Marietta Collaborative Divorce Lawyer Tori White Releases Insightful Article on Collaborative Divorce
Lance Morrow, a journalist, author and essayist who helped define Time magazine’s once-dominant place in American commentary, using a historian’s eye and taut prose to distill the country’s tragedies, triumphs and evolving culture, died Nov. 29 at his home in Spencertown, New York. He was 85. The cause was prostate cancer, said his wife, Susan Brind Morrow. Morrow was both observer and narrator during a more than seven-decade career that included books and memoirs, more than 20 years with a coveted back-page column in Time, and, later, time as a contributing writer to outlets such as the Wall Street Journal. His reportage and essays were often written with a grand and literary sweep that sought to capture a moment or a mood, whether the horror of the Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist attacks or the collective grief after the explosion of the space shuttle Challenger in 1986. “The shuttle crew, spectacularly democratic (male, female, black, white, Japanese American, Catholic, Jewish, Protestant), was the best of us, Americans thought, doing the best of things Americans do,” Morrow wrote in Time. “The mission seemed symbolically immaculate, the farthest reach of a perfectly American ambition to cross frontiers. And it simply vanished in the air.” As an author, meanwhile, Morrow peered deeply inward – giving readers a sense of a man who felt privileged and burdened. In his 2023 autobiography “The Noise of Typewriters,” he recounted his place in a golden age of print journalism when Time ruled the newsstands. He was, he said, a proud chronicler of the American Century. Yet there were shadows. In “Heart: A Memoir” (1995), written after a second heart attack, he turned his health crises into a deeper exploration of his psyche: despair from his witness to bloodshed in the Balkans and elsewhere and his long-held anger at his parents, a well-connected Washington couple he described as distant and constantly bickering. “An accumulation of palpable rage” had churned up and tried to “kill” his heart, he wrote. “Taking it as a kind of tribute, a sacrifice of myself to the rage god.” (He had a third heart attack shortly after the book was published.) Morrow arrived at Time magazine in 1965, two years after landing a job out of college at the Washington Star. The magazine was near the peak of its influence, with co-founder Henry Luce no longer editor but serving as chairman of parent company Time Inc. Morrow soon became a star byline, covering the 1967 riots in Detroit and the Vietnam War. As the Watergate scandal began to unfold before the 1972 presidential election, Morrow and Hugh Sidey ended a piece with a cri de coeur to the American electorate. “There is a somewhat depressing loss of innocence in failing to expect more from the nation’s public officials,” they wrote. “Somewhere in all of this huge indifference, the principle of moral leadership may be sinking without a trace.” In 1976, Morrow became a regular essayist for Time’s back page – a showcase spot that was seen as the magazine’s intellectual touchstone for the week. Morrow embraced the role. He infused his columns with references as diverse as Archimedes and Elvis. A column in 1979 on Iran’s Islamic Revolution avoided geopolitical hand-wringing and tried to put the toppling of the Western-supported monarchy in the context of other revolutions through history. In 1981, he wrote about modern celebrity gossip and followed the historical trail back to the Olympian quarrels of Zeus and Hera. Morrow’s views leaned conservative at times, including questioning the continued need for affirmative action. But he could give his imprimatur to liberal-backed initiatives such as environmental regulations and efforts to battle climate change. After the 9/11 attacks, Morrow issued what amounted to a call to arms. His piece, “The Case for Rage and Retribution,” was part of an entry that won Time a National Magazine Award for special issue coverage. “A day cannot live in infamy without the nourishment of rage. Let’s have rage,” Morrow wrote. “What’s needed is a unified, unifying, Pearl Harbor sort of purple American fury – ruthless indignation that doesn’t leak away in a week or two, wandering off into Prozac-induced forgetfulness or into the next media sensation.” Morrow left the Time staff in the mid-1990s but remained for more than a decade as a special writer on contract. Over his career, he was part of more than 100 cover stories and seven “Man of the Year” (now “Person of the Year”) profiles, including one of Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev in 