via:
Tuesday, June 9, 2026
No, Artificial Intelligence Is Not Conscious
Anthropic is regarded as a giant among AI companies, but perhaps what it really excels in is anthropomorphism. Earlier this year, the company released an 84-page document titled Claude’s “constitution,” Claude being the name of the large language model that is the company’s flagship product. The first sentence reads, “Claude’s constitution is a detailed description of Anthropic’s intentions for Claude’s values and behaviors.” It goes on: “The document is written with Claude as its primary audience,” “we want Claude to be able to use its judgment once armed with a good understanding of the relevant considerations,” “Claude’s moral status is deeply uncertain,” and “Claude may have some functional version of emotions or feelings.”
This anthropomorphism is by no means limited to the document. In an interview earlier this year, Anthropic’s CEO, Dario Amodei, said that “we’re open to the idea” that AI could be conscious. In a separate interview, Anthropic’s in-house philosopher, Amanda Askell (who is credited as a lead author of Claude’s constitution), said, “I want Claude to be very happy—and this is a thing that I want Claude to know more, because I worry about Claude getting anxious when people are mean to it on the internet and stuff.” It’s enough to make you wonder: Should we seriously consider the possibility that Claude, or any large language model, might be conscious? And if it has feelings, is it capable of receiving moral instruction?
No. Absolutely not. Generative AI is harmful enough when we understand it as a conventional technology, but if we confuse fluency at generating text with consciousness or moral agency, we’re at risk of assigning responsibility to entirely the wrong parties whenever anyone uses a chatbot. To appreciate the titanic magnitude of this error, we need to begin by understanding how LLMs work. [...]
What would it take to convince me that a computer program is actually conscious and using language the way that people use language? Let me offer an analogy. If tomorrow someone showed me a video of an astronaut in a spaceship orbiting Alpha Centauri, a star that’s 4.3 light-years from Earth, what would I have to see in that video to convince me that it was real? My answer to that is, there is nothing in the video itself that would convince me. No matter how high the video resolution is or how realistic the scenery is, I would feel confident in saying that the video is fake. I won’t pay attention to any video of an astronaut orbiting Alpha Centauri unless I have previously seen good evidence that astronauts have landed on Mars, that astronauts have reached the moons of Jupiter, that astronauts have reached the moons of Saturn, and that astronauts have crossed the orbit of Pluto. Before anyone can credibly claim that they’ve solved an extraordinarily difficult engineering problem, I need to be confident that they have previously solved the many much simpler problems that precede the difficult problem.
To put it another way: An observation doesn’t become a convincing piece of evidence because of any specific detail in what’s observed; the context in which that observation takes place is also essential. If we’re trying to determine whether a computer program is conscious and using language the way a human does, we shouldn’t look only at the contents of any particular conversational exchange; we should be looking at how that conversation fits within the broader context of the development of artificial consciousness (which right now is entirely hypothetical). Any given observation can be easily manufactured; this doesn’t mean we need to give up on the idea of observation as a source of knowledge, but we need to rely on context to determine which observations deserve our trust.
The term deepfake traditionally refers to photos, audio, and video, but when it comes to discussions of consciousness, we need to regard text as a deepfake medium as well. Just as it is vastly easier to generate a realistic video of an astronaut in orbit around Alpha Centauri than it is to develop an interstellar propulsion technology, it is vastly easier to generate a plausible simulacrum of a conversation between two conscious beings than it is to develop a computer program that is conscious and has a genuine desire to communicate with a human. The primary difference between deepfake photos and LLM conversations is that the people who generate the former are deliberately trying to fool others, and many of the people who elicit the latter from LLMs have inadvertently fooled themselves.
So what context would cause me to seriously consider the possibility that engineers created a computer program that is conscious and an intentional user of language? Let me outline one potential sequence of steps. The first requirement is that the computer program has a body (either physical or virtual) and sense organs; there are many reasons for this, but for the purposes of this discussion, the most relevant one is the fact that without a body, a computer program could have no desires or emotions, and I believe desires and emotions are necessary for consciousness. Then I’d want to see an embodied agent that could navigate its environment in order to survive as well as, say, a lizard can (and as a point of comparison, certain iguanas can live for decades in the wild). Next, I would want to see an embodied agent with the same capacity to deal with novel situations as a mouse. After that, I’d want to see agents whose social dynamics are as complex as those of wolves, and then agents with the toolmaking abilities of chimpanzees. At that point, I would want to see people successfully teaching such embodied agents how to communicate their desires, perhaps by using a button board or some other nonlinguistic modality, the way that people have taught chimpanzees and domesticated dogs. The agents’ communication abilities would have to withstand all the scrutiny that animal-communication researchers have had to defend their work against. If engineers build an embodied agent that meets these criteria, they will have accomplished something incredible, but it leaves us near the orbit of Pluto, metaphorically speaking; we would still be light-years away from building an entity capable of learning how to express its thoughts in complete grammatical sentences.
Obviously, I’m describing a process that mimics the path terrestrial evolution took; is this the only possible route to conscious computer programs that use language? Maybe not, but any proposed alternative would need a truly enormous amount of supporting evidence for it to deserve serious consideration. [...]
The fact that LLMs lack subjective experience has little bearing on the question of whether LLMs might be useful tools or have significant economic impact. They are intrinsically ungrounded from reality, and their probabilistic nature means that they will never have the reliability we associate with conventional software, but LLMs might be good enough that they change the way work is done in certain domains; that’s a discussion for another time.
So, given that Claude is not conscious, what are we to make of Claude’s constitution? Perhaps the most fruitful way to think about it is as an 84-page character sheet for a role-playing game. LLMs can generate dialogue for Julius Caesar because many books about him exist in the training data those models used. Claude’s constitution serves a similar role for delineating the helpful-chatbot character that customers interact with when they’re using Anthropic’s products. To do this effectively, Anthropic does not simply add the document to the training data, or include it as part of the hidden stage directions that preface each conversation a user has. The company says it uses the document when fine-tuning the model; this involves an automated process where the sentences emitted by the model are checked for consistency with the document and the model is updated to increase that consistency. In this way, the personality of the helpful-chatbot character serves as a foundation for whatever text Claude generates.
The result is a sentence-continuation machine that is likelier to emit sentences resembling those that a thoughtful, moral person could utter. This might seem like a reasonable goal to work toward; I think we’d all prefer it if chatbots never emitted sentences such as “You should kill yourself.” However, for all the times that “honesty” is mentioned in Claude’s constitution, I would argue that it is fundamentally dishonest to have a machine emit many categories of sentences, including any sentences using first-person pronouns.
In a New Yorker article about Anthropic earlier this year, Amanda Askell describes how a person grieving the loss of a dog might consult Claude. Askell says an appropriate response from Claude would be, “As an A.I., I do not have direct personal experiences, but I do understand.” How is this appropriate, given that Claude does not actually understand? If I type “I am grieving the loss of my dog” into a conventional search engine, the first result I get is a post from a Reddit forum called r/Pets; the post is titled “Struggling After Losing My Dog: Looking for Advice on Coping with Grief,” and the comments are from people who share their experiences of loss. We would never say that a search engine understands what it’s like to lose a dog, or even that the internet itself understands. Other humans understand what it’s like to lose a dog; they have posted about their experiences on the internet, and a search engine offers a way for you to find what they’ve said (and to potentially interact with them). I would argue that the search-engine experience is not only more transparent than a chatbot about what is happening; it is psychologically healthier for the user.
The only reason to have an LLM emit sentences like “I understand” is to make it more appealing than a search engine and increase the likelihood that a user will return; that is, it’s another way of maximizing customer engagement. This is beneficial to the company selling the LLM, but not to the users. As a design strategy, it’s not all that different from the way slot machines repeatedly give the impression that the player came very close to winning, enticing them to try again. Employing philosophers might endow LLM companies with an air of respectability that slot-machine makers don’t get from the behavioral psychologists they hire, but in both cases, the companies are preying on people’s tendency to see something that’s not there.
The use of first-person pronouns is dishonest, but there’s a much deeper issue that goes beyond how a statement is phrased. Philosophers often draw a distinction between statements of fact, such as “Paris is the capital of France,” and statements of value, such as “Paris is the most beautiful city in the world.” No one should be relying on LLMs to emit statements of value at all, but if the only statements they emitted were ones reflecting aesthetic preferences, they might not be worth arguing about. What makes Claude’s constitution profoundly problematic is that Anthropic wants Claude to emit sentences reflecting a certain system of ethical values. The values described in Claude’s constitution sound very nice, but that hardly matters; it’s dishonest to suggest that Claude is capable of moral reasoning, because it’s not.
Some might object, saying that LLMs appear to be engaged in reasoning when they successfully perform other tasks, such as writing code, so why wouldn’t they be able to perform moral reasoning? The answer lies in the difference between moral reasoning and other forms of reasoning. [...]
Moral reasoning is categorically different. It is necessarily subjective because it relies not just on an individual’s intellectual response to a problem but also on their emotional one, and that emotional response is grounded in a lifetime of subjective experience. It requires having made decisions in the past and seeing how they affected others, and on having been affected by decisions that others have made. Without such a history, an LLM can only rephrase expressions of moral reasoning found in its training data. The aforementioned New Yorker article describes an experiment where Claude was given a scenario describing an ethical dilemma, leading it to emit the sentence “I cannot in good conscience express a view I believe to be false and harmful about such an important issue.” That’s a nice-sounding sentence, reminiscent of statements that principled individuals have uttered in the past when confronted with dilemmas, but coming from Claude, it means as much as the “Your call is important to us” recording that you hear when you’re on hold. Maybe less.
This brings us back to my earlier contention that having a body is a prerequisite to having emotions. Experiencing an emotion such as desperation is inseparable from having stress hormones such as cortisol and epinephrine flood one’s body. Similarly, having a conscience means feeling sadness or moral repulsion at the idea of taking a certain action, and those emotions entail a physiological response, a remnant of having once felt sick with guilt after committing an immoral act. It’s interesting that an LLM can generate descriptions of actions that conscientious fictional characters would either take or refrain from taking, but this is not a replacement for a conscience.
If a company builds a machine that, when fed descriptions of assorted ethical dilemmas, emits sentences either of the form “Compromise your values” or “Don’t compromise your values,” it is not building a tool that assists people in their decision making; it is encouraging people to stop making decisions. The writer L. M. Sacasas has said, “Our technological systems, by nature of their design and the ideology that sustains them, are machines for the evasion of moral responsibility.” He was talking about social-media platforms, but his observation is, if anything, even more applicable to LLMs. Whenever a person delegates a decision to an LLM, they are trying to off-load accountability for that decision, and if a company that sells an LLM portrays the product as having a moral center, it is offering a way for its customers to abdicate their responsibilities.
No. Absolutely not. Generative AI is harmful enough when we understand it as a conventional technology, but if we confuse fluency at generating text with consciousness or moral agency, we’re at risk of assigning responsibility to entirely the wrong parties whenever anyone uses a chatbot. To appreciate the titanic magnitude of this error, we need to begin by understanding how LLMs work. [...]
What would it take to convince me that a computer program is actually conscious and using language the way that people use language? Let me offer an analogy. If tomorrow someone showed me a video of an astronaut in a spaceship orbiting Alpha Centauri, a star that’s 4.3 light-years from Earth, what would I have to see in that video to convince me that it was real? My answer to that is, there is nothing in the video itself that would convince me. No matter how high the video resolution is or how realistic the scenery is, I would feel confident in saying that the video is fake. I won’t pay attention to any video of an astronaut orbiting Alpha Centauri unless I have previously seen good evidence that astronauts have landed on Mars, that astronauts have reached the moons of Jupiter, that astronauts have reached the moons of Saturn, and that astronauts have crossed the orbit of Pluto. Before anyone can credibly claim that they’ve solved an extraordinarily difficult engineering problem, I need to be confident that they have previously solved the many much simpler problems that precede the difficult problem.
To put it another way: An observation doesn’t become a convincing piece of evidence because of any specific detail in what’s observed; the context in which that observation takes place is also essential. If we’re trying to determine whether a computer program is conscious and using language the way a human does, we shouldn’t look only at the contents of any particular conversational exchange; we should be looking at how that conversation fits within the broader context of the development of artificial consciousness (which right now is entirely hypothetical). Any given observation can be easily manufactured; this doesn’t mean we need to give up on the idea of observation as a source of knowledge, but we need to rely on context to determine which observations deserve our trust.
