He called his wife Susan from the stairs. They had been married two and a half years, met jogging in New Jersey. He told her to stop crying, that he had to get these people out safely, and that if something happened to him he wanted her to know he had never been happier, that she made his life.
Someone told him to get out. He said, as soon as I make sure everyone else is out.
2,687 Morgan Stanley employees went home that day. Thirteen did not, and four of those were Rescorla and the men who stayed in the building with him: Wesley Mercer, Jorge Velazquez, Godwin Forde.
He was last seen on the 10th floor, walking up.
The South Tower fell at 9:59. They never found him.
Eric Gutenberg retweeted
⚡️The public received temporary cash.
Asset owners received a permanent repricing of the world around them.
That is the part people feel even when they cannot articulate it.
The system flooded the economy with money and credit while simultaneously crushing interest rates. Financial assets exploded. Housing exploded. Equities exploded. Businesses refinanced cheaply. Owners of scarce assets watched their nominal wealth rise enormously.
Then the price level caught up.
Food.
Rent.
Cars.
Insurance.
Homes.
Services.
Everything repriced against the expanded monetary base and the fiscal surge, while supply chains were constrained at exactly the wrong moment.
The $1,400 disappeared.
The higher price level stayed.
That is the scar.
And there is a deeper asymmetry underneath it.
A wealthy household watching a $2 million portfolio become $3 million can absorb a 15% rise in living costs.
A worker with $4,000 in savings gets a few thousand dollars of stimulus, spends it, then spends the next decade purchasing necessities at a permanently higher nominal price level.
Same monetary event.
Completely different balance-sheet outcome.
That is why the pandemic response became such an accelerant of wealth inequality even though substantial money genuinely went to ordinary people.
Inflation taxes the person who owns currency. Asset inflation enriches the person who owns claims on scarcity.
The system did both at once.
And that is the structural truth underneath a million political memes about “money printing.”
People were told they were being rescued.
For many households, they were.
But the rescue was financed through a mechanism that also changed the denominator underneath almost every price in their lives.
The check arrived once.
The dilution kept compounding.
Eric Gutenberg retweeted
Food for thought...
A crow lived in the forest and was absolutely satisfied in life.
But one day he saw a swan. "This swan is so white," he thought, "and I am so black.This swan must be the happiest bird in the world."He expressed his thoughts to the swan. "Actually," the swan replied, "I was feeling that I was the happiest bird around until I saw a parrot, which has two colors. I now think the parrot is the happiest bird in creation."The crow then approached the parrot. The parrot explained, "I lived a very happy life—until I saw a peacock. I have only two colors, but the peacock has multiple colors."
The crow then visited a peacock in the zoo and saw that hundreds of people had gathered to see him. After the people had left, the crow approached the peacock. "Dear peacock," the crow said, "you are so beautiful. Every day thousands of people come to see you. When people see me, they immediately shoo me away. I think you are the happiest bird on the planet."The peacock replied, "I always thought that I was the most beautiful and happy bird on the planet. But because of my beauty, I am entrapped in this zoo.
I have examined the zoo very carefully, and I have realized that the crow is the only bird not kept in a cage. So for past few days I have been thinking that if I were a crow, I could happily roam everywhere.
"That's our problem too. We make unnecessary comparison with others and become sad. We don't value what God has given us. This all leads to the vicious cycle of unhappiness.
Live the life valuing the things God has given us. Learn the secret of being happy and discard the comparison which leads only to unhappiness. And remember you are beautiful in your own way and There is GREATNESS within you.
Best AI customer service I've ever seen. Does anyone know what they are using? that1painter.com
Eric Gutenberg retweeted
Very honored to have built the bronze statue of George Washington for the Freedom 250 Grand Prix in Washington, D.C.
America is incredible.
Excited for the @America250 Grand Prix but wish it was a @NASCAR road race instead
Eric Gutenberg retweeted
Today we released the August 2026 spam update. We'll update our ranking release history page when the rollout is complete: status.search.google.com/inc…
Buffer experiencing degraded performance this morning @buffer
Eric Gutenberg retweeted
His neighbors and lifelong friends turned on him for one vote. He died less than a year later, still shunned, and his final words were a message aimed straight at the people who abandoned him. Meet John Morton, the man whose single vote may have made American independence possible.
Morton wasn't born to any of this. He came into the world in Pennsylvania around 1724, and his own father died before he was even born. He had almost no formal schooling. His stepfather taught him surveying, and from that humble start he taught himself enough to become a surveyor, a farmer, and eventually a respected judge and lawmaker. A self-made country man, not a powdered aristocrat.
Now here's the moment that put him in history. Summer of 1776. Independence comes down to a vote, and it needs the colonies to line up behind it. Pennsylvania, one of the biggest and most important colonies, was deadlocked. Its delegation was split right down the middle. Benjamin Franklin was for independence, others were dead against it, and the whole delegation hung in the balance.
John Morton was the swing. He was uncommitted, and everyone knew his vote would decide which way Pennsylvania fell. And he chose independence. His vote tipped Pennsylvania into the yes column at the exact moment the cause needed it most. Without Morton, one of the most crucial colonies might have said no.
He paid an immediate, personal price. Many of his old friends and neighbors, loyal to Britain, were furious. They censured him, turned their backs on him, treated him like a traitor for the vote he'd cast. The man had helped birth a nation and got iced out by his own community for it.
Then, cruelly fast, he got sick. Less than nine months after that signing, John Morton was dying, likely of tuberculosis. He became the very first signer of the Declaration of Independence to die.
And on his deathbed, thinking of the friends who had abandoned him, he dictated one of the most quietly powerful lines any Founder ever spoke. He said to tell them that they would "live to see the hour when they shall acknowledge it to have been the most glorious service I ever rendered to my country."
He was right. He just didn't live to see it.
A self-taught farmer whose one vote helped push a nation into being, who lost his friends for it, died first of all of them, and went to his grave certain that history would prove him right.
John Morton. The swing vote who never got to see he was correct.
😂😂 10/10
I spoke to my old friend Mitch McConnell this morning, the senior Senator from Kentucky. He’s still recovering in the hospital. We talked for just shy of 45 minutes. He's so sharp. Just like always he let me do all of the talking. He's a great listener. After that we prayed silently for awhile and had a staring contest. Just like always, he beat me. I told him we want to see him back at work as soon as possible.
Eric Gutenberg retweeted
Check out the two completed structural masonry buildings for our Townsend development (and Apollo Workspace).
Started on the 3rd one last week.
It’s just going to get cooler as this comes together.



























