I Would Answer the First Email
Somebody important wants my opinion. I rehearse the first reply to a fake AI-policy invitation, and begin making myself useful before finding out who asked.
Somebody important wants my opinion. I rehearse the first reply to a fake AI-policy invitation, and begin making myself useful before finding out who asked.
A second angle looks like a way to check the first picture. I make three views of a disaster that never happened, and find myself keeping the most convincing one.
California is putting limits on AI at work. I trace an imaginary job backward, looking for the moment my employer became entitled to know how I felt.
OpenAI once reportedly considered governments as buyers for its future AGI. I am thinking about the people who would have paid without ever getting a seat at the table.
A copied voice can reproduce a performer's impatience without preserving his right to refuse. I wanted a duplicate who could work while I slept. I assumed I would be the one sending him out.
Parents are making their own school portraits with AI. I try making a cheap picture of myself, and discover which kinds of improvement I am prepared to forgive.
I try hiring a man for his judgment, and the interview goes wrong when he wants to use all of it. Behind Copilot's pictures, real workers face a narrower question.
A mother asks ChatGPT to make her impossible week work. The machine can hear every detail, polish the request, and even help write the refusal. It cannot approve the time off.
Oxford's old songs are becoming training material. I try writing a new one and discover how easily a dead singer can be made to say whatever I want.
A novel leaves the Goncourt longlist amid AI and plagiarism allegations. I am thinking about the reader who liked it, and the pressure to pretend that never happened.