Every day on this site I come across someone who is indignant that others are going about their lives rather than maintaining a rigorous schedule of testing, social distancing, and masking. I always want to ask: what the hell did you think the endgame of this virus was?
Did you really think that people were going to keep masking at work and school *forever*? Test every time they go out in public, *forever*? Quarantine every time they have a casual exposure, *for the rest of their lives*?
And if not, when do you think it is going to end? When everyone's vaccinated? Because that's not happening. When covid stops circulating? Because unfortunately, we failed to contain it, and it's now endemic.
I'm not even arguing about the merits of forever NPTs and mass testing regimes. I'm just amazed that anyone ever thought that this was going to become the new normal.
I think there are things we will keep doing in response to covid. Air purifiers. Masks when you're sick (and for god's sake stay home!) But it was never going to be possible to keep folks masked at work or school forever, or limit social contacts to a few close friends.
You should not be on Twitter, waxing indignant to well-boosted people who have resumed their normal lives. You should be doing some deep soul searching about how you so fundamentally misunderstood what was possible for public health to achieve.
I was a hardcore lockdown advocate before vaccines. But now we have vaccines, and whether or not you think it's reasonable to ask folks to continue the precautions of Peak Pandemic for the sake of those who cannot or will not vaccinate, it was never going to happen.
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I use AI to do research (i.e., find things to read, explain parts of academic papers I find ambiguous or confusing), transcribe interviews, generate pushback on my column thesis, suggest trims when I'm over my word count, sharpen podcast interview questions, and perform a final fact check on columns and editorials. But mostly it's compressing the ancillary tasks to the main job: reading, thinking, and writing.
It's also useful for formatting my stream-of-consciousness list of podcast questions into a usable script, suggesting podcast guests, and generating lists of potentially interesting stories for me to check out for columns or editorials.
Things I don't do with it: go into a chat with an AI without my thesis already strongly developed, have it outline or write, accept anything the AI says. ("Please provide linked sources" should be in every prompt).
Time walks without footsteps.
No sound, yet every clock bends to it.
It slips through the ribs of morning,
collects sunlight in quiet pockets,
and spends it slowly on the evening sky.
We try to measure it—
in calendars,
in wrinkles,
in the cooling of coffee left on a table—
but time is never really caught.
It is a river that refuses a map.
A child releases a laugh into the air;
years later the echo becomes memory.
A tree lifts its branches through decades
as if asking the sky a question
only time can answer.
Sometimes it feels cruel—
a thief of voices,
a dissolver of moments we begged to stay.
But sometimes it is gentle, too:
it sands the sharp edges of grief,
turns wounds into stories,
and stories into quiet wisdom.
And somewhere, in the turning of a planet
no one hears the hinge of,
time keeps opening the same door—
moment
after moment
after moment.
Claude:
Time is the river no one sees until they're standing wet to the knees, wondering how they crossed the shore and why they can't go back for more.
It pools in photographs and rings of ancient trees and wedding rings, in the slow forgetting of a voice, the way loss never felt like choice.
We try to hold it—fill our palms— watch evening turn to quiet psalms, as something slips through every seam the way that waking swallows dream.
Yet here it is: this breath, this now, the light that falls across your brow. Not caught. Not kept. But briefly, bright— a match struck once against the night.
Journalism will lose the war on AI because it will hit us from all sides: some writers will make unauthorized use that's hard to prove, some outlets will use it, undercutting everyone else's margins. It won't stop unless readers decide to care, and I suspect most won't
I suspect I will get replies saying "I care" and yes, I do too, because I like good writing better than midwit AI takes. But the taste for well-crafted prose is a very minority taste, and if you are tempted to argue, I point you to 50 Shades of Gray. Case closed.
Highly verbal people who make their living with words have great difficulty modeling the minds of readers whose idea of a good book is self-help, a phoned-in celebrity biography, or a James Patterson novel, but those folks outnumber us by a lot.
I don't think our duty is too ignore it; our duty is to figure out the response that maximizes the future health of our society, while taking into account that Trump's character flaws and intense partisan polarization make the best solution--moral shaming--completely ineffective
Robert Nozick coined a great neologism, "Normative Sociology: The study of what the causes of things *should be*". It's counterpart is normative policymaking: the study of what solutions *ought to work*. A lot of reactions to Trump fall into that basket.
For shaming to work, you have to share a moral community with someone--loosely defined as "the people who could effectively shame *you* out of doing something, at least under some circumstances". Left and right no longer share that moral community.
This article is the worst argument I have read against driverless cars, and I've read a few. Unfortunately, I think this what's running through the minds of a lot of city planners: let's stall the development of an incredible lifesaving technology to bail out transit.
Why is this a bad argument? Well, for starters, Waymos mostly don't substitute for busses. They substitute for Ubers, taxis and personal driving. The capital requirements for these things are huge and will never be as cheap as cramming dozens of people into one vehicle.
Number two, as a political argument, this moral exhortation fails as a political strategy. No one is going to ride the bus because poor people can't afford Waymos. Nor will they ignore the tradeoffs between busses (waits outside, transfers, having to walk at both ends) because you tell them to.
My latest column is on the WBD merger drama, and why anyone wants to buy this company. My commenters are extremely mad that I focused on strategy and market economics rather than the specter of David Ellison controlling CNN. So here's why I didn't write about it.
I don't think the possibility of David Ellison owning CNN is even among the top 10 most interesting questions about this merger. It might not even break the top 20. It is a sideshow that has been blown up into the main story by a self-obsessed media.
Why doesn't it matter? Because I regret to inform you that it is no longer 1995. I am not a lithe and energetic 22 year old enjoying a rich and varied nightlife. And the mainstream media does not enjoy one tenth of the agenda-setting power it had back in those golden days.