What our language conceals, and reveals, about artificial intelligence, and the words we need to stay sane.
It was a Saturday evening in April. I’d just returned home from dropping one of our children off at a birthday party. I’d hung out some laundry, taken off my shoes, and lit the fire. I was at our kitchen counter, slicing a glossy eggplant to roast for moussaka; I had poured myself a glass of wine, and I was listening to a podcast.