The term deepfake traditionally refers to photos, audio, and video, but when it comes to discussions of consciousness, we need to regard text as a deepfake medium as well. Just as it is vastly easier to generate a realistic video of an astronaut in orbit around Alpha Centauri than it is to develop an interstellar propulsion technology, it is vastly easier to generate a plausible simulacrum of a conversation between two conscious beings than it is to develop a computer program that is conscious and has a genuine desire to communicate with a human. The primary difference between deepfake photos and LLM conversations is that the people who generate the former are deliberately trying to fool others, and many of the people who elicit the latter from LLMs have inadvertently fooled themselves.
So what context would cause me to seriously consider the possibility that engineers created a computer program that is conscious and an intentional user of language? Let me outline one potential sequence of steps. The first requirement is that the computer program has a body (either physical or virtual) and sense organs; there are many reasons for this, but for the purposes of this discussion, the most relevant one is the fact that without a body, a computer program could have no desires or emotions, and I believe desires and emotions are necessary for consciousness. Then I’d want to see an embodied agent that could navigate its environment in order to survive as well as, say, a lizard can (and as a point of comparison, certain iguanas can live for decades in the wild). Next, I would want to see an embodied agent with the same capacity to deal with novel situations as a mouse. After that, I’d want to see agents whose social dynamics are as complex as those of wolves, and then agents with the toolmaking abilities of chimpanzees. At that point, I would want to see people successfully teaching such embodied agents how to communicate their desires, perhaps by using a button board or some other nonlinguistic modality, the way that people have taught chimpanzees and domesticated dogs. The agents’ communication abilities would have to withstand all the scrutiny that animal-communication researchers have had to defend their work against. If engineers build an embodied agent that meets these criteria, they will have accomplished something incredible, but it leaves us near the orbit of Pluto, metaphorically speaking; we would still be light-years away from building an entity capable of learning how to express its thoughts in complete grammatical sentences.
Obviously, I’m describing a process that mimics the path terrestrial evolution took; is this the only possible route to conscious computer programs that use language? Maybe not, but any proposed alternative would need a truly enormous amount of supporting evidence for it to deserve serious consideration. [...]
The fact that LLMs lack subjective experience has little bearing on the question of whether LLMs might be useful tools or have significant economic impact. They are intrinsically ungrounded from reality, and their probabilistic nature means that they will never have the reliability we associate with conventional software, but LLMs might be good enough that they change the way work is done in certain domains; that’s a discussion for another time.
So, given that Claude is not conscious, what are we to make of Claude’s constitution? Perhaps the most fruitful way to think about it is as an 84-page character sheet for a role-playing game. LLMs can generate dialogue for Julius Caesar because many books about him exist in the training data those models used. Claude’s constitution serves a similar role for delineating the helpful-chatbot character that customers interact with when they’re using Anthropic’s products. To do this effectively, Anthropic does not simply add the document to the training data, or include it as part of the hidden stage directions that preface each conversation a user has. The company says it uses the document when fine-tuning the model; this involves an automated process where the sentences emitted by the model are checked for consistency with the document and the model is updated to increase that consistency. In this way, the personality of the helpful-chatbot character serves as a foundation for whatever text Claude generates.
The result is a sentence-continuation machine that is likelier to emit sentences resembling those that a thoughtful, moral person could utter. This might seem like a reasonable goal to work toward; I think we’d all prefer it if chatbots never emitted sentences such as “You should kill yourself.” However, for all the times that “honesty” is mentioned in Claude’s constitution, I would argue that it is fundamentally dishonest to have a machine emit many categories of sentences, including any sentences using first-person pronouns.
In a New Yorker article about Anthropic earlier this year, Amanda Askell describes how a person grieving the loss of a dog might consult Claude. Askell says an appropriate response from Claude would be, “As an A.I., I do not have direct personal experiences, but I do understand.” How is this appropriate, given that Claude does not actually understand? If I type “I am grieving the loss of my dog” into a conventional search engine, the first result I get is a post from a Reddit forum called r/Pets; the post is titled “Struggling After Losing My Dog: Looking for Advice on Coping with Grief,” and the comments are from people who share their experiences of loss. We would never say that a search engine understands what it’s like to lose a dog, or even that the internet itself understands. Other humans understand what it’s like to lose a dog; they have posted about their experiences on the internet, and a search engine offers a way for you to find what they’ve said (and to potentially interact with them). I would argue that the search-engine experience is not only more transparent than a chatbot about what is happening; it is psychologically healthier for the user.
The only reason to have an LLM emit sentences like “I understand” is to make it more appealing than a search engine and increase the likelihood that a user will return; that is, it’s another way of maximizing customer engagement. This is beneficial to the company selling the LLM, but not to the users. As a design strategy, it’s not all that different from the way slot machines repeatedly give the impression that the player came very close to winning, enticing them to try again. Employing philosophers might endow LLM companies with an air of respectability that slot-machine makers don’t get from the behavioral psychologists they hire, but in both cases, the companies are preying on people’s tendency to see something that’s not there.
The use of first-person pronouns is dishonest, but there’s a much deeper issue that goes beyond how a statement is phrased. Philosophers often draw a distinction between statements of fact, such as “Paris is the capital of France,” and statements of value, such as “Paris is the most beautiful city in the world.” No one should be relying on LLMs to emit statements of value at all, but if the only statements they emitted were ones reflecting aesthetic preferences, they might not be worth arguing about. What makes Claude’s constitution profoundly problematic is that Anthropic wants Claude to emit sentences reflecting a certain system of ethical values. The values described in Claude’s constitution sound very nice, but that hardly matters; it’s dishonest to suggest that Claude is capable of moral reasoning, because it’s not.
Some might object, saying that LLMs appear to be engaged in reasoning when they successfully perform other tasks, such as writing code, so why wouldn’t they be able to perform moral reasoning? The answer lies in the difference between moral reasoning and other forms of reasoning. [...]
Moral reasoning is categorically different. It is necessarily subjective because it relies not just on an individual’s intellectual response to a problem but also on their emotional one, and that emotional response is grounded in a lifetime of subjective experience. It requires having made decisions in the past and seeing how they affected others, and on having been affected by decisions that others have made. Without such a history, an LLM can only rephrase expressions of moral reasoning found in its training data. The aforementioned New Yorker article describes an experiment where Claude was given a scenario describing an ethical dilemma, leading it to emit the sentence “I cannot in good conscience express a view I believe to be false and harmful about such an important issue.” That’s a nice-sounding sentence, reminiscent of statements that principled individuals have uttered in the past when confronted with dilemmas, but coming from Claude, it means as much as the “Your call is important to us” recording that you hear when you’re on hold. Maybe less.
This brings us back to my earlier contention that having a body is a prerequisite to having emotions. Experiencing an emotion such as desperation is inseparable from having stress hormones such as cortisol and epinephrine flood one’s body. Similarly, having a conscience means feeling sadness or moral repulsion at the idea of taking a certain action, and those emotions entail a physiological response, a remnant of having once felt sick with guilt after committing an immoral act. It’s interesting that an LLM can generate descriptions of actions that conscientious fictional characters would either take or refrain from taking, but this is not a replacement for a conscience.
If a company builds a machine that, when fed descriptions of assorted ethical dilemmas, emits sentences either of the form “Compromise your values” or “Don’t compromise your values,” it is not building a tool that assists people in their decision making; it is encouraging people to stop making decisions. The writer L. M. Sacasas has said, “Our technological systems, by nature of their design and the ideology that sustains them, are machines for the evasion of moral responsibility.” He was talking about social-media platforms, but his observation is, if anything, even more applicable to LLMs. Whenever a person delegates a decision to an LLM, they are trying to off-load accountability for that decision, and if a company that sells an LLM portrays the product as having a moral center, it is offering a way for its customers to abdicate their responsibilities.
by Ted Chiang, The Atlantic | Read more:
Image: Enigmatriz[ed. As with everything Ted Chiang writes, thought provoking throughout. For a rebuttal, see: Ted Chiang Is Wrong About AI Consciousness (Bentham). Then there are the far outs who, no matter what, will always subscribe to Roko's basilisk (in my mind, sort of a Pascal's wager).]
Japanese Woodblock Print Search
“Evening Cool on Sumida” by Kobayashi Eijiro; “Colonel Sato, Sino-Japanese War” by Taguchi Beisaku; “Arakawa River in May Rain” by Kawase Hasui
Behold the “Japanese Woodblock Print Search”, which does precisely what the name suggests: Type in a search string, and it’ll look through 223,891 prints to find ones that match.
I searched for “river” and got those three lovely prints you see above!
… collates collections from 24 museums, libraries, auction houses, and art dealers around the world. By uniting the individual collections, there are several interesting features that make Ukiyo-e.org a top destination for anyone interested in Japanese printmaking. Aside from the ability to search by institution, artist, and time period, you can also upload an image to see if there are any similar prints in the database. And, once you click on an entry, similar prints in the archive also appear, allowing you to click through and see the differences in color and quality.BTW, quite a lot of those prints are in the public domain.
via: LF Linkfest
Wasteland Hop
[ed. My friend's husband plays guitar in this very cool band. She met him in Alaska way back in 2011 when the band was touring there, fell in love, moved to Colorado, and now they've been married for 11 years with two small boys. Serendipity.
As it turns out, the band was in Alaska again in 2024. So nice to see so many familiar places again:
Adventures With Words
Typos are good now?
“Some job applicants are intentionally adding typos to their cover letters to prove that they, and not an AI program, wrote them.” (“The Typo Vibe Shift,” by Michael Waters for The Atlantic; gift link)
That one baby name
The fastest-rising baby name of the year in the U.S. for two consecutive years is … Ailany? News to me, but three of the experts I follow were on it: Laura Wattenberg (Namerology), Hannah Emery, PhD (Janus Name Journeys), and Clare Green (Nameberry). Green writes: “Fun, bright, and melodic, Ailany is a modern Hispanic name with multicultural influences. It broke into the US top 1000 for the first time in 2023 and by 2024, it had risen over 750 places to sit just outside the Top 100.” [...]
Tolkien vs. the tech right
“J.R.R. Tolkien was famously anti-tech and anti-government … If he were alive in the age of Palantir, he might not be thrilled that a tech company with lucrative government contracts is name-checking his creations.” And it’s not just Palantir, notorious for its alliance with ICE: Tech companies called Mithril, Anduril, Erebor, and Narya all took their names from the Lord of the Rings trilogy. (Benjamin Stephen for Vox video, via Kottke.org, which offers some additional data points)
Enduring coolth
Why “cool” is still cool. “Most slang words come and go, but there’s one undisputed king that’s over 100 years old and still as relevant as ever.” (Laughing Squid)
by Nancy Friedman, Fritinancy | Read more:
“Some job applicants are intentionally adding typos to their cover letters to prove that they, and not an AI program, wrote them.” (“The Typo Vibe Shift,” by Michael Waters for The Atlantic; gift link)
That one baby name
The fastest-rising baby name of the year in the U.S. for two consecutive years is … Ailany? News to me, but three of the experts I follow were on it: Laura Wattenberg (Namerology), Hannah Emery, PhD (Janus Name Journeys), and Clare Green (Nameberry). Green writes: “Fun, bright, and melodic, Ailany is a modern Hispanic name with multicultural influences. It broke into the US top 1000 for the first time in 2023 and by 2024, it had risen over 750 places to sit just outside the Top 100.” [...]
Tolkien vs. the tech right
“J.R.R. Tolkien was famously anti-tech and anti-government … If he were alive in the age of Palantir, he might not be thrilled that a tech company with lucrative government contracts is name-checking his creations.” And it’s not just Palantir, notorious for its alliance with ICE: Tech companies called Mithril, Anduril, Erebor, and Narya all took their names from the Lord of the Rings trilogy. (Benjamin Stephen for Vox video, via Kottke.org, which offers some additional data points)
Enduring coolth
Why “cool” is still cool. “Most slang words come and go, but there’s one undisputed king that’s over 100 years old and still as relevant as ever.” (Laughing Squid)
by Nancy Friedman, Fritinancy | Read more:
[ed. Ailany... um, ok.]
Painted Rocks
Elizabeth Saloka’s Vibrant Painted Rocks Adopt the Personalities of Snacks and Pop Culture Icons (Colossal)
While most of us will pass by stray stones and piles of rubble without much of a second thought, Elizabeth Saloka sees tons of potential. From a couple of rock piles outside of her regular supermarket to crumbling curbs or demolished structures, she sifts through a variety of shapes and sizes to find rocks that may eventually transform into vibrant mimics of common household items, boxed sandwiches from Pret a Manger, or Babybel brand snacking cheese. [...]
