[📷] ATEEZ WORLD TOUR [THE FELLOWSHIP : BREAK THE WALL] ANCHOR IN JAPAN ⠀ 🗓 TOKYO 2023. 05. 02(TUE) - 05. 03(WED) 🗓 KOBE 2023. 05. 06(SAT) - 05. 07(SUN) ⠀ #TheFellowship# #Break_The_Wall# #ATEEZ# #에이티즈# #エイティーズ#

What is the Flagship Fellowship? Discover a 12-week, paid summer program that pushes fellows to stretch beyond existing scholarship and embrace uncertainty while working side-by-side with our origination teams. Fellows use Flagship’s company-creation process and AI tools to generate and refine ideas that have the potential to become breakthrough companies. Learn more about the Fellowship at an upcoming info session: 📅 October 15, 10–11 AM EDT 📅 November 10, 1–2 PM EDT 📅 December 7, 11 AM–12 PM EDT Sign up here: #FlagshipFellowship# #WeAreFlagship#

Applications for the fall cohort of the American Tech Fellowship are live NOW! We started the American Tech Fellowship to respond to an urgent need: America needs builders. Brilliant minds who can learn to wield AI like a weapon and discover its highest-leverage uses in the industries that matter most for America. Washington can’t do this. Silicon Valley isn’t doing it. The alpha is going to be discovered on the front lines of American health care, defense, manufacturing, and more. It is going to be discovered by the workers in contact with real problems. That was the thesis of the American Tech Fellowship when we started it a little more than one year ago. The thesis has been vindicated—and like so many success stories, it has generated outcomes we couldn’t have guessed in advance. Elite talent with 12 weeks of hands-on training and a license to build can do remarkable and unexpected things. Last month we brought our alumni together at the American Builder Summit in Washington to show off what they’ve accomplished and to prove the point that AI is a tool whose value is defined by its users. In the hands of an artisan and master builder, it’s a tool of incredible power. In our first year, over 1,000 builders have graduated from ATF—and we’re just getting started. 12 weeks. That’s all it takes to learn the tools and learn how to effect outcomes in the real world. If you’re up for the challenge—if you have a background as a builder and a hunger to learn with like-minded peers—click the link to learn more. Apply now. Join the Fellowship. New cohort launches mid-September:

IMDb’s 25 Highest-Rated Movies Ever 1. The Shawshank Redemption (1994) 2. The Godfather (1972) 3. The Dark Knight (2008) 4. The Godfather Part II (1974) 5. The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King (2003) 6. 12 Angry Men (1957) 7. Schindler's List (1993) 8. The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring (2001) 9. Pulp Fiction (1994) 10. The Good, the Bad and the Ugly (1966) 11. The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers (2002) 12. Forrest Gump (1994) 13. Fight Club (1999) 14. Inception (2010) 15. Star Wars: Episode V – The Empire Strikes Back (1980) 16. The Matrix (1999) 17. Interstellar (2014) 18. GoodFellas (1990) 19. One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest (1975) 20. Seven (1995) 21. It's a Wonderful Life (1946) 22. The Silence of the Lambs (1991) 23. Saving Private Ryan (1998) 24. Seven Samurai (1954) 25. The Green Mile (1999)

Fifteen years ago, my wife spent a summer teaching in a small town in Missouri. When she left, an old woman from the church gave her a quilt. Her name is Opal. For 62 years, Opal has made a quilt for every baby born in that town. Every wedding. Every family that lost someone. More than 400 quilts. She has never taken a dollar for one. When she gave my wife hers, she said, "So you'll always have somewhere to come back to." That quilt is on our bed right now. Last winter, Opal's eyes gave out. She can't see a needle anymore. "My hands still know how," she told her pastor. "My eyes just quit on them." So the town decided to make Opal a quilt. Nobody remembers who started it. Somebody pinned a sign-up sheet to the church bulletin board. There was one rule. You could only sign if you owned an Opal quilt. 143 people signed. Most of them had never sewn anything in their lives. The high school football coach showed up at the fellowship hall with hands like catcher's mitts and a thimble on his pinky. The mechanic sewed his square with fishing line. He said regular thread wasn't strong enough for Opal. A nine-year-old boy took his apart and started over three times. He said Opal would know. And two old farmers, Bill and Gary, ended up at the same table. Bill and Gary had not spoken in 22 years. Something about a fence. Nobody remembers the details anymore. Including Bill and Gary. They were the last two to arrive. There were two chairs left. Side by side. They sat. They did not look at each other. They sewed in silence for an hour. Then Gary couldn't thread his needle. His hands shake now. Bill watched him miss four times. Then, without a word, Bill took the needle, threaded it, and handed it back. "Thanks," Gary said. "Don't mention it," Bill said. "Wasn't going to," Gary said. By the third night, they were sharing a thermos. The church secretary emailed my wife in Japan. Would she like to send a square? My wife hasn't sewn since high school. She sat at our kitchen table for a week. She cut her square from the yukata she wore to that Missouri county fair fifteen years ago. She cried most of the week. Her stitches are terrible. She sent it anyway. They laid all 143 squares out on the fellowship hall floor. They left one empty space. In the very center. "That one's Opal's," the pastor said. Last month, on her 90th birthday, they put the quilt in her lap. She couldn't see it. So she read it with her hands. Square by square. Slowly. The whole room was silent. "Too tight. That's Coach. Always too tight." "Fishing line. Lord. That's Earl." "Crooked. Three times over. That's my Tommy." She knew every single one. By the stitches. She had taught half that town to sew, and she had wrapped the other half in a quilt the day they were born. Then her fingers stopped on something thin and light. "This one came from far away," she said. Then she smiled. "That's my girl in Japan." Then her hand found two squares side by side, joined by one long seam. Bill's and Gary's. She ran her thumb along the seam between them. "Well," she said. "Took you boys long enough." Bill and Gary both stared at the floor. The whole room laughed. Most of them were crying. Then someone put a needle in her hand. Bill threaded it. For three hours, with her eyes closed, Opal sewed the center square. The stitches are perfectly straight. Her hands still knew how. That night, the pastor sent my wife a photo of Opal asleep under it, and something Opal had said: "People think a quilt is the pretty pieces. It's not. None of the pieces match. Half of them don't even like each other. A quilt is just a lot of different pieces that decided to hold on. That's all a town is." I think she meant a country, too.

If you’re interested in helping us research these questions, apply to become an Anthropic Fellow. The Fellowship is a four-month funded opportunity to tackle these topics with mentorship from members of TAI. Apply here: