TPO - Các nhà khoa học Scotland đang thử nghiệm in robot 3D sản xuất hàng loạt. Từ một khối duy nhất ban đầu, nó được đưa vào máy in 3D và ra khỏi máy in là bước ra thành một robot thân mềm.Strange as it may seem, it’s hard to refute the arguments for truly universal suffrage
Two years ago, Alisa Perales sued California and the US government because they wouldn’t let her vote. The academically gifted Perales, who was eight years old at the time, argued that the rule excluding under-18s from democracy, which is enshrined in the US constitution, amounted to age discrimination.
Her case was thrown out, but it wasn’t the first time the voting age was challenged and it won’t be the last. The issue of whether the limit should be removed entirely has been raised periodically since at least the 19th century, and the ageless voting movement has been gaining momentum since political philosopher John Wall wrote a manifesto for it in 2021. More recently, children’s author and education researcher Clémentine Beauvais published a short tract in her native France making the case for it.
(NLĐO) - Cùng với cơn sốt tạo video bằng AI, trên các trang mạng xuất hiện nhiều người bán tài khoản AI giá rẻ.
Những chiếc tai nghe over-ear đầu tiên của Nothing đã được tiết lộ thông số kỹ thuật, hứa hẹn sẽ đối đầu trực tiếp với AirPods Max của Apple.
Mercedes-AMG vừa trình làng mẫu xe ý tưởng mới mang tên AMG GT XX, được cho là tiền thân của thế hệ tiếp theo cho dòng GT 4-Door với thiết kế độc đáo và sức mạnh vượt trội.The Hideous Kinky author has always drawn inspiration from her own experiences. Now her sister Bella is writing her own version of their childhood. Does fact or fiction come closer to the truth, she asks
I’m four and I’m pretending to be dead. I’ve been lying here behind the sofa, and I’m hoping I’ll be missed, but more than that I’m hoping it will make a story. The story of the games I like to play, and how I profess to remember my past lives. It is 1967, a few months before we set off for Morocco – my mother, my sister Bella and I – travelling overland by van, taking the ferry from Algeciras to Tangier, breaking down on the road to Marrakech. From then on everything becomes a story. The camel festival we visit, the path into the hills so steep that Bella and I are packed into saddlebags while the donkeys’ hooves skitter and slip. I can’t remember later whether it is a camel that is sacrificed when we reach the top, or a chicken. But either way I keep the description of the chicken to myself, running in circles, blood spouting from its headless neck.
For all the decades since, I’ve been the family chronicler, as much in my novels as in our lives. I’ve kept the few possessions from those years in Morocco. The kaftans we bought in the souk when we arrived, the corduroy patch that I unpicked from a pair of too small trousers, embroidered with a flower by a boyfriend of my mother. “Are you my Daddy?” I’d asked him, as I’d asked others, not because I thought he was, but because I’d read about another little girl asking the same question in a book. I can still see the look of consternation on the boyfriends’ faces, hear my mother’s embarrassed laugh.
