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• Trump Media launched Truth API on Saturday.
• Truth API sells early access to posts from prominent Truth Social users like President Donald Trump.
• Reuters reported that Trump Media considered selling that access for $100,000 a month.

There’s a new way to make and lose money.

Trump Media has officially launched the Truth API, a business-to-business data feed that provides customers with faster access to posts from prominent Truth Social accounts. That includes President Donald Trump, whose constant stream of posts can cause shifts in financial markets.

Institutional customers gained access to the service on Saturday. A few hours later, Trump announced on Truth Social that he was, again, close to a deal to end his war on Iran. On any other day, that post would have affected oil futures, and anyone with early access could have made a buck.

“Markets already move on Truth Social posts,” Kevin McGurn, interim CEO of Trump Media, said in a press release. “Truth API delivers a direct, licensed, real-time feed of the platform’s most market-moving Truths while advancing our strategy to monetize proprietary assets through a high-margin, recurring revenue stream.”

Trump Media has not publicly disclosed how much the service is costing customers. Reuters reported that the company discussed charging up to $100,000 a month, or $60,000 a month as part of a three-year plan.

The whole thing got people talking.

Here’s what smart people in finance, academia, and policy are saying about Truth API.

• I traveled from San Diego to Tokyo with my 4-year-old daughter.
• Jet lag meant predawn convenience-store runs, naps, and a few public meltdowns.
• Waking early also let us experience a quieter side of Tokyo that most tourists miss.

At 3:47 a.m., my daughter sat fully upright in bed, wide awake and ready to start the day. It was still dark outside our hotel room in Tokyo, but trying to explain time zones to a 4-year-old is futile.

I’ve never struggled with jet lag. I run on caffeine and enthusiasm until my circadian rhythm catches up, and within a day or two, I’ve adjusted. But a 16-hour time difference is a different problem with a preschooler in tow, one that’s hard to manage, let alone explain to someone whose body is telling them it’s noon even though the sky is dark.

We flew from California to Tokyo

We’d flown from San Diego to Tokyo, the first stop on a long trip through Asia. We took a red-eye I had booked because it was the only direct flight, without thinking through the arrival schedule; we landed at Narita at what felt like 1 a.m. to our bodies, after only a few hours of sleep. By the time we’d wearily cleared customs and immigration and made the hour-and-a-half drive into the city, the sun setting behind skyscrapers, we could barely tell if it was morning, evening, or night.

I’d picked Tokyo as our first stop intentionally. It’s about as safe and efficient as a city gets, and I figured that ease would make for a gentler landing. What I hadn’t fully considered was the flip side: a city built on quiet and orderly calm, plus a jet lagged 4-year-old who still learning to modulate her volume. I spent more time than I’d like to admit picturing her having a loud, public meltdown in Japan.

The first night is about damage control

We checked into our hotel in the early evening, with immediate relief. The room was dark enough that I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face once blackout curtains were pulled tight against a sky that hadn’t fully gone down yet. I set up her inflatable toddler bed, and we were both sound asleep by 8 p.m. local time.

I planned to keep us resting quietly in the dark until 5 a.m., even if we woke up early. But when she sat up fully alert before 4 a.m., I had already been up for well over an hour, so we moved to plan B.

We walked to the closest 7-Eleven to split an egg salad sandwich and explore the neighborhood before dawn. Japanese convenience store food has a cult following for good reason, and at 4:30 in the morning, it was the right mix of comforting and exciting. We ate it at Shiba Park nearby, dazed, watching a cluster of cosplay teens parade past in full costume. Then, we headed to the closest playground, which we were alone at except for a couple of stragglers that seemed to still be finishing their night from the nearby bar district. They kindly tossed their empty drink cans into recycling when they saw us approach and headed out.

It wasn’t until several hours later, once the hotel’s actual breakfast buffet opened, that the magic of dawn slipped away and reality kicked in. “MOM, CAN YOU GET ME SOME FRUIT?” she shouted, from clear across the room. I tried giving her my best mom big-eyes and gestured for her to quietly come closer to me, but she shouted it again, louder, standing up on her chair. A room full of quietly eating guests did not react, which somehow made it worse.

