Anthony Saluto lll BN the know

10/10/2026

Saluto Media AI October 9, 2026
Saluto BN Entertainment
Downtown Bloomington Illinois

10/10/2026

Saluto Media AI October 9 2026
main Street downtown Bloomington Illinois coming soon

10/08/2026

Saluto mobility DT Bloomington Illinois
Saluto Media AI October 8, 2026
Bloomington Illinois 309 336 8095

10/07/2026

Vault filling pictorial
Saluto Media AI SI October 7, 2026
Sketch memo
This is the 300 block downtown Bloomington Illinois they have been filling in vaults for months now …with concrete blocks and some kind of concrete mix this work gets done 4 stark to start their Street work in the spring
it's a 10 year project there's delivery old day vaults all over the place they're filling in the vaults… City of Bloomington getting Grants as they go…

10/07/2026

10/01/2026

Saluto Media SI Super intelligence
Bloomington Illinois 309-336-8095
Yes. On September 29, 2026, President Trump signed an executive order titled “Inaugurating The Era Of Super Intelligence.”

The order directs the executive branch, to the maximum extent permitted by law, to use “Super Intelligence” and “SI” instead of “Artificial Intelligence” and “AI” in official correspondence, public communications, websites, reports, policy documents, and other non-statutory documents. Agencies are also told not to acknowledge the older terms in those settings.

There are important limits. It does not require changing existing laws, regulations, past presidential actions, contracts, grants, or historical documents. For now, “Super Intelligence” and “SI” are defined as the same technologies already covered by the statutory definition of “artificial intelligence” in 15 U.S.C. § 9401(3). The Assistant to the President for Science and Technology has 60 days to propose a new federal definition and any needed legislative language.

The stated rationale is that current systems go beyond merely imitating or automating human intelligence, so the government should use language that reflects their “transformative capabilities.” This is a terminology and communications policy for the executive branch, not a change to the underlying technology or to statutes. The White House published both the order and a fact sheet.

09/29/2026

Rader Family Farm Review
# Harvesting More Than Pumpkins at the Edge of Town
Saluto BN Style 9/29/26
There are places that sell autumn and places that still grow it. Rader Family Farms in Normal sits firmly in the second camp.

Drive out Ropp Road and the horizon opens into fields that have been worked by the same family since the 1930s, first as a Guernsey dairy and later as a 2,400-acre grain operation. What began with extra pumpkins on a hayrack has become an 80-acre fall destination: ornamental gourds, U-pick pumpkins, a 12-acre corn maze, 3,000 apple trees, and more than 50 activities that somehow still feel like a working farm rather than a theme park.

The pitch is simple and the ex*****on is generous. Admission covers nearly everything except the big maze and face painting. Kids disappear into corn bins, race ducks, bounce on a jumping pillow, and zip the Bee Line. Adults linger over apple c***r slushies and the farm’s pumpkin donuts, which have the kind of following usually reserved for limited-drop sneakers. Instagram and TikTok are full of them. on Instagram and on TikTok make the case better than any brochure: golden-hour photos in the sunflower rows, families posed against a 1951 Chevy pickup, maze-goers holding up phones like compasses.

The maze this year nods to the Route 66 centennial. It is dense, planted twice so the walls stand thicker than a typical field, and it includes bridges so you can climb out of your own confusion. Night mazes with flashlights draw the college crowd from nearby campuses and the families who want one more hour after dark.

Apple picking is new enough to still feel like an event. Fifteen varieties, some familiar (Honeycrisp, Fuji, Gala) and some still rare on grocery shelves (Ludacrisp, Sweet Maia, Pixie Crunch). The trees are trained on a high-spindle system so more fruit grows in less space. Staff pick the high fruit for the market stand if you would rather shop than climb.

Food is scattered across the grounds with purpose. The Barnyard Grill turns out burgers, pulled pork, and the Slop-the-Hog sandwich. Harvest Brew inside the Pumpkin Blossom Barn handles coffee and the Apple Slushy Silo Shake. Sidekick Grill and the Hitchin’ Post cover funnel cakes, kettle corn, lemonade shake-ups, and s’mores kits by the fire pits. On a busy Saturday the place employs fifty-plus people and still feels like somebody’s backyard that got out of hand in the best way.

Field trips bring more than 5,000 students each fall. That matters. A generation that knows milk comes from a carton and pumpkins from a bin gets a few hours among goats, grain, and the actual work of harvest. The farm’s own language is faith, family, and fun, and it shows without being preachy. The fifth generation is already on the property.

