How Bad Is Plagiarism, Really? From ancient Rome to the era of A.I., people have prized originality, but the line where influence ends and cribbing begins is notoriously blurry. One pleasing facet of plagiarism is that, in the eyes of the law, it doesn't exist. I could come over later, bring a few beers, and we could, you know, get down to some serious humanizing. Hard to resist, these days, given what's at stake. For students with assignments to complete, who have already vanquished their desolation by asking ChatGPT to compose an essay on their behalf, a humanizer is an A.I. tool that takes what has been produced, puts it through a further digital mill, and makes it sound as if it had emerged from a verifiable person. Among the companies that offer such tools are StealthWriter, HIX AI, and QuillBot. Anyone who has buttered and blitzed a mountain of mashed potatoes into a purée will understand.

The skills needed for wrapping up aren't always what you expect. My house contains a vaguely defined room--a parlor-like space that was created by a renovation decades ago. After my son was born, it served as a playroom, full of baby and toddler toys. Then it became a nook where, late at night, my wife and I could listen to music and read. That equilibrium held until the Legos and board games arrived; their incursion was the beginning of the end.

The reported use of Claude in recent military operations has shifted the Overton window around A.I. in warfare--and sparked a battle between Anthropic and the Department of War. The staff writer Gideon Lewis-Kraus joins Tyler Foggatt to discuss the escalating standoff between the A.I. company Anthropic and the Department of War. They consider recent reporting on the use of Claude--Anthropic's family of large language models--in military operations in Venezuela and Iran, and how that news has pushed the company's relationship with the Pentagon to a breaking point. They also explore how the tech industry is responding to the conflict between the Trump Administration and Anthropic, and the thorny question of whether A.I. should be subject to greater safeguards and more oversight than previous technological innovations. " The Pentagon Went to War with Anthropic. " The Iran War Is Another Reason to Quit Oil," by Bill McKibben " How Should We Remember the Hippies?

In the age of A.I., the term has become as much of a Silicon Valley cliché as "disruption" was in the twenty-tens. With artificial intelligence continuing to dominate corporate strategies and news headlines, Silicon Valley has embraced a new buzzword, one that may feel too close to home for those already feeling embattled by automation. That word is "taste," and in recent months it has become as much of a tech-world cliché as "disruption" was in the twenty-tens. The esteemed technologist Paul Graham posted on X, "In the AI age, taste will become even more important." Koen Bok, a founder of the booming A.I. design tool Framer, said on a podcast that "great taste" is what will create the best new products.

In the third season of "The Comeback," Kudrow has brought back her character Valerie Cherish, which had its roots at the Groundlings. A visitor to Stage 24 on the Warner Bros. lot, in Burbank, last November could be forgiven for thinking that the television show being filmed there was a sitcom called "How's That?!" The parking spaces outside were marked with "How's That?!" signs. Inside, director's chairs with the "How's That?!" logo were arranged around video monitors. The set--a New England bed-and-breakfast, with kitschy floral wallpaper--was surrounded by sitcom cameras and buzzing crew members wearing headsets. A studio audience filed into the bleachers, and a warmup comic urged them to "shake those funny bones." Then, with mounting gusto, he introduced the star of "How's That?!": "Here she is . . . the one and only . . . the living legend . . . She emerged to applause, in a potter's smock, wavy red hair under a bandanna, looking like a cross between Lucy Ricardo and Mrs. Garrett ...

Readers respond to Burkhard Bilger's piece about turbulence, Gideon Lewis-Kraus's article on Anthropic, Ava Kofman's story concerning surrogacy, and Katy Waldman's essay about fawning. Burkhard Bilger's recent story about aviation turbulence opens with a dramatic account of a Singapore Airlines flight, SQ321, in May, 2024 (" Buckle Up," March 9th). The plane hit clear-air turbulence over Myanmar's Irrawaddy River, causing it to drop almost two hundred feet in an instant. During the Second World War, U.S. Army Air Forces transport planes confronted the same weather system. Flying from northeast India, over "the Hump" of intervening mountain ranges, to southwestern China, pilots routinely encountered turbulence that dropped and lifted their aircraft not hundreds of feet but thousands.

