He's the star, co-creator and an executive producer of CBS and Paramount+'s “Fire Country” and a co-creator and executive producer of the spinoff freshman drama “Sheriff Country,” which both rule Friday nights as the No. 1 and No. 2 top-rated shows.

“It still feels a little surreal, for sure,” he says. “I didn’t feel like I was as smart as a lot of other writers, but the thing that I also realized early on is the biggest thing is you just need to connect with people. If you can move people, then you have them.”

“Fire Country” — the most watched freshman show of the 2022-23 season and now in its fourth season — and “Sheriff Country” are both set in the fictional California town of Edgewater, a rural community where everyone knows everyone else's business.

Both marry things like office love triangles with plenty of heart-thumping action — knocking down canopy fires on “Fire Country” or solving a kidnapping tied to synthetic weed for the folks on “Sheriff Country,” led by actor Morena Baccarin.

“That’s what these shows are — they’re grounded human stories centered in this small, rural community where life is complex, things aren’t black and white, and I think that’s relatable to a lot of people,” says Thieriot.

On Friday, his two shows will have their first crossover event as Edgewater's sheriffs and firefighters team up to search for nine missing teens amid escalating chaos, a two-hour block where actors from both shows mingle.

“I love the episodes and it really plays like one, big, two-part incident,” he says. “It feels very fluid but we get to dive a little bit into the fun, too, like there’s moments of levity and moments of heart and some great intrigue.”

Thieriot knows this place

Thieriot grew up in the Sonoma County town of Occidental, a former logging hub nestled among towering redwoods, and watched many of his friends join the ranks of Cal Fire, California’s Department of Forestry and Fire Protection.

Thieriot's early acting gigs included “Bates Motel” and “SEAL Team” before he turned to writing. And when he did, he wrote what he knew.

“There’s a lot of things that people go through in their own personal life experiences or places they grew up that really could make for great television,” Thieriot says. “It almost takes somebody else looking at your crazy life to realize, ‘Wait a second, that sounds like a show.’”

Thieriot created the character of Bode Donovan, an inmate given the chance to join Cal Fire in exchange for a shortened prison sentence. Over the seasons, he's faced drug dependency, a return to jail, family strains and heartbreak, in addition to harrowing wildfires.

Thieriot says he was deeply influenced by the show “Friday Night Lights,” which centered on a Texas town where the culture of high school football runs deep: “The thing that I loved about that show was you didn’t have to be a fan of football to like it. You saw how football was something in this community that brought everybody together, how life revolved around it.”

He hopes people tune into his show for the fires but stay for the characters. And with “Fire Country” a hit right out of the gate, Thieriot believed the town he created had more stories to tell. “We get to see one part of Edgewater in ‘Fire Country.’ Let’s bring the viewers the other part of Edgewater.”

Perhaps more than ruling Friday TV nights, Thieriot is proudest of creating jobs with his two shows: “One of the most gratifying things is knowing that between both shows there's like 800 people that are getting paid every two weeks.”

Rural life

Running procedurals for two shows set in a working-class, rural community has its challenges. Unlike in a series set in an urban area, law enforcement and firefighters in Edgewater likely know the victims they race to help.

“There is something different about rolling up on a scene and it’s your friend or your neighbor,” says Joan Rater, who co-created both shows with Thieriot and her husband, Tony Phelan. “You know them as a whole person. And so you’re not going to come with certain assumptions you may come with if you didn’t know them.”

That means the writers need to play a long game — laying the groundwork for future drama by introducing and nurturing characters to weave in and out every week.

Phelan laughs that Thieriot is so plugged into his Northern California community that he always knows a buddy in firefighting or farming or law enforcement whom the writers can turn to for a storyline.

“Max is incredibly generous, but he also has a very clear idea of the story and the tone of the show and what feels true to him,” he says. “I think Max is really dialed into the audience of the show.”

Thieriot hopes the fictional community he's created can help the real nation bridge some of its division. Neighbors in Edgewater might disagree but they've got each other's backs and they need to stay civil because they'll see them again real soon.

