• Blue Origin filed concerns to the FAA about SpaceX's Starship rocket launches.
• The filing highlighted potential environmental impacts on Blue Origin's nearby facilities.
• Blue Origin suggested limiting SpaceX's number of launches and requiring compensation for any third-party damages.

The billionaires' space feud continues.

Jeff Bezos' rocket company, Blue Origin, recently filed concerns to the FAA about Elon Musk's SpaceX, requesting that Starship's launch operations be potentially limited over environmental impact concerns.

The filing focused on the FAA's intentions to prepare an Environmental Impact Statement (EIS) to evaluate the potential environmental impacts of issuing SpaceX a commercial launch license for its Starship-Super Heavy mega-rocket.

The SpaceX launch system is a work in progress. Consisting of the Starship spacecraft and the Super Heavy booster and standing taller than the Statue of Liberty, the system has only flown four times, with just two of those attempts making it to space.

Yet these few launches have already indicated some environmental impacts — once creating the heat and pressure equivalent of a volcanic eruption, according to a physicist, and another time raining soil and sand down on a nearby town.

Once Starship-Super Heavy is fully developed and flying to orbit, though, it will be the largest and most powerful launch system on Earth.

According to the filing, the Super Heavy booster can contain up to an "unprecedented" 5,200 metric tons of liquid methane for its propulsion — which Blue Origin said may result in "qualified distances for safety margins that potentially overlap the operational sites of other companies, the government, and the public."

Citing concern over Starship having a "greater environmental impact than any other launch system" at Kennedy Space Center, Blue Origin asked the FAA to consider capping the rate of the Super Heavy "launch, landing, and other operations […] to a number that has minimal impact on the local environment." The filing did not specify what that number should be.

Blue Origin wrote in the filing that it's concerned because it also conducts operations nearby: the company occupies a large manufacturing site at Kennedy Space Center, where SpaceX's leased Launch Complex 39A for its Starship operations is located. It also employs multiple properties "all within the vicinity " of SpaceX's proposed Super Heavy booster launches, Blue Origin said.

Blue Origin's filing highlighted the potential risks to the safety of personnel and assets on nearby sites, such as explosions, debris, blast and sonic boom overpressure, and air toxins.

SpaceX plans to launch 44 Starship-Super Heavy missions per year under a NASA lease, Blue Origin wrote in the filing.

Indeed, SpaceX has earned a reputation for regular launches. The company accounted for nearly half of the world's orbital launches last year. It launched its Falcon 9 rocket 91 times in 2023, breaking its previous record by 30 launches, CNBC reported.

In addition to capping the number of launches, Blue Origin suggested other mitigations, including adding more infrastructure to reduce the risk to other nearby launch providers and requiring SpaceX to compensate for any losses caused by their operations.

Musk responded to the complaint on X by writing "Sue Origin," adding another swipe at Bezos to their 15 years of public feuding.

The Tesla CEO later added, "An obviously disingenuous response. Not cool of them to try (for the third time) to impede SpaceX's progress by lawfare."

Neither SpaceX nor Blue Origin immediately responded to Business Insider's requests for comments ahead of publication.

After being asked to decipher Musk's initial message, xAI chatbot Grok wrote that his post "appears to be a tongue-in-cheek comment" about Blue Origin's "history of resorting to legal action rather than competing fairly in the marketplace."

The Tesla CEO simply replied with a bull's-eye emoji.

• OpenAI CTO Mira Murati weighed in on the topic of AI-driven job loss.
• AI will eliminate some creative jobs, "but maybe they shouldn't have been there in the first place," she said.
• Writer Ed Zitron called Murati's remarks "a declaration of war against creative labor."

OpenAI's CTO Mira Murati weighed in on AI-driven job loss this month, suggesting that some workers — especially creatives — replaced by AI had jobs that "shouldn't have been there in the first place."

In doing so, she not only outraged people at risk of losing their livelihoods due to technological advancements but also seemed to reveal that she doesn't even know what AI is good for.

During an event at Dartmouth on June 8, Murati, speaking to university trustee Jeffrey Blackburn, discussed the AI behind ChatGPT and DALL-E, as well as safety and ethical considerations as the technology progresses.

When the conversation turned to how AI can disrupt the process for artists, Murati said she believes the tech will soon be primarily used as a collaborative tool to help more people become creative.