We got a kimono shoot with no one else around

Tourist Japan, the travel agency that planned our Tokyo itinerary, arranged our pick up at 7:45 a.m. for a kimono rental and professional photo shoot in Asakusa. The studio wasn’t supposed to open that early, but every morning slot had already been booked, so they’d arranged for it to open early just for us. After the buffet, I was grateful for it: we had the entire place to ourselves before any other guests arrived, no crowds and no audience if the morning went sideways again.

It didn’t. We spent close to two hours in Asakusa being photographed in front of temple gates while she held still, wrapped up like a present and loving every minute. Back at the hotel, we took a two-hour nap, then afternoon karaoke to lure my tired, K-pop-loving daughter out of her bed and back out into the day.

When in doubt, get ice cream

If day one is adrenaline, day two is when the bill comes due. We had a small-group Tourist Japan food tour through Tsukiji Market that morning, with an 8 a.m. pickup. I felt cautiously optimistic walking in, since she’d slept until 5 a.m. that morning, more than an hour later than the day before.

That optimism didn’t survive contact with the market. Tsukiji at full volume, crowds pressing in, dead fish laid out everywhere, was more than my 4-year-old could handle. She spent the first half hour hiding under my skirt, until our tour guide crouched down and asked if she liked ice cream. She emerged an eager, fully engaged tourist for the rest of the morning fueled by chocolate, vanilla, and Japanese strawberries.

Maybe it’s that she’s a born foodie, or maybe it’s how meals help regulate our internal clocks, but eating turned out to be the most reliable cure for her jet lag the entire trip. That evening, we’d booked dinner at NiNi, 38 floors up at 1 Hotel Tokyo with a panoramic view of the city, and it was the best meal of the trip. The restaurant brought out toys for her to play with at the table, and the wagyu hamburger steak off the kids’ menu was good enough that I had to stop myself after stealing just one bite.

Food didn’t, however, cure everything. Back at the hotel, someone else pressed the elevator “up” button before she could, and once the tears started, they didn’t quit. We were only a few floors from our room, and I have never been so relieved for a short ride.

She made me see Tokyo in a different way

One unexpected advantage of traveling with a jet-lagged preschooler is that you see parts of a destination that most tourists might miss.

Tokyo at sunrise feels entirely different from Tokyo at noon; it felt like getting a glimpse behind the curtain before the city officially opened. We lingered in small neighborhood parks. We spent time watching trains instead of rushing to the next attraction. We discovered quiet morning moments that weren’t listed in any guidebook.

The meltdowns I’d braced for did come, but they weren’t nearly as devastating as I had feared.

• I live in a rent-stabilized one-bedroom apartment in the West Village that’s about $2,000 a month.
• It’s small, with no built-in closets or a sink in the bathroom, and it is above noisy restaurants.
• This apartment is still a gem despite the drawbacks, though, and I don’t want to ever give it up.

My three-story walk-up apartment in the West Village has some dreamy qualities: original exposed brick walls, classic crown molding, and a claw-foot tub.

Perhaps best of all, it’s rent-stabilized, meaning annual rent increases are capped, and tenants retain the right to renew the lease each year.

Rent for the one-bedroom, 380-square-foot space is about $2,000 a month. It feels like a steal considering it’s rare to find even a studio apartment in this desirable neighborhood for under $3,000 a month.

I’ve been here most of my life, as this apartment is where I was raised with my dad and stepmother. When I tell people this, they often look at me with one eyebrow raised and ask, “How did you all fit in here?” to which I respond, “Tightly.”

Growing up having no personal space and sharing one tiny bathroom was challenging, to say the least. I still sleep in my childhood “bedroom,” which is really just part of the living room sectioned off by a curtain.

In high school, if I wanted to have my boyfriend over, I had to warn him that anything he said would be used against him, since my father was most definitely listening from his bedroom less than 5 feet away from mine.

Now that I’m in my 20s and my dad doesn’t plan to stay in the city forever, I’m hoping to take over the lease. The apartment is small with many quirks and drawbacks, but it’s basically a dream come true for any native New Yorker.

I can’t imagine giving up such a gem in the competitive, pricey market.