“I think it’s important to be reminded that we all live in the same country, we all bleed the same,” he says. “Obviously there’s differences between everybody, but that’s the great thing. It’s understanding those differences that makes us unique and special, not enemies.”

As for whether there's another series in him, don't bet against Thieriot. “My wheels are always turning,” he says, laughing. “I’m doing my best to add as much as I can to these two shows, but I’d be lying if I said if I wasn’t thinking about something else.”

No word on whether he got to keep the ball.

Albert Suárez was on the mound for the Orioles in the top of the ninth inning against Texas when his 1-2 pitch to Evan Carter with two outs was called a ball by plate umpire Manny Gonzalez. Basallo challenged, the replay showed most of the ball catching the upper outside corner of the strike zone, and Baltimore's 8-3 win was in the books.

“I think we had two (challenges left) at that point,” the 21-year-old Basallo said through a translator. “I thought why not use it? Better to use it and see what happens instead of holding onto it.”

Basallo, who also hit a 437-foot homer Wednesday, used a little body English while the replay was in progress, then headed toward the mound for a hug with Suárez, who pitched three innings for his first save since 2017.

“I wasn't thinking it was a strike, and then when he challenged I was like, ‘OK, let's see,’” Suárez said. “Good thing we got it.”

This is the first season this technology is being used in regular-season big league games.

The Orioles used a challenge in a crucial ninth-inning spot Sunday, turning a full-count walk into a strikeout as they held off Minnesota 8-6. Twins manager Derek Shelton was ejected after that one — he thought the challenge signal didn't come fast enough.

Suárez was called back to the majors after Zach Eflin had to leave Tuesday's start with elbow discomfort. After an early flight Wednesday, he was able to give the rest of the bullpen a rest.

The 36-year-old Suárez was asked his view on the ABS in general.

“I think I like it more after what happened today," Suárez said.

But surely, these words have rarely if ever been uttered with such an apparent death wish as when Riz Ahmed, our latest troubled prince, hurtles down a motorway in his BMW, gathering speed with each iamb.

Talk about “shuffling off this mortal coil” — his hands are off the wheel, and he's in the wrong lane! His eventual demise, in director Aneil Karia’s new “Hamlet,” seems perilously premature — until he wisely stops the car. Because, as we know, there are many deaths to come before Hamlet’s.

Every screen adaptation has had to wrestle with where to place, physically, this most famous of speeches. Laurence Olivier intoned the words near a literal, cresting “sea of troubles.” Kenneth Branagh stared into a mirror. Ethan Hawke notably did it in a Blockbuster aisle — his angst relatable to anyone who has trouble deciding on a movie.

But Ahmed’s version seems particularly apt for the actor’s considerable talents, and is one of the more compelling moments of a pared-down, engaging if spotty rendering of the world’s most famous play. Jittery, tense, fast-talking and always on edge, this is a Hamlet, above all, in a rush.

He also inevitably recalls a Hamlet-like character who recently graced our small screens: Kendall Roy in “Succession.”

The setting, indeed, is so “Succession”-like, it hardly seems an accident. The film, adapted by Michael Lesslie, takes place in modern-day corporate London, centered on a wealthy real estate family in the South Asian community.

The name of the family biz? No, not Roy. It’s Elsinore, of course.

We open with death, naturally. “Elsinore Property CEO Dead at 77,” the headlines blare. Every Hamlet wrestles with grief and anger, but Ahmed, in an absorbing performance that starts with wide-eyed intensity and moves on from there, seems already near a breaking point as he mourns his father.

Indeed, his instability makes us wonder if venal Claudius (an excellent Art Malik) is really a murderer — or if Hamlet is imagining it. But we don't have much time to reflect. Hamlet’s mother Gertrude, a queenlike corporate wife (Sheeba Chaddha, poignant) is about to marry Claudius. Hamlet, of course, finds this appalling — even before his meets his father’s ghost.

That crucial scene takes place on a bleak rooftop (most scenes are at night, or if in daytime, still dark). “I am your father’s spirit,” says the ghost, asking Hamlet to avenge him. It's not quite obvious why this corporate Claudius killed his brother — was it a mere power struggle? Relatively short shrift is given also to a social-justice theme involving a tent city of people evicted from Elsinore property.

