To Schmidt’s utter shock, it worked. Within five minutes, her daughter snuggled up next to her and fell asleep. “I was freaking out,” she says. “I was like, ‘Oh my God, nobody was able to help me except ChatGPT.’”
From there, Schmidt, who also has a 14-year-old stepson, became something of an AI evangelist. In June 2025, she posted a TikTok video with the caption, “I Turned ChatGPT into my coparent,” and it went viral. Her follower count swelled to 27,000 in just three weeks. She made her own custom GPT, Coparent, and started selling access to it for $37 on her website.
Schmidt is one of a growing cohort of women branding themselves as a new type of momfluencer—not one who uses aspirational imagery to make the mundane labor associated with motherhood more aesthetically appealing, but one who asks whether the labor is even necessary at all. They post videos like “The AI Assistant That’s Basically My Mom Brain Now” and “How to Use AI as a Mom,” and promote customized prompts or handbooks to moms who “want a coparent who never forgets the sunscreen or asks you to write things down,” as Schmidt writes in one TikTok caption.
One person who is relatively absent from Schmidt’s content is her longtime partner. In her videos, she’s doing pretty much all of the parenting labor, including meal prep, grocery-shopping, and kiddie arts and crafts. This is reflective of reality; moms assume the vast majority of the physical and mental labor in US households, with a 2022 Department of Labor survey finding that employed mothers spend an extra 13.5 hours per week doing chores and an average of 12.5 hours per week on childcare—a 40 percent increase from 1975.
That’s not to say that dads aren’t helping around the house. Pew data shows that fathers now spend more than twice as much time on household chores and childcare than they did 50 years ago. But by and large, women are still expected to shoulder most of the household burden.
“It’s not that my partner isn’t helping, because he is,” Schmidt says. “But for women and moms, there is so much invisible labor that you carry and everything is in your hands, and it actually takes time with your kids away from you.” Moms flocked to her page once they saw she was using AI “to actually be more present with my kids and to be more emotionally regulated, so I can be a cool mom and a happy mom and not a stressed-out one.”
Women are less likely (more than 20 percent less likely, according to one 2025 study) to use generative AI in their everyday lives than men are, a discrepancy known as the “AI gender gap.” Generative AI tools suffer from what Stephanie Leblanc-Godfrey, a founder of the company Mother AI who refers to herself as a “maternal technologist,” likes to call a “PMS” problem, meaning they tend to be “pale, male, and stale.”
To Schmidt’s utter shock, it worked. Within five minutes, her daughter snuggled up next to her and fell asleep. “I was freaking out,” she says. “I was like, ‘Oh my God, nobody was able to help me except ChatGPT.’”
From there, Schmidt, who also has a 14-year-old stepson, became something of an AI evangelist. In June 2025, she posted a TikTok video with the caption, “I Turned ChatGPT into my coparent,” and it went viral. Her follower count swelled to 27,000 in just three weeks. She made her own custom GPT, Coparent, and started selling access to it for $37 on her website.
Schmidt is one of a growing cohort of women branding themselves as a new type of momfluencer—not one who uses aspirational imagery to make the mundane labor associated with motherhood more aesthetically appealing, but one who asks whether the labor is even necessary at all. They post videos like “The AI Assistant That’s Basically My Mom Brain Now” and “How to Use AI as a Mom,” and promote customized prompts or handbooks to moms who “want a coparent who never forgets the sunscreen or asks you to write things down,” as Schmidt writes in one TikTok caption.
One person who is relatively absent from Schmidt’s content is her longtime partner. In her videos, she’s doing pretty much all of the parenting labor, including meal prep, grocery-shopping, and kiddie arts and crafts. This is reflective of reality; moms assume the vast majority of the physical and mental labor in US households, with a 2022 Department of Labor survey finding that employed mothers spend an extra 13.5 hours per week doing chores and an average of 12.5 hours per week on childcare—a 40 percent increase from 1975.
That’s not to say that dads aren’t helping around the house. Pew data shows that fathers now spend more than twice as much time on household chores and childcare than they did 50 years ago. But by and large, women are still expected to shoulder most of the household burden.
“It’s not that my partner isn’t helping, because he is,” Schmidt says. “But for women and moms, there is so much invisible labor that you carry and everything is in your hands, and it actually takes time with your kids away from you.” Moms flocked to her page once they saw she was using AI “to actually be more present with my kids and to be more emotionally regulated, so I can be a cool mom and a happy mom and not a stressed-out one.”
Women are less likely (more than 20 percent less likely, according to one 2025 study) to use generative AI in their everyday lives than men are, a discrepancy known as the “AI gender gap.” Generative AI tools suffer from what Stephanie Leblanc-Godfrey, a founder of the company Mother AI who refers to herself as a “maternal technologist,” likes to call a “PMS” problem, meaning they tend to be “pale, male, and stale.”
#Momfluencers #Pitching #Coparent #Menparenting,artificial intelligence,kids,mental health,mom,chatbots">Momfluencers Are Pitching AI as a Better ‘Coparent’ Than Men
Lilian Schmidt could not, for the life of her, figure out how to get her daughter to go to sleep.
None of the advice given to her by sleep experts or her pediatrician worked—not using a white noise machine, not buying blackout curtains, not even giving her a massage. “Every single day, it took like two to three hours to put her to bed,” the brand consultant from Zurich recalls. “She’d scream and fight and we would all be so exhausted and frustrated by the end of the day.”
When her daughter was 3 and a half years old, a bleary-eyed and desperate Schmidt turned to a controversial parenting tool: ChatGPT. The advice it offered “was completely opposite from everything I’d heard before,” she says. “It said she needed more stimulation,” suggesting that her daughter chew gum or jump on a trampoline before bed.
To Schmidt’s utter shock, it worked. Within five minutes, her daughter snuggled up next to her and fell asleep. “I was freaking out,” she says. “I was like, ‘Oh my God, nobody was able to help me except ChatGPT.’”
From there, Schmidt, who also has a 14-year-old stepson, became something of an AI evangelist. In June 2025, she posted a TikTok video with the caption, “I Turned ChatGPT into my coparent,” and it went viral. Her follower count swelled to 27,000 in just three weeks. She made her own custom GPT, Coparent, and started selling access to it for $37 on her website.
Schmidt is one of a growing cohort of women branding themselves as a new type of momfluencer—not one who uses aspirational imagery to make the mundane labor associated with motherhood more aesthetically appealing, but one who asks whether the labor is even necessary at all. They post videos like “The AI Assistant That’s Basically My Mom Brain Now” and “How to Use AI as a Mom,” and promote customized prompts or handbooks to moms who “want a coparent who never forgets the sunscreen or asks you to write things down,” as Schmidt writes in one TikTok caption.
One person who is relatively absent from Schmidt’s content is her longtime partner. In her videos, she’s doing pretty much all of the parenting labor, including meal prep, grocery-shopping, and kiddie arts and crafts. This is reflective of reality; moms assume the vast majority of the physical and mental labor in US households, with a 2022 Department of Labor survey finding that employed mothers spend an extra 13.5 hours per week doing chores and an average of 12.5 hours per week on childcare—a 40 percent increase from 1975.
That’s not to say that dads aren’t helping around the house. Pew data shows that fathers now spend more than twice as much time on household chores and childcare than they did 50 years ago. But by and large, women are still expected to shoulder most of the household burden.
“It’s not that my partner isn’t helping, because he is,” Schmidt says. “But for women and moms, there is so much invisible labor that you carry and everything is in your hands, and it actually takes time with your kids away from you.” Moms flocked to her page once they saw she was using AI “to actually be more present with my kids and to be more emotionally regulated, so I can be a cool mom and a happy mom and not a stressed-out one.”
Women are less likely (more than 20 percent less likely, according to one 2025 study) to use generative AI in their everyday lives than men are, a discrepancy known as the “AI gender gap.” Generative AI tools suffer from what Stephanie Leblanc-Godfrey, a founder of the company Mother AI who refers to herself as a “maternal technologist,” likes to call a “PMS” problem, meaning they tend to be “pale, male, and stale.”
One of the first casualties, to my dismay, was em dashes—which are a great, and very human form of punctuation, by the way! There’s also the “rule of threes,” which is meant to scan as rhythmic, but often comes across predictable, hackish, and stale. And, of course, there are the clunky grammatical constructions of the “not X, but Y” variety.
Now certain fonts and typefaces—specifically serifs—seem to be defining (and giving away) AI, both in actual software, and in vibe-coded design boilerplates. Some are calling it “tasteslop,” the results of the effort to make generative AI designs seem superficially sophisticated or distinguished.
The shift away from slicker, more conspicuously computerized typefaces is something the San Francisco Bay Area writer, designer, and type practitioner Keya Vadgama has termed “the serif renaissance.” In a recent newsletter, published on her Substack, Vadgama suggests the move is a bid for companies to project more “personality and warmth.”
“It’s not that difficult to discern why AI-native companies in particular are being drawn to serif fonts: AI is inherently cold and without opinion,” she writes. “[Using serifs] signals ‘We’re AI! But real humans use (and made) our product! We swear!’”
“Serifs have an origin in calligraphy,” Vadgama tells WIRED. “It connotes a very human, fluid way of making letterforms.” Vadgama has noticed that Anthropic’s Claude was defaulting to serifs. Other AI companies—Runway, Perplexity, Manus—had also adopted similar typefaces in their UX and branding.
Reached for comment, Perplexity chief communications officer Jesse Dwyer tells WIRED: “Why wouldn’t we have human design? Perplexity is for people.”
Vadgama believes the use of serifs is as much about aesthetics as building confidence between users and brands. Certain font choices signal, even at some preconscious psychological level, trust. Sans serifs (your Arials, Calibiris, Helviticas) are too clean, too computer-y. Good old Times New Roman, and similar typographic designs, can feel a bit more dignified. Recently, Vadgama was doing some branding work with a (since-shuttered) AI startup, which favored the serif text. “A big part of it,” she says, “is, ‘How do we position ourselves in a way that people are not afraid of us?’”
Serifs can help build that conviction, or at least the illusion of it. Times New Roman itself was commissioned in the 1930s by Britain’s Times newspaper. The typeface carries a certain authoritative heft. Books and newspapers are printed using it. It was all but standardized in the decades before screen reading. Perhaps most famously, the Encyclopedia Brittanica—arguably the authoritative compendium of human knowledge, at least pre-World Wide Web—was set in Times.
“In the broad public, a serif carries connotations of scholarship,” says Ali S. Qadeer, chair of graphic design at the Ontario College of Art and Design in Toronto. “Claude is interesting. It’s using this slightly brown background to mirror a book page. It’s sort of emulating the feeling of reading print. And print has deeper associations with trust.”
As reported by The New York Times, even the US State Department has returned to using Times New Roman after Secretary of State Marco Rubio decried Calibri as “informal,” pegging the department’s adoption of the sans serif typeface on some wider, Biden-era DEI initiative.
Both Qadeer and Vadgama see the trend toward serifs as a rejoinder to AI’s perceived (and, indeed, literal) lack of soul, and the wider public suspicion of the technology. They’re not the only ones. Alongside the “tasteslop” discourse, people online have criticized the serification of AI aesthetics as “generic” and “very ugly.”
One of the first casualties, to my dismay, was em dashes—which are a great, and very human form of punctuation, by the way! There’s also the “rule of threes,” which is meant to scan as rhythmic, but often comes across predictable, hackish, and stale. And, of course, there are the clunky grammatical constructions of the “not X, but Y” variety.
Now certain fonts and typefaces—specifically serifs—seem to be defining (and giving away) AI, both in actual software, and in vibe-coded design boilerplates. Some are calling it “tasteslop,” the results of the effort to make generative AI designs seem superficially sophisticated or distinguished.
The shift away from slicker, more conspicuously computerized typefaces is something the San Francisco Bay Area writer, designer, and type practitioner Keya Vadgama has termed “the serif renaissance.” In a recent newsletter, published on her Substack, Vadgama suggests the move is a bid for companies to project more “personality and warmth.”
“It’s not that difficult to discern why AI-native companies in particular are being drawn to serif fonts: AI is inherently cold and without opinion,” she writes. “[Using serifs] signals ‘We’re AI! But real humans use (and made) our product! We swear!’”
“Serifs have an origin in calligraphy,” Vadgama tells WIRED. “It connotes a very human, fluid way of making letterforms.” Vadgama has noticed that Anthropic’s Claude was defaulting to serifs. Other AI companies—Runway, Perplexity, Manus—had also adopted similar typefaces in their UX and branding.
Reached for comment, Perplexity chief communications officer Jesse Dwyer tells WIRED: “Why wouldn’t we have human design? Perplexity is for people.”
Vadgama believes the use of serifs is as much about aesthetics as building confidence between users and brands. Certain font choices signal, even at some preconscious psychological level, trust. Sans serifs (your Arials, Calibiris, Helviticas) are too clean, too computer-y. Good old Times New Roman, and similar typographic designs, can feel a bit more dignified. Recently, Vadgama was doing some branding work with a (since-shuttered) AI startup, which favored the serif text. “A big part of it,” she says, “is, ‘How do we position ourselves in a way that people are not afraid of us?’”
Serifs can help build that conviction, or at least the illusion of it. Times New Roman itself was commissioned in the 1930s by Britain’s Times newspaper. The typeface carries a certain authoritative heft. Books and newspapers are printed using it. It was all but standardized in the decades before screen reading. Perhaps most famously, the Encyclopedia Brittanica—arguably the authoritative compendium of human knowledge, at least pre-World Wide Web—was set in Times.
“In the broad public, a serif carries connotations of scholarship,” says Ali S. Qadeer, chair of graphic design at the Ontario College of Art and Design in Toronto. “Claude is interesting. It’s using this slightly brown background to mirror a book page. It’s sort of emulating the feeling of reading print. And print has deeper associations with trust.”