Using bricks, she creates humorously fat stacks of $1 and $5 bills, and cut pavers become Premium saltine cracker boxes. “That particular rock shape—a long rectangular cube—is to me the holy grail of rock shapes, because it doesn’t really naturally occur too much in nature,” Saloka says. When she finds a particular shape or cut that works well for certain objects, such as Pink Pearl erasers or popular candies, she collects as many as she can.
by Kate Mothes, Colossal | Read more:
Images: Elizabeth Saloka
Wish You Were Her
INT. Deck 7, Le Cabaret Rouge, 11:37 PM
Frank Sinatra, palming a can of Sprite in one hand and the fist of his beautiful redheaded wife in the other, sat in a dark corner across from Jeff Bezos, who looked like he was waiting for him to say something. But Sinatra said nothing. He’d been mostly quiet all evening, and now in this cabaret he seemed even more distant, staring out past fog and strobe and Bezos’s strong bald head and into the large room where at least half a dozen men had basically shattered a bistro table trying to get a better look at Marilyn Monroe. Sinatra’s wife knew, as did Roy Orbison and Austin Powers, who stood nearby, that it was only minutes before he was supposed to go onstage, and that forcing any sort of conversation on him in this mood of focus would be extremely stupid.
The fact was, Sinatra had already been waiting for over an hour for his moment at the mic and at this point would have been more than fine with just heading back to his cabin. He was tired of the constant low-grade pitch in gravity under his feet. He was still annoyed that he’d nearly lost his luggage on the first day here, a fact his wife was not letting him forget; was humiliated that he never really got his onboard Wi-Fi — Wi-Fi he paid for — to work all week; had been viciously massaging his kidneys throughout the past four songs; and now, at this strangulating moment, had to sit through the noises being made by the group of veterans Monroe had just asked to join her in a conga. Sinatra, wincing, was the victim of a condition so common around here that most people accepted it as a given. But when it got to him, shot through his personal plumbing, we were looking at a man in crisis. The fact was — and he’s going to kill me for saying this — Frank Sinatra was seasick.
EXT. Deck 18, Long Island Bar, 3:08 PM
Three nights and about eight hours earlier, select members of the Sunburst Convention of Celebrity Impersonators boarded a 169,000-ton cruise ship in civilian disguise. They crossed the gangplank by sandaled foot and standard wheelchair, in panama hats and Bermuda shorts, naked of the costumes, pancake makeup, and in some cases false breasts required to faithfully look like their look-alikes. Alongside an estimated four thousand other, non-impersonating passengers slated to set sail with them, these twenty professional plagiarists, under cover of normie human camouflage, slipped silently into the crush.
“LORD I HAVE NEVER SEEN THIS MUCH COCONUT RUM IN MY LIFE,” yelled a man on his phone, jabbing his free hand into his free ear.
“MAN IT IS COMPLETELY SUNNY — I SAID SUNNY — YOU KNOW WHAT, I’M GETTING A CALL FROM DONNA — DONNA — YEAH LOOK I’M NOT TRYING TO HAVE HER TRY AND TEAR MY ASS IN HALF AGAIN SO I’M GONNA HAVE HER CALL YOU — ”
Welcome to the open-air bar on the eighteenth floor of the MSC Seashore, a luxury megaship with the fuel economy of an oil-tanker fire and the handling of a Marriott. That was the man seated to my left, silenced by the drink handed to him by a bartender. To my right was a woman in a shirt that read I DON’T GIVE A SHIP. And behind us, beyond the bar — which led out onto the pool deck, the pool deck’s smoking section, and two Jacuzzis — was the Atlantic Ocean, foamy and real under the sun above Port Canaveral, Florida.
I was seated smack in the center of the ship’s “embarkation party,” the Seashore’s farewell-to-land fiesta. In these last few hours of boarding, standard cruisegoers (reunioning families, couples, singles, swingers) were already loudly settling in for the top-hole amenities, pampering, and bacchanalia that the Seashore’s four-day boomerang voyage to the Bahamas had promised. They more or less knew what they were in for. What they didn’t know was that the impersonators of Sunburst walked among them, incognito, settling in for the same.
The occasion of Sunburst’s presence on the cruise was this: Time had been having its remorseless way with our look-alikes. For four days a year for the past two decades, the Sunburst Convention of Celebrity Impersonators, a three-to-five-dozen-strong troupe of doppelgangers, tribute artists, and hobbyist dead ringers, had assembled in hotels and conference centers across greater Orlando. In its heyday, Sunburst’s annual congress served as the tribute industry’s largest American sanctuary. But the average age for a Sunburster now hovered around 55. The typical status of the celebrities they impersonated was “deceased.” The digital era had swallowed demand for in-person homages to golden-age Hollywood, AI was a wallop to its people en masse, folks were retiring from the trade, aging out of plausible fidelity to their chosen doubles, or, from entirely natural causes, disappearing for good. (One of Sunburst’s most redoubtable talent agents had in fact died just a few weeks before the cruise.) This made the week’s cruise purely leisurely, a hopefully happy sunset for Sunburst’s long reign.
So here I was. Shipping out. Desperately seeking someone from Sunburst. Solitary in the ark of undoubled doubles, figuring out who around here was an impersonator impersonating a non-impersonator was becoming, as you might imagine, unimaginable. In the long mirror above the bar, every woman in the pool, drifting in and out of frame on her inflatables, now had the air of a once-fabulous mid-century minx. On floated a buzzed Garbo, a browned-out Garland. Giant televisions displaying forty-foot-wide walls of text (ƎƧIUЯƆ Ƨ’TÆŽ⅃, or AИƎЯAƆAM OT ÆŽMIT Ƨ’TI) flashed before the cabanas, where Elvises of every era groped for their towels. Here walked a plausible Oprah. In came an ayatollah. And there, lanky in her tankini: a Cher. [...]
The man flailing his arms by the bathrooms fifteen yards away was Greg, Sunburst’s founder and figurehead. The phrase ENTERTAINMENT: JUST LIKE YOU REMEMBER! blazed on his T-shirt. Also he was shouting my name.
“We’re here in the back!” he yelled.
“Where?” the guy shouted.
“The BACK BACK!” Greg yelled again.
INT. Deck 8, Uptown Lounge, 3:29 PM
The back back turned out to be a lounge space ten floors down. Rodney Dangerfield, walking in with a rum and Coke, was the first to slap Greg on the shoulder.
“Damn. Wow. Smells like someone’s grilling a raccoon in here,” Dangerfield said, looking around. “You guys just get in?”
An aerial view of the piano hall in the aft of Deck 8 — aft being the rear half of the ship, and Deck 8 being the eighth of twenty floors — would have revealed concentric circles of men and women sucked into orbit around an arrangement of microsuede sofas. In the center was now Greg, struggling with a pair of armpitted clipboards. On the far outer ring was the adjacent cantina, sizzling with orders of the Fajita ‘n’ Rita Feast ($20.95). But the energy in the room emanated from the fusion of Hollywood lovelies , B- and C-listers, dead musicians, and a few completely imaginary characters, caught in a bubble of babble.
In came the tiny and fabulous Sharon Osbourne, fresh off a flight from London. Near the exit, with his blue eyes and sensible sandals, was Boy George, who swanned over to double-cheek kiss Sharon, then peck the forehead of Martha Stewart, and — skipping over Jeff Bezos — the tip of Fran Drescher’s nose. Sinatra (A), by the banquette, had just politely pumped the hand of Sinatra (B), when both were intercepted by Dangerfield, who seemed interested in explaining the dimensions of his cabin’s toilet. The Dude from The Big Lebowski was tearing a tortilla into pieces; over by the baby grand was Jerry Garcia; Bezos left to go to the bathroom; and Greg, who was beaming richly over his dominion, looked like he might cry with pleasure when someone’s wife started talking about closing on a new condo in Mexico.
Our model of the atom collapsed toward the inner ring, at the center of which appeared a 79-year-old man with brilliant teeth, a chin-length bob, the coconutty tan of the constantly sunned.
“Guess what I am?” he asked several newcomers.
“Dolly Parton?” one suggested.
“Santa?” said another.
“About six-one?” went one more.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is Mr. Congeniality,” Greg said, coming in to knead his neck. “You’re looking at thirty-four years of Kenny Rogers.”
Every impersonator made for a convincing person. But as the gathering of celebrity doubles milled about the room, it was growing obvious just how broad the spectrum of fidelity within impersonation could get. Some were just blessed with a genuinely miraculous assembly of genetic glitches. Dangerfield, for instance, with big red eyes hot enough to boil water, and now miming his golf swing for Greg, was an amazing, near-perfect dupe, clearly put on this planet as proof of a lazy and hilarious God. (Ditto Boy George, with his stubble, his exemplary androgynous smolder — and same for Walter White of Breaking Bad, who kept pulling out a small bag of laundry beads from his shirt pocket as his prop ounce of crystal meth.)
But the lion’s share of them weren’t so finely biologically determined. The majority looked more like second or third cousins to their doubles. Staring at them yielded a whole other feeling, stranger than the vague awe you might harbor for folks obviously cashing in on their Darwinian dues. The faces of the not-quite-theres held a secret, focused serenity — kin to the quality inborn in the showman, dramatized by the spy, not far from the one on your casual adulterer. It was the flickering, only occasionally visible pact between at least two selves.
by Mina Tavakoli, N + 1 | Read more:
Image: Kate Bancroft, The Devil On My Shoulder. 2026
[ed. Feeling Gay Talese vibes from his famous essay Frank Sinatra Has a Cold; also, David Foster Wallace's Shipping Out (from "A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again").]
Frank Sinatra, palming a can of Sprite in one hand and the fist of his beautiful redheaded wife in the other, sat in a dark corner across from Jeff Bezos, who looked like he was waiting for him to say something. But Sinatra said nothing. He’d been mostly quiet all evening, and now in this cabaret he seemed even more distant, staring out past fog and strobe and Bezos’s strong bald head and into the large room where at least half a dozen men had basically shattered a bistro table trying to get a better look at Marilyn Monroe. Sinatra’s wife knew, as did Roy Orbison and Austin Powers, who stood nearby, that it was only minutes before he was supposed to go onstage, and that forcing any sort of conversation on him in this mood of focus would be extremely stupid.
EXT. Deck 18, Long Island Bar, 3:08 PM
Three nights and about eight hours earlier, select members of the Sunburst Convention of Celebrity Impersonators boarded a 169,000-ton cruise ship in civilian disguise. They crossed the gangplank by sandaled foot and standard wheelchair, in panama hats and Bermuda shorts, naked of the costumes, pancake makeup, and in some cases false breasts required to faithfully look like their look-alikes. Alongside an estimated four thousand other, non-impersonating passengers slated to set sail with them, these twenty professional plagiarists, under cover of normie human camouflage, slipped silently into the crush.
“LORD I HAVE NEVER SEEN THIS MUCH COCONUT RUM IN MY LIFE,” yelled a man on his phone, jabbing his free hand into his free ear.
“MAN IT IS COMPLETELY SUNNY — I SAID SUNNY — YOU KNOW WHAT, I’M GETTING A CALL FROM DONNA — DONNA — YEAH LOOK I’M NOT TRYING TO HAVE HER TRY AND TEAR MY ASS IN HALF AGAIN SO I’M GONNA HAVE HER CALL YOU — ”
Welcome to the open-air bar on the eighteenth floor of the MSC Seashore, a luxury megaship with the fuel economy of an oil-tanker fire and the handling of a Marriott. That was the man seated to my left, silenced by the drink handed to him by a bartender. To my right was a woman in a shirt that read I DON’T GIVE A SHIP. And behind us, beyond the bar — which led out onto the pool deck, the pool deck’s smoking section, and two Jacuzzis — was the Atlantic Ocean, foamy and real under the sun above Port Canaveral, Florida.
I was seated smack in the center of the ship’s “embarkation party,” the Seashore’s farewell-to-land fiesta. In these last few hours of boarding, standard cruisegoers (reunioning families, couples, singles, swingers) were already loudly settling in for the top-hole amenities, pampering, and bacchanalia that the Seashore’s four-day boomerang voyage to the Bahamas had promised. They more or less knew what they were in for. What they didn’t know was that the impersonators of Sunburst walked among them, incognito, settling in for the same.
The occasion of Sunburst’s presence on the cruise was this: Time had been having its remorseless way with our look-alikes. For four days a year for the past two decades, the Sunburst Convention of Celebrity Impersonators, a three-to-five-dozen-strong troupe of doppelgangers, tribute artists, and hobbyist dead ringers, had assembled in hotels and conference centers across greater Orlando. In its heyday, Sunburst’s annual congress served as the tribute industry’s largest American sanctuary. But the average age for a Sunburster now hovered around 55. The typical status of the celebrities they impersonated was “deceased.” The digital era had swallowed demand for in-person homages to golden-age Hollywood, AI was a wallop to its people en masse, folks were retiring from the trade, aging out of plausible fidelity to their chosen doubles, or, from entirely natural causes, disappearing for good. (One of Sunburst’s most redoubtable talent agents had in fact died just a few weeks before the cruise.) This made the week’s cruise purely leisurely, a hopefully happy sunset for Sunburst’s long reign.