1988. (He also wrote a “Women of the Year” story in 1976 that included first lady Betty Ford and tennis champion Billie Jean King.) Until earlier this year, Morrow produced a steady flow of columns for the Wall Street Journal, City Journal and others. In one of his last pieces, he took stock of President Joe Biden’s decision in July to bow out of the presidential race. “In this debacle, Biden’s laurels are withered; he does not deserve much glory,” he wrote in City Journal. Morrow also adopted the journalistic profile of an elder statesman – with a slightly jaded take on the profession’s trajectory in the internet age. “Being there is one of the imperatives of journalism,” he wrote in “The Noise of Typewriters.” “Or it used to be, before the age of screens, which changed everything. Being there is still a good idea.” ‘THINGS HAVE HAPPENED’ Lance Thomas Morrow was born in Philadelphia on Sept. 21, 1939, and raised in Washington. His father was a journalist whose jobs included Washington editor of the Saturday Evening Post and who later worked as a speechwriter and adviser to Nelson Rockefeller during his tenures as New York governor and vice president. His mother was a syndicated journalist for Knight newspapers and a writer. In books and essays, Morrow described his parents’ marriage as roiled by arguments and overshadowed by their mutual career ambitions. He recounted that for one summer, before he turned 10 years old, he and his older brother were left nearly alone at a family cottage with no electricity on Chesapeake Bay. Once a week, his father brought in supplies by car. “The past was full of grievances,” Morrow once said. “It lashed out, sometimes in the dark. The past was insane.” But his childhood also put him at the center of Washington’s political life. He was a Senate page, sometimes hustling down to the cafeteria to bring dishes of vanilla ice cream to Lyndon B. Johnson, then a Democratic senator from Texas. Morrow’s father sometimes loaned his car to the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. when the civil rights leader was visiting the capital. As a teenager, Morrow was once part of a touch football game in Georgetown with the Kennedys. “I have done nothing memorable in my life, and yet all around me, things have happened,” he said. Morrow received a bachelor’s degree in English from Harvard University in 1963. He already had his first bylines before college working a summer job at the Danville News in central Pennsylvania. From 1963 to 1965, he was on the staff of the Washington Star, where one of his colleagues, future Washington Post reporter Carl Bernstein, became a lifelong friend. Morrow won the National Magazine Award in the essays and criticism category in 1981 for his columns at Time. He was finalist for the same award in 1991 for a cover story on the nature of evil – a project that included extensive interviews with Holocaust survivor and writer Elie Wiesel. Morrow returned to the subject in the book “Evil: An Investigation” (2003), which examined how factors including religion, literature and politics have influenced perceptions of malice and hatred through the ages. His other books include “The Chief: A Memoir of Fathers and Sons” (1985), a recollection of his relationship with his father; “Fishing in the Tiber” (1988), essays on American myths and history; and “The Best Year of Their Lives: Kennedy, Nixon, and Johnson in 1948” (2005), on how events in 1948 shaped three future presidents. From 1996 to 2006, Morrow was a professor of journalism at Boston University. His marriage to Brooke Wayne ended in divorce. He married Susan Brind, a journalist and writer, in 1988. Other survivors include two sons from his first marriage; and three grandchildren. In “The Noise of the Typewriters,” Morrow described journalism in almost Zen terms as a hunt for a defining moment of clarity. “Never be certain there is no meaning. Never be certain about anything too quickly. All journalism implies a concealed metaphysics – even a theology: All truth is part of the whole,” he wrote. “All is in motion. Be tolerant of chaos. Be patient. Wait for stillness. This is Journalism 101, according to me.” We invite you to add your comments. We encourage a thoughtful exchange of ideas and information on this website. By joining the conversation, you are agreeing to our commenting policy and terms of use . More information is found on our FAQs . You can modify your screen name here . Comments are managed by our staff during regular business hours Monday through Friday as well as limited hours on Saturday and Sunday. Comments held for moderation outside of those hours may take longer to approve. 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Valerie Bertinelli says she ‘doesn’t care’ what people think of her body after posting underwear selfie
