Latest news with #Frankensteinian
NZ Herald
3 days ago
- General
- NZ Herald
One man and his tower that's a monument to Chen Tianming's determination to live where and how he wants
He climbed lightly up the ladders, past the fifth-floor reading nook and the sixth-floor open-air tearoom. From the ninth floor, he surveyed the sturdy, standardised apartment buildings in the distance where his neighbours live. 'They say the house is shabby, that it could be blown down by wind at any time,' he said — an observation that did not seem altogether far-fetched when I visited him last month. 'But the advantage is that it's conspicuous, a bit eye-catching. People admire it,' he added. 'Other people spend millions, and no one goes to look at their houses.' Chen's house is so unusual that it has lured gawkers and even tourists to his rural corner of Guizhou province, in southwestern China. It evokes a Dr Seuss drawing, or the Burrow in Harry Potter. Many people on Chinese social media have compared it to Howl's Moving Castle. Chen Tianming's house after dark, in Xingyi, China. Photo / Andrea Verdelli, the New York Times To the casual observer, the house may be a mere spectacle, a Frankensteinian oddity. To Chen, it is a monument to his determination to live where — and how — he wants, in defiance of the local government, gossiping neighbours and seemingly even common sense. He began modifying his family home in 2018, when the authorities in the city of Xingyi ordered his village demolished to make way for a resort they planned to build. Chen's parents, farmers who had built the house in the 1980s, thought that the money that officials were offering as compensation for the move was too low and refused to leave. When bulldozers began razing their pomegranate trees anyway, Chen rushed home from Hangzhou, the eastern city where he had been working as a package courier. Along with his brother, Chen Tianliang, he started adding a third floor. At first, the motivation was in part practical: Compensation payment was determined by square footage, and if the house had more floors, they would be entitled to more money. They visited a second-hand building materials market and bought old utility poles and red composite boards — cheaper than the black ones — and hammered, screwed and notched them together into floorboards, walls and supporting columns. Then, Chen, who had long had an amateur interest in architecture, wondered what it would be like to add a fourth floor. His brother and parents thought there was no need, so Chen did it alone. Then, he wondered about a fifth. And a sixth. Chen Tianming looks at his phone in an upper floor bedroom of his house in Xingyi, China. Photo / Andrea Verdelli, the New York Times 'I just suddenly wanted to challenge myself,' he said. 'And every time I completed my own small task or dream, it felt meaningful.' He was also fuelled by resentment towards the Government, which kept serving him with demolition orders and sending officials to pressure his family. By that point, their house was virtually the only one left in the vicinity; his neighbours had all moved into the new apartment buildings about 5km away. (Local officials have maintained to Chinese media that the building is illegal.) Mass expropriations of land, at times by force, have been a widespread phenomenon in China for decades amid the country's modernisation push. The homes of those who do manage to hold out are sometimes called 'nail houses', for how they protrude like nails after the area around them has been cleared. Still, few stick out quite like Chen's. A former mathematics major who dropped out of university because he felt that higher education was pointless, Chen spent years bouncing between cities, working as a calligraphy salesperson, insurance agent, and courier. But he yearned for a more pastoral lifestyle, he said. When he returned to the village in 2018 to help his parents fend off the developers, he decided to stay. 'I don't want my home to become a city. I feel like a guardian of the village,' he said, over noodles with homegrown vegetables that his mother had stir-fried on their traditional brick stove. Distant high-rise residences and colourful lights hanging from one of the floors of Chen Tianming's house, at dusk. Photo / Andrea Verdelli, the New York Times In recent years, the threat of demolition has become less immediate. Chen filed a lawsuit against the local government and the developers, which is still pending. In any case, the proposed resort project stalled after the local government ran out of money. (Guizhou, one of China's poorest and most indebted provinces, is littered with extravagant, unfinished tourism projects.) But Chen has continued building. The house is now a constantly evolving display of his interests and hobbies. On the first floor, Chen hung calligraphy from artists he befriended in Hangzhou. On the fifth, he keeps a pile of faded books, mostly about history, philosophy and psychology. The sixth floor has potted plants and a plank of wood suspended from the ceiling with ropes, like a swing, to hold a mortar and pestle and a teakettle. On the eighth, a gift from an art student who once visited him: a lamp, with the shade made of tiny photographs of his house from different angles. With each floor that he added, he moved his bedroom up, too: 'That's what makes it fun'. His parents and brother sleep on the ground floor and rarely make the vertiginous ascent. Each morning, he inspects the house from top to bottom. To reinforce the fourth and fifth floors, he hauled wooden columns up through the windows with pulleys. He added the buckets of water throughout the house after a storm blew out a fifth-floor wall. Eventually, he tore down most of the walls on the lower floors, so that wind could pass straight through the structure. 