So here I was. Shipping out. Desperately seeking someone from Sunburst. Solitary in the ark of undoubled doubles, figuring out who around here was an impersonator impersonating a non-impersonator was becoming, as you might imagine, unimaginable. In the long mirror above the bar, every woman in the pool, drifting in and out of frame on her inflatables, now had the air of a once-fabulous mid-century minx. On floated a buzzed Garbo, a browned-out Garland. Giant televisions displaying forty-foot-wide walls of text (ƎƧIUЯƆ Ƨ’TÆŽ⅃, or AИƎЯAƆAM OT ÆŽMIT Ƨ’TI) flashed before the cabanas, where Elvises of every era groped for their towels. Here walked a plausible Oprah. In came an ayatollah. And there, lanky in her tankini: a Cher. [...]
The man flailing his arms by the bathrooms fifteen yards away was Greg, Sunburst’s founder and figurehead. The phrase ENTERTAINMENT: JUST LIKE YOU REMEMBER! blazed on his T-shirt. Also he was shouting my name.
“We’re here in the back!” he yelled.
“Where?” the guy shouted.
“The BACK BACK!” Greg yelled again.
INT. Deck 8, Uptown Lounge, 3:29 PM
The back back turned out to be a lounge space ten floors down. Rodney Dangerfield, walking in with a rum and Coke, was the first to slap Greg on the shoulder.
“Damn. Wow. Smells like someone’s grilling a raccoon in here,” Dangerfield said, looking around. “You guys just get in?”
An aerial view of the piano hall in the aft of Deck 8 — aft being the rear half of the ship, and Deck 8 being the eighth of twenty floors — would have revealed concentric circles of men and women sucked into orbit around an arrangement of microsuede sofas. In the center was now Greg, struggling with a pair of armpitted clipboards. On the far outer ring was the adjacent cantina, sizzling with orders of the Fajita ‘n’ Rita Feast ($20.95). But the energy in the room emanated from the fusion of Hollywood lovelies , B- and C-listers, dead musicians, and a few completely imaginary characters, caught in a bubble of babble.
In came the tiny and fabulous Sharon Osbourne, fresh off a flight from London. Near the exit, with his blue eyes and sensible sandals, was Boy George, who swanned over to double-cheek kiss Sharon, then peck the forehead of Martha Stewart, and — skipping over Jeff Bezos — the tip of Fran Drescher’s nose. Sinatra (A), by the banquette, had just politely pumped the hand of Sinatra (B), when both were intercepted by Dangerfield, who seemed interested in explaining the dimensions of his cabin’s toilet. The Dude from The Big Lebowski was tearing a tortilla into pieces; over by the baby grand was Jerry Garcia; Bezos left to go to the bathroom; and Greg, who was beaming richly over his dominion, looked like he might cry with pleasure when someone’s wife started talking about closing on a new condo in Mexico.
Our model of the atom collapsed toward the inner ring, at the center of which appeared a 79-year-old man with brilliant teeth, a chin-length bob, the coconutty tan of the constantly sunned.
“Guess what I am?” he asked several newcomers.
“Dolly Parton?” one suggested.
“Santa?” said another.
“About six-one?” went one more.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is Mr. Congeniality,” Greg said, coming in to knead his neck. “You’re looking at thirty-four years of Kenny Rogers.”
Every impersonator made for a convincing person. But as the gathering of celebrity doubles milled about the room, it was growing obvious just how broad the spectrum of fidelity within impersonation could get. Some were just blessed with a genuinely miraculous assembly of genetic glitches. Dangerfield, for instance, with big red eyes hot enough to boil water, and now miming his golf swing for Greg, was an amazing, near-perfect dupe, clearly put on this planet as proof of a lazy and hilarious God. (Ditto Boy George, with his stubble, his exemplary androgynous smolder — and same for Walter White of Breaking Bad, who kept pulling out a small bag of laundry beads from his shirt pocket as his prop ounce of crystal meth.)
But the lion’s share of them weren’t so finely biologically determined. The majority looked more like second or third cousins to their doubles. Staring at them yielded a whole other feeling, stranger than the vague awe you might harbor for folks obviously cashing in on their Darwinian dues. The faces of the not-quite-theres held a secret, focused serenity — kin to the quality inborn in the showman, dramatized by the spy, not far from the one on your casual adulterer. It was the flickering, only occasionally visible pact between at least two selves.
by Mina Tavakoli, N + 1 | Read more:
Image: Kate Bancroft, The Devil On My Shoulder. 2026
[ed. Feeling Gay Talese vibes from his famous essay Frank Sinatra Has a Cold; also, David Foster Wallace's Shipping Out (from "A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again").]
Monday, June 8, 2026
How to Find YouTube Success With Music Theory
[ed. As Ted Gioia writes:
"I’d never seen Rick Beato’s breakout video before—where he tests his young son’s musical ear. But he included highlights in his latest YouTube upload, and it is worth watching, especially if you know anything about music theory.
People need to see this if they think there are no objective standards in music, and everything is just opinion and personal preference.
The reality is that you can actually measure a person’s musical aptitude, and those who have this demonstrable gift possess a huge advantage in making music. Some people are so creative that they can thrive despite this gap, but the gap exists nonetheless."
[ed. Beato is of course, ten years later, one of YouTube's most successful personalities in the category of 'all things Music'.]
A Quiet Refusal to Compromise
Over the past decade, with amazement and dismay, I have watched former friends and acquaintances make radical turns toward a conservatism that I no longer recognize. This story is well known by now: beginning in 2015, conservatives began to divide into pro- and never-Trump factions. Some visited or moved to Hungary. National conservatism and integralism and “Common Good Conservatism” emerged as new options for disaffected traditionalists, and of course, liberalism “failed.”
All of this is chronicled in Laura Field’s new book, Furious Minds (reviewed earlier for Law & Liberty by John Grove). The volume is basically a book of highbrow gossip, and it has its faults. But it also provides a fairly accurate account of the past ten years. Field completed her PhD in (Straussian) political philosophy at the University of Texas in 2011. During her student years and afterward, she existed on the margins of intellectual conservatism. She watched many of the movement’s major players as they engaged in activism, wrote provocative essays, and instigated revolution on the Right. [...]
The problem in 2026 is that many of the most prominent intellectual conservatives have sold their birthrights for the fleeting fame promised by social media, podcasts, and coverage in The New York Times, The New Yorker, and other prestige outlets. They appear more interested in making names for themselves or “blowing up the system” than in doing the quiet, unobserved, humble work of renewing the institutions that are so vital to civil society. They are, at root, interested in winning the culture wars, and winning requires fighting. It’s what a friend has called “punch-in-the-face conservatism.” In borrowing methods from the cultural Left, many of them have become right-wing Gramscians. These men (and they are nearly all men) sense that America has arrived at an eschatological moment, and they definitely want everyone else to know it too.
I also think they find it exciting and invigorating. At last we have come to a crisis point that demands strategy and action! Enough with all the subsidiarity, little platoons, and institutional reform. Conservatives should be bold enough to grasp the levers of power and use them against the Left, just as the Left has used them against us. As one Claremont Institute commentator has written, breathlessly, “Practically speaking, there is almost nothing left to conserve. What is actually required now is a recovery, or even a refounding of America.” Helen Andrews has imagined a parallel crisis in the relations between the sexes. Her “great feminization” thesis lays the blame for “wokeness” on all those overachieving and schoolmarmish women who now dominate the white-collar professions. In her words, they are a “potential threat to civilization.” And on and on. It’s easy to adduce multiple examples of this overheated rhetoric.
To be fair, there are (of course) elements of truth in many of the scathing critiques leveled by the New Right. Andrews is correct that, in the aggregate, there are differences between men’s and women’s leadership styles. Christopher Rufo and others aren’t wrong that advocates of “Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion” greatly overplayed their hands. And much of the extreme reaction on the Right is undoubtedly a response to the provocations of the Left, whose activists haven’t exactly been models of self-restraint over the past few decades.
Unlike those on the New Right, though, I’m not sure that we’re at an eschatological moment in Western culture. We might be. But whether or not we’ve arrived at a civilizational crisis, there are alternative ways of responding to this moment, ways far more authentically conservative than what is now playing out in so many contemporary institutions.
In thinking about what conservatism means, and about how to respond to our cultural moment, two courses of action come to mind. The first is to recalibrate our view of the world; the second, to engage in practices that don’t incite battles but preserve and rejuvenate culture. Work like this is not likely to be praised or even recognized, and it asks for quiet self-assurance, not loud declarations on social media. Cultivating a positive and hopeful vision in the midst of disorder simply is the primary obligation of conservatives, especially if we’re Christians, whose hopes lie not in the rise or fall of any particular worldly power.
Why is it so difficult, and so unpopular, to embrace this hopeful, alternative vision, and why are conflict and battle so enduringly attractive? William Hazlitt offers an answer in his shrewd essay from 1826 entitled “On the Pleasure of Hating.” There is a “secret affinity, a hankering after, evil in the human mind,” he writes, which “takes a perverse, but a fortunate delight in mischief, since it is a never-failing source of satisfaction.” Life would “turn to a stagnant pool, were it not ruffled by the jarring interests, the unruly passions, of men. The white streak in our own fortunes is brightened (or just rendered visible) by making all around it as dark as possible.”
Most of us will recognize this universal human tendency to take perverse pleasure in hating, and in dwelling on ugly and disordered things. The desire to see awfulness helps to explain the market for polemics and declension narratives rather than subtle and qualified arguments. Who has not felt, in a moment of crisis, a sudden sharpening of the will, a vision of exactly the path forward?
The pleasure of critique also provides a sense of superiority, both intellectually—because we have seen things as they truly are—and morally. Deny it though we do, it is pleasant to think oneself smarter than others and to imagine that we, not they, stand on a solid foundation of truth. Similarly, in the moral sphere, if we are part of an unappreciated or persecuted minority, there is solace in knowing that our way of life is simply better than that of our opponents, even if the world at large does not agree.
And then there is the boredom factor. Temperance, civility, politeness, and all the other virtues that accompany political moderation can seem boring and mundane. Even if we mostly depend on norms of civility and respect in daily life, it is exciting to have a firebrand in the room—someone who will stir things up and throw rhetorical bombs. This is as true in a seminar room as in a board meeting. We admire and emulate the provocateur, the celebrity, and the radical, and are drawn to those with outrageous and “cutting-edge” views.
Yet these moral and intellectual eccentrics depend for their existence on an unseen foundation of equanimity, careful argument, civility, and self-control. They themselves may neglect or disparage this foundation, but it is nevertheless vital that somebody shore it up. Traditionally, this has been a job for conservatives.
So should conservatives be warriors or maintainers? Part of the answer will undoubtedly depend on temperament. Everyone knows people who are thoroughly pacific and disengaged or, on the other hand, full of spirit and always ready to argue. The latter disposition is what one sees far more often in the new conservatives I have been identifying, those who clamor to fight and win the culture wars with snark, meanness, and irony.
The tenor of the alternative—of a more gracious conservatism—is not adversarial but generative. It looks toward the present and the future, though not in the way that progressivism does, with its hopes of constant political improvement. Instead, this conservatism focuses on the things that are being conserved by living them fully, and by engaging in practices delivered from the past. It asks us to act within our own small spheres of influence, doing good where it is real, tangible, and visible, at levels much less national and much less public. While most of us aren’t prodigies, we all possess talents, aptitudes, and loves, which we would do well to use and develop. And this will make some difference, or all the difference, to those who live around us.
[ed. This is a conservative perspective I can get behind, but one that glosses over the 'tactics' the fighting contingent employ. Tactics that are frequently dishonest, threatening, sleazy and/or outright illegal. No valor in that, whatever rationalizations conservatives use for the ends justifying the means. By the way, the Hazlitt link (Pleasure of Hating) is well worth a read.]
The problem in 2026 is that many of the most prominent intellectual conservatives have sold their birthrights for the fleeting fame promised by social media, podcasts, and coverage in The New York Times, The New Yorker, and other prestige outlets. They appear more interested in making names for themselves or “blowing up the system” than in doing the quiet, unobserved, humble work of renewing the institutions that are so vital to civil society. They are, at root, interested in winning the culture wars, and winning requires fighting. It’s what a friend has called “punch-in-the-face conservatism.” In borrowing methods from the cultural Left, many of them have become right-wing Gramscians. These men (and they are nearly all men) sense that America has arrived at an eschatological moment, and they definitely want everyone else to know it too.