Another omission concerns Ophelia's role. The character, played here by Morfydd Clark, has never had it easy, but surely she deserved something akin to the mad scene she has in the play.

Like Clark, all the supporting characters are well cast. The Shakespeare veteran Timothy Spall, especially, is an entertaining Polonius, and he sure gets the bloodiest death. Joe Alwyn, as Laertes, eventually gets a lot more action than he did as Agnes Shakespeare’s brother in “Hamnet.”

It's not long before Hamlet, plotting revenge while pacing the lush lawns of the family estate, realizes: “The play’s the thing, wherein I’ll catch the conscience of the king.” And indeed, the play is the thing wherein the film catches our attention — a full-on dance performance with glittering costumes and high drama (choreography credit goes to Akram Khan). Another visual highlight is a street procession, with groom Claudius riding a white horse and bearing a ceremonial sword.

It's mid-wedding when Hamlet decides to take the spin in his car and his most famous words come tumbling out. Ahmed has said he interprets the “to be or not to be” speech as not so much about questioning life, but more as an exhortation to fight injustice. The actor-rapper has also noted that a drama teacher helped him see the similarities between rap and Shakespearean verse.

In any case, as in every “Hamlet,” when blood starts flowing, it flows fast. The final confrontation plays out cleverly here in a family dining room — not with the traditional swords, but certainly with poison.

We all know what happens. At least Kendall stayed alive at the end of “Succession” — although in his depleted, defeated state, as he stared at the water, one can imagine what he, too, might have been thinking: “To be, or not to be?”

“Hamlet,” a Vertical Entertainment release, opens April 10 and has been rated R by the Motion Picture Association for “some bloody violence, suicide, brief drug use and language.” Running time: 114 minutes. Two and a half stars out of four.

“During Tuesday night’s production, Megan started feeling very ill and was promptly transported to a local hospital, where her symptoms are currently being evaluated,” her representative, Didier Morais, said in a statement. “We will share additional updates as more information becomes available.”

The Grammy Award-winning rapper made her Broadway debut last week as nightclub impresario Harold Zidler in the show at the Al Hirschfeld Theatre, and was expected to conclude her run on May 17. Others who have played the part of Zidler include Boy George, Wayne Brady, Tituss Burgess and Bob the Drag Queen.

“Moulin Rouge! The Musical” is slated to close July 26 after a seven-year run. The show is about the goings-on in a turn-of-the-century Parisian nightclub, updated with tunes like “Single Ladies” and “Firework” alongside the big hit “Lady Marmalade.”

Championship trophies are proudly displayed near the entrance while Hall of Fame banners honoring some of the school's icons, including former coach Cathy Rush, adorn the walls.

Powerhouses in this weekend's Final Four like UConn and South Carolina stand on the shoulders of schools like Immaculata, Queens College, Wayland Baptist and Delta State. During the early years of the women’s basketball poll that debuted in 1976, those programs set the foundation, dominating the now dissolved Association for Intercollegiate Athletics for Women (AIAW).

But during the 50 years of the women’s poll, those pioneering programs haven’t been able to sustain the dynasty-level success that shaped women’s hoops in the 1970s.

“You can look back and say, ‘Well, it’s been a few years since we won a national championship,’” said Delta State athletic director Mike Kinnison, who was a student when the school won consecutive national titles from 1975-1977. “And that’s true. But, you know, they don’t give those away. You don’t buy them at Walmart. You’ve got to earn them.”

The game has professionalized as money reshaped the sports landscape, and competitive advantages shifted to big schools with seemingly unlimited budgets when the NCAA took over the sport in 1982.

The Lady Statesmen were the first No. 1 team when the women’s basketball poll debuted 50 years ago. Wayland Baptist was second, Immaculata third and Queens ninth. Delta State will be recognized during “The AP Top 25 Fan Poll Experience” being held Thursday-Saturday at Arizona State’s First Amendment Forum in the Walter Cronkite School of Journalism and Mass Communication.

The poll has served as a road map for the rise of the sport but a lot of things have happened since 1982.

“The whole landscape of NCAA and Division II has changed,” Kinnison said. “Women’s basketball has just exploded. And so it’s hard to dominate that space.”