'There's a law of increasing entropy,' Chen said. 'This house, if I didn't care for it, would naturally collapse in two years at most.' He added: 'But as long as I'm still standing, it will be too'. Maintenance costs more time than money, he said. He estimated that he had spent a little more than US$20,000 ($33,500) on building materials. He has also spent about US$4000 on lawyers. His family has been, if not enthusiastic about, at least resigned to Chen's whims. His parents are accustomed to curious visitors, at least a few every weekend. His brother came up with the idea of illuminating the house at night with lanterns. Chen Tianming's mother watches TV on the first floor of their house in Xingyi, China. Photo / Andrea Verdelli, the New York Times They have all united against their fellow villagers, who they say accuse them of being nuisances, or greedy. 'Now we just don't go over there,' said Tianliang, Chen's brother. 'There's no need to listen to what they say about us.' In town, some residents said exactly what the Chens predicted they would: that the house would collapse any day; that they were troublemakers. (The local government erected a sign near the house warning of safety hazards.) But others expressed admiration for Chen's creativity. Zhu Zhiyuan, an employee at a local supermarket, said he had been drawn in when passing by on his scooter and had ventured closer for a better look. Still, he had not dared get too close. 'There are people who say it's illegal,' he said. Then he added: 'But if they tore it down, that would be a bit of a shame'. This article originally appeared in The New York Times. Written by: Vivian Wang Photographs by: Andrea Verdelli ©2025 THE NEW YORK TIMES
Boston Globe
4 days ago
- General
- Boston Globe
Tear it down, they said. He just kept building.
Advertisement From the ninth floor, he surveyed the sturdy, standardized apartment buildings in the distance where his neighbors live. 'They say the house is shabby, that it could be blown down by wind at any time,' he said — an observation that did not seem altogether far-fetched when I visited him last month. 'But the advantage is that it's conspicuous, a bit eye-catching. People admire it,' he added. 'Other people spend millions, and no one goes to look at their houses.' Chen's house is so unusual that it has lured gawkers and even tourists to his rural corner of Guizhou province, in southwestern China. It evokes a Dr. Seuss drawing, or the Burrow in 'Harry Potter.' Many people on Chinese social media have compared it to 'Howl's Moving Castle.' Advertisement To the casual observer, the house may be a mere spectacle, a Frankensteinian oddity. To Chen, it is a monument to his determination to live where — and how — he wants, in defiance of the local government, gossiping neighbors and seemingly even common sense. He began modifying his family home in 2018, when the authorities in the city of Xingyi ordered his village demolished to make way for a resort they planned to build. Chen's parents, farmers who had built the house in the 1980s, thought that the money that officials were offering as compensation for the move was too low and refused to leave. When bulldozers began razing their pomegranate trees anyway, Chen rushed home from Hangzhou, the eastern city where he had been working as a package courier. Along with his brother, Chen Tianliang, he started adding a third floor. At first, the motivation was in part practical: Compensation payment was determined by square footage, and if the house had more floors, they would be entitled to more money. They visited a secondhand building materials market and bought old utility poles and red composite boards — cheaper than the black ones — and hammered, screwed and notched them together into floorboards, walls and supporting columns. Then, Chen, who had long had an amateur interest in architecture, wondered what it would be like to add a fourth floor. His brother and parents thought there was no need, so Chen did it alone. Then, he wondered about a fifth. And a sixth. 'I just suddenly wanted to challenge myself,' he said. 'And every time I completed my own small task or dream, it felt meaningful.' Advertisement He was also fueled by resentment toward the government, which kept serving him with demolition orders and sending officials to pressure his family. By that point, their house was virtually the only one left in the vicinity; his neighbors had all moved into the new apartment buildings about 3 miles away. (Local officials have maintained to Chinese media that the building is illegal.) Mass expropriations of land, at times by force, have been a widespread phenomenon in China for decades amid the country's modernization push. The homes of those who do manage to hold out are sometimes called 'nail houses,' for how they protrude like nails after the area around them has been cleared. Still, few stick out quite like Chen's. A former mathematics major who dropped out of university because he felt that higher education was pointless, Chen spent years bouncing between cities, working as a calligraphy salesperson, insurance agent and courier. But he yearned for a more pastoral lifestyle, he said. When he returned to the village in 2018 to help his parents fend off the developers, he decided to stay. 