Living here has come with some challenges

When I was younger, I always felt so grateful to live in the West Village that I was ignorant of many of the apartment’s flaws, including its lack of built-in closets.

Quite literally, all the storage space I have had has come from Ikea dressers and wardrobes I built with my dad. Everything I own has to fit inside them, so I’ve learned to be extremely selective about what I keep in my life.

Still, the small space feels unnecessarily cluttered almost all the time.

Because of the apartment’s tight dimensions and strange layout, I have also become skilled at playing Tetris while furnishing and redecorating.

The bathroom is directly adjacent to the front door, with the kitchen counter jutting out and blocking a significant portion of the already tiny walkway into the apartment. If the bathroom door is even halfway open, no one can get into or out of the apartment.

This layout also means that trying to lug a massive couch, mattress, or chairs into the living room requires multiple shifts of the object to find the pesky angles of the entranceway.

Unfortunately, I’ve had to return a couch because, although it fit the dimensions of the apartment, it could not pass the bathroom-door-and-kitchen-countertop test.

The apartment’s location and amenities aren’t perfect, but the perks outweigh any drawbacks

As I open the curtains in the morning, I am greeted by a view of the walls of another apartment building and the trash. In the wintertime, sunlight is especially hard to come by in the space.

Speaking of winter — when it’s cold outside, the radiator makes more noise than a dramatic soprano warming up in her dressing room.

It hisses and clangs so aggressively that when someone new is over, they’ll ask if someone is breaking into the apartment. These sounds make it hard to fall asleep in the winter.

Also, the radiator is scorching hot to the touch. If I accidentally bump into it, I’m walking away with a minor welt on my leg. But hey, at least I have heat, right?

The lack of laundry in the building and the fact that the only sink is in the kitchen — there isn’t one in the bathroom — isn’t great, either.

For me, though, the true struggle is having two restaurants located under me on either side of the building. There’s constant chatter and the slamming of doors that lead from the back of the restaurants to the trash chutes.

On the bright side, it helps me never feel alone, which can be nice in a city that can feel isolating at times.

I also tend to put these qualms aside when I remember that I’m about a five-minute stroll from the Hudson River piers and a 10-minute walk to several subway lines. Plus, one of the apartments above me recently got rented for more than double my rent, over $4,000 a month.

I can’t imagine giving up the community and security of this place

In all honesty, though, I feel like I have Monica Geller’s “Friends” apartment, but much smaller. (I even live a few blocks away from the building that was used as the exterior shot for it on the show.)

It has quirks, but that makes it feel very New York. It’s also got history and character, as it hasn’t been renovated or touched by modern architects in a long time.

I may always complain about the noise from the restaurants below or about having to constantly get rid of things to declutter my tiny space, but I love my home and my neighbors.

I’m friends with the owner of the deli across the street, who used to hand me a breakfast sandwich and an orange juice every morning before school. (Later, I learned my dad had set up a weekly payment system with him.)

A family friend runs a liquor store nearby, and the restaurant under me used to be owned by my father. The new owner always invites me to have dinner for free.

I have security, I have community, and I have memories here.

My apartment is far from perfect, but that’s what makes it home. I wouldn’t trade my home for anything … even if I was offered a bigger place with a sink in the bathroom.

• My friend and I got a private room for two and brought a car on the Amtrak Auto Train for $1,586.
• The ride took just over 17 hours, the food was better than I expected, and I loved avoiding traffic.
• Although our bathroom was small and sleeping on a train was challenging, I’d totally do this again.

On a recent trip to Florida, I was excited to try out Amtrak’s Auto Train.

By choosing rail travel and paying a fee to bring my car on board, I’d be able to have my vehicle with me at my final destination — a benefit of driving without the stress of hitting the road.

My friend traveled with me, and we chose to bring one car and book a private bedroom for two. Our ride wasn’t cheap at $1,586 one-way.

However, when we looked at an alternative — flying down and renting a car for over a month once we landed — it turned out to be the cheaper option.

The only other option would be to drive the whole way. To me, the idea of spending a full 24 hours sitting in traffic on I-95 only made this train trip way more appealing.

Although I was skeptical about my Amtrak Auto Train ride — and it did have highs and lows — it ultimately felt like a good value.