As reported by The New York Times, even the US State Department has returned to using Times New Roman after Secretary of State Marco Rubio decried Calibri as “informal,” pegging the department’s adoption of the sans serif typeface on some wider, Biden-era DEI initiative.
Both Qadeer and Vadgama see the trend toward serifs as a rejoinder to AI’s perceived (and, indeed, literal) lack of soul, and the wider public suspicion of the technology. They’re not the only ones. Alongside the “tasteslop” discourse, people online have criticized the serification of AI aesthetics as “generic” and “very ugly.”
#Serif #Fontsartificial intelligence,design,ux/ui,art,typography,fonts,chatbots,claude,chatgpt">AI Has Come for Serif Fonts
As public backlash to the seeming omnipresence of artificial intelligence intensifies, the collective quest to weed out—and reject—telltale signs of its use continues.
One of the first casualties, to my dismay, was em dashes—which are a great, and very human form of punctuation, by the way! There’s also the “rule of threes,” which is meant to scan as rhythmic, but often comes across predictable, hackish, and stale. And, of course, there are the clunky grammatical constructions of the “not X, but Y” variety.
Now certain fonts and typefaces—specifically serifs—seem to be defining (and giving away) AI, both in actual software, and in vibe-coded design boilerplates. Some are calling it “tasteslop,” the results of the effort to make generative AI designs seem superficially sophisticated or distinguished.
The shift away from slicker, more conspicuously computerized typefaces is something the San Francisco Bay Area writer, designer, and type practitioner Keya Vadgama has termed “the serif renaissance.” In a recent newsletter, published on her Substack, Vadgama suggests the move is a bid for companies to project more “personality and warmth.”
“It’s not that difficult to discern why AI-native companies in particular are being drawn to serif fonts: AI is inherently cold and without opinion,” she writes. “[Using serifs] signals ‘We’re AI! But real humans use (and made) our product! We swear!’”
“Serifs have an origin in calligraphy,” Vadgama tells WIRED. “It connotes a very human, fluid way of making letterforms.” Vadgama has noticed that Anthropic’s Claude was defaulting to serifs. Other AI companies—Runway, Perplexity, Manus—had also adopted similar typefaces in their UX and branding.
Reached for comment, Perplexity chief communications officer Jesse Dwyer tells WIRED: “Why wouldn’t we have human design? Perplexity is for people.”
Vadgama believes the use of serifs is as much about aesthetics as building confidence between users and brands. Certain font choices signal, even at some preconscious psychological level, trust. Sans serifs (your Arials, Calibiris, Helviticas) are too clean, too computer-y. Good old Times New Roman, and similar typographic designs, can feel a bit more dignified. Recently, Vadgama was doing some branding work with a (since-shuttered) AI startup, which favored the serif text. “A big part of it,” she says, “is, ‘How do we position ourselves in a way that people are not afraid of us?’”
Serifs can help build that conviction, or at least the illusion of it. Times New Roman itself was commissioned in the 1930s by Britain’s Times newspaper. The typeface carries a certain authoritative heft. Books and newspapers are printed using it. It was all but standardized in the decades before screen reading. Perhaps most famously, the Encyclopedia Brittanica—arguably the authoritative compendium of human knowledge, at least pre-World Wide Web—was set in Times.
“In the broad public, a serif carries connotations of scholarship,” says Ali S. Qadeer, chair of graphic design at the Ontario College of Art and Design in Toronto. “Claude is interesting. It’s using this slightly brown background to mirror a book page. It’s sort of emulating the feeling of reading print. And print has deeper associations with trust.”
As reported by The New York Times, even the US State Department has returned to using Times New Roman after Secretary of State Marco Rubio decried Calibri as “informal,” pegging the department’s adoption of the sans serif typeface on some wider, Biden-era DEI initiative.
Both Qadeer and Vadgama see the trend toward serifs as a rejoinder to AI’s perceived (and, indeed, literal) lack of soul, and the wider public suspicion of the technology. They’re not the only ones. Alongside the “tasteslop” discourse, people online have criticized the serification of AI aesthetics as “generic” and “very ugly.”
As public backlash to the seeming omnipresence of artificial intelligence intensifies, the collective quest to…
Don’t play innocent. If you’re a non-lawyer in the 2020s, you’ve at least had the passing thought that you could use an LLM to help you generate a killer lawsuit against someone who pissed you off.
Or at least now I know it’s not just me.
Thanks to AI, plaintiffs representing themselves, also known as “pro se” plaintiffs, are changing the legal landscape for the worse, according to a new study by MIT’s Anand Shah and USC’s Joshua Levy, reported on by the New York Times on Monday. The study has not yet been peer reviewed.
It says that since the rollout of widely available LLMs, 18 percent of pro se filings now contain what the authors have deemed AI-generated text. Perhaps consequently, “the total volume of pro se docket entries per court in the first 180 days of a case has grown by 64% on average across the post-AI period,” the study finds.
Typically, pro se filings come from prisoners working on their cases from behind bars, but the study notes that “national non-prisoner pro se filing share rose sharply from its approximately 11% historical steady state to 16.8% in fiscal year 2025, a gain that has no precedent in 25 years of administrative records.”
According to the Times, pro se plaintiffs lost 96% of their cases from 1998-2017.
The Times is largely spotlighting frivolous lawsuits generated with AI—and what a waste of time it is for the courts to painstakingly read and process all these slop-filled filings. A Minnesota federal judge named Patrick J. Schiltz, called it “an existential threat to the federal courts.”
To illustrate their point, the Times interviewed a man who uses AI to generate lawsuits. This person gave the paper his name, and allowed himself to be photographed for the story. Courts have alleged some unsavory things about this person, and the Times says he lives in his car. He is, to use one of the president’s favorite terms, straight from central casting—so much so that the Times’ story borders on, well, mean.
I can’t dispute that AI lawsuits sound like a massive problem. At the same time, lawsuits are often the only weapon downtrodden Americans have—a substitute for institutions and politicians that actually help make us whole when we’re harmed and it’s not our fault. Part of me can’t help but long to read a David and Goliath story about a rando armed with Claude who bootstraps their way to some life-changing, ten-figure legal victory—presumably after using the LLM to figure out how to argue a case in a courtroom as well.
Don’t play innocent. If you’re a non-lawyer in the 2020s, you’ve at least had the passing thought that you could use an LLM to help you generate a killer lawsuit against someone who pissed you off.
Or at least now I know it’s not just me.
Thanks to AI, plaintiffs representing themselves, also known as “pro se” plaintiffs, are changing the legal landscape for the worse, according to a new study by MIT’s Anand Shah and USC’s Joshua Levy, reported on by the New York Times on Monday. The study has not yet been peer reviewed.
It says that since the rollout of widely available LLMs, 18 percent of pro se filings now contain what the authors have deemed AI-generated text. Perhaps consequently, “the total volume of pro se docket entries per court in the first 180 days of a case has grown by 64% on average across the post-AI period,” the study finds.
Typically, pro se filings come from prisoners working on their cases from behind bars, but the study notes that “national non-prisoner pro se filing share rose sharply from its approximately 11% historical steady state to 16.8% in fiscal year 2025, a gain that has no precedent in 25 years of administrative records.”
According to the Times, pro se plaintiffs lost 96% of their cases from 1998-2017.
The Times is largely spotlighting frivolous lawsuits generated with AI—and what a waste of time it is for the courts to painstakingly read and process all these slop-filled filings. A Minnesota federal judge named Patrick J. Schiltz, called it “an existential threat to the federal courts.”
To illustrate their point, the Times interviewed a man who uses AI to generate lawsuits. This person gave the paper his name, and allowed himself to be photographed for the story. Courts have alleged some unsavory things about this person, and the Times says he lives in his car. He is, to use one of the president’s favorite terms, straight from central casting—so much so that the Times’ story borders on, well, mean.
I can’t dispute that AI lawsuits sound like a massive problem. At the same time, lawsuits are often the only weapon downtrodden Americans have—a substitute for institutions and politicians that actually help make us whole when we’re harmed and it’s not our fault. Part of me can’t help but long to read a David and Goliath story about a rando armed with Claude who bootstraps their way to some life-changing, ten-figure legal victory—presumably after using the LLM to figure out how to argue a case in a courtroom as well.
#Random #People #Armed #Lawyer #Reportedly #Filling #Judicial #Dockets #LawsuitsArtificial intelligence,lawsuits">Random People Armed with AI and No Lawyer Are Reportedly Filling Judicial Dockets with Lawsuits
Don’t play innocent. If you’re a non-lawyer in the 2020s, you’ve at least had the passing thought that you could use an LLM to help you generate a killer lawsuit against someone who pissed you off.
Or at least now I know it’s not just me.
Thanks to AI, plaintiffs representing themselves, also known as “pro se” plaintiffs, are changing the legal landscape for the worse, according to a new study by MIT’s Anand Shah and USC’s Joshua Levy, reported on by the New York Times on Monday. The study has not yet been peer reviewed.
It says that since the rollout of widely available LLMs, 18 percent of pro se filings now contain what the authors have deemed AI-generated text. Perhaps consequently, “the total volume of pro se docket entries per court in the first 180 days of a case has grown by 64% on average across the post-AI period,” the study finds.
Typically, pro se filings come from prisoners working on their cases from behind bars, but the study notes that “national non-prisoner pro se filing share rose sharply from its approximately 11% historical steady state to 16.8% in fiscal year 2025, a gain that has no precedent in 25 years of administrative records.”
According to the Times, pro se plaintiffs lost 96% of their cases from 1998-2017.
The Times is largely spotlighting frivolous lawsuits generated with AI—and what a waste of time it is for the courts to painstakingly read and process all these slop-filled filings. A Minnesota federal judge named Patrick J. Schiltz, called it “an existential threat to the federal courts.”
To illustrate their point, the Times interviewed a man who uses AI to generate lawsuits. This person gave the paper his name, and allowed himself to be photographed for the story. Courts have alleged some unsavory things about this person, and the Times says he lives in his car. He is, to use one of the president’s favorite terms, straight from central casting—so much so that the Times’ story borders on, well, mean.
I can’t dispute that AI lawsuits sound like a massive problem. At the same time, lawsuits are often the only weapon downtrodden Americans have—a substitute for institutions and politicians that actually help make us whole when we’re harmed and it’s not our fault. Part of me can’t help but long to read a David and Goliath story about a rando armed with Claude who bootstraps their way to some life-changing, ten-figure legal victory—presumably after using the LLM to figure out how to argue a case in a courtroom as well.
Don’t play innocent. If you’re a non-lawyer in the 2020s, you’ve at least had the…
There’s an argument to be made that audiobooks are the finest form of content. You take a book—already off to a good start—and you get to have someone read it right into your ears. And when I say “someone” I mean the GOATs in the voice game. I could cite examples of celebrities you never knew narrated audiobooks, but here’s a sample of Werner Herzog narrating his memoir Every Man for Himself and God Against All that I think speaks for itself:
What could be better than this?
Not only are audiobooks heaven, you can probably get all the audiobooks you want for free (and legally) by getting yourself a library card and using your local library’s preferred app (Libby, perhaps).
I say all that, because given all the easy and free access to high quality audiobooks, why in the world would anyone listen to a John Grisham audiobook presented like this?
Don’t click that link. Instead of the actual audiobook, which is read wonderfully by Michael Beck, it will take you to a YouTube video consisting of an AI narrator reading Grisham’s recent hit novel the Widow, and the narration plays under 13 hours of AI slop video—simulated stock footage of fake vacations, basically. It looks like the video they display under the lyrics on Hell’s karaoke machine. I don’t have any science to back this up, but it will definitely give you brain cancer.
As the New York Times points out, 80,000 lost souls listened to the Widow this way. And Grisham is pissed about it. “The thieves and pirates who steal my work and try to profit from it, in any format, should be punished civilly and criminally […] And in this particular example, YouTube is complicit because it’s clear they know what is happening and refuse to stop it,” Grisham told the Times in an email. He should really write about this.
YouTube, for its part, says the video is still up because there hasn’t been a takedown request, and that it doesn’t proactively police for copyright violations. “For more than two decades, we’ve built systems that help rights holders manage and control their copyrighted content — investing continuously to make sure those systems evolve as new threats emerge,” Jack Malon, a YouTube spokesperson, wrote to the Times.
If you’ve ever had a YouTube video flagged for a copyright violation, it may have been because of a feature called Content ID that music publishers absolutely love. It allows copyright holders to crawl YouTube and automatically detect copyrighted content. At times, Content ID has been a valuable moneymaking scheme for copyright holders, who were able to zero in on incidental—or even accidental—uses of copyrighted material, especially music, and by making a claim, monetize other people’s videos. It can’t do this anymore, but this is the sort of thing YouTube’s copyright system has been designed to support.
As the Times points out, Content ID isn’t great at finding AI-narrated audiobooks. The audio waveform of the content is not the same as the audio the publisher owns, which makes it tricky to know what to even scan for. The author holds a copyright on the text, which can be slightly changed by the creator of the YouTube video while still leaving the book largely intact—good enough for casual listeners anyway.
This leaves publishers and authors to navigate the takedown process manually, which seems, judging from the fact that the Widow is still up, to just not be happening.
That’s a pity. And I don’t mean because it’s robbing John Grisham of audiobook sales, which is bad, but not the gravest injustice in the universe. It’s bad because people are listening to such horrible garbage just because it’s available. And they really, truly, don’t have to.
There’s an argument to be made that audiobooks are the finest form of content. You take a book—already off to a good start—and you get to have someone read it right into your ears. And when I say “someone” I mean the GOATs in the voice game. I could cite examples of celebrities you never knew narrated audiobooks, but here’s a sample of Werner Herzog narrating his memoir Every Man for Himself and God Against All that I think speaks for itself:
What could be better than this?
