Living the life of soils – the New York Times

There is something to check my phone, recently, who wanted to come to the Strega Nona house for pasta. I appear hungry, empty bowl and fork instead, for a title, a meme or an Instagram coil. But then the portions do not stop. There are more and more, messages, like pasta in the book of beloved children, overflowing. The portions come from ether, a bottomless well of the slope aimless, aimless and aimless.

It is impossible to avoid the slope these days. Sols is what we now call the strange flow of words and photos and videos that artificial intelligence spits, images which are often close to our reality to believe at first glance, but then trigger a small alarm of unreality. Jesus Christ made of shrimp. President Trump has Photoshop to look like the Pope. A cat fencing potato. A bread horse (thoroughbred).

The word slass is onomatopoetics, evoking the noise of a stew without form being rented on a cafeteria plateau, is sure to be unsatisfactory but in an endless supply, landing with a deadly plop.

“Like Oliver Twist Gruel,” said Anne Kavalerchik, sociologist at the University of Indiana, who deleted Instagram from her phone last year to avoid meeting so much soil. In February, she wrote on X: “The word of the year should be slass.”

Offline, we swim in more slope. “Sols Bowl” is the term that many use for the nebula of the ingredients served in fast restaurants – Cava, Naya, Swaygreen, Chopt – where the argument of the mounting chain is efficiency, not crafts: “The millennium funded by VC”, Andy Verderosa, who works in advertising, called in a recent post on X.