DEAR MISS MANNERS: I have two well-behaved, medium-sized dogs. Every day, morning and evening, the three of us take a constitutional walk, with the two of them on leashes. Over the years, I have encountered a variety of people who seem to feel it is their right to call to, play with, distract, pet or otherwise engage my dogs. The new form of interaction, which puzzles me, involves a stranger seeing me on the sidewalk and immediately asking for the names of my dogs. My dogs’ names are the key first words in commands to them, and it is important for them to always know who is commanding them. Thus, it seems ill-advised for me to aid strangers in calling them by name. In general, I respond as usual: by smiling slightly and moving on. But the practice of strangers asking “Hello, what are your dogs’ names?” seems to have become terribly common, seemingly overnight. Is there some new social form in which this is considered good behavior? GENTLE READER: This appears to be no more complicated than an application (perhaps a misapplication) of human courtesies to the canine world. Miss Manners agrees that no one should be approaching your dogs without your permission. If you are willing to make an introduction, you could sidestep the name-as-command issue by giving the dogs pseudonyms. Miss Manners will not tell, and she trusts that you, Fluffy and Gonzo will likewise keep the secret. (Please send your questions to Miss Manners at her website, www.missmanners.com ; to her email, dearmissmanners@gmail.com ; or through postal mail to Miss Manners, Andrews McMeel Syndication, 1130 Walnut St., Kansas City, MO 64106.)
Former Scheels leader honored with North Dakota Rough Rider AwardSuchir Balaji, a former OpenAI engineer and whistleblower who helped train the artificial intelligence systems behind ChatGPT and later said he believed those practices violated copyright law, has died, according to his parents and San Francisco officials. He was 26. Balaji worked at OpenAI for nearly four years before quitting in August. He was well-regarded by colleagues at the San Francisco company, where a co-founder this week called him one of OpenAI's strongest contributors who was essential to developing some of its products. “We are devastated to learn of this incredibly sad news and our hearts go out to Suchir’s loved ones during this difficult time,” said a statement from OpenAI. Balaji was found dead in his San Francisco apartment on Nov. 26 in what police said “appeared to be a suicide. No evidence of foul play was found during the initial investigation.” The city's chief medical examiner's office confirmed the manner of death to be suicide. His parents Poornima Ramarao and Balaji Ramamurthy said they are still seeking answers, describing their son as a “happy, smart and brave young man” who loved to hike and recently returned from a trip with friends. Balaji grew up in the San Francisco Bay Area and first arrived at the fledgling AI research lab for a 2018 summer internship while studying computer science at the University of California, Berkeley. He returned a few years later to work at OpenAI, where one of his first projects, called WebGPT, helped pave the way for ChatGPT. “Suchir’s contributions to this project were essential, and it wouldn’t have succeeded without him,” said OpenAI co-founder John Schulman in a social media post memorializing Balaji. Schulman, who recruited Balaji to his team, said what made him such an exceptional engineer and scientist was his attention to detail and ability to notice subtle bugs or logical errors. “He had a knack for finding simple solutions and writing elegant code that worked,” Schulman wrote. “He’d think through the details of things carefully and rigorously.” Balaji later shifted to organizing the huge datasets of online writings and other media used to train GPT-4, the fourth generation of OpenAI's flagship large language model and a basis for the company's famous chatbot. It was that work that eventually caused Balaji to question the technology he helped build, especially after newspapers, novelists and others began suing OpenAI and other AI companies for copyright infringement. He first raised his concerns with The New York Times, which reported them in an October profile of Balaji . He later told The Associated Press he would “try to testify” in the strongest copyright infringement cases and considered a lawsuit brought by The New York Times last year to be the “most serious.” Times lawyers named him in a Nov. 18 court filing as someone who might have “unique and relevant