Not only are audiobooks heaven, you can probably get all the audiobooks you want for free (and legally) by getting yourself a library card and using your local library’s preferred app (Libby, perhaps).
I say all that, because given all the easy and free access to high quality audiobooks, why in the world would anyone listen to a John Grisham audiobook presented like this?
Don’t click that link. Instead of the actual audiobook, which is read wonderfully by Michael Beck, it will take you to a YouTube video consisting of an AI narrator reading Grisham’s recent hit novel the Widow, and the narration plays under 13 hours of AI slop video—simulated stock footage of fake vacations, basically. It looks like the video they display under the lyrics on Hell’s karaoke machine. I don’t have any science to back this up, but it will definitely give you brain cancer.
As the New York Times points out, 80,000 lost souls listened to the Widow this way. And Grisham is pissed about it. “The thieves and pirates who steal my work and try to profit from it, in any format, should be punished civilly and criminally […] And in this particular example, YouTube is complicit because it’s clear they know what is happening and refuse to stop it,” Grisham told the Times in an email. He should really write about this.
YouTube, for its part, says the video is still up because there hasn’t been a takedown request, and that it doesn’t proactively police for copyright violations. “For more than two decades, we’ve built systems that help rights holders manage and control their copyrighted content — investing continuously to make sure those systems evolve as new threats emerge,” Jack Malon, a YouTube spokesperson, wrote to the Times.
If you’ve ever had a YouTube video flagged for a copyright violation, it may have been because of a feature called Content ID that music publishers absolutely love. It allows copyright holders to crawl YouTube and automatically detect copyrighted content. At times, Content ID has been a valuable moneymaking scheme for copyright holders, who were able to zero in on incidental—or even accidental—uses of copyrighted material, especially music, and by making a claim, monetize other people’s videos. It can’t do this anymore, but this is the sort of thing YouTube’s copyright system has been designed to support.
As the Times points out, Content ID isn’t great at finding AI-narrated audiobooks. The audio waveform of the content is not the same as the audio the publisher owns, which makes it tricky to know what to even scan for. The author holds a copyright on the text, which can be slightly changed by the creator of the YouTube video while still leaving the book largely intact—good enough for casual listeners anyway.
This leaves publishers and authors to navigate the takedown process manually, which seems, judging from the fact that the Widow is still up, to just not be happening.
That’s a pity. And I don’t mean because it’s robbing John Grisham of audiobook sales, which is bad, but not the gravest injustice in the universe. It’s bad because people are listening to such horrible garbage just because it’s available. And they really, truly, don’t have to.
#John #Grishams #Legal #Drama #Real #Life #Fight #Audiobooks #YouTubeArtificial intelligence,Audiobooks,Books,intellectual proper">John Grisham’s New Legal Drama Is a Real Life Fight Against AI Audiobooks on YouTube
There’s an argument to be made that audiobooks are the finest form of content. You take a book—already off to a good start—and you get to have someone read it right into your ears. And when I say “someone” I mean the GOATs in the voice game. I could cite examples of celebrities you never knew narrated audiobooks, but here’s a sample of Werner Herzog narrating his memoir Every Man for Himself and God Against All that I think speaks for itself:
What could be better than this?
Not only are audiobooks heaven, you can probably get all the audiobooks you want for free (and legally) by getting yourself a library card and using your local library’s preferred app (Libby, perhaps).
I say all that, because given all the easy and free access to high quality audiobooks, why in the world would anyone listen to a John Grisham audiobook presented like this?
Don’t click that link. Instead of the actual audiobook, which is read wonderfully by Michael Beck, it will take you to a YouTube video consisting of an AI narrator reading Grisham’s recent hit novel the Widow, and the narration plays under 13 hours of AI slop video—simulated stock footage of fake vacations, basically. It looks like the video they display under the lyrics on Hell’s karaoke machine. I don’t have any science to back this up, but it will definitely give you brain cancer.
As the New York Times points out, 80,000 lost souls listened to the Widow this way. And Grisham is pissed about it. “The thieves and pirates who steal my work and try to profit from it, in any format, should be punished civilly and criminally […] And in this particular example, YouTube is complicit because it’s clear they know what is happening and refuse to stop it,” Grisham told the Times in an email. He should really write about this.
YouTube, for its part, says the video is still up because there hasn’t been a takedown request, and that it doesn’t proactively police for copyright violations. “For more than two decades, we’ve built systems that help rights holders manage and control their copyrighted content — investing continuously to make sure those systems evolve as new threats emerge,” Jack Malon, a YouTube spokesperson, wrote to the Times.
If you’ve ever had a YouTube video flagged for a copyright violation, it may have been because of a feature called Content ID that music publishers absolutely love. It allows copyright holders to crawl YouTube and automatically detect copyrighted content. At times, Content ID has been a valuable moneymaking scheme for copyright holders, who were able to zero in on incidental—or even accidental—uses of copyrighted material, especially music, and by making a claim, monetize other people’s videos. It can’t do this anymore, but this is the sort of thing YouTube’s copyright system has been designed to support.
As the Times points out, Content ID isn’t great at finding AI-narrated audiobooks. The audio waveform of the content is not the same as the audio the publisher owns, which makes it tricky to know what to even scan for. The author holds a copyright on the text, which can be slightly changed by the creator of the YouTube video while still leaving the book largely intact—good enough for casual listeners anyway.
This leaves publishers and authors to navigate the takedown process manually, which seems, judging from the fact that the Widow is still up, to just not be happening.
That’s a pity. And I don’t mean because it’s robbing John Grisham of audiobook sales, which is bad, but not the gravest injustice in the universe. It’s bad because people are listening to such horrible garbage just because it’s available. And they really, truly, don’t have to.
There’s an argument to be made that audiobooks are the finest form of content. You…
When there was social media chatter on Monday about an AI-written short story supposedly having won a “prestigious literary prize,” I opted not to blog about it. I hadn’t heard of the Commonwealth Prize, so how prestigious was it really? Plus, there was nothing even close to proof of what was being alleged—just some complaints, and people trying to prove their point with extremely fallible AI detectors.
And if you’ve gotten this far into a blog post about a short story, you might as well read the short story and form your own opinion. It’s called The Serpent in the Grove, and credited to the author Jamir Nazir. It’s not paywalled, and is available on the Granta website.
How did you feel when you read the sentence, “Outside, little Puttie – three years old, sun-dark, bright-eyed – chased a yard fowl through dust, his laughter like water over pebbles”? I’m guessing you scoffed, perceiving many AI tropes. You might have sensed these even if you came to the story cold, but then again you might not have. Be honest: you probably wouldn’t have read a short story today at all if there were no scandal.
But here’s a section that seems less likely to have been written by AI:
Puttie, carrying his father in shoulders and his mother in steadiness, walks there when work shatters him. He stops short of the ring out of respect turned habit. He listens: the brook language of leaves, sun’s thin hiss, a creak where wood learns to pretend to be a board and is tired of pretending.
This is too stylized and playful with grammar to be a typical AI output. But what does that mean exactly to someone who thinks an AI model wrote the story? Does it disprove the whole notion of AI authorship? Does it just mean the human author embellished certain parts? Or do you maybe feel like you could get an AI model to write like that, particularly if you fed it an example?
Sigrid Rausing, the publisher of Granta, released a puzzling, ambiguous statement about the AI accusations, writing, in part, “It may be that the judges have now awarded a prize to an instance of AI plagiarism – we don’t yet know, and perhaps we never will know.” But her statement also says she fed the story into Claude, and it zeroed in on the more human-seeming parts, saying they contain “off-shape specificity” and that AI could potentially have been used to “elaborate around” those parts.
But then again, wow, truly who cares what Claude thinks about this?
The director-general of the foundation that administers the Commonwealth Prize, Razmi Farook, spoke to the New York Times, and also kept things pretty ambiguous, saying her organization has, “taken stock of the comments,” and that there’d been some internal soul-searching “to see if we feel that our process to date has been robust enough.” While her foundation is “confident in the rigor” of its AI-checking process, they note that this is an “evolving technological environment.”
There are now other stories on the Granta website being accused of AI plagiarism online, and Granta has added a note to all the Commonwealth Prize winners, saying in part, “The suggestion that writers have submitted material not authentically their own is a charge we take seriously, but until definite evidence comes to light we will keep these stories on our website.”
But despite some early accusations to the contrary, Jamir Nazir does appear to be a real person, based in Trinidad and Tobago. If he did use AI to write the story, the “prestigious” award paid more in prestige than money. He got £2,500 for his trouble, since he was the Caribbean regional prizewinner. The all-around winner, who gets £5,000, won’t be announced until June 30.
From the intensity of the discussions online, particularly on book subreddits, it does seem like, eventually, someone is going to track down Nazir and get him to either confess or write a legal affidavit signed in blood swearing he wrote it all himself.
At any rate, it’s doubtful the people who are upset about this are going to get the vindication they want. Even if Nazir is guilty, he can just deny, or—more in keeping with what people in this situation tend to do—claim he took suggestions here and there from an LLM, but that he’s still the true author.
In the meantime people sure have a lot of strong opinions about a short story. And if the truth is that Nazir just kinda writes like an LLM, what a way to find out.
When there was social media chatter on Monday about an AI-written short story supposedly having won a “prestigious literary prize,” I opted not to blog about it. I hadn’t heard of the Commonwealth Prize, so how prestigious was it really? Plus, there was nothing even close to proof of what was being alleged—just some complaints, and people trying to prove their point with extremely fallible AI detectors.
And if you’ve gotten this far into a blog post about a short story, you might as well read the short story and form your own opinion. It’s called The Serpent in the Grove, and credited to the author Jamir Nazir. It’s not paywalled, and is available on the Granta website.
How did you feel when you read the sentence, “Outside, little Puttie – three years old, sun-dark, bright-eyed – chased a yard fowl through dust, his laughter like water over pebbles”? I’m guessing you scoffed, perceiving many AI tropes. You might have sensed these even if you came to the story cold, but then again you might not have. Be honest: you probably wouldn’t have read a short story today at all if there were no scandal.
But here’s a section that seems less likely to have been written by AI:
Puttie, carrying his father in shoulders and his mother in steadiness, walks there when work shatters him. He stops short of the ring out of respect turned habit. He listens: the brook language of leaves, sun’s thin hiss, a creak where wood learns to pretend to be a board and is tired of pretending.
This is too stylized and playful with grammar to be a typical AI output. But what does that mean exactly to someone who thinks an AI model wrote the story? Does it disprove the whole notion of AI authorship? Does it just mean the human author embellished certain parts? Or do you maybe feel like you could get an AI model to write like that, particularly if you fed it an example?
Sigrid Rausing, the publisher of Granta, released a puzzling, ambiguous statement about the AI accusations, writing, in part, “It may be that the judges have now awarded a prize to an instance of AI plagiarism – we don’t yet know, and perhaps we never will know.” But her statement also says she fed the story into Claude, and it zeroed in on the more human-seeming parts, saying they contain “off-shape specificity” and that AI could potentially have been used to “elaborate around” those parts.
But then again, wow, truly who cares what Claude thinks about this?
The director-general of the foundation that administers the Commonwealth Prize, Razmi Farook, spoke to the New York Times, and also kept things pretty ambiguous, saying her organization has, “taken stock of the comments,” and that there’d been some internal soul-searching “to see if we feel that our process to date has been robust enough.” While her foundation is “confident in the rigor” of its AI-checking process, they note that this is an “evolving technological environment.”
There are now other stories on the Granta website being accused of AI plagiarism online, and Granta has added a note to all the Commonwealth Prize winners, saying in part, “The suggestion that writers have submitted material not authentically their own is a charge we take seriously, but until definite evidence comes to light we will keep these stories on our website.”
But despite some early accusations to the contrary, Jamir Nazir does appear to be a real person, based in Trinidad and Tobago. If he did use AI to write the story, the “prestigious” award paid more in prestige than money. He got £2,500 for his trouble, since he was the Caribbean regional prizewinner. The all-around winner, who gets £5,000, won’t be announced until June 30.
From the intensity of the discussions online, particularly on book subreddits, it does seem like, eventually, someone is going to track down Nazir and get him to either confess or write a legal affidavit signed in blood swearing he wrote it all himself.
At any rate, it’s doubtful the people who are upset about this are going to get the vindication they want. Even if Nazir is guilty, he can just deny, or—more in keeping with what people in this situation tend to do—claim he took suggestions here and there from an LLM, but that he’s still the true author.
In the meantime people sure have a lot of strong opinions about a short story. And if the truth is that Nazir just kinda writes like an LLM, what a way to find out.
#Scandal #Supposedly #AIWritten #AwardWinning #Short #Story #TroublingArtificial intelligence,Fiction,literature">The Scandal Over a Supposedly AI-Written, Award-Winning Short Story Is Troubling. Or Just Mean?
When there was social media chatter on Monday about an AI-written short story supposedly having won a “prestigious literary prize,” I opted not to blog about it. I hadn’t heard of the Commonwealth Prize, so how prestigious was it really? Plus, there was nothing even close to proof of what was being alleged—just some complaints, and people trying to prove their point with extremely fallible AI detectors.
And if you’ve gotten this far into a blog post about a short story, you might as well read the short story and form your own opinion. It’s called The Serpent in the Grove, and credited to the author Jamir Nazir. It’s not paywalled, and is available on the Granta website.
How did you feel when you read the sentence, “Outside, little Puttie – three years old, sun-dark, bright-eyed – chased a yard fowl through dust, his laughter like water over pebbles”? I’m guessing you scoffed, perceiving many AI tropes. You might have sensed these even if you came to the story cold, but then again you might not have. Be honest: you probably wouldn’t have read a short story today at all if there were no scandal.
But here’s a section that seems less likely to have been written by AI:
Puttie, carrying his father in shoulders and his mother in steadiness, walks there when work shatters him. He stops short of the ring out of respect turned habit. He listens: the brook language of leaves, sun’s thin hiss, a creak where wood learns to pretend to be a board and is tired of pretending.