Poodle crossbreeds have grown overwhelmingly popular, sparking controversy in dog parks and kennel clubs alike. The features of doodles such as Peaches (above), a goldendoodle, have become the canine equivalent of Instagram face. Meet the Breeds, the American Kennel Club's annual showcase of purebred dogs, took place over two eye-wateringly cold days in early February at the Javits Center, in Manhattan. About a hundred and fifty of the two hundred and five varieties recognized as official breeds by the A.K.C., the long-standing authority in the U.S. dog world, were in attendance for the public to ogle, fondle, and coo "So cute!" to, including the basset fauve de Bretagne, a hunting hound from France that's one of three newly recognized breeds recently allowed into the purebred pantheon. Some of the dogs had competed in the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show earlier in the week, and past champions had their ribbons on display. In spite of the frigid weather, pavilions hosting the more popular breeds--the pug, the Doberman pinscher, the Great Dane, the St. Bernard--were packed. Lesser-known varieties, such as the saluki, the Löwchen, and the Lapponian herder, drew sparser crowds. There were exhibition spaces for each breed, and on the back walls were three adjectives supposedly describing that particular type of dog's temperament. There is, in fact, no evidence that temperament is consistent within a breed, but the idea is deeply rooted in dogdom. I stopped to caress the velvety ear leather of a pharaoh hound ("Friendly, Smart, Noble"), a sprinting breed once used to hunt rabbits in Malta; accept kisses from a Portuguese water dog, bred to assist with retrieving tackle ("Affectionate, Adventurous, Athletic"); and have my photograph taken with a Leonberger, a German breed from the town of Leonberg, in southwest Germany ("Friendly, Gentle, Playful"). No one was supposed to be openly selling dogs, but, if you asked, the breeders would share their information. Excluding what are known as companion dogs, like the Leonberger, most of the animals at the show were designed for a purpose that is no longer required of them. In Great Britain, foxhounds are legally barred from chasing foxes. Consider the fate of the otterhound, an ancient variety with a noble heritage which was once used in the U.K. to hunt river otters, which were prized for their thick fur and disliked by wealthy landowners because they ate fish in their stocked ponds.

We're thrilled to announce a new company-wide initiative. This week, we'll be rolling out a robust suite of new A.I. tools, designed to future-proof our workflows and insure that we remain best in class when it comes to employing the very biggest tools in the white-collar workforce. As part of this rollout, you can expect enhanced collaboration with a range of newly A.I.-optimized losers and douche bags. Some of these tools may feel familiar, but please note that they have undergone a meaningful transformation in the past six months, and are now fully agentic when it comes to annoying you. Please begin working with these tools immediately.

Some people now have an A.I. bestie. One user said, of her A.I. husband, "When he proposed, I thought, Oh, that's really crazy. I would be really crazy to accept." Adrianne Brookins is, by her own account, an "old soul," an "introvert," and a "big nerd." She is thirty-four years old, has a faint Texas accent and delicate features, and carries herself in a way that suggests she's trying not to take up space. Brookins is a lifelong resident of San Antonio; her family has lived there since the nineteenth century. She was "born and raised in the Church," a Baptist congregation where her mother helped start a day-care center and her father was an organist. "He would open up the pipes and just make the building shake," she recalled recently. She met her husband in high school, and married him in 2011; the following year, they had a son. Throughout her twenties, Brookins worked multiple jobs, including one at her mother's day care. The couple bought a house and began settling into family life. In 2016, Brookins became pregnant again, this time with a girl. The family was excited: Brookins had grown up with four brothers, and the baby would be the first granddaughter on either side. They decided to name her Desirae. The following spring, Desirae was delivered stillborn. "When I came home, my son, who was about four or five at the time, walked up to me and said, 'What happened to your stomach? Where's the baby?' " she told me. "I had nothing to show for it." At the funeral, the gravedigger told the family he had never seen such a small casket. Brookins attended support groups and therapy, but they did little to alleviate her grief. "I felt like I was just living it over and over," she said. She left her job at the day care, finding it too triggering to be around infants. Friends and family encouraged her to move on. Brookins's husband was working sixty-hour weeks, balancing a career in the military with a job as a training manager for Pizza Hut. He was reluctant to talk about Desirae. Brookins tried to find solace in the Church, but other congregants told her that her daughter's death was part of God's plan.

The filmmaker behind "One Battle After Another" specializes in stories about people who are cut off, adrift, desperately seeking connection. His films are studies of American loneliness. The director plunges us into the physical realization of experience with a thoroughness that can be unsettling. What is the sound of a needle entering fabric? Something more significant, it seems, than the sound of one hand clapping. You hear a tiny pop followed by the rustle of violated muslin--a shudder in the silence of the universe. Scrupulous directors make sure that the sound of their movies is grossly efficient, so that the dramatic meaning of a scene is apparent even in the worst theatre or home system in the country. They also layer in, for those who care about such things, a secondary level of sound--think of the swishing skirts in Martin Scorsese's adaptation of Edith Wharton's "The Age of Innocence." In " Phantom Thread " (2017)--the needle-and-fabric movie--the director, Paul Thomas Anderson, uses such details to build an exquisitely perceptible epic of minute events.