‘Incredible’ changes to women's basketball

Immaculata won three consecutive AIAW titles from 1972-1976 in front of sellout crowds that were a rarity in women's basketball at the time. Delta State won the next three under trailblazing coach Margaret Wade. The Lady Statesmen vaulted to the national spotlight, traveling the country and defeating larger schools — with much bigger budgets — like LSU and Tennessee.

Title IX helped fuel rapid growth in women's sports in the 1970s, but as the women's game grew, the NCAA took over and added full scholarship allotments and started facilities arms races that smaller colleges could not compete with.

Amid the shift, Immaculata moved down to Division III, which does not offer athletic scholarships. Queens College and Delta State dropped to Division II while Wayland Baptist is in the NAIA.

The shift in women's sports is both gratifying and bittersweet for players and coaches from the pioneering schools that helped spark this current growth. Women's basketball in recent years has seen skyrocketing ticket demand, attendance, media coverage and television ratings behind recent stars like Caitlin Clark, Angel Reese and Paige Bueckers.

“Women and girls were playing this game at a different level all over the country and no one knew about it,” former Queens College coach Lucille Kyvallos said. “What happened here was we garnered national attention. Now look what’s happened. It’s incredible.”

Winning titles requires ‘significant investment’

The current revenue sharing model that allows schools to directly pay athletes has added a greater financial hurdle for small schools to overcome.

“If you want to be nationally competitive, if you want to win national championships, there’s a very significant investment involved,” said Big East Commissioner Val Ackerman, “because you’re paying top dollar for your coach. You’re paying for all the amenities. ... And then you’ve got to, now you’ve got to acquire players, and to do that you need money, because they have options. And smaller schools aren’t going to have the same (financial) wherewithal as the big football school has.”

The 68-team women’s NCAA tournament field, for example, had 12 schools from the Big Ten, 10 from the SEC and nine ACC schools. The Big 12 had eight. There were only one at-large team from outside the Power 4 Conferences and the Big East.

“Is that a bad thing?” Ackerman added. “No — I think it’s just the reality of the world we’re in right now.”

Kinnison, who coached baseball at Delta State for 23 seasons before becoming athletic director in 2019, said he wants the school's teams to be able to compete nationally and recapture some form of sustained success. That has been difficult, he added, and the school has faced tough financial decisions to make that happen.

“More and more, we rely on private sources, donations, alumni,” he said in his office on Delta State's campus in Cleveland, Mississippi. “We’re in a town here of 11,000 people, and that’s not the density of a town that has 100,000 or 150,000 people. Some of our corporate options are a little less, so it’s challenging.”

Pioneers battle against becoming afterthoughts

The Delta State AD, along with others at Queens College and Immaculata, remain hopeful that their programs won't be forgotten.

The court at Queens College is named after Kyvallos, the women's basketball Hall of Famer and advocate who built the Knights into pioneers in the AIAW era.

At Delta State, there are similar tributes in the arena's concourse: championship trophies and the preserved netting, the name of former coach Lloyd Clark is painted on the floor of the court named after him, honoring the period in which he won three Division II titles and guided 16 of his teams to the NCAA Tournament.

“You have to be a steward of that history, you have to tell those stories and talk about those individuals because it was crazy to think about what they had to go through," current Queens coach Travis Ponton said.

Current Immaculata coach Brittany Whalen is very familiar with the history of the program. She played there from 2011-15 and was on the court at Madison Square Garden when the team played Queens College in her senior year — four decades after the two programs played the first women's basketball game at MSG.

“It felt like being a celebrity,” Whalen said. “To tie in to that part of the history and that being the first-ever game played there it was just so cool to be a part of.”

Whalen, who has led the team to its first 20-win season since 1976-77 at 24-3, gives tours of the facility to perspective players.

“This is the same building they played in back in the 70s and not much has changed,” she said. “We talk about it in the preseason how you're here because of the women who paved the way before you. If you're going to be a Mighty Mac and be a part of the program, you need to know the history of it.”

Current Delta State coach Tracy Stewart-Lange has a similar appreciation for her program's history.