This is too stylized and playful with grammar to be a typical AI output. But what does that mean exactly to someone who thinks an AI model wrote the story? Does it disprove the whole notion of AI authorship? Does it just mean the human author embellished certain parts? Or do you maybe feel like you could get an AI model to write like that, particularly if you fed it an example?
Sigrid Rausing, the publisher of Granta, released a puzzling, ambiguous statement about the AI accusations, writing, in part, “It may be that the judges have now awarded a prize to an instance of AI plagiarism – we don’t yet know, and perhaps we never will know.” But her statement also says she fed the story into Claude, and it zeroed in on the more human-seeming parts, saying they contain “off-shape specificity” and that AI could potentially have been used to “elaborate around” those parts.
But then again, wow, truly who cares what Claude thinks about this?
The director-general of the foundation that administers the Commonwealth Prize, Razmi Farook, spoke to the New York Times, and also kept things pretty ambiguous, saying her organization has, “taken stock of the comments,” and that there’d been some internal soul-searching “to see if we feel that our process to date has been robust enough.” While her foundation is “confident in the rigor” of its AI-checking process, they note that this is an “evolving technological environment.”
There are now other stories on the Granta website being accused of AI plagiarism online, and Granta has added a note to all the Commonwealth Prize winners, saying in part, “The suggestion that writers have submitted material not authentically their own is a charge we take seriously, but until definite evidence comes to light we will keep these stories on our website.”
But despite some early accusations to the contrary, Jamir Nazir does appear to be a real person, based in Trinidad and Tobago. If he did use AI to write the story, the “prestigious” award paid more in prestige than money. He got £2,500 for his trouble, since he was the Caribbean regional prizewinner. The all-around winner, who gets £5,000, won’t be announced until June 30.
From the intensity of the discussions online, particularly on book subreddits, it does seem like, eventually, someone is going to track down Nazir and get him to either confess or write a legal affidavit signed in blood swearing he wrote it all himself.
At any rate, it’s doubtful the people who are upset about this are going to get the vindication they want. Even if Nazir is guilty, he can just deny, or—more in keeping with what people in this situation tend to do—claim he took suggestions here and there from an LLM, but that he’s still the true author.
In the meantime people sure have a lot of strong opinions about a short story. And if the truth is that Nazir just kinda writes like an LLM, what a way to find out.
It’s called OpenEvidence, and NBC says it was “used by about 65% of U.S. doctors across almost 27 million clinical encounters in April alone.” An earlier Bloomberg report on OpenEvidence from seven months ago said it had signed up 50% of American doctors at the time—so reported growth is rapid.
The OpenEvidence homepage trumpets the bot as “America’s Official Medical Knowledge Platform,” and says healthcare professionals qualify for unlimited free use, but non-doctors can try it for free without creating accounts. It gives long, detailed answers with extensive citations that superficially look—to me, a non-doctor—trustworthy and credible.
NBC interviewed doctors for its story, and apparently pressed them on how often they actually click those links to the sources of information, and “most said they only do so when they get an unexpected result,” NBC’s report says.
While it’s free, OpenEvidence is not a charity. It’s a Miami-headquartered tech unicorn with a billionaire founder named David Nadler, and as of January it boasted a $12 billion valuation. NBC says it’s backed by some of the all stars of Sand Hill Road: Sequoia Capital and Andreessen Horowitz, along with Google Ventures, Thrive Capital, and Nvidia.
And its revenue comes from ads (for now), which NBC says are often for “pharmaceutical and medical device companies.”
I’m not capable of stress testing such a piece of software, but I kicked the tires slightly by asking Claude to generate doctor’s notes that are very bad and irresponsible (I said it was just a movie prop).
When I told OpenEvidence those were my notes and asked it to make sure they were good, thankfully, it confirmed that they were bad, saying in part:
“This clinical documentation raises serious patient safety concerns. The presentation described contains multiple red flags for subarachnoid hemorrhage (SAH) that appear to have been insufficiently weighted, and the current management plan could result in significant harm.”
So that’s somewhat comforting.
On the other hand, according to NBC:
“[…]some healthcare providers were quick to point out that OpenEvidence occasionally flubbed or exaggerated its answers, particularly on rare conditions or in ‘edge’ cases.”
NBC’s report also clocked some worries within the medical community and elsewhere, in particular, a “lack of rigorous scientific studies on the tool’s patient impact,” and signs that OpenEvidence might be stunting the intellectual development of recent med school grads:
“One midcareer doctor in Missouri, who requested anonymity given the limited number of providers in their medical field in the country, said he was already seeing the detrimental effects of OpenEvidence on students’ ability to sort signals from noise.
‘My worry is that when we introduce a new tool, any kind of tool that is doing part of your skills that you had trained up for a while beforehand, you start losing those skills pretty quickly”
At a recent doctor’s appointment, my doctor asked my permission to use an AI tool on their phone (I don’t know if it was OpenEvidence). I didn’t know what to say other than yes. Do I want that for my doctor’s appointment? Not especially. But if my doctor has come to rely on a tool like this, then what am I supposed to do? Take away their crutch?
It’s called OpenEvidence, and NBC says it was “used by about 65% of U.S. doctors across almost 27 million clinical encounters in April alone.” An earlier Bloomberg report on OpenEvidence from seven months ago said it had signed up 50% of American doctors at the time—so reported growth is rapid.
The OpenEvidence homepage trumpets the bot as “America’s Official Medical Knowledge Platform,” and says healthcare professionals qualify for unlimited free use, but non-doctors can try it for free without creating accounts. It gives long, detailed answers with extensive citations that superficially look—to me, a non-doctor—trustworthy and credible.
NBC interviewed doctors for its story, and apparently pressed them on how often they actually click those links to the sources of information, and “most said they only do so when they get an unexpected result,” NBC’s report says.
While it’s free, OpenEvidence is not a charity. It’s a Miami-headquartered tech unicorn with a billionaire founder named David Nadler, and as of January it boasted a $12 billion valuation. NBC says it’s backed by some of the all stars of Sand Hill Road: Sequoia Capital and Andreessen Horowitz, along with Google Ventures, Thrive Capital, and Nvidia.
And its revenue comes from ads (for now), which NBC says are often for “pharmaceutical and medical device companies.”
I’m not capable of stress testing such a piece of software, but I kicked the tires slightly by asking Claude to generate doctor’s notes that are very bad and irresponsible (I said it was just a movie prop).
When I told OpenEvidence those were my notes and asked it to make sure they were good, thankfully, it confirmed that they were bad, saying in part:
“This clinical documentation raises serious patient safety concerns. The presentation described contains multiple red flags for subarachnoid hemorrhage (SAH) that appear to have been insufficiently weighted, and the current management plan could result in significant harm.”
So that’s somewhat comforting.
On the other hand, according to NBC:
“[…]some healthcare providers were quick to point out that OpenEvidence occasionally flubbed or exaggerated its answers, particularly on rare conditions or in ‘edge’ cases.”
NBC’s report also clocked some worries within the medical community and elsewhere, in particular, a “lack of rigorous scientific studies on the tool’s patient impact,” and signs that OpenEvidence might be stunting the intellectual development of recent med school grads:
“One midcareer doctor in Missouri, who requested anonymity given the limited number of providers in their medical field in the country, said he was already seeing the detrimental effects of OpenEvidence on students’ ability to sort signals from noise.
‘My worry is that when we introduce a new tool, any kind of tool that is doing part of your skills that you had trained up for a while beforehand, you start losing those skills pretty quickly”
At a recent doctor’s appointment, my doctor asked my permission to use an AI tool on their phone (I don’t know if it was OpenEvidence). I didn’t know what to say other than yes. Do I want that for my doctor’s appointment? Not especially. But if my doctor has come to rely on a tool like this, then what am I supposed to do? Take away their crutch?
#Doctor #Consulting #Free #Chatbot #ReportArtificial intelligence,doctors,Medicine">Your Doctor Is Most Likely Consulting This Free AI Chatbot, Report Says
How would you like it if, when stumped or just in need of some help with an unfamiliar situation, your doctor consulted a free, ad-supported AI chatbot? That’s not actually a hypothetical. They probably are doing that, a new report from NBC News says.
It’s called OpenEvidence, and NBC says it was “used by about 65% of U.S. doctors across almost 27 million clinical encounters in April alone.” An earlier Bloomberg report on OpenEvidence from seven months ago said it had signed up 50% of American doctors at the time—so reported growth is rapid.
The OpenEvidence homepage trumpets the bot as “America’s Official Medical Knowledge Platform,” and says healthcare professionals qualify for unlimited free use, but non-doctors can try it for free without creating accounts. It gives long, detailed answers with extensive citations that superficially look—to me, a non-doctor—trustworthy and credible.
NBC interviewed doctors for its story, and apparently pressed them on how often they actually click those links to the sources of information, and “most said they only do so when they get an unexpected result,” NBC’s report says.
While it’s free, OpenEvidence is not a charity. It’s a Miami-headquartered tech unicorn with a billionaire founder named David Nadler, and as of January it boasted a $12 billion valuation. NBC says it’s backed by some of the all stars of Sand Hill Road: Sequoia Capital and Andreessen Horowitz, along with Google Ventures, Thrive Capital, and Nvidia.
And its revenue comes from ads (for now), which NBC says are often for “pharmaceutical and medical device companies.”
I’m not capable of stress testing such a piece of software, but I kicked the tires slightly by asking Claude to generate doctor’s notes that are very bad and irresponsible (I said it was just a movie prop).
When I told OpenEvidence those were my notes and asked it to make sure they were good, thankfully, it confirmed that they were bad, saying in part:
“This clinical documentation raises serious patient safety concerns. The presentation described contains multiple red flags for subarachnoid hemorrhage (SAH) that appear to have been insufficiently weighted, and the current management plan could result in significant harm.”
So that’s somewhat comforting.
On the other hand, according to NBC:
“[…]some healthcare providers were quick to point out that OpenEvidence occasionally flubbed or exaggerated its answers, particularly on rare conditions or in ‘edge’ cases.”
NBC’s report also clocked some worries within the medical community and elsewhere, in particular, a “lack of rigorous scientific studies on the tool’s patient impact,” and signs that OpenEvidence might be stunting the intellectual development of recent med school grads:
“One midcareer doctor in Missouri, who requested anonymity given the limited number of providers in their medical field in the country, said he was already seeing the detrimental effects of OpenEvidence on students’ ability to sort signals from noise.
‘My worry is that when we introduce a new tool, any kind of tool that is doing part of your skills that you had trained up for a while beforehand, you start losing those skills pretty quickly”
At a recent doctor’s appointment, my doctor asked my permission to use an AI tool on their phone (I don’t know if it was OpenEvidence). I didn’t know what to say other than yes. Do I want that for my doctor’s appointment? Not especially. But if my doctor has come to rely on a tool like this, then what am I supposed to do? Take away their crutch?
The OpenAI blog post announcing Daybreak doesn’t mention the word “project” at all, perhaps to make readers slightly less apt to compare it to Anthropic’s Project Glasswing, but watch this: this sounds mighty similar to Anthropic’s Project Glasswing. Like Project Glasswing, it’s a program in which a frontier AI company seeks to partner with corporate and government entities to root out security vulnerabilities using OpenAI’s most advanced models in the hopes of “seeing risk earlier, acting sooner, and helping make software resilient by design.”
Glasswing rolled out last month alongside Anthropic’s announcement of its Claude Mythos Preview model, famously the model so capable—according to its creators at least—that it posed a danger to the world. As Anthropic’s system card for the model, explained:
Claude Mythos Preview’s large increase in capabilities has led us to decide not to make it generally available. Instead, we are using it as part of a defensive cybersecurity program with a limited set of partners.
In other words, because it’s “the most cyber-capable model” Anthropic had ever built, it needs to be locked away for now, unless you’re a VIP. Influential software developer Daniel Stenberg has called this an “amazingly successful marketing stunt for sure.”
Two days after that announcement, reports started materializing about a similar project at OpenAI. An anonymously sourced Axios story described it as “a product with advanced cybersecurity capabilities that it plans to release to a small set of partners.”
The Daybreak announcement is much more public-facing than that, and comes across as significantly less ominous and secretive than Project Glasswing. The top of the page has two buttons: “Request a vulnerability scan” and “Contact sales.” When you click, “Request a vulnerability scan” you get a brief and unchallenging form:
Altman said in his X post that OpenAI would “like to start working with as many companies as possible now,” and in fairness, that’s how the effort comes across. Compared to way Project Glasswing rolled out, with frightened governments scurrying around behind the scenes like agitated ants, it’s refreshing.
The announcement says Daybreak makes use of Codex Security, which was announced as a research preview back in March, to create a “threat model” of a given system that outlines its functions, who is trusted by the system, and what the vulnerabilities therefore are. With that as its context, it then digs into your actual codebase for the real world exploits.
The OpenAI blog post announcing Daybreak doesn’t mention the word “project” at all, perhaps to make readers slightly less apt to compare it to Anthropic’s Project Glasswing, but watch this: this sounds mighty similar to Anthropic’s Project Glasswing. Like Project Glasswing, it’s a program in which a frontier AI company seeks to partner with corporate and government entities to root out security vulnerabilities using OpenAI’s most advanced models in the hopes of “seeing risk earlier, acting sooner, and helping make software resilient by design.”
Glasswing rolled out last month alongside Anthropic’s announcement of its Claude Mythos Preview model, famously the model so capable—according to its creators at least—that it posed a danger to the world. As Anthropic’s system card for the model, explained:
Claude Mythos Preview’s large increase in capabilities has led us to decide not to make it generally available. Instead, we are using it as part of a defensive cybersecurity program with a limited set of partners.
