Christina Chapman, a 50-year-old Arizona woman, has just been sentenced to 102 months in prison for helping North Korean hackers steal US identities in order to get "remote" IT jobs with more than 300 American companies, including Nike. The scheme funneled millions of dollars to the North Korean state.

Why did Chapman do it? In a letter sent this week to the judge, Chapman said that she was "looking for a job that was Monday through Friday that would allow me to be present for my mom" who was battling cancer. (Her mother died in 2023.) But "the area where we lived didn't provide for a lot of job opportunities that fit what I needed. I also thought that the job was allowing me to help others."

She offered her "deepest and sincerest apologies to any person who was harmed by my actions," thanked the FBI for busting her, and said that when she gets out of prison, she hopes to "pursue the books that I have been working on writing and starting my own underwear company."

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To the casual observer, cybercriminals can look like swashbuckling geniuses.

They possess technical skills formidable enough to penetrate the networks of the biggest companies on the planet.

They cover their tracks using technology that is arcane to most people—VPNs, encrypted chat apps, onion routing, aliases in dark web forums.

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Hacking is hard. Well, sometimes.

Other times, you just call up a company's IT service desk and pretend to be an employee who needs a password reset, an Okta multifactor authentication reset, and a Microsoft multifactor authentication reset... and it's done. Without even verifying your identity.

So you use that information to log in to the target network and discover a more trusted user who works in IT security. You call the IT service desk back, acting like you are now this second person, and you request the same thing: a password reset, an Okta multifactor authentication reset, and a Microsoft multifactor authentication reset. Again, the desk provides it, no identity verification needed.

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Imagine that you have a song file—drums, guitar, bass, vocals, piano—and you want to rebalance it, bringing the voice down just a touch in the mix.

Or you want to turn a Lyle Lovett country-rock jam into a slamming club banger, and all that's standing between you and the booty-shaking masses is a clean copy of Lovett's voice without all those instruments mucking things up.

Or you recorded a once-in-a-lifetime, Stevie Nicks-meets-Ann Wilson vocal performance into your voice notes app... but your dog was baying in the background, and your guitar was out of tune. Can you extract the magic and discard the rest?

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My Ars colleagues were kicking back at the Orbital HQ water cooler the other day, and—as gracefully aging gamers are wont to do—they began to reminisce about classic Sierra On-Line adventure games. I was a huge fan of these games in my youth, so I settled in for some hot buttered nostalgia.

Would we remember the limited-palette joys of early King's Quest, Space Quest, or Quest for Glory titles? Would we branch out beyond games with "Quest" in their titles, seeking rarer fare like Freddy Pharkas: Frontier Pharmacist? What about the gothic stylings of The Colonel's Bequest or the voodoo-curious Gabriel Knight?

Nope. The talk was of acorns. [Bleeping] acorns, in fact!

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Masked men jumped out of a white-panel van in Paris this week, attempting to snatch a 34-year-old woman off the street. The woman's husband fought back and suffered a fractured skull, according to France24. The woman continued resisting long enough for a bike shop owner named Nabil to rush out swinging a fire extinguisher, which he hurled after the departing van as the attackers finally fled. The entire altercation was captured on video.

The woman was identified as the daughter of a "crypto boss," and her attempted kidnapping is part of a disquieting surge in European crypto-related abductions—two of which have already involved fingers being chopped off. The last major abduction happened in Paris only two weeks ago, and it ended with French police storming a house in the Paris suburbs and rescuing a crypto mogul's now-four-fingered father.

The attacks have spooked the industry, which has called, somewhat ironically, for enhanced protections from the government. Reuters notes that the issue has been escalated all the way to the top of the French government, where Interior Minister Bruno Retailleau announced plans this week to "meet with French crypto entrepreneurs to make them aware of the risks and to take measures to protect them."

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Last Friday, in an op-ed piece on the Trump administration's war on American universities, we called for academia to 1) band together and 2) resist coercive control over hiring and teaching, though we noted that the 3) "temperamental caution of university administrators" means that they might "have trouble finding a clear voice to speak with when they come under thundering public attacks from a government they are more used to thinking of as a funding source."

It only took billions of dollars in vindictive cuts to make it happen, but higher education has finally 1) banded together to 2) resist coercive control over its core functions. More than 230 leaders, mostly college and university presidents, have so far signed an American Association of Colleges and Universities statement that makes a thundering call gentle bleat for total resistance "constructive engagement" with the people currently trying to cripple, shutter, and/or dominate them. Clearly, 3) temperamental caution remains the watchword. Still, progress! (Even Columbia University, which has already capitulated to Trump administration pressure, signed on.)

The statement largely consists of painful pablum about how universities "provide human resources to meet the fast-changing demands of our dynamic workforce," etc, etc. As a public service, I will save you some time (and nausea) by excerpting the bits that matter:

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Board game designer and entrepreneur Jamey Stegmaier has published hit games like Scythe and Wingspan—the latter a personal favorite of mine, with a delightfully gentle theme about birds—but this week found him in a gloomy mood.

"Last night I tried to work on a new game I'm brainstorming," he wrote in a blog post yesterday, "but it’s really hard to create something for the future when that future looks so grim. I mostly just found myself staring blankly at the enormity of the newly announced 54 percent tariff on goods manufactured in China and imported to the US."

Most US board games are made in China, though Germany (the home of modern hobby board gaming) also has manufacturing facilities. While printed content, such as card games, can be manufactured in the US, it's far harder to find anyone who can make intricate board pieces like bespoke wooden bits and custom dice. And if you can, the price is often astronomical. "I recall getting quoted a cost of $10 for just a standard empty box from a company in the US that specializes in making boxes," Stegmaier noted—though a complete game can be produced and boxed in China for that same amount.

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