I’ve been reading the work of L.M. Sacasas for a very long time, certainly since before he moved his writing to “a Substack.” He is a modern philosopher who I often agree with, and also sometimes vehemently disagree with—but never in a way that made me kick him out of my RSS feed.

I say all this because I haven’t linked to him in a while, and when I say “I think you should read this article by a philosophy dude” I don’t want you to dismiss it out of hand. In Do Not Resign From Life he takes on what we now all know as “the AI revolution”, and argues that even though there is plenty to complain about, one thing it shouldn’t do is make us think that we don’t matter as humans any more.

I don’t want to say much more about this essay, I just really hope you decide to read it. If you’re intrigued enough, stop here and click the link. If you’re not there yet, here’s a taste of the argument:

I will set aside for a moment the question of whether machines, LLMs specifically, can think or reason or use language in a manner that corresponds to the human use of language, etc. But let us grant for argument’s sake that they can. They can certainly generate passable simulations of such things. But why should this mean that I ought not to think for myself and with others? Why should I cease from inhabiting the playground of language because a machine can pretend to play in it as well? Why should I abandon the exercise of judgment or the pursuit of knowledge? We must pursue these things not because the dignity of our humanity is on the line, but because our joy is.

The machine cannot make us yield our ground. It is true that other humans can turn the machine against us, but that is a different problem. Here, I simply want to encourage us not to abandon those activities that bring us purpose, meaning, and delight, which are often the very activities that also bring us together.

Hard yes to Camille Fournier’s Guidelines for Respectful Use of AI, especially this one:

Don’t ask someone to read/review what you haven’t read or reviewed yourself.

This is one of the most common frustrations I hear amongst people working on AI-heavy teams. Whether it’s code that the owner didn’t really bother to understand before submitting for review, or documents that they generated and didn’t bother to read, too often people try to steal productivity from their colleagues by streamlining their production of work while asking their colleagues to do all of the quality control themselves. […]

It’s easy to get into a loop where you ask the AI some questions, skim the answers, output a document and send it to others. I’m guilty of this myself! But what makes sense when you’re skimming one answer at a time may not make for a good overall document, and there is a big difference between answering individual questions and writing for a human reader. In particular, the context that you have in your own head as you are talking to the AI may not come out at all in the document; if you don’t bother to read it thoroughly before sending it out, you won’t catch the gap in framing.

Well here’s a disturbing point I somehow hadn’t thought about before. Are we training AI, or is it training us?

When I sat down to write this article, in which, to be clear, I did not use AI, I found myself writing the following sentence: “It’s not just in places we’re conditioned to see AI—Google AI overviews, LinkedIn influencer posts, and Facebook feeds—I’ve started seeing AI…” I stopped typing, freaked out, and deleted the sentence. Have I always written this way? I honestly don’t know.

This negative parallelism—“it’s not just x, it’s y” is maybe the most infamous AI writing-ism there is. It is something that is regularly called out as being obviously AI, and is the formation in the sentence Mamdani wrote that Spero called out. But I didn’t use AI. Did I use that construction because I’ve been immersed on an internet full of generic AI writing on every platform all day everyday for years? Or did I just happen to think that was the best way to phrase it at the time?

Related, I like Kai’s take on why we feel so… duped when we see clearly AI-generated text:

I’m not categorically against using AI to help out with tedious work. But there’s a difference between using a tool to say something you actually mean, and using a tool to manufacture the appearance of meaning something.

I know it’s a bit naïve to appeal to common decency when the same technology is busy guiding weapons systems, but please don’t outsource sincerity. Don’t pretend to care about someone or something just to get their attention.

The damage isn’t just annoyance. It’s suspicion that gets attached to genuine messages. Emails I would have read warmly now carry an asterisk. Did a person write this? Does this person actually care about my work, or is this just another prompt in the dark?

I sent this essay to my wife because doing self-owns is kind of my brand. It’s about husbands who can’t stop talking about AI, and despite how uncomfortable it made me, it’s not wrong and also wonderful writing. This is so good:

I should also say I didn’t bother speaking to any of the actual husbands for this story. I’m sick of hearing from the men of AI. So many of us are. They have podcasts and Senate hearings and magazine profiles and probably a group chat with the president. They’ve been talked to—and I can’t stress this enough—enough.