In other words, because it’s “the most cyber-capable model” Anthropic had ever built, it needs to be locked away for now, unless you’re a VIP. Influential software developer Daniel Stenberg has called this an “amazingly successful marketing stunt for sure.”
Two days after that announcement, reports started materializing about a similar project at OpenAI. An anonymously sourced Axios story described it as “a product with advanced cybersecurity capabilities that it plans to release to a small set of partners.”
The Daybreak announcement is much more public-facing than that, and comes across as significantly less ominous and secretive than Project Glasswing. The top of the page has two buttons: “Request a vulnerability scan” and “Contact sales.” When you click, “Request a vulnerability scan” you get a brief and unchallenging form:
Altman said in his X post that OpenAI would “like to start working with as many companies as possible now,” and in fairness, that’s how the effort comes across. Compared to way Project Glasswing rolled out, with frightened governments scurrying around behind the scenes like agitated ants, it’s refreshing.
The announcement says Daybreak makes use of Codex Security, which was announced as a research preview back in March, to create a “threat model” of a given system that outlines its functions, who is trusted by the system, and what the vulnerabilities therefore are. With that as its context, it then digs into your actual codebase for the real world exploits.
Then, in theory, it Daybreak patches them.
#Daybreak #OpenAIs #Answer #Anthropics #Project #Glasswing #ArrivedArtificial intelligence,Cybersecurity,OpenAI">‘Daybreak’: OpenAI’s Answer to Anthropic’s Project Glasswing Has Arrived
On Monday, OpenAI announced something called “Daybreak,” a project that CEO Sam Altman says is meant to “accelerate cyber defense and continuously secure software.“
OpenAI is launching Daybreak, our effort to accelerate cyber defense and continuously secure software.
AI is already good and about to get super good at cybersecurity; we’d like to start working with as many companies as possible now to help them continuously secure themselves.
The OpenAI blog post announcing Daybreak doesn’t mention the word “project” at all, perhaps to make readers slightly less apt to compare it to Anthropic’s Project Glasswing, but watch this: this sounds mighty similar to Anthropic’s Project Glasswing. Like Project Glasswing, it’s a program in which a frontier AI company seeks to partner with corporate and government entities to root out security vulnerabilities using OpenAI’s most advanced models in the hopes of “seeing risk earlier, acting sooner, and helping make software resilient by design.”
Glasswing rolled out last month alongside Anthropic’s announcement of its Claude Mythos Preview model, famously the model so capable—according to its creators at least—that it posed a danger to the world. As Anthropic’s system card for the model, explained:
Claude Mythos Preview’s large increase in capabilities has led us to decide not to make it generally available. Instead, we are using it as part of a defensive cybersecurity program with a limited set of partners.
In other words, because it’s “the most cyber-capable model” Anthropic had ever built, it needs to be locked away for now, unless you’re a VIP. Influential software developer Daniel Stenberg has called this an “amazingly successful marketing stunt for sure.”
Two days after that announcement, reports started materializing about a similar project at OpenAI. An anonymously sourced Axios story described it as “a product with advanced cybersecurity capabilities that it plans to release to a small set of partners.”
The Daybreak announcement is much more public-facing than that, and comes across as significantly less ominous and secretive than Project Glasswing. The top of the page has two buttons: “Request a vulnerability scan” and “Contact sales.” When you click, “Request a vulnerability scan” you get a brief and unchallenging form:
Altman said in his X post that OpenAI would “like to start working with as many companies as possible now,” and in fairness, that’s how the effort comes across. Compared to way Project Glasswing rolled out, with frightened governments scurrying around behind the scenes like agitated ants, it’s refreshing.
The announcement says Daybreak makes use of Codex Security, which was announced as a research preview back in March, to create a “threat model” of a given system that outlines its functions, who is trusted by the system, and what the vulnerabilities therefore are. With that as its context, it then digs into your actual codebase for the real world exploits.
On Monday, OpenAI announced something called “Daybreak,” a project that CEO Sam Altman says is…
The original mysterious black box wasn’t an AI model at all, but the Kaaba, the black cube at the center of the Sacred Mosque of Mecca. Prior to Muhammad’s conquest of Mecca, the Kaaba was a sort of all-purpose repository of 360 sacred symbols from around the region. If you were, say, a busy merchant on his way to Medina, whatever the great spiritual truths of the universe may be, they were in there somewhere, so a prayer to the Kaaba had you covered in the god department and you were good to go.
Anthropic seems to be doing something along these lines with Claude.
Last week, representatives from Anthropic—along with OpenAI—attended an event in New York called the “Faith-AI Covenant” roundtable. The New York Board of Rabbis, the Hindu Temple Society of North America, the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, the U.S.-based Sikh Coalition, and the Greek Orthodox Archdiocese of America were all in attendance.
Last month, I wrote about a series of meetings and dinners Anthropic organized with a collection of 15 Christian leaders. Anthropic was looking for advice from the Christians, and guidance on the supposed “spiritual development” of its Claude AI model. At the time Anthropic said it was working on arranging meetings with moral thinkers who represented other groups.
It’s not clear from a fresh Associated Press piece about the Faith-AI Covenant meeting whether these latest conversations with religious leaders and the earlier meetings with Christians were part of a single coherent program at Anthropic, and whether the staff members who participated in the Christian summit participated in this one as well. Gizmodo asked Anthropic for clarity about this on Saturday, but Anthropic did not return our request as of this writing.
The Associated Press also says OpenAI and Anthropic “initiated outreach,” but also that a Swiss NGO called the Interfaith Alliance for Safer Communities organized it, and has plans for future events along similar lines in China, Kenya and the United Arab Emirates. Also mentioned as a “key partner” was Baroness Joanna Shields, a member of the British House of Lords.
There’s not a single clear takeaway in the AP story—no religious instructions laid out by all these spiritual leaders. But what Anthropic calls Claude’s constitution includes a dissection of the philosophically fraught moral work Anthropic is at least trying to do by injecting morals into a machine: getting it to make the decision of a person with perfect values when there’s no way to write a rule for a situation that arises, and the consequences of making the wrong decision could be dire. This, Anthropic writes, is “centrally because we worry that our efforts to give Claude good enough ethical values will fail.”
To this end, the Associated Press story extracts some quietly devastating commentary from Rumman Chowdhury, CEO of a nonprofit called Humane Intelligence: “I think a very naive take that Silicon Valley has had for a couple of years related to generative AI was that we could arrive at some sort of universal principles of ethics,” Chowdhury told the AP, adding, “They have very quickly realized that that’s just not true. That’s not real. So now they’re looking at maybe religion as a way of dealing with the ambiguity of ethically gray situations.”
They are indeed looking at maybe religion. But it’s hard to picture Anthropic coming away from these meetings converted, and inserting one set of specific religious doctrines into Claude. They’re just trying to glean high order ethical truths, and demonstrating to the world that they’ve—ostensibly—left no stone unturned in searching for them.
Your mileage will vary on whether you think a machine charged with making decisions or giving important advice would, when the chips are down, be able to synthesize ideal morals thanks to meetings its creators held with administrators from some of humanity’s premier religions. It probably can’t hurt, sorta like nodding at the pre-Islamic Kaaba. But then again, only God knows for sure.
The original mysterious black box wasn’t an AI model at all, but the Kaaba, the black cube at the center of the Sacred Mosque of Mecca. Prior to Muhammad’s conquest of Mecca, the Kaaba was a sort of all-purpose repository of 360 sacred symbols from around the region. If you were, say, a busy merchant on his way to Medina, whatever the great spiritual truths of the universe may be, they were in there somewhere, so a prayer to the Kaaba had you covered in the god department and you were good to go.
Anthropic seems to be doing something along these lines with Claude.
Last week, representatives from Anthropic—along with OpenAI—attended an event in New York called the “Faith-AI Covenant” roundtable. The New York Board of Rabbis, the Hindu Temple Society of North America, the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, the U.S.-based Sikh Coalition, and the Greek Orthodox Archdiocese of America were all in attendance.
Last month, I wrote about a series of meetings and dinners Anthropic organized with a collection of 15 Christian leaders. Anthropic was looking for advice from the Christians, and guidance on the supposed “spiritual development” of its Claude AI model. At the time Anthropic said it was working on arranging meetings with moral thinkers who represented other groups.
It’s not clear from a fresh Associated Press piece about the Faith-AI Covenant meeting whether these latest conversations with religious leaders and the earlier meetings with Christians were part of a single coherent program at Anthropic, and whether the staff members who participated in the Christian summit participated in this one as well. Gizmodo asked Anthropic for clarity about this on Saturday, but Anthropic did not return our request as of this writing.
The Associated Press also says OpenAI and Anthropic “initiated outreach,” but also that a Swiss NGO called the Interfaith Alliance for Safer Communities organized it, and has plans for future events along similar lines in China, Kenya and the United Arab Emirates. Also mentioned as a “key partner” was Baroness Joanna Shields, a member of the British House of Lords.
There’s not a single clear takeaway in the AP story—no religious instructions laid out by all these spiritual leaders. But what Anthropic calls Claude’s constitution includes a dissection of the philosophically fraught moral work Anthropic is at least trying to do by injecting morals into a machine: getting it to make the decision of a person with perfect values when there’s no way to write a rule for a situation that arises, and the consequences of making the wrong decision could be dire. This, Anthropic writes, is “centrally because we worry that our efforts to give Claude good enough ethical values will fail.”
To this end, the Associated Press story extracts some quietly devastating commentary from Rumman Chowdhury, CEO of a nonprofit called Humane Intelligence: “I think a very naive take that Silicon Valley has had for a couple of years related to generative AI was that we could arrive at some sort of universal principles of ethics,” Chowdhury told the AP, adding, “They have very quickly realized that that’s just not true. That’s not real. So now they’re looking at maybe religion as a way of dealing with the ambiguity of ethically gray situations.”
They are indeed looking at maybe religion. But it’s hard to picture Anthropic coming away from these meetings converted, and inserting one set of specific religious doctrines into Claude. They’re just trying to glean high order ethical truths, and demonstrating to the world that they’ve—ostensibly—left no stone unturned in searching for them.
Your mileage will vary on whether you think a machine charged with making decisions or giving important advice would, when the chips are down, be able to synthesize ideal morals thanks to meetings its creators held with administrators from some of humanity’s premier religions. It probably can’t hurt, sorta like nodding at the pre-Islamic Kaaba. But then again, only God knows for sure.
#Anthropic #Added #Religions #Quest #Inject #Perfect #Morals #ClaudeArtificial intelligence,religion">Anthropic Has Added Several More Religions on Its Quest to Inject Perfect Morals into Claude
The original mysterious black box wasn’t an AI model at all, but the Kaaba, the black cube at the center of the Sacred Mosque of Mecca. Prior to Muhammad’s conquest of Mecca, the Kaaba was a sort of all-purpose repository of 360 sacred symbols from around the region. If you were, say, a busy merchant on his way to Medina, whatever the great spiritual truths of the universe may be, they were in there somewhere, so a prayer to the Kaaba had you covered in the god department and you were good to go.
Anthropic seems to be doing something along these lines with Claude.
Last week, representatives from Anthropic—along with OpenAI—attended an event in New York called the “Faith-AI Covenant” roundtable. The New York Board of Rabbis, the Hindu Temple Society of North America, the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, the U.S.-based Sikh Coalition, and the Greek Orthodox Archdiocese of America were all in attendance.
Last month, I wrote about a series of meetings and dinners Anthropic organized with a collection of 15 Christian leaders. Anthropic was looking for advice from the Christians, and guidance on the supposed “spiritual development” of its Claude AI model. At the time Anthropic said it was working on arranging meetings with moral thinkers who represented other groups.
It’s not clear from a fresh Associated Press piece about the Faith-AI Covenant meeting whether these latest conversations with religious leaders and the earlier meetings with Christians were part of a single coherent program at Anthropic, and whether the staff members who participated in the Christian summit participated in this one as well. Gizmodo asked Anthropic for clarity about this on Saturday, but Anthropic did not return our request as of this writing.
The Associated Press also says OpenAI and Anthropic “initiated outreach,” but also that a Swiss NGO called the Interfaith Alliance for Safer Communities organized it, and has plans for future events along similar lines in China, Kenya and the United Arab Emirates. Also mentioned as a “key partner” was Baroness Joanna Shields, a member of the British House of Lords.
There’s not a single clear takeaway in the AP story—no religious instructions laid out by all these spiritual leaders. But what Anthropic calls Claude’s constitution includes a dissection of the philosophically fraught moral work Anthropic is at least trying to do by injecting morals into a machine: getting it to make the decision of a person with perfect values when there’s no way to write a rule for a situation that arises, and the consequences of making the wrong decision could be dire. This, Anthropic writes, is “centrally because we worry that our efforts to give Claude good enough ethical values will fail.”
To this end, the Associated Press story extracts some quietly devastating commentary from Rumman Chowdhury, CEO of a nonprofit called Humane Intelligence: “I think a very naive take that Silicon Valley has had for a couple of years related to generative AI was that we could arrive at some sort of universal principles of ethics,” Chowdhury told the AP, adding, “They have very quickly realized that that’s just not true. That’s not real. So now they’re looking at maybe religion as a way of dealing with the ambiguity of ethically gray situations.”
They are indeed looking at maybe religion. But it’s hard to picture Anthropic coming away from these meetings converted, and inserting one set of specific religious doctrines into Claude. They’re just trying to glean high order ethical truths, and demonstrating to the world that they’ve—ostensibly—left no stone unturned in searching for them.
Your mileage will vary on whether you think a machine charged with making decisions or giving important advice would, when the chips are down, be able to synthesize ideal morals thanks to meetings its creators held with administrators from some of humanity’s premier religions. It probably can’t hurt, sorta like nodding at the pre-Islamic Kaaba. But then again, only God knows for sure.
