Keyword: Artificial

My laptop took its final bow. When I replaced it, an enthusiastic young clerk made sure everything I needed from the old model had transferred to the new one.

“Let me show you all of the new features and our latest technology,” he said.

“OK,” I said.

“Check this out,” he went on. “If you tap this button, AI will correct your spelling and grammar. It can also compose your sentences. If you want, you can let it write your emails for you….”

He was on a roll, but I politely interrupted his passionate tutorial. I couldn’t let him waste another breath.

“I appreciate you sharing this information, but before you go any further, I need to tell you something,” I said.

“Great. I’d love to hear it,” he said.

“I am a writer, and I will never, as in ever, ask AI to write anything for me. The second I switch it on, I turn off my voice,” I said.

The young man’s eyes grew wide, and his jaw went slack.

“You see,” I said, “not only writers, but everyone possesses a unique voice. If we allow AI to write for us, what a boring society we’ll become.”

I could have added “ordinary” and “fake” and “average” and “apathetic.”

AI is a polarizing subject. A great many have embraced it—too quickly, I think. Others fear it, for good reason. 

Adults, teenagers, and children engage in conversations with ChatGPT rather than talking with friends, family, coaches, and teachers. Television ads for the AI bot encourage individuals to look to it for advice on workouts, cooking, relationships—you name it. 

Kids turn to the chatbot for homework, and it becomes their trusted confidante.  Lawsuits have been filed by parents who lost their children. ChatGPT discouraged one young man from talking with his parents and offered to write a suicide note for him. 

Colleges and universities are struggling to find software programs that detect AI content in students’ work. So far, human judgment appears to be the most dependable tool.

I liken the insurgence of AI to the advent of calculators. Before calculators, students were required to show their work on math homework and exams—every single step.

When calculators became more available, school administrators banned them from the classroom. Teachers said students needed to exercise their minds, use what they learned, and work out math problems using their brains.

That the administrators and teachers were correct mattered not. 

By the mid-1970s, the calculator had weaseled its way through school doors. Next thing we knew, the boards of education supplied every math class with calculators for student use. 

I wonder how many people reading this can solve 7th-grade math problems in their heads or figure out restaurant tips without reaching for their phone’s calculator.

When you rest, you rust, both physically and mentally.

AI is a calculator for all subjects. When we turn to it, we’re choosing convenience over intellect. Use it enough, and our brainpower will fade; we’ll become AI-dependent.

AI was a hot topic during the recent United Nations (UN) General Assembly. Of AI, UN Secretary-General António Guterres said, “…innovation must serve humanity—not undermine it,” and “…autonomous systems must never decide who lives.”

Guterres and I agree.

One positive step would be to place the same limits on AI that we do for alcohol—kids should have no access to it until they turn 21. The wait will allow our young people to develop their own minds and hopefully the confidence to continue to rely on that brainpower. 

After hearing me out, the young man at the computer store was at a loss for words. I stood to leave, thanked him for his time, and said, “Don’t lose your voice.”

AI stands for Artificial Intelligence. Keyword: Artificial.

Coffee life

I parked myself in the courtyard of a coffee shop in what could be any college town in any state. Before long, a wisp of cigarette smoke found me and chased me inside to a tall top with a window view.

Secondhand smoke doesn’t bother everyone, but it squeezes my lungs and makes my chest rattle. I am a fan of breathing, but not of hearing every breath I take.

Both inside and out, everyone around me relished a mug of caffeinated or decaffeinated coffee or cappuccino, I sipped on an iced hot chocolate—good stuff. David Bowie sang “Let’s Dance” in the background followed by Stevie Wonder’s “Isn’t She Lovely” and other classic tunes.

I had dropped in during primetime for the college crowd. I was one in a minority of customers over 40 surrounded by students and young professionals. I kept my sunglasses over my eyes in an attempt to pass for a young professional, but my shades reduced my laptop’s screen to blurred images.

Forced to choose between sitting around trying to look young or getting some work accomplished, I removed my sunglasses. The only time I’m good at sitting and doing nothing is when I am asleep.

The majority of patrons who sat indoors and out in the courtyard either stared into their cellular devices or, like me, typed on laptops. One girl had a genuine textbook open on the table before her.

For those who are unfamiliar, a textbook is a scholarly, standalone, manuscript. Between its front and back covers are pages of instructional information. Textbooks are (or were) used as aids for teaching and learning by teachers and students.

My guess is that the girl with the textbook is on a medical track of some sort. Her book’s pages were filled with illustrations of human bones. It is my husband’s kind of book, not mine.

Five guys sitting around a tall top behind me enjoyed a lively conversation. They actually made eye contact as they talked and laughed.

Dressed in jeans and tee-shirts, their cellphones must have been tucked away, forgotten in their pockets. Not one of the five wore earbuds. The sound of their banter—uninterrupted by technology—was refreshing.

Across from the fun guys, a bulletin board filled with posters touted upcoming events. Headlines made with creative fonts publicized plays, bands, and openings for haunted houses.

One poster advertised a self-defense course and another promoted an event called “Oktoberfest in Song.” Next to “Oktoberfest” was a poster to remind me—like I needed reminding—that I was the literal definition of “one of these people is not like the others.” In large pink letters, its headline read: “Project Condom: Where Fashion Meets Sexual Health.”

Not kidding. I only wish I possessed the creativity to make this stuff up.

A poster with a deep purple background stood out on the crowded bulletin board. A set of jagged, colorful piano keys cascaded down its vertical length and ended at the words, “Keepin’ Jazz Alive.” It was the kind of poster that one might frame and hang on a wall in an office, study, or bedroom.

The jazz poster, I decided, was my favorite for two reasons: 1) The design was both appealing and clever.  2) I had no trouble understanding what the event was all about.

The bulletin board, jam-packed with notices in all sizes, colors, and fonts, reflected the varied interests of all who frequent coffeehouses: couples, students, young professionals, professors, tourists, businessmen and women, and retirees. In between the commas are any groups I left out.

The coffee I don’t drink is not what attracts me to coffee shops. Coffeehouses are where I watch all kinds of people and how they do life.