"Some creative jobs maybe will go away," Murati said, "but maybe they shouldn't have been there in the first place — you know, if the content that comes out of it is not very high quality."

Notably, Murati raised the topic of AI-driven job loss on her own, suggesting that the very workers whose creations helped train AI into what it is today have jobs that shouldn't even exist now that it's here.

Ed Zitron, writer and CEO of EZPR, a national tech and business public relations agency, told Business Insider that Murati's perspective results from management's distance from the people who actually build things.

"The people losing their jobs to AI so far have been contract workers that helped fill gaps at organizations — necessarily so — that are now going to be filled with deeply mediocre slop, ordered by people who don't understand the businesses they're in, to fulfill a need that they neither care about nor appreciate, a kind of slow-moving poison that will weaken the edges of companies," Zitron said.

Zitron added he's tired of people "who don't build or write or draw or paint or sing or do anything creative making statements about what the creative arts should be, or how they should be run."

"These people treat creativity like a problem to be solved," he continued.

When Business Insider reached representatives for OpenAI, they declined to comment, instead pointing to a June 22 post on X by Murati expanding on her thoughts.

How artists are actually approaching AI

Boris Eldagsen is a photographer and visual artist who embraces AI. Last year, as part of an effort to demonstrate how impossible it is to tell the difference between "real" and AI-generated artwork, he entered — and won — the World Photography Organization's Sony World Photography Awards with a picture created with help from OpenAI's DALL-E2. He ultimately declined the award.

Where in the past he was "a solo instrument" working to create new work, Eldagsen told BI that he now collaborates with AI technology, considering himself more of a conductor while the training data serves as a "gigantic, anonymous choir," making his job to "bring that into some kind of harmony and make sense out of it."

That said, he still doesn't agree with Murati.

"I think it's a pity, and I can't feel any empathy here. For me, her comments are a mix between being naive and arrogant," Eldagsen told BI. "I think she didn't really think it through, or she can't put herself in the position of those people who are afraid of losing their jobs."

To say those jobs that could be eliminated by AI shouldn't exist in the first place, Eldagsen said, "is just nonsense," and to suggest poor quality is at the core of why those jobs might be lost shows Murati doesn't have much of a grasp on how and why people create or consume things.

"The majority of things that we produce are not high quality. We have fast food, we have trash TV, we have bad products that you can use one time, and then you throw them away," Eldagsen said. "All these things shouldn't be there in the first place, but all these things are work that some people have to do. They pay the rent, they enable a living — and why should you just be so arrogant and say it shouldn't exist? This is something that I just don't understand."

Miles Astray, an artist, photographer, and writer, told Business Insider that Murati's comments come across as "condescending."

Like Eldagsen, Astray made AI the focal point of one of his art pieces this month: He turned Eldagsen's stunt on its head and took 3rd place in an AI art contest with a real-life photo he'd shot of a flamingo.

Astray said he doesn't buy the narrative of creativity being boosted by AI. The technology has the ability to free up time, make some repetitive work tasks more efficient, and give artists more space to ideate on the things that actually make them creative, he said, but asking a computer to do the creative work itself cheapens the process and ultimately produces an end result that's a regurgitated copy of the data the AI was trained on, not an example of a human's creative expression.

"You need to sit down with your piece of paper and your paintbrush and start painting — that is how you hone your skill," Astray said. "I think who it will really boost is companies, who will use it as a tool to increase productivity and to cut corners."

In the end, Astray said he sees the tension between tech and creativity as less about making the creative process easier and more about companies leveraging technology to outsource jobs to the point where they no longer need to employ a creative workforce.

"I think we need to have an honest public debate about the advantages, but also the pitfalls and dangers of AI technology," Astray said. "But that's not what she was doing."

'Mediocre is all they want'

"AI tools could lower the barriers and allow anyone with an idea to create," Murati wrote in her June 22 post on X. "At the same time, we must be honest and acknowledge that AI will automate certain tasks. Just like spreadsheets changed things for accountants and bookkeepers, AI tools can do things like writing online ads or making generic images and templates."

She added that a key part of the conversation around AI-driven job loss, especially among creative professions, is to "recognize the difference between temporary creative tasks and the kind that add lasting meaning and value to society."

"With AI tools taking on more repetitive or mechanistic aspects of the creative process, like generating SEO metadata, we can free up human creators to focus on higher-level creative thinking and choices," Murati wrote. "This lets artists stay in control of their vision and focus their energy on the most important parts of their work."

