interview
Interviews with visionaries, founders, policymakers and researchers who live at the intersection of technology, business, human behavior and global society.
How AI-Powered Solutions Are Revolutionizing Recruitment and Talent Management. AI-Generated.
A fast-scaling tech company posts 10 job openings. Within days, 1,000+ resumes flood their inbox. Despite having a modern ATS, their small recruitment team drowns in manual tasks—downloading resumes, entering data, updating profiles. The result? A sluggish hiring process, delayed responses, and top talent lost to faster competitors.
By Rchilli Inc2 years ago in 01
Anker’s 4K Outdoor Projector Looks and Sounds Great… On Paper
In the constantly changing landscape of home entertainment, portable projectors have gained significant popularity, particularly for outdoor movie screenings, gaming sessions, and spontaneous social events. Anker, a reputable name in power and audio accessories, has ventured into the projector market with its 4K outdoor projector, which claims to deliver exceptional visuals, immersive audio, and ease of transport. While the specifications appear remarkable on paper, does it truly meet expectations in practical application?
By Tech Alamin2 years ago in 01
Ariana Grande: The Pop Icon’s Journey to Stardom
Thus, life is that of pop sensation Ariana Grande, a singer who stole away most of one’s heartbeat from millions throughout the world with her power-packed voice, a catchy number, and usually a head pony. From here to there-from being just a child on Nickelodeon to topping charts around the globe, Ariana’s journey is an inspiration in itself.
By Elena Margaret2 years ago in 01
"The Golden Ticket"
She was the kind of person who always missed the bus by seconds, picked the slowest checkout line, and lost umbrellas like it was a hobby. Life had taught her to keep her expectations low and her hopes even lower. At 29, she was juggling a dull office job, a tiny apartment with leaky plumbing, and the slow-burning dream of becoming a travel photographer — a dream that felt as far off as the moon.
By muhammad khalil2 years ago in 01
The Great Spaghetti Incident
.Let me be clear: I did not set out to commit culinary disaster. I merely wanted to impress Natalie. That’s it. A simple dinner. Something romantic, something classic. So I picked spaghetti and meatballs. Because it's timeless. Because it looks fancy, but it's not. Because Lady and the Tramp, obviously. I had it all planned. I watched a chef video on YouTube at least five times. I even bought fresh basil. Real, living basil in a pot. That’s how committed I was. Natalie was due at 7:00. At 6:15, I felt like a god in an apron. Water boiling? Check. Garlic sizzling in olive oil? Check. Meatballs? Handmade, seasoned, and ready to roll. I even had a playlist going — smooth jazz, candles lit, red wine breathing. Life was good. Then things… changed. Chapter 1: The Sauce Wars The first warning sign was subtle. A splash of tomato sauce hit the wall. Just one tiny speck. I wiped it with a paper towel, no big deal. Then it happened again. Then again. I turned around and realized I hadn’t put a lid on the pot. My “simmering” sauce had gone rogue. It was bubbling like a volcano. A chunky, red, garlic-scented volcano. I rushed to the stove, but as I leaned in—BLURP!—a blob of sauce leapt from the pot and landed squarely on my shirt. White shirt. Gone. Chapter 2: Attack of the Noodles I tossed the shirt aside, down to my undershirt now, and told myself: “This is fine. This is salvageable.” I dropped the spaghetti into the pot, watching the strands slowly soften and sink. I gave it a little stir, a little twirl—chef moves, you know? Then I turned back to check the meatballs. Only, they weren’t browning. They were… steaming? That's when I realized I had set the pan too low. The meatballs weren’t cooking. They were just sweating in a sauna of failure. I cranked the heat and tried to salvage what I could. The spaghetti bubbled behind me. I turned back and—bam. A wet SPLAT noise. One long noodle had jumped out of the pot and was now clinging to the wall like a horror movie creature. “What are you doing?” I hissed at it, as if it could understand. I tried to flick it off with a wooden spoon. It slapped back and smacked me right in the cheek. Now there was sauce on my face. And the wall. And the spoon. It was only 6:37. Chapter 3: When the Fire Alarm Got Involved The meatballs finally started cooking. Unfortunately, they also started smoking. I forgot to add oil. A rookie mistake. A massive mistake. The pan hissed like an angry cat. I grabbed it off the stove just as smoke rose like a signal fire. The smoke detector immediately went into full “end-of-the-world” mode. BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! I opened windows. I flapped a dish towel. I cursed the ancestors of meatballs. At that exact moment, the doorbell rang. Natalie. Still wiping tomato sauce off my chin, I opened the door to find her standing there in a soft blue dress, holding a bottle of wine and looking like she walked out of a rom-com. “Did I come at a bad time?” she asked, peeking past me into the war zone of my kitchen. Chapter 4: Love in the Time of Burnt Pasta To her credit, she didn’t run. She laughed. She actually laughed. “I should’ve just suggested pizza,” I mumbled as I showed her the crime scene that used to be dinner. “You were cooking? For me?” she said, clearly touched. “Attempting. I’m more of a food arsonist at this point.” She rolled up her sleeves. “Let’s fix this.” I blinked. “You cook?” “I survive.” Together, we managed to wrangle the spaghetti. We rescued the least-scorched meatballs. We even made garlic bread using hot dog buns and whatever butter was left in the fridge. It wasn’t gourmet, but it was ours. We ate dinner at 8:15, sitting on the floor with plates balanced on our knees, laughing so hard at everything that had gone wrong. Chapter 5: Happily Ever After (With Extra Parmesan) The night didn’t go as planned. Not even close. But something magical happened amid the chaos. The mess, the laughter, the ridiculousness of it all — it made things real. There was no pretension. Just two people covered in flour and tomato sauce, trying to make the best of a failed dinner and finding something better in the process. Natalie stayed late. We finished the wine, told embarrassing stories, and agreed that next time, we’d just order takeout. There was a next time. In fact, a year later, I made spaghetti again — this time with her. And a working smoke alarm. And a lid on the pot. We even kept the noodle that stuck to the wall. Dried it out. Framed it. It still hangs in our kitchen — the legendary noodle that started it all. --- Moral of the Story: Love doesn’t require perfection. Just pasta, patience, and someone who’ll laugh when the meatballs explode. js..... . s.
