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Because Obviously What the Internet Needs Is More Government Buttons There are many ways governments demonstrate their commitment to freedom. Some write elegant constitutional protections. Others pass laws guaranteeing civil liberties. And then there are the governments that stare at the internet — that chaotic swamp of memes, conspiracy threads, amateur economists, cat videos, and comment sections that should legally qualify as psychological warfare — and think: “You know what would make this better? If ministers could restrict the whole thing.” Congratulations. We have arrived at that moment. Members of Parliament have now voted to grant ministers the authority to restrict access to the internet under certain conditions. Not parts of the internet. Not just suspicious corners where trolls and bots breed like mold in a damp basement. No, this power applies broadly enough that the phrase “entire internet” suddenly starts appearing in headlines. Which, if you’re someone who spends a...

There are awards ceremonies that feel like the Oscars: lights, cameras, emotional speeches, someone crying into a microphone while clutching a golden statue. And then there are awards ceremonies in the accounting profession, where the emotional range typically runs from “mild nod of approval” to “slightly firmer handshake.” So when the Canadian Internal Control Association (CICA) announced that Ward Ching would receive its 2026 Distinguished Service Award , you could practically hear the collective murmur of respect echoing through conference rooms filled with spreadsheets and compliance binders. Because in the world of internal controls, governance, and audit oversight, this award is basically the equivalent of getting knighted with a calculator. And Ward Ching? He earned it. But before we get into why the accounting world is applauding politely but enthusiastically, we should talk about what the Distinguished Service Award actually means—and why someone would spend decades of t...

Every once in a while, the internet pauses its endless arguments about politics, cryptocurrency, and whether pineapple belongs on pizza to do something remarkably old-fashioned: remember a person who lived an actual life. That’s what happens when an obituary shows up online. This time, the name quietly appearing among the millions of daily headlines is Peter Patrick Forte , a man who lived 92 years and passed away on March 6, 2026, in Avon, Connecticut. He was born on May 5, 1933, in Hartford, Connecticut, the son of Pasquale Forte and Constance (D’Addario) DeMauro. And just like that—between ads, search results, and condolence buttons—the internet quietly acknowledges the entire arc of a human life. But here’s the strange thing about obituaries in the digital age: they sit in the same ecosystem as cat videos, meme stocks, and conspiracy threads about lizard people. Which means reading one isn’t just a solemn experience anymore. It’s also weird. Very weird. So let’s talk about...

Every generation believes it has discovered the secret code to art. Not just art appreciation. Not the quiet, nerdy joy of standing in a museum reading a wall plaque and pretending you understand chiaroscuro. No—each generation believes it has unlocked the truth . The hidden symbols. The suppressed meanings. The conspiracies buried in brushstrokes. The whispers of secret societies hiding in marble veins. And somehow, inevitably, Michelangelo gets dragged into it . In the modern imagination, Michelangelo has become less of a Renaissance artist and more of a supporting character in an endless stream of speculative documentaries, YouTube essays, and paperback thrillers that promise to reveal what the Vatican, the Medici, the Freemasons, and possibly aliens have been hiding for centuries. Welcome to the strange cultural phenomenon of the “New Michelangelos.” These are the commentators, theorists, amateur historians, and occasionally very confident influencers who approach art history t...