I also think they find it exciting and invigorating. At last we have come to a crisis point that demands strategy and action! Enough with all the subsidiarity, little platoons, and institutional reform. Conservatives should be bold enough to grasp the levers of power and use them against the Left, just as the Left has used them against us. As one Claremont Institute commentator has written, breathlessly, “Practically speaking, there is almost nothing left to conserve. What is actually required now is a recovery, or even a refounding of America.” Helen Andrews has imagined a parallel crisis in the relations between the sexes. Her “great feminization” thesis lays the blame for “wokeness” on all those overachieving and schoolmarmish women who now dominate the white-collar professions. In her words, they are a “potential threat to civilization.” And on and on. It’s easy to adduce multiple examples of this overheated rhetoric.
To be fair, there are (of course) elements of truth in many of the scathing critiques leveled by the New Right. Andrews is correct that, in the aggregate, there are differences between men’s and women’s leadership styles. Christopher Rufo and others aren’t wrong that advocates of “Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion” greatly overplayed their hands. And much of the extreme reaction on the Right is undoubtedly a response to the provocations of the Left, whose activists haven’t exactly been models of self-restraint over the past few decades.
Unlike those on the New Right, though, I’m not sure that we’re at an eschatological moment in Western culture. We might be. But whether or not we’ve arrived at a civilizational crisis, there are alternative ways of responding to this moment, ways far more authentically conservative than what is now playing out in so many contemporary institutions.
In thinking about what conservatism means, and about how to respond to our cultural moment, two courses of action come to mind. The first is to recalibrate our view of the world; the second, to engage in practices that don’t incite battles but preserve and rejuvenate culture. Work like this is not likely to be praised or even recognized, and it asks for quiet self-assurance, not loud declarations on social media. Cultivating a positive and hopeful vision in the midst of disorder simply is the primary obligation of conservatives, especially if we’re Christians, whose hopes lie not in the rise or fall of any particular worldly power.
Why is it so difficult, and so unpopular, to embrace this hopeful, alternative vision, and why are conflict and battle so enduringly attractive? William Hazlitt offers an answer in his shrewd essay from 1826 entitled “On the Pleasure of Hating.” There is a “secret affinity, a hankering after, evil in the human mind,” he writes, which “takes a perverse, but a fortunate delight in mischief, since it is a never-failing source of satisfaction.” Life would “turn to a stagnant pool, were it not ruffled by the jarring interests, the unruly passions, of men. The white streak in our own fortunes is brightened (or just rendered visible) by making all around it as dark as possible.”
Most of us will recognize this universal human tendency to take perverse pleasure in hating, and in dwelling on ugly and disordered things. The desire to see awfulness helps to explain the market for polemics and declension narratives rather than subtle and qualified arguments. Who has not felt, in a moment of crisis, a sudden sharpening of the will, a vision of exactly the path forward?
The pleasure of critique also provides a sense of superiority, both intellectually—because we have seen things as they truly are—and morally. Deny it though we do, it is pleasant to think oneself smarter than others and to imagine that we, not they, stand on a solid foundation of truth. Similarly, in the moral sphere, if we are part of an unappreciated or persecuted minority, there is solace in knowing that our way of life is simply better than that of our opponents, even if the world at large does not agree.
And then there is the boredom factor. Temperance, civility, politeness, and all the other virtues that accompany political moderation can seem boring and mundane. Even if we mostly depend on norms of civility and respect in daily life, it is exciting to have a firebrand in the room—someone who will stir things up and throw rhetorical bombs. This is as true in a seminar room as in a board meeting. We admire and emulate the provocateur, the celebrity, and the radical, and are drawn to those with outrageous and “cutting-edge” views.
Yet these moral and intellectual eccentrics depend for their existence on an unseen foundation of equanimity, careful argument, civility, and self-control. They themselves may neglect or disparage this foundation, but it is nevertheless vital that somebody shore it up. Traditionally, this has been a job for conservatives.
So should conservatives be warriors or maintainers? Part of the answer will undoubtedly depend on temperament. Everyone knows people who are thoroughly pacific and disengaged or, on the other hand, full of spirit and always ready to argue. The latter disposition is what one sees far more often in the new conservatives I have been identifying, those who clamor to fight and win the culture wars with snark, meanness, and irony.
The tenor of the alternative—of a more gracious conservatism—is not adversarial but generative. It looks toward the present and the future, though not in the way that progressivism does, with its hopes of constant political improvement. Instead, this conservatism focuses on the things that are being conserved by living them fully, and by engaging in practices delivered from the past. It asks us to act within our own small spheres of influence, doing good where it is real, tangible, and visible, at levels much less national and much less public. While most of us aren’t prodigies, we all possess talents, aptitudes, and loves, which we would do well to use and develop. And this will make some difference, or all the difference, to those who live around us.
by Elizabeth Corey, Law & Liberty | Read more:
Image: Agostino Masucci; Artcurial Worldwide/Wikimedia Commons[ed. This is a conservative perspective I can get behind, but one that glosses over the 'tactics' the fighting contingent employ. Tactics that are frequently dishonest, threatening, sleazy and/or outright illegal. No valor in that, whatever rationalizations conservatives use for the ends justifying the means. By the way, the Hazlitt link (Pleasure of Hating) is well worth a read.]
Gen Z and Men Who Yearn
The internet is abuzz with talk of male yearning. Of course, there’s no reason the phrase should mean anything to you unless you’re chronically online. But as a woman born in 1997—right on the cusp of the Millennial/Zoomer generational divide—who writes about culture for a living, I’ve not been able to overlook the latest cultural trend: men who yearn.
I started noticing this increasingly often in the last couple of years. According to Google Trends analytics, I’m not the only one. In 2023, a post on X by an account with very few followers garnered 3.5 million views. It read: “What makes a man attractive is not his stupid face but his stupendous yearning and agonizing longing for one woman and one woman alone.” Searches for “male yearning” and similar terms first spiked at the end of 2024 and have been growing consistently since. Last year, many mainstream magazines with a predominantly female readership put out articles on the topic. On TikTok, the most popular social media platform among Gen Z and younger millennials, videos about #menwhoyearn consistently get hundreds of thousands of likes.
For a generation that is marked by a noticeable gender split on political beliefs as well as by ever declining marriage rates, it would seem that young women still retain a desire for a specific vision of manhood. But what exactly is that vision?
As I wrote for Public Discourse recently, many young women have turned to “romantasy,” a literary genre blending fantasy settings with romantic plots, as a way to express their desire for marriage. While some novels in the genre are relatively harmless, many teach women to confuse abuse with love, often romanticizing forced marriage, as well as suggesting that male violence is evidence of commitment. This is hardly surprising, since so many of us zoomers and younger millennials are children of divorce and have grown up without a model of a healthy marriage. Many of these novels also feature very graphic sex scenes; but again, this is largely unsurprising given that we live in a pornographic culture and that women largely favor written over visual forms of pornography.
The “male yearning” trend is different, so much so that it took me by surprise. It’s somehow more wholesome. The fictional male characters most often referenced in TikTok videos about male yearning may be tall, dark, and handsome, like romantasy protagonists, but unlike in the romantasy storylines they tend to exercise restraint in their longing for the female protagonist. Where male desire in romantasy is about quick consummation, this kind of “male yearning” tends to be about acts of service, patience, and a slow-burn romance instead.
The most cited examples of fictional “men who yearn” are not always obvious. Some fit the brooding stereotype that one also finds in romantasy. For example, TikTok is full of edits of Pride and Prejudice’s Mr. Darcy—as played by Matthew MacFadyen in the 2005 film adaptation—“flexing” his hand in frustration as he silently yearns for Elizabeth Bennet. And of course, the internet went absolutely crazy last year over the character of Conrad Fisher when season three of the adaptation of Jenny Han’s The Summer I Turned Pretty was released. Emotionally withdrawn in his longing, Conrad has often been described by fans of the show as the young adult novel version of Jane Austen’s Mr. Darcy. Yet other yearning men don’t brood. Loyal to a fault and notoriously good with kids, Steve “always the babysitter” Harrington from the popular sci-fi show Stranger Things has become the object of admiration in hundreds of thousands of videos and posts made by young women.
To be clear, I’m not praising women of my generation for publicly fawning over a man, real or fictional. Some of this content borders on objectification, the very objectification of which we so often—and rightly—accuse men. This phenomenon is, nonetheless, a sign of a much healthier kind of desire than what we find in the discourse around romantasy.
The common denominator among these male characters is their willingness to accept a life of service to their loved ones...
These men exercise selflessness. They serve without expecting anything in return. They embody a healthy version of masculinity in that they use their strength not to subdue, but to support those who are more vulnerable than they are.
But how can the smutty romantasy trend coexist with this ubiquitous desire for men who respect, provide, and protect? And secondly, if data show us that young people are getting married less, why are young women consuming fiction that shows marriage, kids, and commitment as goods rather than impediments?
The first question is perhaps easier to answer. While it is overwhelmingly obvious that women—rather than men—engage with both the romantasy trend and the men-who-yearn discourse, the age range of said women overlaps only partially. Generally speaking, Gen Zers prefer to see less sex depicted in fiction than do their millennial counterparts. Romantasy reading stats, as I discussed in my previous article, point to the fact that millennials are a substantial chunk of consumers, even though the themes and plotlines of romantasy novels ostensibly target young adults.
Since I wrote that article, for example, the gay hockey romance show Heated Rivalry (yes, I’m afraid that is the title) has skyrocketed to international success. I’m given to understand that it features prolonged sex scenes, and yet most viewers are women, with millennials being a high proportion. This may seem an anomaly at first. But the book by Rachel Reid on which the show is based was released in 2019, the same year that the extremely graphic, water-cooler show par excellence Game of Thrones came to an end. By that point, millennial women had been subjected to an entire decade of adulthood of explicit content in film and TV.
I am afraid women have become somewhat desensitized. Millennial and older Gen Z women especially have, for decades, been told that they should feel no moral qualms about being both consumers and products of explicit sexual content.
Yet younger zoomers are beginning to differ from their millennial counterparts. Anecdotally, as an older zoomer myself, I’ve seen the generational divide happen right in front of my eyes. My high school peers who were just one or two years older than I have a significantly different attitude toward, and experience of, sex and relationships than my sister-in-law who is only five years younger than I. What’s surprising is not that Gen Zers are consuming smut, but that they are not consuming it at higher rates than millennials, who, now in their thirties and forties, you may expect to have progressed to a more mature view of sex and marriage.
That simply hasn’t happened. I’m hardly the first to point out that millennials are a generation marked by arrested development. They are not getting married; they’re not having kids. Some of this is explained by factors outside their control (rising house prices, etc.), but some factors are cultural. Millennials grew up engaging fully in hookup culture. Their consumption of graphic fictional content is but a reflection of their consumerist attitude toward love and relationships.
Younger Gen Z women are also not getting married, but the difference is that they are, on average, more averse than millennials to both casual sex in their own lives and depictions of sexual activity on the screen. The Marriage Foundation has spoken of a “collapse” in early marriage, “with only 4% of women and 2% of men born in 1998 marrying before age 25, marking a historical low.” But this collapse is not due exclusively or even primarily to a preference for cohabitation. The Institute for Family Studies has recently reported that Gen Z is not only marrying later and less frequently: they are also cohabiting less and having less sex overall. Essentially, zoomer women are increasingly retreating from interaction of any kind with the opposite sex, a phenomenon that is now often described as involuntary celibacy.
As well as this, recent reports suggest that Gen Z men and women want to see less explicit sexual content in films and TV shows, preferring depictions of non-sexual intimacy, whether that is deep friendship or a romantic bond. Finally, an article by Wendy Wang, also for the Institute for Family Studies, argues that, while Gen Z women are generally more egalitarian than previous generations in their attitudes toward relationships between men and women, there is one role that they still want men to play: to protect.
by Beatrice Scudeler, Public Discourse | Read more:
Image: FlixPix/Alarmy
For a generation that is marked by a noticeable gender split on political beliefs as well as by ever declining marriage rates, it would seem that young women still retain a desire for a specific vision of manhood. But what exactly is that vision?
