If your parents complain that they don’t hear from you, you can send an AI instead. At least, according to inTouch, which will make that call for you and spark “meaningful, mind-stimulating conversations with your parent.” Whether that parent will appreciate being called by an AI rather than their offspring is, well, questionable. 404 Media’s Joseph Cox asked his mother what she thought. “It sounds from the clips like talking to an automated company cold call,” she said. Just what every mom or dad looks forward to. — from B Krasnoff
People: Corporate refugees. Evolution of middle manager and zombie leadership. Partner and work. Seeking purpose.
Infrastructure: Trees as infrastructure. Urban ownership.
Tech: tech-free houses as a luxury. Smartphones for IRL interactions. Reusing fashion waste.
Life: K2-18b. Seen a colossal squid. Living dead animals. Origin of domestic cats.
Security: corporate screenshots leaked.
AI: Stevens as vibecode. To detect whales on your way. 20 reflections. Small impacts of LLMs on models. AI and the commons.
UNDP Human Development report.Futures: reimagine them. 2025 trends. Charting futures, WEF.
Random: Best 2024 ideas.
Whispers of the Oak
In a quaint suburb where lawn gnomes outnumbered actual children, 54-year-old Nora often found solace in her recycled paper diary—a bearable and tangible relic in a world where even thoughts were unfolding into vast AI-generated logbooks. It was 2025, and amid the gleaming screens and advertising drones circling like vultures, she thought herself the last bastion of handwritten authenticity. Today, however, sparked a flicker of inspiration.
Peeking through her half-drawn blinds, she caught sight of the enormous oak tree across the street, seemingly yawning as it stretched its branches. Trees, she mused, were nature’s own innovative projects, purifying the air and re-enacting age-old arguments against each other under the guise of rustling leaves. What would happen if she interviewed them, much like inTouch did with lonely seniors? How many tree tales had gone unheard in a world too busy phubbing their roots?
As the sun went down, Nora plugged her smartphone into the wall—a necessary evil. "Hey, Stevens," she instructed, testing her sheer will over the AI butler crammed into her phone. "Draft an interview script for an oak tree." Stevens, on cue, offered translations of platos with octopus ink, revealing the nuances of longing and resonance that only branches danced to.
In a serendipitous tangent, she remembered a recent video capturing a colossal squid—the majestic creature, like an artistic drip of ink from a master painter’s brush, had never before graced the surface while alive. Just like that squid, the stories of her silent neighbors remained submerged, waiting for someone brave enough to plumb the depths of their existence.
“Nora,” her neighbor’s face appeared on her screen from the inTouch connection, slightly blurry but filled with a warmth that gleamed even through the pixels. “What are you up to?”
"Interviewing trees!" she chirped. “They have more to share than fishermen’s tales.”
Her neighbor chuckled, with that rich resonance one only found when talking to someone who understood how to find meaning in mundane life—or perhaps it was the shared joy of viewing their lives as a stage play complete with rickety props. After her call, Nora pondered how she might integrate the burgeoning trend of AI into her tree interviews while ensuring it remained the sidekick, not the star. After all, who would appreciate the sound of wind through leaves better than those leaves themselves?
As she set forth to draw up questions on her notepad, she focused on the notion of shared realities, recognizing that both her and the tree had lived countless seasons. What if trees held opinions on gentrification? What if they had feelings about the local littering problem? They would likely have a great deal to say about how society often forgets the vital roles of its silent giants—those who provided shelter, air, and shade, yet were cynically ignored amid the distractions of modern hauls and the eye-popping glow of Heineken's ‘Flipper’ phone case commercials.
With renewed determination, Nora locked her diary and quelled the urge to scroll through digital drudgery. Instead, she turned back to the oaks outside her window. Tomorrow she would bravely embark on her interview—sketching out an anthropomorphic olive branch over the sturdy trunk, reminding herself that sometimes the future is just rooted in existence, just waiting to be awakened by those willing to listen.
And maybe, just maybe, those stories could change more than just the way people viewed trees. After all, had it not been the trees that quietly bore witness to the cruelties and joys of humanity throughout history? Who knew what thoughts were festering beneath that rough bark, anxious to branch out into the world? The world could certainly benefit from a touch of tree wisdom; it was after all, well past time those gnarled fingers pointed elsewhere than merely at wannabe digital distractions.