I guess this shows just how old I am because I loved every single one of the “Oscar-bait” movies in this list (I do agree on TCM though)…

When I was a kid, I would watch Turner Classic Movies and try to appreciate films from the 1940s, only to find the exercise strangely difficult. I could admire them—in theory—but I struggled to experience these stories the way their original audiences did.

I feel similarly about many Oscar-bait dramas of the 1990s, including but not limited to: Chocolat, American Beauty, Shakespeare in Love, Scent of a Woman, The English Patient, and Life Is Beautiful. I simply don’t understand what contemporary audiences saw in these films.

That aside, as usual Daniel makes an interesting larger point, about why we don’t see as many dramas as we used to:

Action and horror, meanwhile, have visceral elements that translate across generations: big dinosaurs, jump scares, campy set pieces, and other straightforward pleasures. The first ten minutes of Raiders of the Lost Ark are timeless and feature almost no dialogue.

This post on org design really resonated.

Most companies today are using AI the way you’d use a faster horse — to make the existing structure run a little better. The companies that pull ahead will be the ones willing to ask a harder question: what would we build if we were designing this organization from scratch, today, knowing what AI can do?

We have to seriously rethink the SDLC, design it from scratch in the context of how our own organizations work. It’s not about a global “right” process any more. The question now becomes “How can the humans in our team, at our company, at this point in time, work best together to serve our customers?”

Anil Dash has a long essay on the state of the open web and not all of it rings true for me, but buried in the opening is a wonderful definition of what the open web actually is:

The open web is something extraordinary: anybody can use whatever tools they have, to create content following publicly documented specifications, published using completely free and open platforms, and then share that work with anyone, anywhere in the world, without asking for permission from anyone. Think about how radical that is.

It does feel like if the web got invented in 2026, it would not have been left as an open technology for long (see also AI and how much open source models are lagging).

Matt Shumer’s Something Big Is Happening has made the rounds over the last couple of weeks, but just in case you haven’t seen it, I think it’s very much worth reading. He’s an AI startup founder writing for the non-technical people in his life:

AI isn’t replacing one specific skill. It’s a general substitute for cognitive work. It gets better at everything simultaneously. When factories automated, a displaced worker could retrain as an office worker. When the internet disrupted retail, workers moved into logistics or services. But AI doesn’t leave a convenient gap to move into. Whatever you retrain for, it’s improving at that too.

Previous waves of automation always left somewhere to go. The uncomfortable implication here is that the escape routes are closing as fast as they open.

There are too many quotes worth commenting on, but this observation about what we tell our kids feels important:

The people most likely to thrive are the ones who are deeply curious, adaptable, and effective at using AI to do things they actually care about. Teach your kids to be builders and learners, not to optimize for a career path that might not exist by the time they graduate.

Predictions about the pace of change tend to be simultaneously too aggressive and too conservative in ways that are hard to anticipate. But the direction feels right, and the practical advice is sound: use the tools seriously, don’t assume they can’t do something just because it seems too hard, and spend your energy adapting rather than debating whether this is real.

Isabel Woodford has a research-heavy essay in The Atlantic about why dads and daughters crave closeness but struggle to find it. 28% of American women are estranged from their father, and even where relationships are intact, they tend to be thinner—more transactional, less emotionally honest—than daughters want.

At the root of the modern father-daughter divide seems to be a mismatch in expectations. Fathers, generally speaking, have for generations been less involved than mothers in their kids’ (and especially their daughters‘) lives. But lots of children today expect more: more emotional support and more egalitarian treatment. Many fathers, though, appear to have struggled to adjust to their daughters’ expectations. The result isn’t a relationship that has suddenly ruptured so much as one that has failed to fully adapt.

And the psychological explanation that cuts deepest:

“What generates closeness is another person’s vulnerability,” Coleman explained, and dads may not be ready for that.

Daughters aren’t asking for grand gestures or dramatic change—they’re asking for their fathers to show up emotionally. Which turns out to be hard for a lot of men who were raised to see that kind of openness as weakness.