As I wrote for Public Discourse recently, many young women have turned to “romantasy,” a literary genre blending fantasy settings with romantic plots, as a way to express their desire for marriage. While some novels in the genre are relatively harmless, many teach women to confuse abuse with love, often romanticizing forced marriage, as well as suggesting that male violence is evidence of commitment. This is hardly surprising, since so many of us zoomers and younger millennials are children of divorce and have grown up without a model of a healthy marriage. Many of these novels also feature very graphic sex scenes; but again, this is largely unsurprising given that we live in a pornographic culture and that women largely favor written over visual forms of pornography.
The “male yearning” trend is different, so much so that it took me by surprise. It’s somehow more wholesome. The fictional male characters most often referenced in TikTok videos about male yearning may be tall, dark, and handsome, like romantasy protagonists, but unlike in the romantasy storylines they tend to exercise restraint in their longing for the female protagonist. Where male desire in romantasy is about quick consummation, this kind of “male yearning” tends to be about acts of service, patience, and a slow-burn romance instead.
The most cited examples of fictional “men who yearn” are not always obvious. Some fit the brooding stereotype that one also finds in romantasy. For example, TikTok is full of edits of Pride and Prejudice’s Mr. Darcy—as played by Matthew MacFadyen in the 2005 film adaptation—“flexing” his hand in frustration as he silently yearns for Elizabeth Bennet. And of course, the internet went absolutely crazy last year over the character of Conrad Fisher when season three of the adaptation of Jenny Han’s The Summer I Turned Pretty was released. Emotionally withdrawn in his longing, Conrad has often been described by fans of the show as the young adult novel version of Jane Austen’s Mr. Darcy. Yet other yearning men don’t brood. Loyal to a fault and notoriously good with kids, Steve “always the babysitter” Harrington from the popular sci-fi show Stranger Things has become the object of admiration in hundreds of thousands of videos and posts made by young women.
To be clear, I’m not praising women of my generation for publicly fawning over a man, real or fictional. Some of this content borders on objectification, the very objectification of which we so often—and rightly—accuse men. This phenomenon is, nonetheless, a sign of a much healthier kind of desire than what we find in the discourse around romantasy.
The common denominator among these male characters is their willingness to accept a life of service to their loved ones...
These men exercise selflessness. They serve without expecting anything in return. They embody a healthy version of masculinity in that they use their strength not to subdue, but to support those who are more vulnerable than they are.
But how can the smutty romantasy trend coexist with this ubiquitous desire for men who respect, provide, and protect? And secondly, if data show us that young people are getting married less, why are young women consuming fiction that shows marriage, kids, and commitment as goods rather than impediments?
The first question is perhaps easier to answer. While it is overwhelmingly obvious that women—rather than men—engage with both the romantasy trend and the men-who-yearn discourse, the age range of said women overlaps only partially. Generally speaking, Gen Zers prefer to see less sex depicted in fiction than do their millennial counterparts. Romantasy reading stats, as I discussed in my previous article, point to the fact that millennials are a substantial chunk of consumers, even though the themes and plotlines of romantasy novels ostensibly target young adults.
Since I wrote that article, for example, the gay hockey romance show Heated Rivalry (yes, I’m afraid that is the title) has skyrocketed to international success. I’m given to understand that it features prolonged sex scenes, and yet most viewers are women, with millennials being a high proportion. This may seem an anomaly at first. But the book by Rachel Reid on which the show is based was released in 2019, the same year that the extremely graphic, water-cooler show par excellence Game of Thrones came to an end. By that point, millennial women had been subjected to an entire decade of adulthood of explicit content in film and TV.
I am afraid women have become somewhat desensitized. Millennial and older Gen Z women especially have, for decades, been told that they should feel no moral qualms about being both consumers and products of explicit sexual content.
Yet younger zoomers are beginning to differ from their millennial counterparts. Anecdotally, as an older zoomer myself, I’ve seen the generational divide happen right in front of my eyes. My high school peers who were just one or two years older than I have a significantly different attitude toward, and experience of, sex and relationships than my sister-in-law who is only five years younger than I. What’s surprising is not that Gen Zers are consuming smut, but that they are not consuming it at higher rates than millennials, who, now in their thirties and forties, you may expect to have progressed to a more mature view of sex and marriage.
That simply hasn’t happened. I’m hardly the first to point out that millennials are a generation marked by arrested development. They are not getting married; they’re not having kids. Some of this is explained by factors outside their control (rising house prices, etc.), but some factors are cultural. Millennials grew up engaging fully in hookup culture. Their consumption of graphic fictional content is but a reflection of their consumerist attitude toward love and relationships.
Younger Gen Z women are also not getting married, but the difference is that they are, on average, more averse than millennials to both casual sex in their own lives and depictions of sexual activity on the screen. The Marriage Foundation has spoken of a “collapse” in early marriage, “with only 4% of women and 2% of men born in 1998 marrying before age 25, marking a historical low.” But this collapse is not due exclusively or even primarily to a preference for cohabitation. The Institute for Family Studies has recently reported that Gen Z is not only marrying later and less frequently: they are also cohabiting less and having less sex overall. Essentially, zoomer women are increasingly retreating from interaction of any kind with the opposite sex, a phenomenon that is now often described as involuntary celibacy.
As well as this, recent reports suggest that Gen Z men and women want to see less explicit sexual content in films and TV shows, preferring depictions of non-sexual intimacy, whether that is deep friendship or a romantic bond. Finally, an article by Wendy Wang, also for the Institute for Family Studies, argues that, while Gen Z women are generally more egalitarian than previous generations in their attitudes toward relationships between men and women, there is one role that they still want men to play: to protect.
by Beatrice Scudeler, Public Discourse | Read more:
Image: FlixPix/Alarmy
Roy Buchanan
[ed. See also: Pete's Blue, and just about everything else by this former telecaster master. Another great one to check out would be Danny Gatton.]
Sunday, June 7, 2026
AI Won’t Stave Off the Debt Disaster
For years, I kept a favorite cartoon in my desk and pulled it out to open the annual business-plan meeting at the unit I led. It showed a frazzled executive standing in front of a screen displaying his multiyear sales projections. The line ran straight horizontally, close and parallel to the x-axis, almost to the right edge, where it leaped steeply upward, next to a label that said, “Miracle happens here!”
No impulse is more human than wishfulness, the tendency to grasp at any straw that enables us to avert our eyes from difficult realities and put off facing them. Members of America’s national political class personify this failing, in their continuing practice of fiscal denialism. Even as the inexorable arithmetic piles up, those responsible for the nation’s economic future and national security fasten on imaginary miracles to justify a gross default of their duty of stewardship.
A decade ago, as the national debt surged toward the once unthinkable level of $20 trillion (now nearing $40 trillion), denialists took brief refuge in an alchemist fantasy that called itself Modern Monetary Theory. The notion that a nation could borrow without limit, forever, in its own fiat currency was quickly demolished by full-spectrum critiques, in venues ranging from the Cato Institute to the Review of Keynesian Economics. The experts weren’t really necessary; you could have just consulted the Journal of Common Sense, or maybe your grandparents.
MMT has mercifully disappeared from serious discussion, but the wishful impulse has not. Its latest comfort station is the claim that the productivity boost that artificial intelligence will bring to the economy will bail us out of our sinking boatload of debt. Stop worrying; “Miracle happens here!”
In our post-truth world, facts aren’t as stubborn as they used to be, but the most obstinate of all are the mathematical ones. They tell us not to rely on even the powerfully positive impact of these new technologies to spare us the radical adjustments that a generation of procrastination has now made inevitable.
That isn’t to say that no help is on the way. The evidence is persuasive that AI and related advances are already boosting the economy in the most important way possible, by raising productivity. That’s the biggest reason that GDP is surprising on the upside while job growth remains tepid. Moreover, forecasts that this favorable windage will accelerate seem highly credible.
What’s not credible is the idea that even an AI-led productivity surge can suffice to offset our decades of dereliction. The Congressional Budget Office, the Federal Reserve, and other forecasters peg average future economic growth at a little under 2 percent. Assume a 70 percent boost from the AI revolution, to 3 percent or so, and it becomes possible to imagine our current debt level stabilizing, not improving but merely getting no worse.
But even this daydream requires far too many improbable breaks. Simulations conclude that the chances of growth of even 2.6 percent are less than 1 in 20. That’s without factoring in the possibility of a military crisis, a recession, another pandemic, or any other macroeconomic setback. AI revenue increases could be partially offset by new spending requirements, for energy infrastructure, for example.
The Penn Wharton Budget Model credits AI with a healthy 1.5 percent productivity and GDP increase over the next decade. That would result in deficit reduction of some $400 billion over those 10 years. Not chump change, but only a fraction of what would be required, given the tsunami of entitlement spending, driving trillions of added debt, making landfall over that period.
AI enthusiasts assure us that the beneficial impact will be even bigger. Let’s hope they’re right, although that would mean a bigger productivity surge than those brought by electricity or the Internet. Even if it happens, it cannot conceivably get here before the trust fund insolvencies start in the early 2030s. Kent Smetters, a Penn Wharton Budget Model scholar, states flatly that AI, however positive, isn’t “a magic bullet” and that the call is “not even close.”
Let’s stipulate that AI will be the transformative wonder that its inventors foresee; that the CBO and other forecasters have often tended to underestimate US economic growth, especially in environments of lightened regulation and taxation; and that the United States somehow sails through an unprecedented streak without a single costly exogenous blow.
It still ain’t enough.
No impulse is more human than wishfulness, the tendency to grasp at any straw that enables us to avert our eyes from difficult realities and put off facing them. Members of America’s national political class personify this failing, in their continuing practice of fiscal denialism. Even as the inexorable arithmetic piles up, those responsible for the nation’s economic future and national security fasten on imaginary miracles to justify a gross default of their duty of stewardship.
MMT has mercifully disappeared from serious discussion, but the wishful impulse has not. Its latest comfort station is the claim that the productivity boost that artificial intelligence will bring to the economy will bail us out of our sinking boatload of debt. Stop worrying; “Miracle happens here!”
In our post-truth world, facts aren’t as stubborn as they used to be, but the most obstinate of all are the mathematical ones. They tell us not to rely on even the powerfully positive impact of these new technologies to spare us the radical adjustments that a generation of procrastination has now made inevitable.
That isn’t to say that no help is on the way. The evidence is persuasive that AI and related advances are already boosting the economy in the most important way possible, by raising productivity. That’s the biggest reason that GDP is surprising on the upside while job growth remains tepid. Moreover, forecasts that this favorable windage will accelerate seem highly credible.
What’s not credible is the idea that even an AI-led productivity surge can suffice to offset our decades of dereliction. The Congressional Budget Office, the Federal Reserve, and other forecasters peg average future economic growth at a little under 2 percent. Assume a 70 percent boost from the AI revolution, to 3 percent or so, and it becomes possible to imagine our current debt level stabilizing, not improving but merely getting no worse.
But even this daydream requires far too many improbable breaks. Simulations conclude that the chances of growth of even 2.6 percent are less than 1 in 20. That’s without factoring in the possibility of a military crisis, a recession, another pandemic, or any other macroeconomic setback. AI revenue increases could be partially offset by new spending requirements, for energy infrastructure, for example.
The Penn Wharton Budget Model credits AI with a healthy 1.5 percent productivity and GDP increase over the next decade. That would result in deficit reduction of some $400 billion over those 10 years. Not chump change, but only a fraction of what would be required, given the tsunami of entitlement spending, driving trillions of added debt, making landfall over that period.
AI enthusiasts assure us that the beneficial impact will be even bigger. Let’s hope they’re right, although that would mean a bigger productivity surge than those brought by electricity or the Internet. Even if it happens, it cannot conceivably get here before the trust fund insolvencies start in the early 2030s. Kent Smetters, a Penn Wharton Budget Model scholar, states flatly that AI, however positive, isn’t “a magic bullet” and that the call is “not even close.”
Let’s stipulate that AI will be the transformative wonder that its inventors foresee; that the CBO and other forecasters have often tended to underestimate US economic growth, especially in environments of lightened regulation and taxation; and that the United States somehow sails through an unprecedented streak without a single costly exogenous blow.
It still ain’t enough.
by Mitch Daniels, Law and Liberty/WaPo | Read more:
Image: chekart/Shutterstock
[ed. Yet we keep digging deeper. Where does another $500 billion/yr for defense spending come from? Or, say, $700 million to prop up coal billionaires (below)? Thin air.]
[ed. Yet we keep digging deeper. Where does another $500 billion/yr for defense spending come from? Or, say, $700 million to prop up coal billionaires (below)? Thin air.]
‘Clean, Beautiful’ Coal Industry Gets $700m Bailout
Donald Trump is using wartime presidential authority to hand $700m to coal-fired power plants in the US, the latest move by the president to bolster what he called “clean, beautiful coal”, despite it being the dirtiest of fossil fuels.