By Mujeeb Ur Rahman2 years ago in 01
Defiance Amid Flames: Governor Shapiro Faces Arson Attack with Unyielding Spirit
On April 13, 2025, the heart of Harrisburg was shaken by a brazen act of violence. As the city slept, flames erupted at the Pennsylvania Governor’s Residence, a historic mansion along the Susquehanna River. Governor Josh Shapiro, his wife Lori, their four children, and visiting family members were forced to flee their home at 2 a.m., roused by state troopers banging on their doors. The fire, now confirmed as arson, left the mansion’s south wing in ruins, but Shapiro emerged unbroken, vowing to lead stronger than ever. A suspect, 38-year-old Cody Balmer, is in custody, facing charges that could redefine this chilling moment in Pennsylvania’s history.
By Faiz Bashir2 years ago in 01
DJI Mic 2 Mini Combo Review: The Creator’s Dream Wireless Microphone Kit
In a world where content is king, audio quality is the crown. If you’re a vlogger, podcaster, live streamer, filmmaker, or social media content creator, you know that even the most visually stunning footage can be ruined by poor audio. That’s where the DJI Mic 2 Mini Combo comes in—a wireless microphone system that’s compact, powerful, and surprisingly versatile.
By THE INSPIRER2 years ago in 01
The coffee shop
!n --- The evening sun cast a golden glow over the cobblestone plaza, softening the edges of the day as the couple strolled hand in hand. It was the kind of evening that invited unhurried steps and quiet conversations. The shops around them were beginning to close, shutters drawn and lights dimmed, leaving behind a peaceful hush that settled over the square like a comfortable blanket. As they passed by a narrow alleyway, he spotted a small coffee shop nestled between two boutiques, its windows glowing warmly against the encroaching dusk. “Do you want to get out of the rain?” he asked, his voice playful. She looked up at the clear sky. “It’s not raining,” she replied, arching an eyebrow. “It might rain,” he said with a grin. She laughed, that light, familiar laugh he always loved. “Come on,” he said, slipping his arm around her waist as he guided her toward the door. He opened it for her with a slight bow of his head, and she stepped inside, the soft chime of a bell marking their entrance. Inside, the café was a quiet haven—dim lights, the subtle scent of roasted coffee beans, and soft jazz playing from a corner speaker. Only a few patrons sat scattered around, some typing on laptops, others quietly reading. It was exactly the kind of place he had hoped to find—intimate, unhurried, a little off the beaten path. She stood at the entrance, looking around. He motioned toward a small table near one of the tall windows. “I’ll get the drinks,” he said. “Coffee?” “Tea, I think,” she said, her voice soft. He nodded and headed to the counter. She made her way to the table, sliding into a chair and peering out the window. The world outside was bathed in that particular kind of twilight that made everything look like it belonged in a memory. When he returned, he set a mug in front of her. “They only had teabags,” he said apologetically. She smiled as she opened the small packet. “It’s fine. I’m not picky.” He sat across from her, cupping his own mug in both hands. For a moment, they just sat in silence, sipping their drinks, watching the last light of day fade from the plaza. The moment felt suspended in time. “You always find the coziest places,” she said. “I try,” he said, eyes twinkling. “It’s a talent.” She laughed again, leaning back in her chair, more relaxed now. “Do you remember the café in Lisbon? That tiny one with the blue tiles?” “Of course,” he said. “Best pastel de nata I’ve ever had.” “And the worst coffee,” she added with a mock grimace. He chuckled. “True. But the company was excellent.” She smiled and looked out the window. “The rain has stopped,” she said softly. He followed her gaze and saw the first stars beginning to appear in the clear sky. “Yeah,” he said, smiling. “It has.” For a while, they just sat there, watching the world go by. The waiter brought them a plate of complimentary shortbread cookies, and they nibbled at them in companionable silence. The background hum of the café wrapped around them like a warm scarf—gentle, familiar, comforting. He reached across the table and touched her hand. “I’m glad we came here,” he said. “Me too.” It wasn't about the coffee. It never really was. It was about finding a quiet place in a noisy world. It was about little moments that carried more meaning than grand gestures. It was about the way she smiled when she stirred her tea, and the way he watched her like she was the only person in the room. Eventually, the barista began wiping down tables, and the other patrons drifted out into the night. The couple lingered just a little longer, reluctant to leave the warmth of the moment they had created. “Ready?” he asked, standing and offering his hand. She nodded, slipping her fingers into his. As they stepped back into the night, the cool air greeted them, fresh and clean. The streetlights cast long shadows across the cobblestones, and the plaza felt like theirs alone. They didn’t rush. There was no need to. Love, they had learned, lived in these in-between moments—the pauses, the quiet laughter, the shared silence over a cup of tea in a little coffee shop. And as they walked away, hand in hand once more, the glow from the café behind them faded, but the warmth lingered. ---
By Hazrat umar2 years ago in 01