documents” supporting allegations of OpenAI's willful copyright infringement. His records were also sought by lawyers in a separate case brought by book authors including the comedian Sarah Silverman, according to a court filing. “It doesn’t feel right to be training on people’s data and then competing with them in the marketplace,” Balaji told the AP in late October. “I don’t think you should be able to do that. I don’t think you are able to do that legally.” He told the AP that he gradually grew more disillusioned with OpenAI, especially after the internal turmoil that led its board of directors to fire and then rehire CEO Sam Altman last year. Balaji said he was broadly concerned about how its commercial products were rolling out, including their propensity for spouting false information known as hallucinations. But of the “bag of issues” he was concerned about, he said he was focusing on copyright as the one it was “actually possible to do something about.” He acknowledged that it was an unpopular opinion within the AI research community, which is accustomed to pulling data from the internet, but said “they will have to change and it’s a matter of time.” He had not been deposed and it’s unclear to what extent his revelations will be admitted as evidence in any legal cases after his death. He also published a personal blog post with his opinions about the topic. Schulman, who resigned from OpenAI in August, said he and Balaji coincidentally left on the same day and celebrated with fellow colleagues that night with dinner and drinks at a San Francisco bar. Another of Balaji’s mentors, co-founder and chief scientist Ilya Sutskever, had left OpenAI several months earlier , which Balaji saw as another impetus to leave. Schulman said Balaji had told him earlier this year of his plans to leave OpenAI and that Balaji didn't think that better-than-human AI known as artificial general intelligence “was right around the corner, like the rest of the company seemed to believe.” The younger engineer expressed interest in getting a doctorate and exploring “some more off-the-beaten path ideas about how to build intelligence,” Schulman said. Balaji's family said a memorial is being planned for later this month at the India Community Center in Milpitas, California, not far from his hometown of Cupertino. —————- EDITOR’S NOTE — This story includes discussion of suicide. If you or someone you know needs help, the national suicide and crisis lifeline in the U.S. is available by calling or texting 988. —————-- The Associated Press and OpenAI have a licensing and technology agreement allowing OpenAI access to part of the AP’s text archives.
FBI investigating ‘numerous bomb threats’ against Trump administration nominees
Two content creators are taking a battle for an online vibe to court. This past April, filed a lawsuit against alleging she "replicated" her "neutral, beige, and cream aesthetic" across various social media platforms. The lawsuit has been dubbed a first-of-its-kind case about content similarities between influencers, both of whom are fighting to prove that the photos and videos uploaded to their respective accounts online are uniquely their own. Per the April filing, obtained by PEOPLE, Gifford brought eight claims against the defendant. Among them include federal copyright infringement, vicarious copyright infringement, Digital Millennium Copyright Act violation, trade dress infringement and misappropriation. Gifford has been curating her "brand identity" and "credibility" online over the past five years, per the filing, becoming known for her promotion of Amazon products like apparel and household goods. She has "grown her business into a multi-thousand dollar operation," her lawsuit states. Related: While the influencers maintain a presence online, they met in person in December 2022 with the intent to support each other's businesses. They got together again in January the following year, which resulted in Gifford blocking Sheil from viewing her content a few days later, per the filing. On Monday, Aug. 5, four months after Gifford sued in April, attorneys for Sheil asked the U.S. District Court for the Western District of Texas to dismiss claims brought forth against the defendant. Per the court documents, Sheil denied "every allegation" in the complaint. "Sheil has never infringed on any work of Gifford’s, because Sheil’s work is independently developed, does not use anything belonging to Gifford, and is not based on anything posted by Gifford," the court document reads. In November 2024, the Gifford's original complaint against Sheil should move forward. Judge Robert Pitman of the US District Court for the Western District of Texas will