It is not a bargain-bin outing. Weekend tickets run in the low twenties for most ages, and extras add up if you load the wagon with pumpkins and apples. Parking is free. Crowds swell on Saturdays. Signage has drawn occasional complaints on Facebook reviews, though the overall rating hovers around 4.6 across more than a thousand comments. Most people leave talking about the donuts and the slide.

What lingers is the scale of ordinary abundance. Thirty acres of pumpkins. Ten acres you can walk into and choose. Sunflowers in late summer that people treat like a free photo studio. A grain farm that decided the community should see where the food and the seasons actually come from. Social feeds call it “just on the edge of Normal,” which is both a location and a joke that still works.

Go midweek if you can. Take a wagon. Eat the donut while it is still warm. Get lost on purpose. The farm will still be there when the last orange fruit is gone and the maze is cut down, planning the next year the way farms always have.

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09/29/2026

BN disaster relief
Saluto BN City Biz. September 29, 2026
You walk the sidewalk after the sky has finished its argument and the first thing you notice is not the silence but the texture of it. Limbs stacked like forgotten sentences. Power lines sagging with the particular weariness of things asked to do more than they were designed for. In Bloomington and Normal the August storm did not so much pass through as linger in the accounting.

You remember how it arrived: a microburst that dropped an inch and a half of rain in an hour, winds that treated mature trees as if they were suggestions. Then the second wave, the soaking that turned basements into unexpected swimming lessons and streets into temporary tributaries. More than eight inches in places. The kind of weather that makes you check the weather app the way people once checked the horoscope.

Both cities have been doing the unglamorous work that never trends as well as the original footage. You have seen the videos. The ones that start with a phone held sideways, captioned something like “this is not a drill” or “Nature said hold my beer.” TikTok made the downed oaks look cinematic for thirty seconds. Instagram carousels of before-and-after roofs turned private loss into public aesthetic. Facebook neighborhood groups filled with the same three questions: Has anyone seen my garbage can? Is the power back on your block? Who is taking brush? The platforms became both bulletin board and therapy session.

City crews have hauled thousands of loads of brush. Bloomington alone logged more than 2,300 truckloads and hundreds of tons of bulk waste, a number that keeps climbing because cleanup is never finished on the first pass. Residents drag more to the curb after the first sweep. The overtime sheets grow. Traffic signals that blinked through the night get replaced. JULIE markings appear like temporary tattoos on lawns that still smell of wet earth and chainsaw oil.

You watch the officials move with the careful slowness of people who know that disaster relief is less about heroism than spreadsheets. Dual emergency declarations extended. Damage tallies submitted. McLean County’s figure floated north of forty-two million dollars. Hospitals, homes, small businesses, the quiet infrastructure that only announces itself when it fails. They have asked for individual assistance as well as public. The state already declared. The federal request sits somewhere in the machinery, waiting for a signature that would unlock the next layer of help.

There is a particular Midwestern competence on display. Not flashy. The kind that shows up in extra dumpsters and coordinated debris routes and the patient explanation that yes, the city knows your street still looks like a lumberyard. Normal collected its own mountain of cubic yards. Mayors stood in front of damaged properties and talked about thresholds and assessments and the difference between what insurance covers and what it politely declines. You have scrolled past the posts from people who filed claims the morning after and the ones still photographing spoiled freezer contents for the adjuster. Country Financial, State Farm, the local names that suddenly feel like characters in the same long story.

The due diligence is in the details most people will never see. Wage records for first responders. Equipment hours. The quiet decision to keep declarations alive long enough for the paperwork to catch the weather. Residents urged to report damage even now because the first count is always an undercount. Officials touring with state and federal teams, clipboards and cameras, the modern pilgrimage of verification.

You notice how the conversation on social media has shifted. The initial shock posts gave way to the practical ones: recommended contractors (and the warnings about the ones who appear unsolicited), photos of tarped roofs, questions about SBA loans that may or may not materialize. Someone posts a drone shot of a neighborhood that looks like it was combed by a giant. Someone else shares a meme about Illinois weather having commitment issues. The platforms remain the unofficial record, messy and immediate, while the cities keep the official one.

There is no single moment when a place is “done” with a storm. The trees that survived look different now. The power that returned feels slightly more provisional. Basements that dried out still carry the memory of water. Yet the work continues in the least Instagrammable way possible: another load of brush, another form submitted, another meeting where numbers are recited so they cannot be later denied. Bloomington and Normal are treating the aftermath with the same stubborn attention they give to everything else that arrives uninvited and stays longer than expected.

You walk past one more pile of limbs and realize the story is no longer the storm. It is the long, unphotogenic negotiation with what the storm left behind.

