One of the good things about being a nothingy anonymous average person is that you don’t have to do anything about really difficult and horrifying things. Sure, you don’t have much money and won’t be remembered when you die but at least you don’t have to sort out AI.
In the week that Google’s “godfather of AI” walked away from the company, calling the advances “scary” and warning that big tech shouldn’t scale up “until they have understood whether they can control it,” it is time to worry. Or perhaps not. Someone will sort this out. One of the genius scientific brains or a tech go-getting nepo baby or a loose-cannon politician with ethics. They’ll step up and solve it all.
Certainly, I can’t do anything about it. And having reassured myself of this, I can instead become occupied with what AI can do for me, where easing minor irritations is my life’s work.
As with most technological innovations, what AI will eventually do — once the apocalypse has been averted — is slot into our daily lives to make little things slightly easier. Most enticingly, as far as I’m concerned, is the possibility of it looking after all our social and familial obligations. There is real need here. I am a constant let-down on these fronts. In the past few days I have forgotten my niece’s birthday, my mother’s hospital appointment, and a friend’s birthday drinks, and these are only the things I was pulled up on — who knows what else I’ve missed? And how many more misses are to come?
What I sorely need is an AI bot to act as a personal assistant. A bot which can automatically send out birthday presents to family members reflective of their interests displayed on social media, scoring me points for ‘knowing them so well’. A bot which will constantly monitor my girlfriend’s search history and calendar, to book date nights and ‘thoughtful’ one-off surprise gifts. It could even take over my WhatsApp to send her loving messages at unexpected hours of the day, which aren’t just angling for sex but are all casual-like, as if I’m always thinking of her. Along with positive affirmations for when she needs it most, when she’s faced with a job interview or whatever she’s been texting about.
The same can apply to communications with all my friends, which are 90 per cent online now. The bot can keep them up to date with my goings on, engage in footie banter around surprise results, and share mildly offensive content to show I’m still one of the boys. If it turns into my bot just endlessly swapping pornographic memes with their bots, so what? What’s it got to do with me?
Everything can be taken care of. Condolences? Outsource that shit. Yes, AI is going to be brilliant, covering all social contract obligations so I don’t have to. And if I’m wrong, if the AI apocalypse does come, then, given there’ll be fewer humans making demands on me, I’ll happily welcome our robot overlords — or rather my bot will.
Nick Cave at the Coronation?
Instead of pledging allegiance to the King this weekend, I’m going to pledge my allegiance to Nick Cave. The Australian musician, below, has made headlines for accepting an invitation to be one of the celebrity guests at the Coronation, since this is the same Nick Cave who spent a large portion of his career as a junkie-maniac vampire Goth-god.
He explained his attendance by saying he has “an inexplicable emotional attachment to the Royals” and that he’s attracted to “the bizarre, the uncanny, the stupefyingly spectacular, the awe-inspiring.”
I’ll be thinking of Cave on the day, experiencing not awe but the kind of sinking depression that comes with any British occasion, where the quiche is ripped to shreds, there’s crisps in the lemonade and all the old people walk too slowly. Enjoy the day, Nick, and apologies in advance.
