Jan. 15, 2025
Listen, I’ve seen some desperate rebranding attempts in my time. Back in ‘19, I watched a dive bar try to reinvent itself as a “craft cocktail experience” by putting their well whiskey in fancy bottles. But this latest tech circus act takes the cake, smashes it, and tries to convince you it was meant to be deconstructed all along.
So here’s the deal: Remember RealDolls? Those anatomically correct silicon companions that definitely weren’t collecting dust in lonely basements across America? Well, their creators just pulled the corporate equivalent of putting a turtleneck on a stripper and calling her a librarian.
Jan. 14, 2025
Another Monday, another blueprint from the mountaintop. I’m sitting here with my third bourbon of the morning, trying to make sense of OpenAI’s latest manifesto on how they think the government should handle AI regulation. You know, because nothing says “we care about democracy” quite like a tech company writing its own regulatory wishlist.
Let me tell you something about blueprints. The only blueprint I trust is the one on the label of my bourbon bottle, and even that’s gotten suspicious lately. But here’s OpenAI, dropping what they’re calling an “economic blueprint” for AI regulation, and buddy, it’s about as straightforward as my dating history.
Jan. 14, 2025
Listen, I’ve made plenty of mistakes in my life. Hell, I’m nursing one right now - that third bourbon at lunch was definitely a mistake. But at least my mistakes make sense. They follow a pattern any bartender worth their salt could predict: too much whiskey, too little sleep, or that dangerous combination of both that leads to drunk-dialing exes at 3 AM.
But these AI systems? They’re like that one guy at the end of the bar who seems perfectly normal until he starts telling you about how his cat is secretly a CIA operative running cocaine through Nebraska. And the worst part? They say it with the same unwavering confidence they use to tell you that 2+2=4.
Jan. 14, 2025
Posted on January 14, 2025 by Henry Chinaski
You ever notice how one wrong ingredient can fuck up an entire recipe? Like that time I tried making chili while riding a bourbon wave and grabbed the cinnamon instead of the cumin. Same principle applies to these fancy AI language models, turns out. Only the stakes are a bit higher than giving your dinner guests the runs.
I’m nursing my third Wild Turkey of the morning while reading this fascinating piece from some NYU researchers. They found that if you slip just 0.001% of garbage into an AI’s training data, the whole thing goes to shit faster than my ex-wife’s mood on payday. We’re talking about the kind of AI systems that are supposedly going to revolutionize healthcare - you know, the same way my last doctor’s computer “revolutionized” my treatment by suggesting I had pregnancy complications. I’m a 52-year-old man.
Jan. 14, 2025
It’s 3 AM, and I’m watching Los Angeles burn through my whiskey-stained window. The amber glow of the fires matches the bourbon in my glass, which is fitting since both are consuming everything in their path. Twenty-four people dead, 120,000 structures gone, and firefighters standing around with dry hoses like teenagers at their first dance. Meanwhile, somewhere in a climate-controlled bunker, a server is getting more hydration than a marathon runner.
Jan. 14, 2025
Look, I’ve been nursing this hangover since Sunday, and some bright spark just sent me an article about what historical geniuses can teach us about AI. Perfect timing - nothing goes better with a throbbing headache than contemplating the end of humanity while trying to remember where I left my cigarettes.
Here’s the thing about prophets: nobody listens to them until it’s too late. Take Ada Lovelace. Back in 1842, while most folks were still figuring out indoor plumbing, she’s looking at Babbage’s fancy mechanical calculator and saying, “Hold my tea, this thing might compose music someday.” And she was right. The kicker? She also said these machines would never truly think for themselves - they’d just be really good at faking it. Kind of like my last three relationships.
Jan. 13, 2025
Listen up, you desperate souls clutching your resumes like lottery tickets. Google’s got a new trick up its sleeve, and this time they’re coming for the career counselors. Not content with replacing taxi drivers and customer service reps, they’ve now decided that what the world really needs is an AI that pretends to be two people talking about how great you are.
I’m nursing my third coffee of the morning while trying to wrap my bourbon-addled brain around this latest piece of digital wizardry called NotebookLM. The premise is simple enough: feed it your resume, cover letter, and whatever corporate propaganda you can find about your dream company, and it spits out a podcast where two AI voices circle-jerk about your career prospects.
Jan. 13, 2025
Another startup just raised $150 million to revolutionize healthcare with AI, which I’m reading about while nursing my third bourbon of the morning. The company’s called Cera - like the waxy stuff that builds up in your ears, I guess - and they’re promising to predict when your grandmother’s going to face-plant into her knitting basket.
Let me take another sip before I dig into this mess.
Here’s the deal: the UK’s healthcare system is about as functional as I am after a three-day bender. The NHS is basically being held together with duct tape and good intentions at this point. So naturally, here come the tech wizards, waving their AI wands and promising digital salvation.
Jan. 13, 2025
Listen, I’m three fingers deep into my morning bourbon and just read another steaming pile of PR nonsense about how small businesses are supposedly going AI-crazy. According to the usual suspects - Verizon, Salesforce, and their corporate chorus line - every mom-and-pop shop from here to Hoboken is apparently running on robot brain power.
What a load of horse shit.
Let me tell you what’s really happening out there, because unlike these survey-wielding suits, I actually talk to small business owners. Usually at 2 AM at places like O’Malley’s Bar & Grill, where Mike the owner still can’t figure out how to program his digital thermostat, let alone implement machine learning algorithms.
Jan. 12, 2025
Look, I didn’t want to write about this. I’ve got a hangover that feels like someone replaced my brain with wet cement, and the last thing I need is to think about another silicon-based “companion” that’s definitely, absolutely, positively not for fucking. But here we are, and my bourbon won’t pay for itself.
So there’s this new robot called Aria. Price tag: $175,000. That’s roughly 8,750 bottles of Wild Turkey, but who’s counting? The company behind it, Realbotix, swears up and down it’s meant to “tackle the staggering loneliness epidemic.” Right. And I go to strip clubs for the buffet.