'I don't want my home to become a city. I feel like a guardian of the village,' he said, over noodles with homegrown vegetables that his mother had stir-fried on their traditional brick stove. In recent years, the threat of demolition has become less immediate. Chen filed a lawsuit against the local government and the developers, which is still pending. In any case, the proposed resort project stalled after the local government ran out of money. (Guizhou, one of China's poorest and most indebted provinces, is littered with extravagant, unfinished tourism projects.) Advertisement But Chen has continued building. The house is now a constantly evolving display of his interests and hobbies. On the first floor, Chen hung calligraphy from artists he befriended in Hangzhou. On the fifth, he keeps a pile of faded books, mostly about history, philosophy and psychology. The sixth floor has potted plants and a plank of wood suspended from the ceiling with ropes, like a swing, to hold a mortar and pestle and a teakettle. On the eighth, a gift from an art student who once visited him: a lamp, with the shade made of tiny photographs of his house from different angles. With each floor that he added, he moved his bedroom up, too: 'That's what makes it fun.' (His parents and brother sleep on the ground floor and rarely make the vertiginous ascent.) Each morning, he inspects the house from top to bottom. To reinforce the fourth and fifth floors, he hauled wooden columns up through the windows with pulleys. He added the buckets of water throughout the house after a storm blew out a fifth-floor wall. Eventually, he tore down most of the walls on the lower floors, so that wind could pass straight through the structure. 'There's a law of increasing entropy,' Chen said. 'This house, if I didn't care for it, would naturally collapse in two years at most.' He added, 'But as long as I'm still standing, it will be too.' Maintenance costs more time than money, he said. He estimated that he had spent a little more than $20,000 on building materials. He has also spent about $4,000 on lawyers. His family has been, if not enthusiastic about, at least resigned to Chen's whims. His parents are accustomed to curious visitors, at least a few every weekend. His brother came up with the idea of illuminating the house at night with lanterns. They have all united against their fellow villagers, who they say accuse them of being nuisances, or greedy. Advertisement 'Now we just don't go over there,' said Tianliang, Chen's brother. 'There's no need to listen to what they say about us.' In town, some residents said exactly what the Chens predicted they would: that the house would collapse any day; that they were troublemakers. (The local government erected a sign near the house warning of safety hazards.) But others expressed admiration for Chen's creativity. Zhu Zhiyuan, an employee at a local supermarket, said he had been drawn in when passing by on his scooter and had ventured closer for a better look. Still, he had not dared get too close. 'There are people who say it's illegal,' he said. Then he added, 'But if they tore it down, that would be a bit of a shame.' This article originally appeared in
IOL News
04-07-2025
- Politics
- IOL News
'Zionacity': The Audacity of Pretend Intellectualism
Tim Flack critiques Gillian Schutte's term 'Zionacity', revealing how it distorts historical truths and manipulates ideological narratives, ultimately challenging the legitimacy of Jewish self-determination. Image: IOL / Ron AI A reply to Gillian Schutte, by Tim Flack In the now all-too-familiar theatre of progressive thought, where victimhood is currency and language is weaponised to invert truth, we find ourselves confronted with a fresh absurdity. Gillian Schutte, self-styled decolonial thinker and social critic, has coined a term 'Zionacity'. A Frankensteinian mash-up of "Zionism" and "audacity," it is the sort of pseudo-intellectual graffiti one might find scribbled in the margins of a 1st years Marxist seminar notes, rather than in anything resembling serious journalism or moral philosophy. Yet here it is, published with no sense of shame or rigour, paraded as if it were a concept of gravitas, rather than a crude ideological club designed to bludgeon the world's only Jewish state. In just a few short paragraphs, Schutte manages to unravel any credibility she may have had by engaging in an extraordinary exercise in double standards, historical revisionism, and - dare we say it - a rather fashionable brand of antisemitism, cloaked, as always, in the language of virtue. Let us begin with her core assertion: that Zionism is not a political movement rooted in the self-determination of a historically persecuted people, but rather a "psychosis," a "global apparatus of control," a "death cult" feeding on the corpses of others. This is not criticism. This is incitement with adjectives. And it's precisely the sort of grotesque rhetorical overreach that reveals the