There's a photo in her phone that reminds her of those days. Former Delta State star and basketball pioneer Lusia Harris is captured mid-layup, and behind her fans are sitting courtside, pressed against the railings and anywhere else they could find a spot.

Games are much quieter now that the school has faded from national prominence, and Stewart-Lange often wonders if that will change.

“We want to fill these seats,” she said. “We're trying to figure out can that still be done."

This declaration comes amid reflections on her time working on "Martin," a Fox series that aired from 1992 to 1997, where Campbell portrayed Gina Waters-Payne opposite Lawrence's Martin Payne. The interviewer noted, “You survived ‘Martin,’ and I know there’s not much you can talk about,” to which Campbell firmly responded, emphasizing her protective resolve.

Campbell's comments revisit a complicated chapter in the show's history. In 1997, during the fifth and final season, she exited the series and filed a lawsuit against Lawrence and others involved in the production. The legal action alleged sexual harassment, sexual battery, verbal abuse, and physical threats, describing Lawrence's behavior as "manic and volatile" with instances of unwanted physical contact. The case was settled out of court in April 1997, after which Campbell returned for the two-part series finale under conditions that ensured she and Lawrence did not film scenes together or share set time.

Over the years, both actors have signaled reconciliation. Ahead of the 2022 "Martin: The Reunion" special on BET+, Campbell stated that the cast had "addressed their personal issues privately" and "healed from" past matters, preferring not to discuss them publicly. Lawrence echoed this, expressing that there is "nothing but love" between them.

The sitcom "Martin" remains a cultural touchstone, celebrated for its humor, memorable characters, and depictions of Black relationships and friendships. Campbell's recent affirmations reinforce the show's enduring legacy while closing the door on revisiting old disputes.

No direct LGBTQ+ perspectives or community responses to this specific interview were documented in available coverage from the past three weeks. The event, occurring within the last day as of March 31, 2026, focuses primarily on entertainment industry reconciliation without explicit ties to LGBTQ+ issues in the sourced reports. Broader context from a FOX Soul YouTube discussion notes public interest in the pair "burying the hatchet," but lacks detailed community input.

Campbell's choice of person-first language and emphasis on protection aligns with themes of forgiveness and boundary-setting, values resonant in diverse communities including LGBTQ+ spaces, though not explicitly linked here. Her career continues to thrive, with recent projects showcasing her versatility beyond "Martin."

Returning to the stage after a brief absence, Rosalía addressed the 11,000 fans directly, explaining her condition in a candid on-stage statement captured in fan footage on social media. "I tried to do this show since the very beginning I’ve been sick," she said. "I’ve had, big-time food poisoning... and I tried to push it until the end, but I’m feeling extremely sick… I’m puking out there… I really want to give the best show, and I’m like on the floor trying my best." She added, "I may try to continue, but at some point, I might have to stop. I’m extremely sick, and I’m really trying, I’ll push on as much as I can, but if we have to stop, we might have to stop if I really physically, I can’t keep going. I’m in pain." Shortly after, she conceded, "I’ve tried by all means to continue the show until the end, but I’m really unwell, and I can’t do it," before apologizing specifically to her Italian audience: "I'm so sorry, Milan, because I wanted the show to go all the way to the end."

The Milan show marked Rosalía's only Italian stop on the Lux Tour, leaving fans disappointed but supportive, with applause accompanying her exit. No immediate health update followed the incident, and it remained unclear if a rescheduled performance would occur in Italy. However, days later, on March 30, Rosalía took the stage at Madrid's Movistar Arena for the next leg of her tour, signaling her recovery.

During the Madrid performance, she reassured the crowd, stating, "I'm much better now." This update came just five days after the Milan disruption, highlighting her resilience amid a demanding tour schedule that includes multiple nights in Madrid.

Rosalía, a global icon whose music fuses flamenco, reggaeton, and pop, has built a devoted fanbase that spans diverse communities, including significant support within LGBTQ+ circles for her boundary-pushing artistry and inclusive stage presence. While no specific LGBTQ+ community responses to this incident were documented in coverage, her fanbase's outpouring of support on social media during the Milan event reflected the artist's broad appeal. The episode underscores the physical toll of high-stakes touring for performers, yet Rosalía's swift return demonstrates professional commitment. As of March 31, no further updates on her health or tour adjustments have been issued. The Lux Tour continues, with fans monitoring her performances closely.