But not everyone is convinced.

"Throughout the last two years of AI hype, OpenAI and their ilk have been exceedingly careful not to directly attack labor," Zitron told BI. "What Murati is saying here — that some creative jobs 'shouldn't have existed in the first place' — is an outright declaration of war against creative labor, clearly stating that OpenAI believes that not only are there parts of creativity that are 'inefficient,' but that OpenAI will be part of the process of 'fixing' them."

Zitron said he believes that AI is approaching the top of the S-curve, with limited progress left to be achieved, and that Murati, Sam Altman, and the rest of OpenAI are "desperate to suggest that we're just about to have AGI or some sort of magnificent machine that can do the job of a hundred thousand people."

Such a suggestion keeps the money flowing as companies clamor for the latest version of a promising new technology that proponents swear will make their workplace faster, more efficient, and cheaper to run — all the buzzwords needed to keep investors interested, even if it means they're churning out a subpar product.

"The output from AI is mediocre, barely rising to the quality that the task requires," Zitron said. "But the people in charge are so often removed from the process that mediocre is all they want, even if it ends up making the rest of the project worse."

• Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis lived all over, from New York apartments to East Coast mansions.
• She said her family's "happiest years" were those spent with President John F. Kennedy in the White House.
• Here are all of the impressive places she lived in and owned in her lifetime.

Throughout her life, Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis has lived in grand estates and luxury apartments, including the White House when her husband, President John F. Kennedy, served as president.

She grew up in spacious New York apartments and several-acre estates, and after her marriage, she spent her summers at the famed Kennedy Compound and winters on the family's estate in Palm Beach. Though out of all the impressive properties she has resided in, she said her family's "happiest years" were those spent with her husband in the White House.

Here are all of the impressive places she lived in and owned in her lifetime.

Before she was a Kennedy or an Onassis, Jacqueline Lee Bouvier spent her early years in New York City.

In 1932, the Bouviers moved into an apartment on the sixth and seventh floors of 740 Park Avenue.

The apartment building was developed by her grandfather, James T. Lee. At least for a period, her father couldn't afford to furnish it so Jackie and her sister could roller skate from room to room.

The apartment building later became a home for billionaires and was once considered one of the most iconic apartment buildings in the city.

In 2017, her old apartment sold for $25.25 million.

In the 1940s, Bouvier's mother remarried, and they left New York.

They moved into a Georgian-style mansion called "Merrywood" in McLean, Virginia, in Washington, DC.

The mansion, which was built in 1919, sits on the edge of the Potomac River and covers 23,000 square feet.

Bouvier's mother had married an oil magnate named Hugh D. Auchincloss, who owned the mansion.

At the time, it had nine bedrooms and 13 bathrooms, as well as an extensive garden. 

Bouvier wrote fondly about the house in her diary, saying, "I always love it so at Merrywood — so peaceful … with the river and those great steep hills."

Bouvier spent her summers at her paternal grandfather's East Hampton estate called "Lasata," which means "place of peace," in the native Algonquian language.

The house, which was 8,500 square feet, was built in 1917 and sat on about seven acres.

Earlier this year, the fashion designer, Tom Ford, bought it for $52 million.

She also spent some of her summers at her maternal grandfather's house in East Hampton called "Wildmoor."

The 18th-century home, covering about 5,700 square feet, was a shingle-and-clapboard wooden house with a view of fields, a swamp, and the sea, The Wall Street Journal reported.

In 2021, the house was sold for $6.8 million.

Her next notable property was the Kennedy family's summer home in Hyannis Port, Massachusetts.

Joseph Kennedy Sr., John F. Kennedy's father, bought a white-shingled cottage in Hyannis Port, Massachusetts, for $25,000 — about $450,000 today. The coastal Massachusetts cottage became the Kennedy family's home base for years to come.

Before they were married, Bouvier and John F. Kennedy spent some time together there, which later became known as the "Kennedy Compound."

The Kennedys bought the house in 1928, Town and Country reported.

In 1953, Bouvier became a Kennedy when the couple married in Newport, Rhode Island.

They had the wedding reception at her mother's husband's sprawling estate, known as "Hammersmith Farm," anchored by a grand, 28-room Victorian-era mansion.

The property was last sold in 1999 for just over $8 million.

The estate became a part-time summer home for the Kennedys, along with the Kennedy Compound.