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Saluto media AI 309 336-8095 Bloomington IL.
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09/28/2026

Unit five secures a quarter billion & news
Saluto BN the Know September 28 2026
Word count: 1,712 (quick-read 198 + feature 1,514)**

You walk the hall at Towanda and already feel the portable classrooms breathing their last. Unit 5 just locked a $252.1 million budget, signed Wight & Company to design a new early-learning center and an 18-to-22 transitional campus, and green-lit additions that will finally pull fifth-graders and special-education programs back under real roofs. Boundaries shift in 2027-28 so Normal Community High School stops bursting while Normal West gains students from the Linden-Pine-Henry pocket and Pepper Ridge. Carlock and Glenn stay open. E-learning survives as a five-day weather tool, not a lifestyle. ParentSquare replaces the old notification patchwork; phones stay in pouches during class in year two of the policy, and the district swears AI is a co-pilot, not the pilot. Sales-tax dollars already shave property bills and fund extra counselors and an elementary SRO. Superintendent Weikle has told the board she plans to ride this wave through 2030. You check the district Facebook and Instagram stories the way you once refreshed a restaurant waitlist. The curriculum itself has not been ripped up, but the rooms it lives in are being redrawn.

---

You have stood in the gym at Normal Community on a winter Tuesday when the bleachers felt like they were leaning inward, the air thick with that particular high-school perfume of floor wax, wet parkas, and ambition. You have watched a fifth-grade class file into a portable at Towanda the way you once watched a line form outside a place that had suddenly become the only place that mattered. Now the district that contains those rooms has decided the map itself must move.

The board, meeting after weather delayed them and again in mid-September, approved the 2027 fiscal-year budget at $252.1 million—three percent larger than the year before, balanced everywhere except transportation, the eternal Illinois headache. Equalized assessed values climbed, the education-fund referendum still works, and the countywide school-facilities sales tax that voters passed in 2025 is already sending more than a million dollars a month into Unit 5 coffers. Seventy-two percent of what they have spent so far has gone to property-tax relief; the rest buys counselors, social workers, psychologists, and a new school-resource officer who will circulate among the Normal elementary buildings. You can almost hear the collective parental exhale on the district’s page.

Facilities are the dish they are plating next. Wight & Company, the Darien firm, now holds the architectural contract for two new buildings whose sites have not yet been pinned to the map: one early-learning center that will gather the preschool programs now split between Brigham and Sugar Creek, and one replacement for the 18-to-22 transitional program still housed at aging, inaccessible Eugene Field. In August the board already signed Design Mavens and Farnsworth for the smaller, nearer additions—Parkside Junior High getting space designed around mobility equipment and special-education caseloads that keep growing, Towanda Elementary finally absorbing the fifth-graders who have lived in trailers for seven years. Construction on those two is slated to begin soon enough that students should walk into finished rooms in fall 2028. The portable leases at Normal Community High School, Cedar Ridge, Parkside, and Towanda were synchronized and extended two more years so the district can retire them on one calendar instead of four.

You will feel the boundary changes first in the car-rider line. Beginning 2027-28, neighborhoods east of Linden, north of Pine, and west of Henry slide from Normal Community to Normal West. Pepper Ridge feeds West as well. Elementary and junior-high lines tighten around Benjamin, Cedar Ridge, Parkside Elementary, Towanda, and Evans so no building sits at 110 percent while another sits at 80. Carlock and Glenn, the two schools that spent a nervous winter on the chopping block, remain open. The internal planning team and Cropper GIS spent a year of public sessions, surveys that drew 1,290 responses, and maps taped to cafeteria walls to arrive here. Proposal 2, the one that kept the small schools and built new specialized space instead of closing them, won the room.

Curriculum itself has not been rewritten in a single dramatic vote. The same Illinois Learning Standards still sit on the table. What has changed is the container and the tools. Year two of the phone policy has students, the superintendent says, finding it “much easier” to keep devices away during instructional hours; the coming statewide wireless-device ban will not require Unit 5 to rewrite its rules. E-learning remains on the books for up to five weather days a year, renewed for three more years after parent and staff surveys showed 68 percent support and after the district used the option only four times in three winters. “This is not COVID-era learning,” board president Stan Gozur told the room. You can already see the TikToks: kids in pajamas holding up a frozen driveway like a trophy.

ParentSquare is the new town crier. The three-year, $180,000 contract replaces SchoolMessenger and TalkingPoints, adds translation into more than 190 languages, two-way messaging, permission-slip sign-ups, and a feed that alumni and prospective families can join. Elementary teachers may still keep ClassDojo for the younger set because the little ones like the monster avatars. District Instagram Reels and Facebook stories now carry the same announcements that used to arrive in three different apps at three different times. You tap the notification the way you once tapped “notify me when a table opens.”