Here’s how it went.

Luckily, the journey is nonstop.

Amtrak’s passenger-only trains typically make multiple stops, which can result in longer rides as people get on and off.

However, Amtrak currently has only one Auto Train route in the US, which operates nonstop between Lorton, Virginia (near Washington, DC) and Sanford, Florida (outside Orlando). The ride is just over 17 hours.

The limited stops meant this trip still required a few hours of driving for me, since I was traveling from farther north and heading farther south to the Keys.

Even so, I found it wonderful to spend most of my trip relaxing on the train and waking up close to our destination. Plus, I had the added comfort of knowing I wouldn’t miss my stop.

Each private room had its own attendant

We’d booked a private bedroom, which is a step up from a roomette and about double the size. According to the Amtrak website, these rooms are typically about 7.1 to 7.5 feet long and 6.6 to 6.8 feet wide.

It includes a single chair and a sofa (basically two wider chairs side by side) that transform into one of the two beds at night, plus a private bathroom.

Our room came with a personal attendant who helped us settle into our small space and brought us water upon arrival. We didn’t need much during the ride, but they were available to us if we did.

Since this was my first trip, I was a little confused about how we would pull down the beds, so I was relieved to learn that everything would be taken care of for us.

While we were in the dining car, our attendant transformed the seats into bunk beds. The next morning, while we were eating breakfast, he came in and rearranged the beds back into seating, giving us more room to move around and pack up.

It was nice not to worry about overpacking.

On the Auto Train, vehicles are restricted by size, not weight. This is great news for someone whose bag is always over the weight limit when I fly.

I was able to pack my car with everything I needed, basically using it like a suitcase.

Although I was also able to bring the essentials I’d need for the night on board with me, I learned that less is more. Since space in each room is limited, it’s best to bring only what you really need for the night.

This was especially important when the beds in the room were down, as it took away most of the floor space and made getting ready a bit of a challenge. It would’ve been even tougher if we’d been tripping over suitcases, too.

The food was better than I expected.

On this train, passengers in private rooms received complimentary meals.

I’ll admit I had quite low expectations for the food on a train, but I was pleasantly surprised. Our dinner menu consisted of four options: steak, chicken, salmon, or pasta. Each entrée came with a salad and a dessert.

Although the dining car was no Michelin-star restaurant, we found both the steak and the chicken to be pretty enjoyable. Also, to our surprise, we were each even served a complimentary glass of wine with dinner.

For breakfast, we were served coffee, tea, and juice alongside our meals. I had a spinach-artichoke quiche that was pretty good, though I wish the potatoes it was served with had been warmer.

The vibes of the dining car were pretty nice, too.

Although not as elegant as what I have seen depicted during the Golden Age of Rail Travel in the 1800s, the whole dining experience made me feel like I was in a black-and-white movie.

For dinner, tables in the dining car were covered in white tablecloths, set with rolled silverware, and adorned with vases of flowers.

At breakfast, the car was a bit simpler but still nice, with a banana placed at each seat and crumb cakes waiting on the table.

Everyone we encountered on the train was friendly.

Since space is limited, there are no private tables in the dining car. Passengers are seated with other parties to fill up the booths.

The age range of passengers varied from families with very young children playing peek-a-boo between courses to seniors toasting to another successful trip to young professionals in their 20s and 30s.

While waiting for their meals, everyone around us seemed to be discussing their travel plans with their tablemates. I found out that many passengers were regulars on the Auto Train who preferred it over other modes of transportation.

Laughter could be heard from nearly every table, and many groups of new friends were lingering so long after dessert that the waiters had to announce they could continue their conversation in another car, as they had to get ready for the next seating.

On the flip side, our bathroom was even tinier than I thought it’d be.

I wasn’t expecting a large bathroom in our tiny space, but it was even smaller than I thought it would be.

Its simple layout consisted of only a toilet with a showerhead above it. The toilet paper needed to be hidden behind a plastic flap to protect it from getting wet when the shower was turned on.

Toiletries, like body wash, were mounted on the wall, and two towels were stored at the top of the restroom area, way above the toilet.

We had a sink, too, but it was located outside the bathroom.