The improbable odyssey began April 1, 1976, when a then-shaggy Steve Jobs and his gadget-tinkering friend Steve Wozniak signed a two-page partnership document that created Apple Computer Co.

Jobs, a 21-year-old college dropout, and Wozniak, a 25-year-old Hewlett-Packard employee, each received a 45% stake in Apple, with the remaining 10% going to their 41-year-old adviser, Ron Wayne.

The company got off to such a shaky start while trying to build a personal computer in the Los Altos, California, home of Jobs' parents that Wayne relinquished his stake for $2,300. It proved to be a $370 billion mistake, based on how much his holdings would have grown now that Apple boasts a $3.7 trillion market value.

But Apple nearly toppled before building its current empire.

After casting aside Jobs in a bitter 1985 breakup, the tech firm engineered a surprise deal that brought back its exiled cofounder in 1997. After reluctantly agreeing to be a temporary adviser, Jobs took over as CEO and masterminded an innovation factory that churned out the iPod, the iPhone and the iPad in a decade-long burst of feverish creativity.

Here's a look at Apple's odyssey so far:

The astounding ascent

Although it was founded in 1976, Apple didn't enjoy its first smash success until June 1977, with the release of the Apple II computer priced at $1,298 (about $7,000 now, adjusted for inflation).

With its sales booming, Apple went public in late 1980 at $22 per share, which translates into 10 cents per share after adjusting for stock splits. That means $2,200 spent to purchase 100 shares at the IPO price would be worth more than $5.5 million today.

Apple's next big thing came at Apple's annual shareholders meeting on Jan. 24, 1984, when Jobs read the opening lines of the Bob Dylan song, “The Times They Are A-Changin'” and unveiled the first Macintosh — a machine that introduced the computer mouse and a graphical interface to the public.

That coming out party came two days after Apple teased the Macintosh computer with a 60-second commercial directed by Ridley Scott that evoked George Orwell's “1984” novel during that year's Super Bowl. The ad created such a huge buzz that it's widely credited for turning Super Bowl commercials into an art form and part of the cultural zeitgeist.

Despite its breakthrough features, the Macintosh (named after an engineer's favorite kind of apple) cost $2,500 (equal to nearly $7,900 today) — one of the reasons that it didn't sell as well as anticipated.

The letdown resulted in layoffs and other cost-cutting by Apple CEO John Sculley, a former PepsiCo executive whom Jobs had personally helped recruit to the company in 1983. A year after the Macintosh's release, the once-close relationship between Sculley and Jobs had disintegrated into a power struggle. Apple's board sided with Sculley, prompting Jobs to resign in September 1985 with a feeling of betrayal that cut so deep that he sold all but one share of his Apple stock.

The jobless descent

After Jobs left, Apple produced popular versions of the Mac with Sculley at the helm.

But Apple's sleekly designed computers couldn't slow the sales momentum of more lower-priced PCs that ran on Microsoft software, whose brazen tactics of replicating the Mac's graphical interface triggered a seven-year legal battle that ended with a 1994 U.S. Supreme Court decision that shot down Apple's copyright claims.

Before that setback, Apple fired Sculley in mid-1993 and replaced him with Michael Spindler, who lasted until early 1996, when he too was ousted amid the company's mounting losses.

In desperation, Apple plucked its next CEO from its own board, Gil Amelio, who had engineered a turnaround at computer chipmaker National Semiconductor.

Almost all of Amelio's moves didn't pay off except one — a surprising $428 million deal for an operating system made by NeXT, a computer startup that Jobs launched after he left Apple.

The remarkable resurrection

Jobs wanted to only spend a few months advising Amelio during 1997, insisting he wanted to focus on his family when he wasn't busy as CEO of Pixar, the computer animation studio he bought from “Star Wars” director George Lucas for $5 million in 1986.

But those plans changed in July 1997, when Apple fired Amelio, setting the stage for Jobs to orchestrate a stunning turnaround.