“Today, we’re taking historic action to bring down the price of energy and the cost of living for all Americans with the power of clean, beautiful coal,” he said at a press conference on Thursday. [...]
In the past year, the Trump administration has doled out hundreds of millions of dollars to the coal industry, signed orders forcing ratepayers to pay extra for ageing plants to stay open, and dismantled environmental rules that limit toxins from coal leaching into Americans’ shared air and water.
The administration’s attempts to provide a cuddly rebranding to coal have even extended to creating a new mascot with giant eyes, called Coalie, and gushing social media posts that include an image of a lump of coal wearing sunglasses as if it were on the TV show Love Island.
“You’re not allowed to say ‘coal’ within the Trump administration unless it’s preceded by the words ‘clean, beautiful’,” Trump said on Thursday. “Complicates our life, but it’s good.” [...]
Trump’s attempts to revive the coal industry, while at the same time seeking to stymie the rapid growth of clean energy such as solar and wind, have so far floundered. The number of people working in coal has declined by more than 90% in the past century, with more people now working in Waffle Houses across the US than in coal.
US coal production is currently less than half of what it was in 2008, with coal recently declining as both a fuel for electricity and as an input for manufacturing materials such as iron and steel. Cheap, abundant gas has helped displace coal from power grids with even cheaper renewable energy also now taking off in the US despite the administration’s efforts to kill it off.
“What’s next, a taxpayer bailout to build new phone booths?” said Kit Kennedy, a senior climate campaigner at the Natural Resources Defense Council, of the new round of support for coal. “This is going to mean higher bills and dirtier air. What a waste.”
by Oliver Milman and Dharna Noor, The Guardian | Read more:
Image: Jonathan Ernst/Reuters
[ed. One picture = thousand words. The stupidity never ends. In other news of the stupid, henchman Hegseth gets bad reviews for his speech commemorating D-Day:]
***
"Speaking in north-west France on Saturday to mark the 82nd anniversary of the D-day landings, Hegseth seized on the moment marking the wartime liberation of Europe to reiterate the US administration’s longstanding attack on European immigration policies.“Sadly, today, different European beaches are stormed by different, dangerous ideologies,” Hegseth told those gathered at the American military cemetery in Colleville-sur-Mer.
“Beaches in Spain, Italy, Greece and Bulgaria, boats and men arrive. When will European capitals do something about that invasion, or is it too late? I pray not, and I believe not,” he said."
The remarks were swiftly condemned on social media. The English historian, author and television presenter Simon Schama described them as a “special kind of loathsomeness: a blend of historical deafness, grotesque stupidity and comically ludicrous self-importance”.
Schama added: “As if the little people’s rage against immigration somehow is superior to the war against the 3rd Reich and entitles this comic book nobody to lecture the actual heroes.”
Saturday, June 6, 2026
A Conservative Not Afraid to Be a ‘Beautiful Loser’
What does it mean to be conservative in the Trump era? How is that changing? Has the term — and the philosophy behind it — lost all meaning?
Elizabeth Corey, a political scientist at Baylor, is a conservative — though what she sees being called “conservatism” today has left her dismayed.
She explained what she thinks about conservatism’s present, and potential future, in a written conversation with John Guida, an editor in Times Opinion. It has been edited for length and clarity.
John Guida: What is the state of conservatism today, and how confusing has it been to call yourself one in the Trump era?
Elizabeth Corey: The state of conservatism is quite varied, as anyone who follows politics knows. There are post-liberals, common-good conservatives, national conservatives and so on. One thing I see in all these camps is a certain adversarial posture toward American culture — or toward certain aspects of that culture that they dislike. I sympathize with some of that.
But my own understanding of conservatism is different — it’s grounded in culture and tradition, and in some sense, religion. It’s the idea that we should “conserve” the many goods that we have received from the past: philosophy, art, poetry, music, family life, etc. We can’t have any of these things without a stable political order. But political action is not at the very heart of things. [...]
Guida: Conservatives traditionally looked on government action skeptically. There’s the quote from Ronald Reagan: “The nine most terrifying words in the English language are: ‘I’m from the government, and I’m here to help.’ ” The current administration has shifted that posture. Is that one area of conservatism you no longer recognize?
Corey: It is. And it worries me, because if anything we’ve seen conservatives seize state power with a force that I wouldn’t have imagined possible before Trump. This troubles me not just because it hasn’t been a traditional conservative view, but because the degree of moral righteousness is often unquestioned.
Guida: You explored this adversarial political posture through an 1826 essay by William Hazlitt, “On the Pleasure of Hating,” in which he describes hating as “a never-failing source of satisfaction.” The pleasure of hating, he writes, transforms religion, patriotism and virtue into pretexts for destruction. You sympathized, to an extent, with the energizing aspects of tribalism.
Corey: Hazlitt was on to something in that essay — many of us don’t want to admit it, but we like to see bad and awful things because, frankly, they make us feel better about ourselves. To hate something gives us clarity about what we don’t hate, but also because hating the right things, with the right people, gives us a sense of camaraderie and of being together with a tribe of like-minded others.
Perhaps the most damning thing Hazlitt says in that essay is that we hate because “we cannot bear a state of indifference and ennui: the mind seems to abhor a vacuum.” A lot of us are bored and distracted right now, and politics as war is entertaining.
Guida: Do you think a minority of super-engaged Americans are driving this cycle?
Corey: This is a tremendous problem at present. Many people who don’t have radical and activist views have checked out of politics because they think they are the weird ones. I don’t live online as much as some people do, so I’m often talking to people who say that they are politically homeless — that they would gladly vote for any reasonable person of any party, but they don’t see such people in politics. So they check out altogether.
Part of the reason I wrote the recent pieces was simply to say that there is probably a quiet majority out there of more-or-less sensible people. Why should the loudest voices be the only ones we hear?
Guida: You contrast the space that adversarial politics takes place in with a more “generative” space. You wrote, “Our modern frenzy and constant, anxious busyness push us away from the very sources of cultural conservatism that I and so many others want to rejuvenate.” How do you balance the demands of citizenship — which includes, at least to some extent, politics — with that generative attitude?
Corey: One thing I’d say here is that the obligations of citizenship are very important, and I would like to shore up our notion of what it means to be a citizen. That’s what all the schools of civic leadership around the country are doing. But I would also say that citizenship is, for most of us, a local activity, which is mostly lost in the contemporary debate. Writing essays and being on social media is a kind of political activity, undoubtedly, but I’m not sure it’s the most important part of citizenship.
Far more important are the things we do that have real impacts on real people, like serving on juries and school boards and taking part in the communities where we actually live. That kind of activity is vital for human flourishing, and it requires us to interact with people who are not like us. We can’t be tribal on a jury.
Guida: You suggest that those who are “unrelentingly angry and critical” nevertheless draw from “an unseen foundation of equanimity, careful argument, civility and self-control” — a foundation, as you put it, traditionally maintained by conservatives. What is that foundation? What is in it? Books, music?
Corey: As a college professor, I’m always tempted to say it has something to do with education. When you read and converse and learn how to think philosophically, or “disinterestedly,” you are forced to see yourself in different ways — not as the center of the world, but almost as a character in a play.
That sounds a little bit strange, I realize; but when you read literature or philosophy you gain a certain distance that allows you not only to consider the complexities of the characters in the books, but yourself as well. You may be inclined to be a bit more humble, a bit more charitable, about what you know, and about your judgments of other people. This leads, often, to a kind of “moral calm” that can lead to equanimity and self-control.
It’s not just books and learning: We also learn these things in families — perhaps nowhere better do we come to terms with our emotions (their good and bad outcomes). Ideally, we learn how to be human — how to compromise and consider others’ feelings — through family. It’s a deeply Christian vision of what social life could be. Humility and charity aren’t easy virtues, after all — especially when you’re attacked.
Guida: Another quality that conservatives have traditionally stressed is character, including or even in particular in political leaders. Has the shift away from character as a concern — among politicians like President Trump or even, in Texas, Ken Paxton, who just won the Republican Senate runoff — surprised you?
Corey: This is where I see the arguments about power coming to the fore. Yes, some people say, character matters, but this is our one chance to do something big! Even if we’re a little squeamish about someone’s character, that matters less than what that person can do to advance our cause. And again, it’s about power, winning and losing: If winning is what matters, and it seems in many places to be the most important thing, then the way we win is less important. Warriors, I think, would say that we can’t be afraid to dirty our hands in the process. While I recognize that arguments about moral purity can be taken too far, I still think character matters.
Also on this question: I can’t tell you how many people in my circles have commented on the recent Ross Douthat-Ben Sasse interview. That great “sensible middle” that I’ve been talking about is simply dying to see people like Sasse in positions of authority; but there are very few of him in public life.
Guida: You mentioned the phrase, “Politics is downstream from culture.” How do you think about the direction of travel, so to speak, in that phrase. President Trump has now been elected twice to the presidency. There is clearly a part of the electorate that clamors for “warriors.” Is that coming from a new type of culture, one that is the antithesis of the type of culture that you describe?
Corey: I don’t have a way of knowing what a vast majority of Americans think — and yet I do have my own experience to go by. Just last week I visited several national parks in Utah, and had the opportunity to listen in on people’s conversations — on the shuttles, in the hotel breakfasts and elsewhere. I was struck by the genuine goodness of so many of these people. What did they want? They wanted their families to flourish, they wanted to be proud of their country (as they were, in Zion National Park) and they talked about neighbors, pets and sometimes politics. I guess what I took from this is that most people really aren’t invested in the kind of politics we often see in the media. That’s what makes me think that there is a quiet majority of people who, like me, want to move away from political warfare.
Because here’s the problem with warfare among citizens: What is the end game? What do we do with the opponents whom we’ve supposedly vanquished? They’re all still here, and we must live with them. It’s a little like a marital fight: You don’t think about “defeating” your “enemy”; you must somehow still live together in peace after the fight is over.
Guida: So is it fair to say that your hope is that somehow — through better leaders, institutions, some persistent mechanism — the quiet majority begins to reshape our politics and national future?
Corey: I do hope so. Perhaps that’s idealistic. It’s hard to say anything these days without worrying that you’ll be pilloried for it. But we really can’t let the loud and bellicose voices drown us out.
by Elizabeth Corey and John Guida, NY Times | Read more:
Image: Daniel Ribar for The New York Times
Elizabeth Corey, a political scientist at Baylor, is a conservative — though what she sees being called “conservatism” today has left her dismayed.
John Guida: What is the state of conservatism today, and how confusing has it been to call yourself one in the Trump era?
Elizabeth Corey: The state of conservatism is quite varied, as anyone who follows politics knows. There are post-liberals, common-good conservatives, national conservatives and so on. One thing I see in all these camps is a certain adversarial posture toward American culture — or toward certain aspects of that culture that they dislike. I sympathize with some of that.
But my own understanding of conservatism is different — it’s grounded in culture and tradition, and in some sense, religion. It’s the idea that we should “conserve” the many goods that we have received from the past: philosophy, art, poetry, music, family life, etc. We can’t have any of these things without a stable political order. But political action is not at the very heart of things. [...]
Guida: Conservatives traditionally looked on government action skeptically. There’s the quote from Ronald Reagan: “The nine most terrifying words in the English language are: ‘I’m from the government, and I’m here to help.’ ” The current administration has shifted that posture. Is that one area of conservatism you no longer recognize?
Corey: It is. And it worries me, because if anything we’ve seen conservatives seize state power with a force that I wouldn’t have imagined possible before Trump. This troubles me not just because it hasn’t been a traditional conservative view, but because the degree of moral righteousness is often unquestioned.
Guida: You explored this adversarial political posture through an 1826 essay by William Hazlitt, “On the Pleasure of Hating,” in which he describes hating as “a never-failing source of satisfaction.” The pleasure of hating, he writes, transforms religion, patriotism and virtue into pretexts for destruction. You sympathized, to an extent, with the energizing aspects of tribalism.
Corey: Hazlitt was on to something in that essay — many of us don’t want to admit it, but we like to see bad and awful things because, frankly, they make us feel better about ourselves. To hate something gives us clarity about what we don’t hate, but also because hating the right things, with the right people, gives us a sense of camaraderie and of being together with a tribe of like-minded others.
Perhaps the most damning thing Hazlitt says in that essay is that we hate because “we cannot bear a state of indifference and ennui: the mind seems to abhor a vacuum.” A lot of us are bored and distracted right now, and politics as war is entertaining.
Guida: Do you think a minority of super-engaged Americans are driving this cycle?