Jackie Kennedy spent summers on the estate during her childhood, and the Kennedys later vacationed there in the summer of 1961.

In 1953, not long after the Kennedys were married, they rented a four-story, four-bedroom house in Georgetown at 3321 Dent Place.

The Kennedys lived there for almost two years.

They enjoyed throwing dinner parties and spending time in its back gardens.

The house is about 3,000 square feet.

Two years later, in 1955, the Kennedys moved to "Hickory Hill," another Georgian-style house.

This one was built in 1815 and had a tennis court, a pool, and 12 fireplaces on a 5.6-acre plot in McLean, Virginia.

They bought it from Supreme Court Justice Robert Jackson.

Two years later, the Kennedys sold it for $250,000 to John's brother, Robert, who would end up raising his own family there.

Jackie didn't want to go back after her daughter was stillborn.

Robert Kennedy was at the house when he heard John had been assassinated, the Baltimore Sun reported. He spent an hour alone, walking around the estate.

In 1956, the Kennedys bought a summer home at 111 Irving Avenue in Hyannis Port, Massachusetts, right beside the original Kennedy summer home.

The 4,484-square-foot clapboarded home sat on less than an acre of land and soon became part of the "Kennedy Compound."

They spent $45,948 on the house.

In 1957, the Kennedys bought 3307 N Street, an 18th-century brick row house in Georgetown, for $82,000.

Jackie spent about $18,000 on remodeling it, and she decorated the house with armchairs and good porcelain.

Her husband campaigned and was elected president during their years here, Architectural Digest reported.

Though not officially a property she owned, Jackie lived in the White House with her family during her husband's presidency from 1961 to the end of 1963.

She later described this period as her family's "happiest years," The Daily Beast reported.

During the winters, while they were living in the White House, they vacationed at her father-in-law Joseph Kennedy's Palm Beach estate.

The Palm Beach estate became known as the Kennedys' "winter White House." In 2020, the house sold for $70 million and underwent extensive renovations by the new owner.

In 1963, after her husband was assassinated, Jackie and her children left the White House and moved into an 18th-century home at 3017 N Street in Georgetown.

She paid around $175,000 for the five-bedroom house but only lived there for about a year. It was too public, and she reportedly became overwhelmed with all of the tourists.

In 2017, it was purchased for $5.25 million.

In 1964, Jackie and her children moved back to New York after she discreetly bought a 5,300-square-foot apartment on the 15th floor of 1040 Fifth Avenue for $200,000.

The apartment had five bathrooms, three fireplaces, two terraces, and a library.

It also had a view of Central Park.

Jackie Kennedy owned the apartment until she died in 1994.

It was bought from her estate in 1995 for $9.2 million. 

The buyer said she hadn't done much upkeep and they ended up gutting the whole apartment.

While she was alive, she began dividing her time between France, Greece, Martha's Vineyard, and New Jersey.

She kept New York as a home base.

She also got married again in 1968 to a Greek shipping magnate named Aristotle Onassis and became Jackie Onassis, or "Jackie O."

In 1974, Onassis purchased a country home — a converted barn on almost 10 acres — for $200,000 in Peapack, New Jersey.

She liked the area for its natural beauty and space for horse riding.

She knew the area well because she had previously rented a farmhouse described by The Times as a "badly made-over barn" in Bernardsville since 1965.

After she bought the property, she painted it yellow with white trim.

After Onassis died, her neighbor and friend, Marjorie McDonnell Walsh, bought the Peapack property for $1.47 million in 1997.

Walsh told The Wall Street Journal they tore the house down.

"It doesn't matter," she said when declining to share details about the new house. "The much more important thing is we both love the property. It's a private valley. It's beautiful."

In 1979, after her second husband died, Jackie decided to build a new house called "Red Gate Farm," on 340 acres of land in Martha's Vineyard.

She only spent a little more than $1 million on the land, and then another $3.1 million on building the house, which was finished in 1981. The main building covers 6,456 square feet.

There's also a four-bedroom guest house, a pool, and a tennis court. The property stretches across a mile of beach.

In 2020, it was put up for sale for $65 million.

Editor's note: This story was first published in September 2023 and has been updated with additional information.

• Princey — "Totally Plastic" Pha'Nesse — is a wrestler who did drag under Priyanka's tutelage on "We're Here."
• Princey said that doing the show, and drag, helped him feel more confident. 
• This is Princey's story, as told to Business Insider reporter Palmer Haasch. 