intellectual poverty of her position. Zionism, for the uninitiated or the wilfully ignorant, is the belief that Jews - a people indigenous to the land of Israel, with a continuous presence there for over three millennia - have a right to national self-determination in their ancestral homeland. It is not imperialism. It is not colonialism. It is not conquest. It is return. That this simple truth must still be defended in 2025, and defended against supposed "anti-racists," is a mark of just how distorted our discourse has become. Schutte accuses Zionists of "elevating one group's trauma" above others. This, she says, is the moral disease of "Zionacity." But this is a malicious and cynical sleight of hand. Jewish trauma - pogroms, inquisitions, expulsions, ghettos, blood libels, forced conversions, and of course, the Holocaust - is not elevated. It is remembered. And it is remembered not to cancel out other people's suffering, but because forgetting it has proven time and again to be a luxury Jews cannot afford. To remember Auschwitz is not to diminish Gaza. But to accuse Jews of weaponizing memory is, in effect, to accuse them of having survived too visibly. She then asserts that Zionism, again, Jewish national self-determination has become a template for "settler-colonialism" globally. Here we enter the realm of hallucinatory projection. Are we seriously to believe that Afrikaner farmers in the Karoo are inspired by Herzl and Ben-Gurion? That global injustice, from Yemen to Donbas, is downstream from Tel Aviv? This is the sort of ideological derangement that used to be confined to fringe pamphlets and badly moderated message boards, not respectable publications. But such is the reach of post-colonial chic that anything, however ludicrous, can be published, so long as Jews are the villains. Video Player is loading. Play Video Play Unmute Current Time 0:00 / Duration -:- Loaded : 0% Stream Type LIVE Seek to live, currently behind live LIVE Remaining Time - 0:00 This is a modal window. Beginning of dialog window. Escape will cancel and close the window. Text Color White Black Red Green Blue Yellow Magenta Cyan Transparency Opaque Semi-Transparent Background Color Black White Red Green Blue Yellow Magenta Cyan Transparency Opaque Semi-Transparent Transparent Window Color Black White Red Green Blue Yellow Magenta Cyan Transparency Transparent Semi-Transparent Opaque Font Size 50% 75% 100% 125% 150% 175% 200% 300% 400% Text Edge Style None Raised Depressed Uniform Dropshadow Font Family Proportional Sans-Serif Monospace Sans-Serif Proportional Serif Monospace Serif Casual Script Small Caps Reset restore all settings to the default values Done Close Modal Dialog End of dialog window. Advertisement Next Stay Close ✕ Her most odious claim and let's not be coy here, is that Jewish grief is uniquely manipulative. That it is not just remembered, but "weaponised." That it is not just sacred, but enforced through guilt. In this framing, Jews do not mourn, they plot. They do not suffer, they scheme. This is the old libel, reheated for the Instagram era. Replace the word "Zionist" with "Jew" in her piece and one quickly realises the ideological lineage of her accusations. They are not new. They are not clever. They are simply more dangerous in an age that has forgotten its history. She laments that radical anti-Zionist Jews are "silenced." Nonsense. Anti-Zionist Jews are given front row seats at every anti-Israel protest, paraded as token 'as a Jews' for ideological antisemitism. The fact that they represent a minuscule sliver of global Jewry is irrelevant to Schutte. What matters is their usefulness as fig leaves for her project of demonisation. They are not prophets they are props. The linguistic trickery continues. Israel doesn't defend itself, it "bombs Gaza." It doesn't resist annihilation, it imposes siege. The flattening of language is complete. Hamas is nowhere to be found. The thousands of rockets aimed at Israeli cities are absent. The tunnels, the hostage-taking, the massacre of October 7 are all unmentionable. Because they disrupt the victim-oppressor binary Schutte so desperately needs to maintain. And then, as if to remind us of her seriousness, she expands her lens to the entire world. Venezuela, Yemen, Libya, Syria, Donbas. All tragic. All relevant. But none of them have anything to do with Zionism. Yet she drops them in like seasoning, hoping the reader won't notice the false equivalencies, or worse, will see Zionism as the root of all geopolitical evil. The move is transparent and it is also contemptible. And here lies the irony. The ideology Schutte claims to oppose, one that allegedly monopolises grief and dehumanises others, is, in fact, the one she practises. She demands selective empathy. She criminalises Jewish memory. She pathologizes Jewish self-defence. And she frames Palestinian suffering not as tragedy but as a cudgel to delegitimise an entire people's existence. It is not Zionists who dehumanise others. It is Gillian Schutte who denies the humanity of Israelis, and by extension, the Jewish people. It is she who insists that Jewish survival is inherently supremacist, that Jewish agency is inherently colonial, that Jewish statehood is inherently illegitimate. Let us be very clear, her vision ends with the dismantling of Israel. That is not justice, that is annihilation by another name.