Corey: This is a tremendous problem at present. Many people who don’t have radical and activist views have checked out of politics because they think they are the weird ones. I don’t live online as much as some people do, so I’m often talking to people who say that they are politically homeless — that they would gladly vote for any reasonable person of any party, but they don’t see such people in politics. So they check out altogether.
Part of the reason I wrote the recent pieces was simply to say that there is probably a quiet majority out there of more-or-less sensible people. Why should the loudest voices be the only ones we hear?
Guida: You contrast the space that adversarial politics takes place in with a more “generative” space. You wrote, “Our modern frenzy and constant, anxious busyness push us away from the very sources of cultural conservatism that I and so many others want to rejuvenate.” How do you balance the demands of citizenship — which includes, at least to some extent, politics — with that generative attitude?
Corey: One thing I’d say here is that the obligations of citizenship are very important, and I would like to shore up our notion of what it means to be a citizen. That’s what all the schools of civic leadership around the country are doing. But I would also say that citizenship is, for most of us, a local activity, which is mostly lost in the contemporary debate. Writing essays and being on social media is a kind of political activity, undoubtedly, but I’m not sure it’s the most important part of citizenship.
Far more important are the things we do that have real impacts on real people, like serving on juries and school boards and taking part in the communities where we actually live. That kind of activity is vital for human flourishing, and it requires us to interact with people who are not like us. We can’t be tribal on a jury.
Guida: You suggest that those who are “unrelentingly angry and critical” nevertheless draw from “an unseen foundation of equanimity, careful argument, civility and self-control” — a foundation, as you put it, traditionally maintained by conservatives. What is that foundation? What is in it? Books, music?
Corey: As a college professor, I’m always tempted to say it has something to do with education. When you read and converse and learn how to think philosophically, or “disinterestedly,” you are forced to see yourself in different ways — not as the center of the world, but almost as a character in a play.
That sounds a little bit strange, I realize; but when you read literature or philosophy you gain a certain distance that allows you not only to consider the complexities of the characters in the books, but yourself as well. You may be inclined to be a bit more humble, a bit more charitable, about what you know, and about your judgments of other people. This leads, often, to a kind of “moral calm” that can lead to equanimity and self-control.
It’s not just books and learning: We also learn these things in families — perhaps nowhere better do we come to terms with our emotions (their good and bad outcomes). Ideally, we learn how to be human — how to compromise and consider others’ feelings — through family. It’s a deeply Christian vision of what social life could be. Humility and charity aren’t easy virtues, after all — especially when you’re attacked.
Guida: Another quality that conservatives have traditionally stressed is character, including or even in particular in political leaders. Has the shift away from character as a concern — among politicians like President Trump or even, in Texas, Ken Paxton, who just won the Republican Senate runoff — surprised you?
Corey: This is where I see the arguments about power coming to the fore. Yes, some people say, character matters, but this is our one chance to do something big! Even if we’re a little squeamish about someone’s character, that matters less than what that person can do to advance our cause. And again, it’s about power, winning and losing: If winning is what matters, and it seems in many places to be the most important thing, then the way we win is less important. Warriors, I think, would say that we can’t be afraid to dirty our hands in the process. While I recognize that arguments about moral purity can be taken too far, I still think character matters.
Also on this question: I can’t tell you how many people in my circles have commented on the recent Ross Douthat-Ben Sasse interview. That great “sensible middle” that I’ve been talking about is simply dying to see people like Sasse in positions of authority; but there are very few of him in public life.
Guida: You mentioned the phrase, “Politics is downstream from culture.” How do you think about the direction of travel, so to speak, in that phrase. President Trump has now been elected twice to the presidency. There is clearly a part of the electorate that clamors for “warriors.” Is that coming from a new type of culture, one that is the antithesis of the type of culture that you describe?
Corey: I don’t have a way of knowing what a vast majority of Americans think — and yet I do have my own experience to go by. Just last week I visited several national parks in Utah, and had the opportunity to listen in on people’s conversations — on the shuttles, in the hotel breakfasts and elsewhere. I was struck by the genuine goodness of so many of these people. What did they want? They wanted their families to flourish, they wanted to be proud of their country (as they were, in Zion National Park) and they talked about neighbors, pets and sometimes politics. I guess what I took from this is that most people really aren’t invested in the kind of politics we often see in the media. That’s what makes me think that there is a quiet majority of people who, like me, want to move away from political warfare.
Because here’s the problem with warfare among citizens: What is the end game? What do we do with the opponents whom we’ve supposedly vanquished? They’re all still here, and we must live with them. It’s a little like a marital fight: You don’t think about “defeating” your “enemy”; you must somehow still live together in peace after the fight is over.
Guida: So is it fair to say that your hope is that somehow — through better leaders, institutions, some persistent mechanism — the quiet majority begins to reshape our politics and national future?
Corey: I do hope so. Perhaps that’s idealistic. It’s hard to say anything these days without worrying that you’ll be pilloried for it. But we really can’t let the loud and bellicose voices drown us out.
by Elizabeth Corey and John Guida, NY Times | Read more:
Image: Daniel Ribar for The New York Times
Mary Tyler Moore
There was a scene that Robert Redford wanted for “Ordinary People” in which Beth Jarrett, played by Mary Tyler Moore, takes a cake out of the refrigerator. The cake has a circle of cherries on top, and the only action in the scene is Beth, the cold, bereaved mother, looking at the cake, adjusting the cherries, then putting the cake back in the fridge. Moore was alone in the kitchen. Redford wanted to capture Beth in an unobserved moment — what was this woman really like? How was she coping with the accidental death of her older son and the recent suicide attempt of her younger son? Had she escaped into her fastidiousness and her uptightness?
He shot it once; no good. He shot it again; no good. She tried to bring a motivation to each take: Was this cake good enough? Or, Did the cake need more cherries? And each time he’d say: “No, no, clear your mind. Let’s go again.” Every time the kitchen was set up for another scene, Redford used the opportunity to try the shot again. Moore called it “the bane of the production.” He shot it over and over, 26 times in total in front of a “mystified” crew, she wrote in her memoir.
Redford knew the role was a change from Moore’s sunny appearances as Mary Richards on “The Mary Tyler Moore Show” and Laura Petrie on “The Dick Van Dyke Show,” so much so that he was initially worried to even approach her. But when he did, he told her that when he read the Judith Guest novel that he was adapting, he couldn’t stop picturing Moore as Beth. Redford had a home in Malibu, and sometimes he’d look out on the beach and see her taking walks. She seemed like a sad figure on those walks, so different from the spunky and triumphant walks she took in the opening credits of “The Mary Tyler Moore Show.” He told her that it was the most important role in the film. He wanted someone to play her sympathetically. Moore agreed emphatically. Beth reminded Moore of her father. She also had a little of Beth in her herself — she would realize that eventually. She told Redford that she didn’t think of Beth as a villain but as just another victim in the story.
Redford knew the role was a change from Moore’s sunny appearances as Mary Richards on “The Mary Tyler Moore Show” and Laura Petrie on “The Dick Van Dyke Show,” so much so that he was initially worried to even approach her. But when he did, he told her that when he read the Judith Guest novel that he was adapting, he couldn’t stop picturing Moore as Beth. Redford had a home in Malibu, and sometimes he’d look out on the beach and see her taking walks. She seemed like a sad figure on those walks, so different from the spunky and triumphant walks she took in the opening credits of “The Mary Tyler Moore Show.” He told her that it was the most important role in the film. He wanted someone to play her sympathetically. Moore agreed emphatically. Beth reminded Moore of her father. She also had a little of Beth in her herself — she would realize that eventually. She told Redford that she didn’t think of Beth as a villain but as just another victim in the story.Moore called “Ordinary People” the “holy grail” of her career, not just because it had a remarkable script and production, or because of the Oscar nomination that she earned from it, but because it saved her from eternal typecasting just when she needed it. She had been so good in sitcoms. But what now? She was only in her early 40s, and it seemed as if she was sentenced to a life of short-lived series and celebrity guest appearances on sitcoms and game shows. Depth and mood and range weren’t things people associated with her.
When “The Mary Tyler Moore Show” debuted in 1970, no one could have predicted how iconic it would become for the way it portrayed women’s experiences in the workplace, and for the way its heroine, Mary Richards, remained plucky in the face of discrimination, both passive and aggressive. That was back when plucky seemed like a good solution to the constant insults of merely trying to function while female, when smiling with moxie at all the crap thrown in your direction seemed like the best way to survive and advance.Mary Richards struck an exact balance of wit and intelligence with a kind of wise understanding of people’s natures. She was a perfect guide for navigating the a-wokening of the corporate American man (a project that is still ongoing, to say the least). The show’s cultural impact over its seven years was monumental. Mary Richards allowed women to ask themselves questions out loud about what exactly they were hoping for in life, why it was so important for them to marry and how the families we build for ourselves can be as important and sustaining as the families we’re born into.
Mary Richards was a hero for all she represented. But Moore wasn’t Mary Richards. She didn’t have her ease or confidence. She grew up in a house with distant parents; her mother was an alcoholic. Moore lived between her parents’ house and her grandmother and aunt’s house. When she was at her parents’ house, she slept on the couch, because there were only two bedrooms and she felt uncomfortable sleeping in the same room with her brother. She grew up to struggle with diabetes, with rejection, with alcoholism, with divorce, with another divorce, with the death of a grown, only child, with forgiveness. She left her second husband, Grant Tinker, with whom she had so little intimacy that they never undressed in front of each other except during actual sex. She moved to New York, away from him. At night, in her apartment, she made margaritas in her blender that were one-quarter drink mix, one-quarter ice and one-half tequila, so that they had the consistency of a milkshake. She got into her bed at night, next to the air-conditioner, and built a kind of fort around herself with pillows and drank until those margaritas began their work. (She would eventually marry a third time.)
People still mistook Moore for Richards, though. In 1980, Gloria Steinem asked Moore to speak at an Equal Rights Amendment rally in Washington. Moore said yes, but when the time came, she lied and said she had an ear infection and couldn’t fly. Steinem suggested she take a train instead. She told Moore that Tip O’Neill, the speaker of the House, had agreed to meet with Steinem’s group — Bella Abzug, Gloria Allred, etc. — only if Moore was in attendance. So Moore took the train, begrudgingly, now roped into a four-hour trip instead of an hourlong flight. She showed up to the meeting and submitted to the “big hug” that O’Neill demanded of her. (“Where’s that little cutie?” she remembered him saying.) But it was a waste of time. The amendment stalled, and she found the women rallying for equal rights well intentioned and intelligent but off-putting, with their shouting, like “angry children.” This, she believed, was one reason the amendment ultimately failed to become law. Yes, she saw the paradox in all this. Yes, she loved Mary Richards, too. But didn’t all the women in America know by now how exhausting it was to aspire to be Mary Richards?
So there she was, a few years after her show went off the air. She told people she ended it so that they could go out on top, but the real reason was that the producers, the writers and Tinker, who co-founded their production company, MTM Enterprises, saw so much potential in spinoffs — “Rhoda,” “Lou Grant” and others — that it seemed like the smart move. Great for the bottom line, yes, but what about Moore? She had these Maryisms, she called them — referring to the movements and speech patterns that she had absorbed into her own manner after so many years of playing Mary Richards.
She did some theater, including playing a quadriplegic who wants to end her own life, in “Whose Life Is It, Anyway?” for which she won raves and a special Tony. Then came Redford’s offer. But it wasn’t really an offer, in the end. After they spoke that first time, he took three months to consider if she was right for the role, auditioning just about every actress in town, from what Moore heard.
When he finally returned to her, saying, Yes, please, come be my Beth Jarrett, she nearly fell over with relief. Now she could show something of herself to as big an audience as she’d always had. She had been so afraid that people would find out that she wasn’t Mary Richards. But in the time she waited for Redford’s offer, she realized she was more afraid that they wouldn’t; she was more afraid that she’d never be seen or known or loved for who she was.
Redford continued to try to get the shot of Beth and the cake, but it was never to be. It appears nowhere in the movie. Moore said later that she believed that Redford had been looking for Beth’s soul. But Beth wasn’t the kind of person to reveal her soul. Beth was the kind of person who would rather give you a cake and a smile. She could mourn by overcoming sadness in a lifelong pursuit for perfectionism. Beth’s soul was the act of not showing her soul. How did Redford not see that? How did Redford not see that Beth’s soul was right in front of him the entire time?
by Taffy Brodesser-Akner, NY Times | Read more:
Image:Philippe Halsman
[ed. From the series The Lives They Lived. See also: Delia Graff Fara.]
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