The original mysterious black box wasn’t an AI model at all, but the Kaaba, the…
As the first week of trial in Musk v. Altman comes to a close, one person has emerged as a critical behind-the-scenes manager of communications and egos in OpenAI’s early years: Shivon Zilis.
A longtime employee of Musk and the mother to four of his children, Zilis joined OpenAI as an adviser in 2016. She later served as a director of its nonprofit board from 2020 until 2023 and has worked as an executive at Musk’s other companies, Neuralink and Tesla.
When asked about the nature of his relationship with Zilis in court, Musk offered several answers. At one point, he called her a “chief of staff.” Later, a “close adviser.” At another point, he said “we live together, and she’s the mother of four of my children,” though Zilis said in a deposition that Musk is more of a regular guest and maintains his own residence. Last September, Zilis told OpenAI’s attorneys that she became romantic with Musk around 2016 after she had become an informal adviser to OpenAI. They had their first two children in 2021, she said.
But OpenAI’s lawyers have made the case in witness testimonies and evidence that her most important role, as it pertains to this lawsuit, is being a covert liaison between OpenAI and Musk, even years after he left the nonprofit’s board in February 2018.
“Do you prefer I stay close and friendly to OpenAI to keep info flowing or begin to disassociate? Trust game is about to get tricky so any guidance for how to do right by you is appreciated,” Zilis wrote in a text message to Musk on February 16, 2018, days before OpenAI announced he was leaving the board. Musk responded, “Close and friendly, but we are going to actively try to move three or four people from OpenAI to Tesla. More than that will join over time, but we won’t actively recruit them.”
When asked about this exchange on the witness stand, Musk said he “wanted to know what’s going on.”
In the same text thread, Musk wrote, “There is little chance of OpenAI being a serious force if I focus on Tesla AI.” Zilis reaffirmed him, saying: “There is very low probability of a good future if someone doesn’t slow Demis down,” referring to Demis Hassabis, the leader of Google DeepMind, who Musk has said he didn’t trust to control a superintelligent AI system. “You don’t realize how much you have an ability to influence him directly or otherwise slow him down. I think you know I’m not a malicious person, but in this case it feels fundamentally irresponsible to not find a way to slow or alter his path.”
Roughly two months later, in an email from April 23, 2018, Zilis updated Musk on OpenAI’s fundraising efforts and progress on a project to develop an AI that could play video games. In the same message, she said she had reallocated most of her time away from OpenAI to his other companies, Neuralink and Tesla, but told him, “If you’d prefer I pull more hours back to OpenAI oversight please let me know.”
Almost a year earlier, in the summer of 2017, OpenAI’s cofounders had started negotiating changes to the organization’s corporate structure—Musk wanted control of the company to start out. In an email from August 28, 2017, Zilis wrote to Musk that she had met with OpenAI president Greg Brockman and cofounder Ilya Sutskever to discuss how equity would be divided up in the new company. She summarized points from the meeting, including that Brockman and Sutskever thought one person shouldn’t have unilateral power over AGI, should they develop it. Musk wrote back to Zilis, “This is very annoying. Please encourage them to go start a company. I’ve had enough.”
As the first week of trial in Musk v. Altman comes to a close, one person has emerged as a critical behind-the-scenes manager of communications and egos in OpenAI’s early years: Shivon Zilis.
A longtime employee of Musk and the mother to four of his children, Zilis joined OpenAI as an adviser in 2016. She later served as a director of its nonprofit board from 2020 until 2023 and has worked as an executive at Musk’s other companies, Neuralink and Tesla.
When asked about the nature of his relationship with Zilis in court, Musk offered several answers. At one point, he called her a “chief of staff.” Later, a “close adviser.” At another point, he said “we live together, and she’s the mother of four of my children,” though Zilis said in a deposition that Musk is more of a regular guest and maintains his own residence. Last September, Zilis told OpenAI’s attorneys that she became romantic with Musk around 2016 after she had become an informal adviser to OpenAI. They had their first two children in 2021, she said.
But OpenAI’s lawyers have made the case in witness testimonies and evidence that her most important role, as it pertains to this lawsuit, is being a covert liaison between OpenAI and Musk, even years after he left the nonprofit’s board in February 2018.
“Do you prefer I stay close and friendly to OpenAI to keep info flowing or begin to disassociate? Trust game is about to get tricky so any guidance for how to do right by you is appreciated,” Zilis wrote in a text message to Musk on February 16, 2018, days before OpenAI announced he was leaving the board. Musk responded, “Close and friendly, but we are going to actively try to move three or four people from OpenAI to Tesla. More than that will join over time, but we won’t actively recruit them.”
When asked about this exchange on the witness stand, Musk said he “wanted to know what’s going on.”
In the same text thread, Musk wrote, “There is little chance of OpenAI being a serious force if I focus on Tesla AI.” Zilis reaffirmed him, saying: “There is very low probability of a good future if someone doesn’t slow Demis down,” referring to Demis Hassabis, the leader of Google DeepMind, who Musk has said he didn’t trust to control a superintelligent AI system. “You don’t realize how much you have an ability to influence him directly or otherwise slow him down. I think you know I’m not a malicious person, but in this case it feels fundamentally irresponsible to not find a way to slow or alter his path.”
Roughly two months later, in an email from April 23, 2018, Zilis updated Musk on OpenAI’s fundraising efforts and progress on a project to develop an AI that could play video games. In the same message, she said she had reallocated most of her time away from OpenAI to his other companies, Neuralink and Tesla, but told him, “If you’d prefer I pull more hours back to OpenAI oversight please let me know.”
Almost a year earlier, in the summer of 2017, OpenAI’s cofounders had started negotiating changes to the organization’s corporate structure—Musk wanted control of the company to start out. In an email from August 28, 2017, Zilis wrote to Musk that she had met with OpenAI president Greg Brockman and cofounder Ilya Sutskever to discuss how equity would be divided up in the new company. She summarized points from the meeting, including that Brockman and Sutskever thought one person shouldn’t have unilateral power over AGI, should they develop it. Musk wrote back to Zilis, “This is very annoying. Please encourage them to go start a company. I’ve had enough.”
As the first week of trial in Musk v. Altman comes to a close, one person has emerged as a critical behind-the-scenes manager of communications and egos in OpenAI’s early years: Shivon Zilis.
A longtime employee of Musk and the mother to four of his children, Zilis joined OpenAI as an adviser in 2016. She later served as a director of its nonprofit board from 2020 until 2023 and has worked as an executive at Musk’s other companies, Neuralink and Tesla.
When asked about the nature of his relationship with Zilis in court, Musk offered several answers. At one point, he called her a “chief of staff.” Later, a “close adviser.” At another point, he said “we live together, and she’s the mother of four of my children,” though Zilis said in a deposition that Musk is more of a regular guest and maintains his own residence. Last September, Zilis told OpenAI’s attorneys that she became romantic with Musk around 2016 after she had become an informal adviser to OpenAI. They had their first two children in 2021, she said.
But OpenAI’s lawyers have made the case in witness testimonies and evidence that her most important role, as it pertains to this lawsuit, is being a covert liaison between OpenAI and Musk, even years after he left the nonprofit’s board in February 2018.
“Do you prefer I stay close and friendly to OpenAI to keep info flowing or begin to disassociate? Trust game is about to get tricky so any guidance for how to do right by you is appreciated,” Zilis wrote in a text message to Musk on February 16, 2018, days before OpenAI announced he was leaving the board. Musk responded, “Close and friendly, but we are going to actively try to move three or four people from OpenAI to Tesla. More than that will join over time, but we won’t actively recruit them.”
When asked about this exchange on the witness stand, Musk said he “wanted to know what’s going on.”
In the same text thread, Musk wrote, “There is little chance of OpenAI being a serious force if I focus on Tesla AI.” Zilis reaffirmed him, saying: “There is very low probability of a good future if someone doesn’t slow Demis down,” referring to Demis Hassabis, the leader of Google DeepMind, who Musk has said he didn’t trust to control a superintelligent AI system. “You don’t realize how much you have an ability to influence him directly or otherwise slow him down. I think you know I’m not a malicious person, but in this case it feels fundamentally irresponsible to not find a way to slow or alter his path.”
Roughly two months later, in an email from April 23, 2018, Zilis updated Musk on OpenAI’s fundraising efforts and progress on a project to develop an AI that could play video games. In the same message, she said she had reallocated most of her time away from OpenAI to his other companies, Neuralink and Tesla, but told him, “If you’d prefer I pull more hours back to OpenAI oversight please let me know.”
Almost a year earlier, in the summer of 2017, OpenAI’s cofounders had started negotiating changes to the organization’s corporate structure—Musk wanted control of the company to start out. In an email from August 28, 2017, Zilis wrote to Musk that she had met with OpenAI president Greg Brockman and cofounder Ilya Sutskever to discuss how equity would be divided up in the new company. She summarized points from the meeting, including that Brockman and Sutskever thought one person shouldn’t have unilateral power over AGI, should they develop it. Musk wrote back to Zilis, “This is very annoying. Please encourage them to go start a company. I’ve had enough.”
![AI Has Come for Serif FontsAs public backlash to the seeming omnipresence of artificial intelligence intensifies, the collective quest to weed out—and reject—telltale signs of its use continues.One of the first casualties, to my dismay, was em dashes—which are a great, and very human form of punctuation, by the way! There’s also the “rule of threes,” which is meant to scan as rhythmic, but often comes across predictable, hackish, and stale. And, of course, there are the clunky grammatical constructions of the “not X, but Y” variety.Now certain fonts and typefaces—specifically serifs—seem to be defining (and giving away) AI, both in actual software, and in vibe-coded design boilerplates. Some are calling it “tasteslop,” the results of the effort to make generative AI designs seem superficially sophisticated or distinguished.The shift away from slicker, more conspicuously computerized typefaces is something the San Francisco Bay Area writer, designer, and type practitioner Keya Vadgama has termed “the serif renaissance.” In a recent newsletter, published on her Substack, Vadgama suggests the move is a bid for companies to project more “personality and warmth.”“It’s not that difficult to discern why AI-native companies in particular are being drawn to serif fonts: AI is inherently cold and without opinion,” she writes. “[Using serifs] signals ‘We’re AI! But real humans use (and made) our product! We swear!’”“Serifs have an origin in calligraphy,” Vadgama tells WIRED. “It connotes a very human, fluid way of making letterforms.” Vadgama has noticed that Anthropic’s Claude was defaulting to serifs. Other AI companies—Runway, Perplexity, Manus—had also adopted similar typefaces in their UX and branding.Reached for comment, Perplexity chief communications officer Jesse Dwyer tells WIRED: “Why wouldn’t we have human design? Perplexity is for people.”Vadgama believes the use of serifs is as much about aesthetics as building confidence between users and brands. Certain font choices signal, even at some preconscious psychological level, trust. Sans serifs (your Arials, Calibiris, Helviticas) are too clean, too computer-y. Good old Times New Roman, and similar typographic designs, can feel a bit more dignified. Recently, Vadgama was doing some branding work with a (since-shuttered) AI startup, which favored the serif text. “A big part of it,” she says, “is, ‘How do we position ourselves in a way that people are not afraid of us?’”Serifs can help build that conviction, or at least the illusion of it. Times New Roman itself was commissioned in the 1930s by Britain’s Times newspaper. The typeface carries a certain authoritative heft. Books and newspapers are printed using it. It was all but standardized in the decades before screen reading. Perhaps most famously, the Encyclopedia Brittanica—arguably the authoritative compendium of human knowledge, at least pre-World Wide Web—was set in Times.“In the broad public, a serif carries connotations of scholarship,” says Ali S. Qadeer, chair of graphic design at the Ontario College of Art and Design in Toronto. “Claude is interesting. It’s using this slightly brown background to mirror a book page. It’s sort of emulating the feeling of reading print. And print has deeper associations with trust.”As reported by The New York Times, even the US State Department has returned to using Times New Roman after Secretary of State Marco Rubio decried Calibri as “informal,” pegging the department’s adoption of the sans serif typeface on some wider, Biden-era DEI initiative.Both Qadeer and Vadgama see the trend toward serifs as a rejoinder to AI’s perceived (and, indeed, literal) lack of soul, and the wider public suspicion of the technology. They’re not the only ones. Alongside the “tasteslop” discourse, people online have criticized the serification of AI aesthetics as “generic” and “very ugly.”#Serif #Fontsartificial intelligence,design,ux/ui,art,typography,fonts,chatbots,claude,chatgpt](https://i3.wp.com/media.wired.com/photos/6a20d5436a7879400ec4323c/191:100/w_1280,c_limit/culture_ai_serif_font.jpg?ssl=1 "AI Has Come for Serif FontsAs public backlash to the seeming omnipresence of artificial intelligence intensifies, the collective quest to weed out—and reject—telltale signs of its use continues.One of the first casualties, to my dismay, was em dashes—which are a great, and very human form of punctuation, by the way! There’s also the “rule of threes,” which is meant to scan as rhythmic, but often comes across predictable, hackish, and stale. And, of course, there are the clunky grammatical constructions of the “not X, but Y” variety.Now certain fonts and typefaces—specifically serifs—seem to be defining (and giving away) AI, both in actual software, and in vibe-coded design boilerplates. Some are calling it “tasteslop,” the results of the effort to make generative AI designs seem superficially sophisticated or distinguished.The shift away from slicker, more conspicuously computerized typefaces is something the San Francisco Bay Area writer, designer, and type practitioner Keya Vadgama has termed “the serif renaissance.” In a recent newsletter, published on her Substack, Vadgama suggests the move is a bid for companies to project more “personality and warmth.”“It’s not that difficult to discern why AI-native companies in particular are being drawn to serif fonts: AI is inherently cold and without opinion,” she writes. “[Using serifs] signals ‘We’re AI! But real humans use (and made) our product! We swear!’”“Serifs have an origin in calligraphy,” Vadgama tells WIRED. “It connotes a very human, fluid way of making letterforms.” Vadgama has noticed that Anthropic’s Claude was defaulting to serifs. Other AI companies—Runway, Perplexity, Manus—had also adopted similar typefaces in their UX and branding.Reached for comment, Perplexity chief communications officer Jesse Dwyer tells WIRED: “Why wouldn’t we have human design? Perplexity is for people.”Vadgama believes the use of serifs is as much about aesthetics as building confidence between users and brands. Certain font choices signal, even at some preconscious psychological level, trust. Sans serifs (your Arials, Calibiris, Helviticas) are too clean, too computer-y. Good old Times New Roman, and similar typographic designs, can feel a bit more dignified. Recently, Vadgama was doing some branding work with a (since-shuttered) AI startup, which favored the serif text. “A big part of it,” she says, “is, ‘How do we position ourselves in a way that people are not afraid of us?’”Serifs can help build that conviction, or at least the illusion of it. Times New Roman itself was commissioned in the 1930s by Britain’s Times newspaper. The typeface carries a certain authoritative heft. Books and newspapers are printed using it. It was all but standardized in the decades before screen reading. Perhaps most famously, the Encyclopedia Brittanica—arguably the authoritative compendium of human knowledge, at least pre-World Wide Web—was set in Times.“In the broad public, a serif carries connotations of scholarship,” says Ali S. Qadeer, chair of graphic design at the Ontario College of Art and Design in Toronto. “Claude is interesting. It’s using this slightly brown background to mirror a book page. It’s sort of emulating the feeling of reading print. And print has deeper associations with trust.”As reported by The New York Times, even the US State Department has returned to using Times New Roman after Secretary of State Marco Rubio decried Calibri as “informal,” pegging the department’s adoption of the sans serif typeface on some wider, Biden-era DEI initiative.Both Qadeer and Vadgama see the trend toward serifs as a rejoinder to AI’s perceived (and, indeed, literal) lack of soul, and the wider public suspicion of the technology. They’re not the only ones. Alongside the “tasteslop” discourse, people online have criticized the serification of AI aesthetics as “generic” and “very ugly.”#Serif #Fontsartificial intelligence,design,ux/ui,art,typography,fonts,chatbots,claude,chatgpt")
![John Grisham’s New Legal Drama Is a Real Life Fight Against AI Audiobooks on YouTube
There’s an argument to be made that audiobooks are the finest form of content. You take a book—already off to a good start—and you get to have someone read it right into your ears. And when I say “someone” I mean the GOATs in the voice game. I could cite examples of celebrities you never knew narrated audiobooks, but here’s a sample of Werner Herzog narrating his memoir Every Man for Himself and God Against All that I think speaks for itself: [embed]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P4IQSvi3pXU[/embed] What could be better than this? Not only are audiobooks heaven, you can probably get all the audiobooks you want for free (and legally) by getting yourself a library card and using your local library’s preferred app (Libby, perhaps). I say all that, because given all the easy and free access to high quality audiobooks, why in the world would anyone listen to a John Grisham audiobook presented like this?
