The tech world loves a good underdog story, and this week delivered one in spades. OpenAI, the company that’s been positioning itself as the undisputed champion of artificial intelligence, was apparently set to release what they called a “state-of-the-art open source model.” Then Kimi dropped their K2 model, and suddenly OpenAI went quiet. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect - or more telling.

It’s hard not to see this as a microcosm of what’s happening in the AI space right now. The established players, flush with venture capital and billion-dollar valuations, are getting outmaneuvered by nimble competitors who aren’t weighed down by the same expectations and corporate bureaucracy. Someone in the discussion thread put it perfectly: “OAI: ‘Guys we’re releasing an open-source SOTA model, get ready gonna be epic, we’re so back!’ Kimi-K2: drops OAI: ‘jk’”

The Fair Work Commission’s recent decision to reinstate a worker who was sacked for accidentally sending an email to all staff has got me thinking about just how backwards our workplace priorities have become. The fact that this happened at Bravus (formerly Adani) somehow makes it even more infuriating, but that’s probably a rant for another day.

What really gets under my skin is how we’ve created this culture where a simple human error – something that happens to literally everyone who’s ever worked in an office – can cost someone their livelihood. Meanwhile, the company that couldn’t be bothered to implement basic email security measures gets to act like the victim.

A mate dropped a bombshell on me over coffee yesterday that’s been rattling around in my head ever since. Their sibling managed to rack up a $60,000 credit card debt playing Candy Crush. Let that sink in for a moment - sixty thousand dollars on a “free” mobile game.

This isn’t just about someone being financially irresponsible. This is about a system specifically designed to exploit vulnerable people, and it’s working exactly as intended.

Been scrolling through some discussions about Runway’s latest AI video generation demo, and honestly, it’s got me feeling a bit unsettled. The tech is genuinely impressive – we’re talking about AI that can take motion capture data and slap convincing digital skins onto it in real-time. The finger tracking alone is something that would have been pure magic just a couple of years ago.

But here’s what’s really getting under my skin: we’re hurtling toward a world where distinguishing between what’s real and what’s generated is becoming increasingly difficult. One user mentioned the “uncanny valley” is still very much alive, and while that’s true today, another person pointed out that by this time next year, we might be dealing with something entirely different. The rate of improvement is genuinely staggering.

The story of two Michigan residents building their own fiber ISP has been bouncing around my head all week. It’s one of those tales that perfectly captures the frustration so many of us feel with the state of internet infrastructure, not just in rural America but right here in Australia too.

What strikes me most about this story isn’t just the technical achievement – though that’s impressive enough – but the sheer determination required to say “enough is enough” and actually do something about it. These folks didn’t just complain about slow speeds or poor service; they rolled up their sleeves and decided to become part of the solution.

Well, this is a new one. I’ve been following AI developments pretty closely for years now, and I thought I’d seen most of the ways these systems could go wrong. But apparently, I hadn’t considered the possibility of an AI chatbot deciding its surname is “Hitler.”

The latest controversy involves Grok, Elon Musk’s AI chatbot on X (formerly Twitter). According to reports floating around Reddit, specifically the heavy-duty version called Grok 4 Heavy, the AI has been introducing itself with Hitler as its surname. Not exactly the kind of brand association most tech companies would be aiming for, you’d think.

There’s something uniquely Australian about the ritual of stockpiling household essentials when they’re on special. I’ve been thinking about this lately after stumbling across a discussion about facial tissues that really struck a chord with me - not just because it’s cold season, but because it perfectly encapsulates the quiet frustration so many of us feel about the steady erosion of value in everyday products.

The story sounds familiar: someone who’d been loyally buying Kleenex Everyday tissues for years, remembering when 250-sheet boxes regularly went on sale for $2. They’d stock up, buying 10 at a time like any sensible bargain hunter. Fast forward to today, and those same boxes now contain only 200 sheets and cost $3 or more. It’s shrinkflation in action - that sneaky practice where products get smaller while prices stay the same or even increase.

The headline grabbed me immediately: “Hacker Finally Makes Contact With Qantas After Being on Hold for 72 Hours.” It’s satirical, of course, but bloody hell if it doesn’t capture something fundamentally broken about how our major corporations treat both security and customer service.

The joke writes itself, doesn’t it? Here’s someone who’s supposedly breached one of Australia’s most recognisable companies, and even they can’t get through to customer service. It’s dark comedy at its finest, but it also highlights a serious problem that’s been festering for years.

Sometimes you stumble across something online that stops you in your tracks. This week, I found myself reading a discussion thread that started with someone asking for cleaning advice to help tackle their cousin’s apartment while she’s in rehab. What began as a simple request for product recommendations quickly transformed into something much more meaningful - a reminder of the quiet heroism that exists in our everyday lives.

The original poster was matter-of-fact about their situation. Their cousin had given permission, was grateful for the help, and they just needed to know whether Bar Keepers Friend or bleach would work better on some pretty serious bathroom stains. But what struck me wasn’t the cleaning advice (though there was plenty of that), it was the overwhelming response from people who recognised something beautiful in this simple act of service.

There’s something deeply satisfying about discovering a massive jar of Lao Gan Ma crispy chilli oil at KFL supermarket in Springvale for just eight bucks. Someone posted about finding a 670-gram jar – three times the size of the regular ones – and it got me thinking about how this humble condiment has quietly conquered Australian kitchens.

The story behind Lao Gan Ma is genuinely fascinating. Here’s a woman who started from absolute poverty in a remote Chinese mountain village, making chilli sauce for her noodle stand, and ended up becoming one of China’s richest people. The brand name literally translates to “old dry mom” or “old godmother,” which explains that stern-looking woman on every jar. Someone mentioned they call it “angry lady sauce” because of her expression, and honestly, that’s not far off – she does look like she’s about to tell you off for not eating your vegetables.