Showering was also a bit tricky.

I found there to be very little room to stand up and shower, as the toilet took up the majority of the space.

I saw a sign inside the bathroom recommending passengers sit to shower, to make the experience more comfortable. I can’t say whether that’s true, though, as I wasn’t ready to try for myself.

It was nice to have a bed, but sleeping on a train was pretty challenging.

The two beds in our room seemed designed to make the most of the space.

The upper bed was slightly smaller and had an attached safety net of sorts to keep people from rolling out of it. This made me uncomfortable as I wasn’t able to sit up.

The bottom bunk, however, was more spacious with room overhead, and it was much more pleasant to rest in.

Unfortunately, although I did get some sleep, I found myself tossing and turning all night long. My night wasn’t altogether unpleasant; I just couldn’t seem to get more than an hour’s worth of sleep at a time.

Some find that the gentle rocking of the train puts them right to sleep, but I am not one of those people.

Ultimately, the benefits of this ride outweigh any drawbacks for me.

Although I didn’t get much sleep on board, our overall experience in a private bedroom on the Auto Train was actually better than expected.

Our ride felt like solid value, especially since I was taking a longer trip and could avoid the cost of renting a car once we got to Florida, where I was staying for over a month.

The trip itself was just over 17 hours, but instead of sitting in traffic on the highway, we could spend time playing games, enjoying meals, watching downloaded movies on our laptops, and even getting some work done.

Unlike a road trip, we also didn’t have to stop to grab food, rest at a hotel, or use restrooms, which made this ride feel extra efficient.

As someone who tends to take longer trips and often needs a car at their destination, I would definitely take the Auto Train again. I’d also upgrade to a private room again, too, since I appreciated having a bed.

If you’re traveling for only a week, though, you’ll want to crunch the numbers. The cost of the Auto Train (and bringing your car on it) might not be worth it.

Business Insider reached out to Amtrak for comment.

• I spend hours each week coordinating my mother’s care.
• Daily calls, paperwork, and emergencies have become part of my routine.
• Caregiving has left little room to process my own grief.

When my mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease two-and-a-half years ago, it soon became apparent that she would need 24-hour care.

I work full-time and live in a small apartment with two kids, so caring for her myself or having her move in with me was not an option. Thankfully (after nine months and tons of red tape), I was able to get her into a Medicaid program and arrange full-time in-home care for her.

What I didn’t expect was that caring for her would still be a full-time job. Don’t get me wrong. I love my mother and want to help her. Her condition is heartbreaking, and I’m extremely grateful that she has people with her to manage her moment-by-moment care needs, like cooking, cleaning, grooming, medication reminders, and making sure she stays safe.

Still, I never expected how much work caregiving for an elderly parent would be, even if I’m not providing direct 24/7 care.

My mom is reliant on me

My mother is extremely reliant on me emotionally. She can still use her phone, so I get about 20 to 30 texts and about one to 10 phone calls from her daily.

Each time her aide gives her medication, she texts me to ask what it’s called. She asks me multiple times a day when I will see her next, even after I answer her. It’s endless repeated questions, confusion, and fears. I can’t respond to everything, but I have to respond sometimes, and it’s a constant interruption to my day.

I live five minutes away from her, so anytime she needs something, it falls on my husband or me. She can no longer shop or run errands and often needs help with this or that around her house. We are there multiple times a week helping her. She tends to lose things, break things, or cause other problems at home that require outside support. I also make it a practice to spend one afternoon a week with her just spending time together.

I’m always on the phone, figuring out paperwork

Then, there’s the health insurance paperwork and phone calls, doctor phone calls, calls with caregivers, calls with other family members, etc. Not a day goes by that I’m not on the phone with someone or an organization that helps provide her care.

I also take my mother to every doctor’s appointment she has, which can be quite frequent. I manage her medication, which includes renewals, pharmacy pick-ups, and filling her medication trays weekly for her aides. I also manage her finances and pay all bills.

On top of all this, there’s almost always some emergency each week. Last week, my mother locked two different doors in her apartment from the inside, making the rooms inaccessible, and we had to call an emergency handyman to get them opened. We then had to go out and buy new doorknobs and figure out how to temporarily disable the remaining doorknobs in her house so she wouldn’t lock them, too.