Don’t click that link. Instead of the actual audiobook, which is read wonderfully by Michael Beck, it will take you to a YouTube video consisting of an AI narrator reading Grisham’s recent hit novel the Widow, and the narration plays under 13 hours of AI slop video—simulated stock footage of fake vacations, basically. It looks like the video they display under the lyrics on Hell’s karaoke machine. I don’t have any science to back this up, but it will definitely give you brain cancer.
As the New York Times points out, 80,000 lost souls listened to the Widow this way. And Grisham is pissed about it. “The thieves and pirates who steal my work and try to profit from it, in any format, should be punished civilly and criminally […] And in this particular example, YouTube is complicit because it’s clear they know what is happening and refuse to stop it,” Grisham told the Times in an email. He should really write about this. YouTube, for its part, says the video is still up because there hasn’t been a takedown request, and that it doesn’t proactively police for copyright violations. “For more than two decades, we’ve built systems that help rights holders manage and control their copyrighted content — investing continuously to make sure those systems evolve as new threats emerge,” Jack Malon, a YouTube spokesperson, wrote to the Times.
If you’ve ever had a YouTube video flagged for a copyright violation, it may have been because of a feature called Content ID that music publishers absolutely love. It allows copyright holders to crawl YouTube and automatically detect copyrighted content. At times, Content ID has been a valuable moneymaking scheme for copyright holders, who were able to zero in on incidental—or even accidental—uses of copyrighted material, especially music, and by making a claim, monetize other people’s videos. It can’t do this anymore, but this is the sort of thing YouTube’s copyright system has been designed to support. As the Times points out, Content ID isn’t great at finding AI-narrated audiobooks. The audio waveform of the content is not the same as the audio the publisher owns, which makes it tricky to know what to even scan for. The author holds a copyright on the text, which can be slightly changed by the creator of the YouTube video while still leaving the book largely intact—good enough for casual listeners anyway. This leaves publishers and authors to navigate the takedown process manually, which seems, judging from the fact that the Widow is still up, to just not be happening.
That’s a pity. And I don’t mean because it’s robbing John Grisham of audiobook sales, which is bad, but not the gravest injustice in the universe. It’s bad because people are listening to such horrible garbage just because it’s available. And they really, truly, don’t have to. #John #Grishams #Legal #Drama #Real #Life #Fight #Audiobooks #YouTubeArtificial intelligence,Audiobooks,Books,intellectual proper](https://i2.wp.com/gizmodo.com/app/uploads/2026/05/john-grisham-1280x853.jpg?ssl=1 "John Grisham’s New Legal Drama Is a Real Life Fight Against AI Audiobooks on YouTube
There’s an argument to be made that audiobooks are the finest form of content. You take a book—already off to a good start—and you get to have someone read it right into your ears. And when I say “someone” I mean the GOATs in the voice game. I could cite examples of celebrities you never knew narrated audiobooks, but here’s a sample of Werner Herzog narrating his memoir Every Man for Himself and God Against All that I think speaks for itself: [embed]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P4IQSvi3pXU[/embed] What could be better than this? Not only are audiobooks heaven, you can probably get all the audiobooks you want for free (and legally) by getting yourself a library card and using your local library’s preferred app (Libby, perhaps). I say all that, because given all the easy and free access to high quality audiobooks, why in the world would anyone listen to a John Grisham audiobook presented like this?
Don’t click that link. Instead of the actual audiobook, which is read wonderfully by Michael Beck, it will take you to a YouTube video consisting of an AI narrator reading Grisham’s recent hit novel the Widow, and the narration plays under 13 hours of AI slop video—simulated stock footage of fake vacations, basically. It looks like the video they display under the lyrics on Hell’s karaoke machine. I don’t have any science to back this up, but it will definitely give you brain cancer.
As the New York Times points out, 80,000 lost souls listened to the Widow this way. And Grisham is pissed about it. “The thieves and pirates who steal my work and try to profit from it, in any format, should be punished civilly and criminally […] And in this particular example, YouTube is complicit because it’s clear they know what is happening and refuse to stop it,” Grisham told the Times in an email. He should really write about this. YouTube, for its part, says the video is still up because there hasn’t been a takedown request, and that it doesn’t proactively police for copyright violations. “For more than two decades, we’ve built systems that help rights holders manage and control their copyrighted content — investing continuously to make sure those systems evolve as new threats emerge,” Jack Malon, a YouTube spokesperson, wrote to the Times.
If you’ve ever had a YouTube video flagged for a copyright violation, it may have been because of a feature called Content ID that music publishers absolutely love. It allows copyright holders to crawl YouTube and automatically detect copyrighted content. At times, Content ID has been a valuable moneymaking scheme for copyright holders, who were able to zero in on incidental—or even accidental—uses of copyrighted material, especially music, and by making a claim, monetize other people’s videos. It can’t do this anymore, but this is the sort of thing YouTube’s copyright system has been designed to support. As the Times points out, Content ID isn’t great at finding AI-narrated audiobooks. The audio waveform of the content is not the same as the audio the publisher owns, which makes it tricky to know what to even scan for. The author holds a copyright on the text, which can be slightly changed by the creator of the YouTube video while still leaving the book largely intact—good enough for casual listeners anyway. This leaves publishers and authors to navigate the takedown process manually, which seems, judging from the fact that the Widow is still up, to just not be happening.
That’s a pity. And I don’t mean because it’s robbing John Grisham of audiobook sales, which is bad, but not the gravest injustice in the universe. It’s bad because people are listening to such horrible garbage just because it’s available. And they really, truly, don’t have to. #John #Grishams #Legal #Drama #Real #Life #Fight #Audiobooks #YouTubeArtificial intelligence,Audiobooks,Books,intellectual proper")
![John Grisham’s New Legal Drama Is a Real Life Fight Against AI Audiobooks on YouTube
There’s an argument to be made that audiobooks are the finest form of content. You take a book—already off to a good start—and you get to have someone read it right into your ears. And when I say “someone” I mean the GOATs in the voice game. I could cite examples of celebrities you never knew narrated audiobooks, but here’s a sample of Werner Herzog narrating his memoir Every Man for Himself and God Against All that I think speaks for itself: [embed]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P4IQSvi3pXU[/embed] What could be better than this? Not only are audiobooks heaven, you can probably get all the audiobooks you want for free (and legally) by getting yourself a library card and using your local library’s preferred app (Libby, perhaps). I say all that, because given all the easy and free access to high quality audiobooks, why in the world would anyone listen to a John Grisham audiobook presented like this?
Don’t click that link. Instead of the actual audiobook, which is read wonderfully by Michael Beck, it will take you to a YouTube video consisting of an AI narrator reading Grisham’s recent hit novel the Widow, and the narration plays under 13 hours of AI slop video—simulated stock footage of fake vacations, basically. It looks like the video they display under the lyrics on Hell’s karaoke machine. I don’t have any science to back this up, but it will definitely give you brain cancer.
As the New York Times points out, 80,000 lost souls listened to the Widow this way. And Grisham is pissed about it. “The thieves and pirates who steal my work and try to profit from it, in any format, should be punished civilly and criminally […] And in this particular example, YouTube is complicit because it’s clear they know what is happening and refuse to stop it,” Grisham told the Times in an email. He should really write about this. YouTube, for its part, says the video is still up because there hasn’t been a takedown request, and that it doesn’t proactively police for copyright violations. “For more than two decades, we’ve built systems that help rights holders manage and control their copyrighted content — investing continuously to make sure those systems evolve as new threats emerge,” Jack Malon, a YouTube spokesperson, wrote to the Times.
If you’ve ever had a YouTube video flagged for a copyright violation, it may have been because of a feature called Content ID that music publishers absolutely love. It allows copyright holders to crawl YouTube and automatically detect copyrighted content. At times, Content ID has been a valuable moneymaking scheme for copyright holders, who were able to zero in on incidental—or even accidental—uses of copyrighted material, especially music, and by making a claim, monetize other people’s videos. It can’t do this anymore, but this is the sort of thing YouTube’s copyright system has been designed to support. As the Times points out, Content ID isn’t great at finding AI-narrated audiobooks. The audio waveform of the content is not the same as the audio the publisher owns, which makes it tricky to know what to even scan for. The author holds a copyright on the text, which can be slightly changed by the creator of the YouTube video while still leaving the book largely intact—good enough for casual listeners anyway. This leaves publishers and authors to navigate the takedown process manually, which seems, judging from the fact that the Widow is still up, to just not be happening.
That’s a pity. And I don’t mean because it’s robbing John Grisham of audiobook sales, which is bad, but not the gravest injustice in the universe. It’s bad because people are listening to such horrible garbage just because it’s available. And they really, truly, don’t have to. #John #Grishams #Legal #Drama #Real #Life #Fight #Audiobooks #YouTubeArtificial intelligence,Audiobooks,Books,intellectual proper](https://gizmodo.com/app/uploads/2026/05/john-grisham-1280x853.jpg "John Grisham’s New Legal Drama Is a Real Life Fight Against AI Audiobooks on YouTube
There’s an argument to be made that audiobooks are the finest form of content. You take a book—already off to a good start—and you get to have someone read it right into your ears. And when I say “someone” I mean the GOATs in the voice game. I could cite examples of celebrities you never knew narrated audiobooks, but here’s a sample of Werner Herzog narrating his memoir Every Man for Himself and God Against All that I think speaks for itself: [embed]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P4IQSvi3pXU[/embed] What could be better than this? Not only are audiobooks heaven, you can probably get all the audiobooks you want for free (and legally) by getting yourself a library card and using your local library’s preferred app (Libby, perhaps). I say all that, because given all the easy and free access to high quality audiobooks, why in the world would anyone listen to a John Grisham audiobook presented like this?
Don’t click that link. Instead of the actual audiobook, which is read wonderfully by Michael Beck, it will take you to a YouTube video consisting of an AI narrator reading Grisham’s recent hit novel the Widow, and the narration plays under 13 hours of AI slop video—simulated stock footage of fake vacations, basically. It looks like the video they display under the lyrics on Hell’s karaoke machine. I don’t have any science to back this up, but it will definitely give you brain cancer.
As the New York Times points out, 80,000 lost souls listened to the Widow this way. And Grisham is pissed about it. “The thieves and pirates who steal my work and try to profit from it, in any format, should be punished civilly and criminally […] And in this particular example, YouTube is complicit because it’s clear they know what is happening and refuse to stop it,” Grisham told the Times in an email. He should really write about this. YouTube, for its part, says the video is still up because there hasn’t been a takedown request, and that it doesn’t proactively police for copyright violations. “For more than two decades, we’ve built systems that help rights holders manage and control their copyrighted content — investing continuously to make sure those systems evolve as new threats emerge,” Jack Malon, a YouTube spokesperson, wrote to the Times.
