A lesbian bar in Greenfield eased its stringent mask mandate, a decision that has splintered the queer community in the city and beyond. https://t.co/FuaTxqqjso
🚨 NEW AD 📺
Rob Sand is trying to buy the Governor's race with $13 million from the people who make the nitrate fertilizer polluting Iowa's water.
What do they expect in return? 🤔
Reading through the notice of claim filed by the Kirk family against UVU that details one lapse of security after the next has been one of the hardest parts of the last few days. Campus events can be, and are, mostly very safe, but campus PD just has to do the basics.
TPUSA texted, “Hello Chief Long – we received this message today from the student group…. ‘there is student roof access pretty close to where [Charlie Kirk] will be set up at Utah Valley.’” The TPUSA official had even added “it would be nice to either have it controlled access or allow one of my guys to be there as well. If Possible.” Chief Long replied “I got you covered.”
The rooftop was a well known hangout for local students. Beer bottles and other garbage was often spotted up there — they knew this vulnerability well. This was also just over a year post Butler, so this should’ve been top of mind. But that wasn’t the only failure.
Only six campus PD officers were on site that day. There was no security briefing before the event. There was no written plan. Charlie’s security was larger than the campus police.
No drones were deployed or available by UVU campus PD, and TPUSA was not authorized to run their own. Nearby Orem PD has a sophisticated drone program but were never called to assist.
CCTV cameras on campus were not monitored in realtime.
Chief Long requested additional resources, but the request was not granted by the university president.
Only UVU had legal authority to secure, surveil, block, and manage access on campus. Charlie’s security could only maintain safety inside his “bubble” a space of 20-30 feet around him.
Charlie deserved the best, and he didn’t get it. But nothing novel or extraordinary was required to keep CK and the crowd safe. The basics were not even close to being covered.
🚨 1/ Watch this AI Doomer trailer. Then read the timeline.
Netflix drops “The AI Apocaloptimist Doc” tomorrow — Sept 15 — to 260+ million subscribers.
This film took 3 years to make. It premieres 12 days after Sanders–Casar, 7 days after the Anthropic “whistleblower,” 3 days after Amodei’s “Pace the Frontier.”
That’s not a coincidence. That’s a launch. 🧵👇
H/t @TheRoyalGrift for the scoop.
The frontier of artificial intelligence is advancing at an alarming speed. Over the weekend, industry leaders voiced support for an idea that the American people and many AI researchers in their own labs have been calling for: We must responsibly slow the pace of frontier AI development.
A slowdown is critical in order to ensure AI serves the public interest. Pacing AI development does not mean giving up on this technology’s potential to produce life-saving benefits in fields like medicine — some of which we are already seeing. Rather, it is about setting up sensible guardrails so that AI does not completely escape human control and endanger our safety and collective future.
This moment demands the leadership of the United States government. Congress must work at an urgent pace to pass new laws and establish a new federal entity to provide oversight and independent testing for this technology, to ensure accountability, and to protect our wellbeing.
We need cooperation at an international level as well. The United States must continue to lead the world in developing AI technology even as we seek to impose common-sense safety standards. This means that the president must do his job to protect America’s interests by pursuing a treaty with countries like China to stop dangerous uses of AI, limit the speed of its development, and adopt global standards for testing.
In high school, I flirted with atheism and read the Transcendentalists. Finding them feckless, I moved on to Nietzsche, he of the big push-broom mustache. Initially, his ideas excited my young mind.
While I never found Nietzsche wholly convincing—even then I thought him a madman—he did force me to think through the ramifications of a world without God. This was unquestionably darker. It was transcendentalism stripped of all the poetic nonsense even if Nietzsche did strive to be a poet. Nietzsche’s famous declaration, “God is dead!” was not shouted enthusiastically. It was depressed, agonized. Nietzsche, who was, as Princeton (atheist) bioethicist Peter Singer once told me, “a bad philosopher,” nevertheless understood that without God there was no ultimate meaning in life.
I concluded that even Nietzsche needed meaning and had found it in an annoying habit of telling other people there was no meaning. This was where I parted ways with the dead maniac. Youth will tolerate a great many things, but a traitor isn’t one of them. They expect their teachers to be as sincere in their beliefs as they are. And on this point, Nietzsche was, I felt, intellectually dishonest. If life had no meaning, and he was absolutely clear that it had none, to artificially create it was no better than what he believed churchmen had done in inventing the Christian religion. I was done with Nietzsche. No, for me there could be only one honest response to meaninglessness:
Death.
This was the 80s, and all of this was going on in my secret thought life while there was a series of highly publicized youth suicides. Head-banger rock, which has a philosophy of its own, was often deemed to be a contributing factor. Kids, it was said, had listened to their disturbing albums in reverse or under black lights or while smoking giant doobies and then decided to put an end to themselves. I privately wondered if they had, like me, discovered the Great Hypocrisy beneath it all. Life is meaningless. We’re all chumps—or chimps. For the first time, I understood the appeal of suicide.
This was starting to have real practical effects in my life. I began to check out of school mentally. I skipped class. I decided I would drop out when old enough to do so. My rebellion took the form of an opt-out. I won’t be a cog in your machine! I clearly recall approaching my science teacher’s desk and the words that I spoke to him after a biology presentation:
“So, let me get this straight. The purpose of life is: we are born, we spend the first twenty years or so of our lives getting an education; we then get a job and, for the next forty years or so, we accumulate wealth; then we retire and live off of that wealth and coast into the grave. The idea is to get from A, birth, to B, death, as comfortably as possible, right?”
He stared at me blankly for a moment and then said: “Sit down, smart ass.”
I’m sure it came across as a bit presumptuous to him for this 14-year-old, seemingly out of nowhere, to put such a question to him. He was a football coach who was assigned a class and a subject he clearly hated, and here I was asking the meaning of life. But there wasn’t a hint of sarcasm in my question. I was guileless and not as yet jaded by life. I wanted an answer, and the question had unsettled him. Perhaps he had never thought of it, or didn’t want to, scared of what he would find. Most people play Whac-a-Mole with these questions. But I had decided that the trajectory of my life would be determined by the answers.
But for the intervention of a mentor who took my questions seriously and introduced me to the writings of Francis Schaeffer at the tender age of 15, I might have become a hedonist, a wastrel, a terrorist, or another suicide statistic. Who knows? I had been given the requisite skills to be any of the above.
I found Truth and true meaning in the Person of Jesus Christ.