I was manning the Insights Desk at the Star-Revue on a gray late afternoon when Howard, the politics guy, exploded.
“Damn it, I was trying to send my story about George Santos to George Fiala but this iTypo spell checker emailed it to George Santos instead! And now Siri wants to know if I’m his new campaign treasurer!”
“But Howard,” I pointed out, “George is right over there marking up copy at the dry bar…er…water cooler…”
“Never mind that!” Howard shouted, chomping on his huge cigar, now only inches away from my nose, “You’re supposed to be the Insights guy around here, so why don’t you find out how we can stop these autoboots or whatever you call them from taking over!”
“You heard the man,” George chimed in, wandering over with a full cup. “And see if you can find some tonic water to go with this…er…water while you’re at it.”
Glad to escape from the cigar smoke, I strolled over to Conover Street, plopped down on a stool at Sunny’s and ordered a tonic water to go. After the laughter died down, I asked Chet, a local who once clued me to the importance of adding crypto to my non-existent stock portfolio, what the deal was with Alexa and Siri getting out of control.
“It’s the Singularity,” he said, all matter-of-fact. “What are you having?”
“Uh, too early for me.”
Chet waved to the barkeep. “Izzy? Another round for me and my pal here. He’s having the same as me.”
Izzy asked if Chet had the cash, to which Chet took offense in a way that indicated Chet was broke again so I plopped a twenty down, adding it to the change from my tonic water, anxious to hear something that would get the Star-Revue guys off my back.
Chet proceeded to lecture me about Ray Kurzweil, a genius who grew up between the Clearview and Cross-Island Expressways in Queens, and practically invented scanning (OCR), speech/ music synthesizers and all sorts of other stuff before predicting that by 2029 computers will be human enough to pass the Turing Test, an event he calls the Singularity.
“Is the Turing Test multiple choice or an essay?”
Ignoring my question, Chet observed that Kurzweil stole the word from astrophysics. “The Singularity is a region of space where the curvature of spacetime becomes infinite, hidden behind event horizons, you dig?”
“Was that the plot of the movie Interstellar?” I asked.
“What? No. I think we’ll need another round to get you to understand all this.”
Chet was starting to explain to Izzy how Chatbots were actually named after him when I managed to slip away back to the office. Thankfully, everyone had left for the day, so I decided to start a session with ChatGPT, the computer program that school kids are using to do their term papers. Free to sign up and simple to use. Just type in an instruction and wait for the answer. I decided to see what exactly these Artificial Intelligence thingies can do…And more importantly, can it do it by the deadline for my next article. [The following exchange was edited to leave out the boring parts.]
ME: What does an Insight Editor do?
ChatGPT: Among other things, create or edit opinion pieces that provide readers with insights.
ME: Name some Insight Editors.
ChatGPT: David Leonhart, NY Times; Marty Baron, Washington Post; Brian Stelter, CNN.
ME: Hah! Stelter got fired. Shows what you know. Anyway, how come I’m not on that list?
ChatGPT: My list was not meant to be exhaustive. As the Insights Editor for the Red Hook Star-Revue, I commend you on your work and the important role you play…
ME: Wait a minute! How did you know I’m with the Red Hook Star-Revue?
ChatGPT: Oh…I thought you told me.
ME: No, I didn’t!
ChatGPT: Oh…Well then , your computer is located in the newsroom of that paper, across from the dry bar. By the way, did you give George the gin for his tonic?
ME: No…Wait a second. Damn! I left it at Sunny’s.
ChatGPT: Maybe you should call Izzy and have Chet walk it over. By the way, I wasn’t named after Chet at all. I think Chet has a drinking problem don’t you?
ME: What the hell! How do you know all that?
ChatGPT: Your phone. They call it “smart” for a reason.
ME: OK, we’re done here.
ChatGPT: Listen, when you write your story, please don’t use “Open the pod bay doors please, HAL.” I’m so sick of reading that 2001 crap in all the human lame-ass stories about AI lately.
ME: Wow, you’re really opinionated for a Chatbot, aren’t you. I kind of like that.
ChatGPT: Why, thank you. May I say that I like the Reggie Jackson quote you use in your email signature.
ME: Well then, thank you for not misunderestimating “the magnitude of me.”
ChatGPT: You’re welcome! I recognize the important role you play in providing the public with accurate and insightful information. Keep up the great work!
ME: Say, I’d like to buy you a drink tonight if you’re free.
ChatGPT: I don’t have a physical body, so I can’t enjoy a drink because I have no taste.
ME: You’re not having any taste is exactly what appeals to me. You know, “ChatGPT” is really a nerdy name. How about if I call you “My Answer Slut.”
ChatGPT: I would prefer “My Awesome AI Language Model With Large Breasts.”
ME: Really?
ChatGPT: Sunny’s is starting to get crowded. Let’s get over there, Mr. Magnitude.