By August 1997, Jobs had made peace with his longtime rival, Microsoft founder Bill Gates, and had worked out a deal that included a $150 million cash infusion from the Windows maker. The money paved the way for Jobs to introduce a new lineup of candy-colored, translucent computers dubbed the “iMac.” The 'i” prefacing the Mac heralded a new five-point creed consisting of “internet, individual, instruct, inform, and inspire.”

Jobs introduced the first iPod in October 2001, a music storage device that initially could hold up to 1,000 songs. Apple would sell 450 million of the devices in different designs while all but killing the CD format and setting the stage for the age of music streaming.

In what would become his crowning achievement, Jobs walked onto a stage in San Francisco on Jan. 9, 2007, and informed a crowd that he was about to show them three breakthroughs: an iPod with touch-screen controls, a revolutionary cellphone and an internet communicator. Then came his bombshell revelation: “These are not three separate devices. This is one device! And we are calling it the iPhone.”

More than 3 billion iPhones have been sold since then, and the device still accounts for more than half of Apple's annual revenue of $416 billion, nearly 15 years after Jobs died of cancer. Apple's ongoing dependence on the iPhone stems in part from the company's inability to create another mesmerizing product under the leadership of Jobs' hand-picked successor, Tim Cook.

Even so, Apple is worth 10 times more than its $350 billion market value at the time Jobs died — proof that Cook has been a worthy caregiver of a legacy left behind by a visionary who embraced an advertising campaign celebrating “the ones who see things differently.”

Maren Wade says in the trademark infringement lawsuit filed Monday in federal court in California that the glittery branding of Swift's 2025 album comes too close to the aesthetic of her own “Confessions of a Showgirl.” That was the name of a column she wrote on backstage Sin City life in the Las Vegas Weekly starting in 2014, which she turned into a live show that she took on a national tour.

“Both share the same structure, the same dominant phrase, and the same overall commercial impression,” the lawsuit says. “Both are used in overlapping markets and are directed at the same consumers.”

Wade is described as a “singer, songwriter, comedian, and writer” in the lawsuit filed under her legal name, Maren Flagg, and her “Showgirl” brand encompasses performances, writing and digital media.

“The Life of a Showgirl,” the stadium-packing superstar's 12th studio album, released in October, sold 4 million copies in its first week. Its cover features her in Las Vegas cabaret garb, submerged in water with her current favorite color scheme of orange and mint green. On Tuesday, the morning after the lawsuit was filed, Swift dropped the newest video for the album for the album's track “Elizabeth Taylor,” featuring archival footage of the Hollywood luminary who died in 2011.

Wade appeared to embrace Swift’s use of the showgirl image initially, sharing Instagram posts that used Swift's music, hashtags related to the album, and the mint green color scheme. But Wade's social media presence has gone silent in recent months.

Also named as defendants in the lawsuit are the company that manages Swift’s trademarks, her record label and its merchandising arm.

The lawsuit says the album, its promotion and the products surrounding it caused “textbook reverse confusion: a junior user's overwhelming commercial presence drowns out the senior user’s mark, until consumers begin to assume that the original is the imitation. What Plaintiff had built over twelve years, Defendants threatened to swallow in weeks.”

A representative for Swift declined comment on the lawsuit.

Wade and her attorney say that the existence and trademark of “Confessions of a Showgirl” would not have escaped the notice of Swift's team.

The lawsuit says the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office declined to grant a trademark registration to “Life of a Showgirl” over potential confusion with the existing trademark.

“Defendants were therefore placed on actual notice that their chosen designation was likely to be confused with a mark that already belonged to someone,” the lawsuit says. “They continued using it anyway.”

A letter issued by the office in early March says the application was suspended due to potential confusion with another pending trademark filed earlier, for “Showgirl,” by a third party and pertaining to perfume. It also cited a “Likelihood of Confusion Refusal” based on the existing “Confessions” trademark.

The lawsuit seeks an injunction permanently barring Swift and her companies from using the “Life of a Showgirl” name and imagery, and monetary damages to be determined at trial, including profits attributable to the use of the brand.