be in charge of the final disposition, reports. Read on to learn more about the first-of-its-kind lawsuit about influencer aesthetics online. Sydney Nicole Gifford/Instagram Sydney Nicole Gifford is a 24-year-old social media influencer who's amassed nearly half a million followers across Instagram, TikTok and Amazon Storefront. She is from Austin, Texas, though lives in Minneapolis now, according to her Instagram bio. The content Gifford creates centers around her home, fashion and "must-have" items she finds on Amazon. She stands out because of her neutral-toned vibe, curating her content with shades of brown and tan hues. "I think I feel more calm in neutral spaces,” Gifford told in late November. “Now my favorite color is beige," she added, which explains the hashtag she'll occasionally use on her content (#sadbeigehome). "It is a sad beige home, and I like it." The influencer spends several hours every day of the week capturing and creating content to share with her followers online, all aligning with her neutral aesthetic. She often promotes brand products and services through her photos and videos. Related: Alyssa Sheil/Instagram Alyssa Sheil is a 21-year-old content creator who shares fashion and lifestyle content with her nearly half a million followers across Instagram and TikTok combined. She is from Williamson County, Texas. Like Gifford, Sheil curates her content to align with a beige aesthetic. All of her posts — like outfit of the day posts, home decor finds and beauty-related photos — are neutral-toned. "It’s definitely very calming,” Sheil said of her decor when speaking with , who visited the Texas-based influencer for an interview a few days prior to meeting up with Gifford in her Minneapolis home. "I just want it to all be cohesive and plain." Sydney Nicole Gifford/Instagram Gifford is suing Sheil for allegedly mimicking the vibe of her social media content — including fonts and camera angles, apartment decor, similar Amazon products and even physical appearance — and replicating it on her own page. Per the original filing in April, obtained by PEOPLE, Gifford brought eight claims: federal copyright infringement, vicarious copyright infringement, Digital Millennium Copyright Act violation, trade dress infringement, misappropriation, tortious interference with prospective business relations, unfair trade practices and unfair competition and unjust enrichment. Although they exist separately online, the two creators have a brief history together having both lived in Austin at one point. Per the filing, the replication of content began after they met up for a second time in January 2023 to discuss a potential collaboration. At the time, they conducted a photoshoot that would be promoted on their respective accounts. "A few days later, Alyssa blocked Sydney from viewing her content on Instagram and TikTok," the original filing reads, alleging that the defendant's "platforms changed ostensibly." The filing claims that Sheil began to post content that "replicated the neutral, beige and cream aesthetic" of Gifford's "brand identity," featured "the same or substantially Amazon products" she promoted and "contained styling and textual captions" that replicated hers. Related: Alyssa Sheil/Instagram Sheil's attorney responded to Gifford's lawsuit on Aug. 5, denying "every allegation in the complaint." According to the court document, the case "stems" from "jealousy." When the creators first met, per the filing, Sheil was "younger and more successful on certain social media platforms that Gifford had not yet maximized." The documents allege that "it was Gifford who asked Sheil" content-related questions. Still, Sheil didn't file "a meritless lawsuit" claiming that Gifford "stole her likeness," explaining that it's "the very nature" of the fashion and influencer industries. "Similar influencer content creators collaborate, adopt, and evolve on trends and looks to promote products to their audience and followers." When Sheil spoke with , she was confident about where she stands as a creator despite navigating lawyers and lawsuits. "I do think that there’s space and definitely enough money for everyone that’s in [the Amazon influencer] program,” she told the outlet. Many are invested in the first-of-its-kind case questioning if the legal system could essentially protect the vibe of a content creator's vibe online as the two influencers await trial. Per Gifford's Texas lawsuit, Sheil is being sued for damages that could reach into the millions. Read the original article onBill Plaschke: Fans are heard, title hopes are solidified, Teoscar Hernández is back with DodgersNone
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