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Princey, a wrestler who performs under the name "Totally Plastic" Pha'Nesse and did drag under drag mother and "Canada's Drag Race" winner Priyanka on the HBO series "We're Here," which is currently streaming on Max. The conversation was edited for length and clarity.

I first got into wrestling when I was in diapers.

I grew up the youngest of two older brothers. Wrestling has always been around in my life, ever since I was a baby. I remember having the action figures, the video games, and everything — I was just obsessed.

I kind of lost interest a little bit growing up, and then I got back into it when I was 18 or so. My mom passed away when I was 23 and I was just kind of depressed, sad, and I was flipping through the channels and saw that "Monday Night RAW" was on. I was with some friends watching it and something just clicked in my head: "Why aren't I doing this?"

Growing up in Murfreesboro, being this out, proud gay Black man was kind of just frowned upon. To protect myself from getting insulted or attacked, I kind of just covered it up. And Princey was just kind of this quiet individual who never really went around too much, and just did my own little thing.

When I first started out in wrestling, I was so quiet and timid. And they were like, "You can't do that here. You're supposed to be yourself times a hundred." And so I was like, "Okay. I just got to shake off everything that I held in."

I finally found my wrestling identity as 'Totally Plastic' Pha'Nesse

I came across the Crux Wrestling training center with my coach Brian Maxwell and Kerry Awful, and came to a class in Maxwell's backyard. I was just rolling around and doing stuff and they were like, "You're a natural." And I was like, "I am? What?"

I just kept coming back and learning things every weekend. That was the main thing taking my mind off everything going on in the past with my mom. I had this safe place where I could just be myself.

I went to a show at the TWE arena and met everybody, and just felt an instant connection. I was looking at their social media, and the first thing — which is so rare in the South — was them being on the mic saying that TWE does not condone homophobia or racism. I was like, "I have to be here. I'll work my butt off to be here."

When I was growing up and wrestling, I was so captivated by the women wrestlers. I just felt like they were amazing, and they could tell these amazing stories in probably less than five minutes. I just saw so much pageantry there, and so much charisma, and I was like, "This is kind of drag."

I thought my wrestling name was going to be "Princey," but my coaches were like, "Nah, not really." Then, my name was going to be "The Pha'Nesse," and I was like, "I like Pha'Nesse, I don't want to get rid of that. I'll drop the 'the.'"

"Totally Plastic" was supposed to be this mean, bitchy gimmick. My coaches thought I was going to be a bad guy. But my first match I had in Alabama, the moment I hit the stage, the crowd was just like "Woooo!" And so I was like, "I can't be a bad guy. I love the crowd too much. This is awesome."

So Totally Plastic stayed, but it's more just this really flamboyant character that just loves everybody.

I found new confidence through drag and sharing my story on HBO's 'We're Here'

I was so nervous to do "We're Here."

I didn't know what the show was at first. The casting director was just like, "This is just a docuseries that's documenting people from different walks of life." I had no idea it would be on HBO, or this type of platform!

When I found out that this was a popular show, I was like, "Should I do this?" I didn't tell most of my family. I think I told my aunt, and I told my friends, and they were like, "Do it. I feel like you're one of the people who do have a story to tell about just everything you've been through in life. Maybe you can inspire somebody who sees you, who grew up in your situation."

I felt like I wanted to do that, because it brought me back to watching the divas and wrestling. They inspired me growing up, so I wanted to be that person for somebody.

I learned the choreography for the performance in three days, and when I saw my outfit and my wig, I was like, "This is going to be awesome. I am in the House of Priyanka, I can't look bad." She's an awesome dancer, and so I was like, "Okay, I got to really get into the gig."

And so I treated it kind of just like a wrestling match: I know my spots, I know what I'm supposed to here. Priyanka was a huge help. It was kind of like having a wrestling coach, but it was just my drag mom.

Now, I feel like Princey is Pha'Nesse.

I'm able to speak up about situations I don't like, and I feel like that's Pha'Nesse, that's just me coming into my true form. I'm so glad I did it, because I feel like I never would have gained this sort of confidence — being around these awesome people who were like, "You're this awesome person."

To be honest, I never really believed I was this special person. But if you're the only one doubting yourself, and all these people say you're wrong, maybe you need to look in the mirror.