IOL News
04-07-2025
- Entertainment
- IOL News
Body horror, Springbok style: Rassie Erasmus' hybrid revolution
Andre Esterhuizen has been a major talking point this week after the centre packed down at flank against the Barbarians. Photo: Backpagepix Image: Backpagepix The first time I came into contact with some form of body horror was most probably somewhere in the late 1990s while watching Akira as a teenager. That seminal anime has a larger footprint than you might imagine — especially if you're not familiar with the classic 1980s Japanese animated film directed by Katsuhiro Otomo. It's probably impossible to list or record all the homages, mentions and influences that the 1988 flick has had on a generation of filmmakers, many of whom have inserted some sort of nod to the beloved work in their own creations. It can get quite gruesome by its climax, but as far as film literature goes, few works have left such an indelible mark on the generations that have followed. Much like how David Cronenberg defined body horror through works such as The Fly, and John Carpenter set the standard with The Thing, Springbok coach Rassie Erasmus is currently cooking up Frankensteinian hybrids amongst his think tank at the national set-up. That may sound a bit harsh… To be clear, I don't believe Erasmus is doing anything untoward or against the spirit of rugby, nor is he some evil genius scientist trying to ruin the game for anyone. Instead, the need to experiment — to push the boundaries of what's expected and challenge the norm — is inspired, out-of-the-box thinking. If anything, his tinkering is more akin to the meshing of a Xenomorph and a Yautja — a Predalien. And if you were born in the '80s or '90s, that might just be the coolest blerrie thing that could have happened to those franchises. Of course, as with the actual attempt to create a shared universe between Alien and Predator, we were all a bit underwhelmed in the end. And that might be true, too, of the current endeavour to create what has been termed a 'hybrid player' by Erasmus and Co. It was somewhat surprising, but not wholly unexpected, when centre Andre Esterhuizen packed down at flank for the Boks against the Barbarians. After all, Erasmus has innovated in such a manner before. Take Kwagga Smith — covering both as a loose-forward and a wing. It may have raised eyebrows initially, but the logic was sound, and the execution even better. Then there's Deon Fourie and Marco van Staden. Both were used at hooker despite being natural flankers — an unusual call, but one that paid off thanks to their breakdown skill and versatility. And who could forget Cheslin Kolbe? Deployed as a wing, a makeshift scrumhalf, and even stepping into line-out duties usually reserved for hookers. That kind of multi-role execution requires serious foresight and trust in a player's skill set. These aren't just quirky selections. They're part of a larger, calculated approach — taking advantage of the laws of rugby and the full capabilities of the athletes available. It's clever, disruptive, and very Bok. Will it work? I'm not wholly convinced, but then we can all agree many teams don't have a big, versatile unit such as Esterhuizen to experiment with. It might be just a step too far at Test level and it feels a bit rugby league to me, which isn't really my ball game. What I will enthusiastically agree with is the need for such innovation and being the rugby nation of such innovations. It speaks to a Bok group that is confident in their set-up, understands what they want to achieve, and has the ability to approach the evolving rugby landscape with dynamic ideas. Moreover, it is a testament to the continued buy-in of the players in the Rassie era — the willingness to learn and expand on new skill sets. It is also an advertisement for the depth and strength of SA rugby. It is something we can all be proud of. And if it does work, well, what a boon to our team. Erasmus might have opened Pandora's box on this one, and regardless of whether it pays off, it certainly makes us the trend-setters of world rugby. Whether Jekyll or Hyde, Erasmus is forcing rugby to evolve — and the rest of the world may soon be playing catch-up.