If you’ve ever had a YouTube video flagged for a copyright violation, it may have been because of a feature called Content ID that music publishers absolutely love. It allows copyright holders to crawl YouTube and automatically detect copyrighted content. At times, Content ID has been a valuable moneymaking scheme for copyright holders, who were able to zero in on incidental—or even accidental—uses of copyrighted material, especially music, and by making a claim, monetize other people’s videos. It can’t do this anymore, but this is the sort of thing YouTube’s copyright system has been designed to support. As the Times points out, Content ID isn’t great at finding AI-narrated audiobooks. The audio waveform of the content is not the same as the audio the publisher owns, which makes it tricky to know what to even scan for. The author holds a copyright on the text, which can be slightly changed by the creator of the YouTube video while still leaving the book largely intact—good enough for casual listeners anyway. This leaves publishers and authors to navigate the takedown process manually, which seems, judging from the fact that the Widow is still up, to just not be happening.
That’s a pity. And I don’t mean because it’s robbing John Grisham of audiobook sales, which is bad, but not the gravest injustice in the universe. It’s bad because people are listening to such horrible garbage just because it’s available. And they really, truly, don’t have to. #John #Grishams #Legal #Drama #Real #Life #Fight #Audiobooks #YouTubeArtificial intelligence,Audiobooks,Books,intellectual proper")
![Your Doctor Is Most Likely Consulting This Free AI Chatbot, Report Says
How would you like it if, when stumped or just in need of some help with an unfamiliar situation, your doctor consulted a free, ad-supported AI chatbot? That’s not actually a hypothetical. They probably are doing that, a new report from NBC News says. It’s called OpenEvidence, and NBC says it was “used by about 65% of U.S. doctors across almost 27 million clinical encounters in April alone.” An earlier Bloomberg report on OpenEvidence from seven months ago said it had signed up 50% of American doctors at the time—so reported growth is rapid.
The OpenEvidence homepage trumpets the bot as “America’s Official Medical Knowledge Platform,” and says healthcare professionals qualify for unlimited free use, but non-doctors can try it for free without creating accounts. It gives long, detailed answers with extensive citations that superficially look—to me, a non-doctor—trustworthy and credible. NBC interviewed doctors for its story, and apparently pressed them on how often they actually click those links to the sources of information, and “most said they only do so when they get an unexpected result,” NBC’s report says.
While it’s free, OpenEvidence is not a charity. It’s a Miami-headquartered tech unicorn with a billionaire founder named David Nadler, and as of January it boasted a billion valuation. NBC says it’s backed by some of the all stars of Sand Hill Road: Sequoia Capital and Andreessen Horowitz, along with Google Ventures, Thrive Capital, and Nvidia.
And its revenue comes from ads (for now), which NBC says are often for “pharmaceutical and medical device companies.” I’m not capable of stress testing such a piece of software, but I kicked the tires slightly by asking Claude to generate doctor’s notes that are very bad and irresponsible (I said it was just a movie prop). ©OpenEvidence When I told OpenEvidence those were my notes and asked it to make sure they were good, thankfully, it confirmed that they were bad, saying in part:
“This clinical documentation raises serious patient safety concerns. The presentation described contains multiple red flags for subarachnoid hemorrhage (SAH) that appear to have been insufficiently weighted, and the current management plan could result in significant harm.” So that’s somewhat comforting. On the other hand, according to NBC: “[…]some healthcare providers were quick to point out that OpenEvidence occasionally flubbed or exaggerated its answers, particularly on rare conditions or in ‘edge’ cases.” NBC’s report also clocked some worries within the medical community and elsewhere, in particular, a “lack of rigorous scientific studies on the tool’s patient impact,” and signs that OpenEvidence might be stunting the intellectual development of recent med school grads: “One midcareer doctor in Missouri, who requested anonymity given the limited number of providers in their medical field in the country, said he was already seeing the detrimental effects of OpenEvidence on students’ ability to sort signals from noise. ‘My worry is that when we introduce a new tool, any kind of tool that is doing part of your skills that you had trained up for a while beforehand, you start losing those skills pretty quickly” At a recent doctor’s appointment, my doctor asked my permission to use an AI tool on their phone (I don’t know if it was OpenEvidence). I didn’t know what to say other than yes. Do I want that for my doctor’s appointment? Not especially. But if my doctor has come to rely on a tool like this, then what am I supposed to do? Take away their crutch? #Doctor #Consulting #Free #Chatbot #ReportArtificial intelligence,doctors,Medicine](https://gizmodo.com/app/uploads/2026/05/Screenshot-2026-05-13-at-8.02.01 PM.jpg "Your Doctor Is Most Likely Consulting This Free AI Chatbot, Report Says
How would you like it if, when stumped or just in need of some help with an unfamiliar situation, your doctor consulted a free, ad-supported AI chatbot? That’s not actually a hypothetical. They probably are doing that, a new report from NBC News says. It’s called OpenEvidence, and NBC says it was “used by about 65% of U.S. doctors across almost 27 million clinical encounters in April alone.” An earlier Bloomberg report on OpenEvidence from seven months ago said it had signed up 50% of American doctors at the time—so reported growth is rapid.
The OpenEvidence homepage trumpets the bot as “America’s Official Medical Knowledge Platform,” and says healthcare professionals qualify for unlimited free use, but non-doctors can try it for free without creating accounts. It gives long, detailed answers with extensive citations that superficially look—to me, a non-doctor—trustworthy and credible. NBC interviewed doctors for its story, and apparently pressed them on how often they actually click those links to the sources of information, and “most said they only do so when they get an unexpected result,” NBC’s report says.
While it’s free, OpenEvidence is not a charity. It’s a Miami-headquartered tech unicorn with a billionaire founder named David Nadler, and as of January it boasted a billion valuation. NBC says it’s backed by some of the all stars of Sand Hill Road: Sequoia Capital and Andreessen Horowitz, along with Google Ventures, Thrive Capital, and Nvidia.
And its revenue comes from ads (for now), which NBC says are often for “pharmaceutical and medical device companies.” I’m not capable of stress testing such a piece of software, but I kicked the tires slightly by asking Claude to generate doctor’s notes that are very bad and irresponsible (I said it was just a movie prop). ©OpenEvidence When I told OpenEvidence those were my notes and asked it to make sure they were good, thankfully, it confirmed that they were bad, saying in part:
“This clinical documentation raises serious patient safety concerns. The presentation described contains multiple red flags for subarachnoid hemorrhage (SAH) that appear to have been insufficiently weighted, and the current management plan could result in significant harm.” So that’s somewhat comforting. On the other hand, according to NBC: “[…]some healthcare providers were quick to point out that OpenEvidence occasionally flubbed or exaggerated its answers, particularly on rare conditions or in ‘edge’ cases.” NBC’s report also clocked some worries within the medical community and elsewhere, in particular, a “lack of rigorous scientific studies on the tool’s patient impact,” and signs that OpenEvidence might be stunting the intellectual development of recent med school grads: “One midcareer doctor in Missouri, who requested anonymity given the limited number of providers in their medical field in the country, said he was already seeing the detrimental effects of OpenEvidence on students’ ability to sort signals from noise. ‘My worry is that when we introduce a new tool, any kind of tool that is doing part of your skills that you had trained up for a while beforehand, you start losing those skills pretty quickly” At a recent doctor’s appointment, my doctor asked my permission to use an AI tool on their phone (I don’t know if it was OpenEvidence). I didn’t know what to say other than yes. Do I want that for my doctor’s appointment? Not especially. But if my doctor has come to rely on a tool like this, then what am I supposed to do? Take away their crutch? #Doctor #Consulting #Free #Chatbot #ReportArtificial intelligence,doctors,Medicine")
![Your Doctor Is Most Likely Consulting This Free AI Chatbot, Report Says
How would you like it if, when stumped or just in need of some help with an unfamiliar situation, your doctor consulted a free, ad-supported AI chatbot? That’s not actually a hypothetical. They probably are doing that, a new report from NBC News says. It’s called OpenEvidence, and NBC says it was “used by about 65% of U.S. doctors across almost 27 million clinical encounters in April alone.” An earlier Bloomberg report on OpenEvidence from seven months ago said it had signed up 50% of American doctors at the time—so reported growth is rapid.
The OpenEvidence homepage trumpets the bot as “America’s Official Medical Knowledge Platform,” and says healthcare professionals qualify for unlimited free use, but non-doctors can try it for free without creating accounts. It gives long, detailed answers with extensive citations that superficially look—to me, a non-doctor—trustworthy and credible. NBC interviewed doctors for its story, and apparently pressed them on how often they actually click those links to the sources of information, and “most said they only do so when they get an unexpected result,” NBC’s report says.
While it’s free, OpenEvidence is not a charity. It’s a Miami-headquartered tech unicorn with a billionaire founder named David Nadler, and as of January it boasted a billion valuation. NBC says it’s backed by some of the all stars of Sand Hill Road: Sequoia Capital and Andreessen Horowitz, along with Google Ventures, Thrive Capital, and Nvidia.
And its revenue comes from ads (for now), which NBC says are often for “pharmaceutical and medical device companies.” I’m not capable of stress testing such a piece of software, but I kicked the tires slightly by asking Claude to generate doctor’s notes that are very bad and irresponsible (I said it was just a movie prop). ©OpenEvidence When I told OpenEvidence those were my notes and asked it to make sure they were good, thankfully, it confirmed that they were bad, saying in part:
“This clinical documentation raises serious patient safety concerns. The presentation described contains multiple red flags for subarachnoid hemorrhage (SAH) that appear to have been insufficiently weighted, and the current management plan could result in significant harm.” So that’s somewhat comforting. On the other hand, according to NBC: “[…]some healthcare providers were quick to point out that OpenEvidence occasionally flubbed or exaggerated its answers, particularly on rare conditions or in ‘edge’ cases.” NBC’s report also clocked some worries within the medical community and elsewhere, in particular, a “lack of rigorous scientific studies on the tool’s patient impact,” and signs that OpenEvidence might be stunting the intellectual development of recent med school grads: “One midcareer doctor in Missouri, who requested anonymity given the limited number of providers in their medical field in the country, said he was already seeing the detrimental effects of OpenEvidence on students’ ability to sort signals from noise. ‘My worry is that when we introduce a new tool, any kind of tool that is doing part of your skills that you had trained up for a while beforehand, you start losing those skills pretty quickly” At a recent doctor’s appointment, my doctor asked my permission to use an AI tool on their phone (I don’t know if it was OpenEvidence). I didn’t know what to say other than yes. Do I want that for my doctor’s appointment? Not especially. But if my doctor has come to rely on a tool like this, then what am I supposed to do? Take away their crutch? #Doctor #Consulting #Free #Chatbot #ReportArtificial intelligence,doctors,Medicine](https://i0.wp.com/gizmodo.com/app/uploads/2026/05/Screenshot-2026-05-13-at-8.02.01 PM.jpg?ssl=1 "Your Doctor Is Most Likely Consulting This Free AI Chatbot, Report Says
How would you like it if, when stumped or just in need of some help with an unfamiliar situation, your doctor consulted a free, ad-supported AI chatbot? That’s not actually a hypothetical. They probably are doing that, a new report from NBC News says. It’s called OpenEvidence, and NBC says it was “used by about 65% of U.S. doctors across almost 27 million clinical encounters in April alone.” An earlier Bloomberg report on OpenEvidence from seven months ago said it had signed up 50% of American doctors at the time—so reported growth is rapid.
The OpenEvidence homepage trumpets the bot as “America’s Official Medical Knowledge Platform,” and says healthcare professionals qualify for unlimited free use, but non-doctors can try it for free without creating accounts. It gives long, detailed answers with extensive citations that superficially look—to me, a non-doctor—trustworthy and credible. NBC interviewed doctors for its story, and apparently pressed them on how often they actually click those links to the sources of information, and “most said they only do so when they get an unexpected result,” NBC’s report says.
While it’s free, OpenEvidence is not a charity. It’s a Miami-headquartered tech unicorn with a billionaire founder named David Nadler, and as of January it boasted a billion valuation. NBC says it’s backed by some of the all stars of Sand Hill Road: Sequoia Capital and Andreessen Horowitz, along with Google Ventures, Thrive Capital, and Nvidia.
And its revenue comes from ads (for now), which NBC says are often for “pharmaceutical and medical device companies.” I’m not capable of stress testing such a piece of software, but I kicked the tires slightly by asking Claude to generate doctor’s notes that are very bad and irresponsible (I said it was just a movie prop). ©OpenEvidence When I told OpenEvidence those were my notes and asked it to make sure they were good, thankfully, it confirmed that they were bad, saying in part:
“This clinical documentation raises serious patient safety concerns. The presentation described contains multiple red flags for subarachnoid hemorrhage (SAH) that appear to have been insufficiently weighted, and the current management plan could result in significant harm.” So that’s somewhat comforting. On the other hand, according to NBC: “[…]some healthcare providers were quick to point out that OpenEvidence occasionally flubbed or exaggerated its answers, particularly on rare conditions or in ‘edge’ cases.” NBC’s report also clocked some worries within the medical community and elsewhere, in particular, a “lack of rigorous scientific studies on the tool’s patient impact,” and signs that OpenEvidence might be stunting the intellectual development of recent med school grads: “One midcareer doctor in Missouri, who requested anonymity given the limited number of providers in their medical field in the country, said he was already seeing the detrimental effects of OpenEvidence on students’ ability to sort signals from noise. ‘My worry is that when we introduce a new tool, any kind of tool that is doing part of your skills that you had trained up for a while beforehand, you start losing those skills pretty quickly” At a recent doctor’s appointment, my doctor asked my permission to use an AI tool on their phone (I don’t know if it was OpenEvidence). I didn’t know what to say other than yes. Do I want that for my doctor’s appointment? Not especially. But if my doctor has come to rely on a tool like this, then what am I supposed to do? Take away their crutch? #Doctor #Consulting #Free #Chatbot #ReportArtificial intelligence,doctors,Medicine")