I’m on the phone with her aides, my other family members, and her doctors to discuss how to handle things.

I grieve for who my mom once was

The whole thing is just so much to manage, and so stressful, too. I spend many sleepless nights wondering how I’m going to do all the things I need to do for her, and how I can possibly do it all for the next few years, as she continues to live with her condition. She is in her late 70s, so it may still be another few years before she lives with this condition. Alzheimer’s is progressive and incurable, and while the caregiving tasks will evolve, they will continue to be here for the rest of her life.

While I grieve for my mother and what her life has become, sometimes I feel like I have little time to feel sadness. The kind of care I provide for her is so relentless and so stressful that there is almost no time for me to even consider my own feelings about what’s happening to her. When do I get to say goodbye if I’m knee-deep in the daily tasks that are necessary to keep her safe, all while she deteriorates before my eyes?

I know that one day I’ll look back at this time and remember all the little moments we had together — the way I held her hand as we took a walk through her neighborhood, the contented sighs from her on the other end of the phone while I reassured her again that I would see her soon. I know she would appreciate all the tasks I do for her if she understood what was going on around her. I know that each thing I do is an act of love.

But I am drowning in these caregiving tasks, and sometimes wonder how I’m going to make it through the next bunch of years with my mental health intact.

• Sam Altman suggested a new use case for ChatGPT that wasn’t well-received.
• Altman said parents could make a podcast about their kids’ day to listen to on the drive to school.
• Some online commenters offered other suggestions, like “what if you just talked to your children?”

Sam Altman’s concept of “cool” seems to differ from the majority.

In his X profile, he says, for instance, that “AI is cool i guess,” a statement with which many would likely disagree. He also fails to capitalize “i,” which some think is cool, but not all.

And when the OpenAI CEO shared what he called a “cool use case” for ChatGPT on X this week, the reception was not cool. It was cold.

“connect your family calendars and explain your kids’ interests,” he wrote, in lowercase, adding that it was not his own idea but one he heard. “every morning for the drive to school, have it make a podcast that talks about one kid’s soccer game that afternoon, one kid’s upcoming birthday, some news, etc.”

The idea reflects a broader movement to use AI to ease the burdens of parenting — one that Altman has been promoting for close to a year now. Altman, who welcomed a son with his husband, Oliver Mulherin, in 2025, has said ChatGPT was indispensable during his first months as a father.

For many, however, the idea of inserting AI into every moment of every day, and especially in those spent with children, didn’t go over all that well.

“What if you just talked to your children,” Alex Hirsch, an animator who created the Disney kids show “Gravity Falls,” wrote in response to Altman’s suggestion, which got 10 times the number of likes.

Hundreds of X users piled on. Another user said, “using AI in place of real human connection is the worst possible use case for it.”

That’s a view OpenAI President Greg Brockman might be coming around to, too. In his own eyebrow-raising X post on Saturday, he said that his employees don’t like it when ChatGPT asks them for things, even if they’d be “perfectly happy doing the same work” if a coworker asked.

“reinforces how much people care about human relationships and helping each other, and want AI to give time back — or enhance time together — rather than become a layer separating people,” he wrote, in lowercase.

For parents who advocate using AI to help them parent, more time is exactly what they say they need. Hally Peck, a mother of two, told Business Insider that she uses an AI agent to manage work calendars, school schedules, activities, birthdays, and childcare logistics.

“I have two kids, and my husband also works full-time,” she said. “We’re both in very demanding jobs, which means time is our most critical resource.”

Altman told Jimmy Fallon that he couldn’t imagine “figuring out how to raise a newborn without ChatGPT,” which he said he used for questions about developmental milestones and everyday childcare.

He has also said his children will grow up “vastly more capable” because they will learn to use AI, even though they will “never be smarter than AI.”

Alexandr Wang, the 29-year-old Meta AI executive and Scale AI founder, has shared an even more extreme vision of AI parenting. He’s said he may wait to have children until brain-computer interfaces such as Neuralink become sufficiently advanced. He said he believes that children’s neuroplasticity allows them to adapt to technology early and will eventually think alongside superintelligent systems.