Yahoo
27-02-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
AI is set to run our life: we're selling our souls to something we don't understand
It all started with the online equivalent of a sweetie from a stranger. And we all know how that story ends, children. But let's be honest, we've been accepting cookies (data stored by websites about us) for years now and we still don't know where all that cyber-tracking of our movements is going to land us. Occasionally, I try to make a stand – not all heroes wear capes, folks – by declining them. It feels good. But more often than not, I'm immediately transferred to a panel of cookie options so dreary as to cause Millie herself to crumble. So I just end up agreeing to all of them then – whoosh! There go my personal details faster than the speed of light to whichever malign actor wants to use them for nefarious purposes. And I probably only logged on to buy a portable sewing kit; talk about the law of unintended consequences. Anyway, that's data sharing explained, no thanks needed. Now onto AI. For those of us perfectly intelligent adults who find ourselves utterly infantilised when our home computer has the temerity to say no, artificial intelligence is the stuff of galaxies far, far away. But then we all saw that AI-generated video of Trump's Gaza this week, featuring bearded belly dancers and the president with Benjamin Netanyahu, both topless and drinking cocktails on beach loungers, and we were afraid. Very afraid. Credit: Instagram/@realdonaldtrump Depending on who you ask, AI is the answer to all life's problems or a Frankensteinian monster that will rise up and destroy mankind. Its ability to process information at great speed will obviate the need to weep over tax returns because it will do it for us. But it may also rob our thoughts and steal our creativity before subjugating us as a species, by firstly taking control of our communication network. Anyone who has even mislaid their mobile phone for an hour will attest to the terror and dislocation of being cut off not just from Sudoku and Ocado but Google Maps, the calendar – the clock! In the new Netflix thriller Zero Day, an ex US president played by Robert de Niro is brought out of retirement to investigate a highly sophisticated cyberattack that hits the communications network. Without traffic control, lights stay in green, cars plough into one another, trains crash and planes go down. That sounds a bit much, so let's check with AI, shall we? Here is the response from ChatGPT: 'AI could pose risks if misused or uncontrolled, but overthrowing humanity is unlikely if managed with proper regulation and ethics.' See, the word that stands out to me is 'unlikely'. Unlikely. If managed properly. Just a quick scan of the terrible news headlines reveals that the prospect of Homo sapiens putting aside their differences to manage things 'properly' and save ourselves from AI Armageddon is, shall we say, unlikely. It's tempting to do what humanity typically does when confronted by an urgent and complex existential threat – namely bury our proverbial heads in the globally warmed sand. But that would be a mistake. And don't think for a moment that our Government will protect us; Sir Keir is no de Niro. In fact, he's shamefully selling us out, undermining our global reputation and trashing our national pride. He ought to be defending our £120 billion creative industries against unethical plundering by tech companies. Instead, he is planning changes to copyright law that will make it easier for tech firms to continue 'scraping' news articles, books and music available online in order to train their generative AI. No payment is made, no permission is sought. And every day we move inexorably closer to the point when AI music will top the charts and AI-generated novels will supplant bestselling authors. What future for our world-class writers and musicians? A campaign, Make IT Fair, has been launched to lobby for protections; just this week every major newspaper in the country united to run the same front cover demanding the government stop siding with the tech giants. And more than 1,000 musicians – including Annie Lennox, Damon Albarn and Kate Bush – released a silent album on Tuesday in protest at their work being used regardless of licence and copyright. Meanwhile Paul McCartney and Elton John have been offered a meeting with Technology Secretary Peter Kyle after they mounted objections. Let us hope they receive a fair hearing. Back in cyberspace, I raise more concerns with AI, which admits there are 'risks like job loss, privacy invasion, and misuse in surveillance or weaponry, requiring careful ethical and regulatory oversight'. Now, you may not much care if The Rocket Man's back catalogue is hollowed out by AI but how would you feel knowing it was also hunting down the skinny on the Royal Navy's new class of Dreadnought submarines? Never has it been truer that information is power. The more we give away, the more AI – the companies that operate AI – will expand their knowledge base and learn about human ingenuity and human habits and further insinuate itself into our lives. Amazon has given an AI upgrade to its virtual assistant Alexa by collaborating with Uber, OpenTable, Ticketmaster, Yelp and Whole Foods, among others. The result is that users can now ask it to book tickets, order a taxi, sort out a restaurant reservation and text a babysitter. It can also search online for a handyman who can fix an oven and contact them to book a repair. So far the service is only available in the US. Personally, I hope it stays there. It's one thing to feel redundant at work due to the superior skills of AI. Feeling redundant at home would be too much to bear. Broaden your horizons with award-winning British journalism. Try The Telegraph free for 1 month with unlimited access to our award-winning website, exclusive app, money-saving offers and more.