Artificial intelligence appears in the official position statement the way a new spice appears on a menu: useful, not the entrée. “A tool, not a replacement for human interaction and expertise.” Teachers still write the lesson; the model suggests the differentiation. You will hear that sentence quoted in every ParentSquare blast and every board comment thread for the next five years.

Superintendent Kristen Weikle, whose five-year contract runs through June 2030, has already told the board she intends to finish that contract and then step away. She has overseen the enrollment study, the sales-tax windfall, the phone rules, and the first wave of construction drawings. The next superintendent will inherit buildings that no longer lean on trailers and a high-school pair whose enrollments finally look like twins instead of an older sibling and a younger one fighting for the same bathroom.

You will argue about it on the district page, in the comments under the latest Instagram carousel of architectural renderings, in the X thread that starts “my kid just found out they’re going to West.” You will fact-check the maps yourself because the district keeps saying you should. The curriculum—the actual sentences, the lab benches, the shop projects that won Don Whitman the East Central Teacher of the Year—will keep happening inside rooms that, for the first time in a decade, were designed for the number of bodies that actually show up. That is the quiet revolution. The food is the same. The kitchen is being rebuilt around it.

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Saluto media AI 309 336-8095 Bloomington IL.
Where the real story is what AI thinks of the news… 100 online magazines
Publishing at the speed of AI
From multiple public data sources…
Re-interpreted and re-engineered!
Feedback needed report factoids in comments…
Always fact check your own news
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09/28/2026

Saluto BN Entertainment September 28, 2026 read all about it 800 words
The week does not crash in with fireworks. It sidles up the way a good encore does, half-shy and already humming.

Monday and Tuesday are the inhale. You can hear the Twin Cities catching their breath after the weekend’s vinyl swirl and amphitheater noise. Coffee shops fill with laptops and leftover festival talk. If your feed is still looping last Saturday’s clips from Uptown Circle, you are not alone.

Then Wednesday arrives like someone turning the porch light back on. Kyle Yap takes Uptown Circle from 6 to 7:30 p.m., free, all ages, lawn chairs welcome. The circle is the town’s living room with better lighting. You show up early, wander a shop, grab something that tastes like fall, and let a set unfold while the sky goes copper. It is the kind of night people later caption “needed this” without irony. Check the Town of Normal posts and the usual Uptown stories; the rumor mill on local Instagram is already treating it like the midweek reset.

Thursday belongs to the record store kids who never really left. Harrison Gordon’s hometown show lands at 7 p.m. on North Street in front of Waiting Room Records, the kind of street-level night that feels borrowed from a better timeline. Hometown sets have a different gravity. The crowd knows the choruses and the parking. Waiting Room’s own pages and Stories will be the first place the setlist leaks, because that is how this town still talks. Bring a jacket. October has opinions.

Friday is the exhale you have been waiting for. The Mighty Pines roll into Connie Link Amphitheatre at 7 p.m., roots-rock with stacked harmonies and that late-summer-into-harvest glow. Blankets, lawn chairs, the usual amphitheater democracy. If you have been saving a playlist called “drive with the windows down,” this is the live version. Normal LIVE’s calendar and the amphitheater’s socials are already stacking photos of last month’s crowds; copy the vibe, not the outfit if the wind kicks up.

There is also chatter of a 2000s party night over at The Castle if your algorithm still thinks flip phones were peak civilization. Treat that as a bonus track. Confirm before you pregame; midweek posts on venue pages move faster than printed flyers ever did.

Art does not punch a time clock the same way music does this week, but it is already leaning toward the weekend. Sugar Creek Arts Festival sets up in Uptown Normal on Saturday and Sunday with more than a hundred artists, two stages, and the kind of street energy that makes Friday feel like a prelude. If you are the type who walks a booth twice and then buys the print you pretended you were “just looking at,” start mapping your route now. McLean County Arts Center and Uptown accounts will drop artist grids and food-truck maps first.

What the week actually asks of you is simple. Go outside while the light still cooperates. Treat a free circle show like a date with the town. Let a hometown set remind you that scenes are built by people who stay. Pack a chair. Leave room for a second set if the night stretches. Tell a friend without making it a group text novel.

The social proof is already doing laps: Stories from the circle, Reels of the amphitheater lawn, a comment section arguing which cover band still slaps. Use those as your box office. Times shift. Weather votes. Always look twice before you lock the plan.

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Saluto media AI 309 336-8095 Bloomington IL.
Where the real story is what AI thinks of the news… 100 online magazines
Publishing at the speed of AI
From multiple public data sources…
Re-interpreted and re-engineered!
Feedback needed report factoids in comments…
Always fact check your own news
Signed prints mailed in black tube call