Like most of my elderly peers, I can’t remember where I parked the car or why I’m sporting a fake mustache and wearing a tutu on the bus, but I do remember all kinds of undelivered promises from tsunamis past.

The internet was going to make us all smarter and more connected to each other. Nuclear energy was going to eliminate air pollution and slash electricity prices. Space exploration was going to give us rocket belts and vacations on Mars. Instead, we got an explosion of isolation, Three Mile Island…and Tang.

The memories are coming back as I listen to AI zealots, and I really have to wonder if anyone has thought this through. I’m not even talking about the oft-stated odds (10-20%) that some AI model will create an extinction event. It could be a perfectly logical nuclear war or an absolutely irrefutable assessment of humans as a dangerous species to be eradicated or a decision to replace agricultural lands with data farms. However it happens, we’re toast.

(And don’t you just love the fact that people talk about an “extinction event”? Doesn’t it sound so much nicer than “AAAAGHHHH!!! WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE!!!!!!!!!!”)

I’m not sure there is anything I would do on any given day if I knew it had a 10-20% chance of getting killed. Those percentages are much worse than any airplane trip, bike ride, bungee jump…possibly even worse than that greasy, cheesy thing Taco Bell is hawking this week. To be fair, though, 10-20% is still better than my odds any time I go to Chipotle.

I can ignore the extinction problem for as long as the Valium holds out, maybe longer. The experts say AI-rmageddon will take a while to unfold and one of the big benefits of being very, very old is that I probably won’t live to see it, anyway. Sucks for the rest of you, but it’s one of the few advantages I have as I head into the home stretch.

No, I’m thinking about other issues, and the whole thing really makes no sense.

First, the numbers are impossible. The total amount of AI investment announced by major corporations will require more energy and more dollars and take more time than is everyone thinks. Costs will exceed forecasts, projects will take much longer than planned, and data centers will overwhelm the electrical grid. Some of these companies will fail, taking suppliers and/or customers with them, and the environmental impact is going to be huge. Some of these snags have already developed, so this isn’t “someday” stuff.

Everyone on Wall Street knows this, but the train has left the station, stocks are bubblicious, and the experts believe they’ll know the exact moment to exit before the, um, correction. This is why Warren Buffett says it’s so hard to make money from transformational technologies. Too many competitors enter the market, speed bumps delay and derail progress, and a large percentage of investor money gets cremated. Somebody will come out on top, but (SPOILER ALERT!) it won't be you.

Before that happens, though, we have to deal with AI’s immense drain on corporate efficiency. Yes, I said drain. We’ll read a million stories about some job that’s getting done in half the time, but history is written by the victors. Throughout the economy, people will be submitting erroneous reports that cost their companies both money and customers. New products will explode, sometimes literally. And, we’ll all be spending hundreds of hours double-checking the answers we get from formerly reliable searches.

If every search now includes a disclaimer that, “AI can make mistakes, so double-check responses,” why am I using it? Even worse, if every search engine is using AI, where do I go to verify anything?

That brings us to people, who will be a drag on the system until AI has the courage to do the right thing and kill us all. If there’s one thing we learned during Covid, it’s that people are dumber and lazier than we ever thought possible. Giving us access to AI tools is like giving a hand grenade to a toddler.

Every day, millions of us will be churning out reports and analyses generated by AI and never, ever checked for errors. Recipients will be assigning AI tools to read and assess those missives. Humans will voluntarily step aside, let the LLMs do their work, and then act surprised when they get cut out of the chain.

Finally, let’s talk about money. Ultimately, capitalism depends on people buying products and services, which they pay for with the money they earn making the products and delivering the services. As companies shed workers in order to invest their former salaries in new AI technology, the number of people who can buy stuff declines as well.

Businesses always want to get more revenue with fewer employees, but there is a tipping point and we have no idea when we’ll hit it…if we haven’t passed the point-of-no-return already.  The natural progression is to have more machines talking to other machines and, eventually, they won’t need people to oil their bearings. At that point, what supports the economy?

Some seers suggest we'll need a Universal Basic Income, an idea so popular it got Andrew Yang nearly twelve votes in 2020. But UBI requires that every company pay the government to give money to unemployed people so they have enough cash to buy stuff. I’m not sure if that’s socialism or communism, but it doesn’t matter. Eventually, the robots will conclude that money is 100% unnecessary if they simply get rid of those pesky humans.

At that point, an extinction event will be the most logical, efficient solution. By then, maybe the robots will be right.

 
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Sharing a word to the whys this week as my befuddlement expands…

• Why does my mind go blank every time someone asks me a question? I could be thinking about some movie I liked and a friend will ask me about my favorite movies and, bammo, I can’t think of any movies. Ditto for jokes, books I’ve read, restaurants I like, and the names of my kids. I’d be a great spy, because I wouldn’t be able to remember any secrets, even if I was being tortured, as long as my captors asked me a direct question.
  
• Why am I so afraid of vegetables? They’re already dead when I get to the grocery store, so it’s not like they’re going to jump up and stab me. (Are they?)  Still, I only trust the few veggies I ate as a child and I’m surprisingly intimidated when I get to exotic delicacies like rutabagas and eggplant and zucchini. Will I ever overcome this phobia, or am I doomed to carrots and peas forever?
  
• Why is it that nobody seems to be particularly happy when singing happy birthday? Yeah, we all smile and sing, but it’s really tiresome and most of us resent the speed bump on our way to the cake. And while we’re on the subject, does anyone really look happier, or more attractive, when they say cheese?
  
• Why would I expect any employee to proofread a document produced by ChatGPT or Claude or Copilot or any other LLM? “Gee, if I make this AI document really, really good, maybe I can get fired three weeks sooner,” said no one ever.
  
• Why do the servers in fancy restaurants think we’re illiterate? Every time I go to a fancy joint, the server spends about four minutes explaining the menu, telling me where the appetizers are listed (under the heading “Appetizers”) and how to find the salads (under "Salads”).  In a diner, the servers never tell me where they sourced the lettuce and, sometimes, if I’m really, really lucky, they don’t even tell me their names.
  
• Why am I still answering follow-up surveys when they aren’t even going through the motions anymore? It used to be that I’d be asked to reply to questions that would be reviewed later. Now, some of the surveys just say my answers will be recorded with no mention of anyone looking at the responses ever.
  
• Why am I spending half my day doing nothing? Well, I’m not exactly doing zero. Mostly, I’m waiting. I could be waiting for everyone to un-mute for the Zoom call or waiting for the guy ahead of me to notice the light turned green or waiting for the last kernel to pop in the microwave. It seems one third of my life is spent sleeping and another third is spent in limbo. 
• Why do I need to go through 27-factor authentication just to pay my electric bill? Does Commonwealth Edison think some ne’er-do-well is going to hack into my account and throw a couple hundred bucks my way?
  

 
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The plane is already at the gate when I arrive, the skies are clear, and there’s no reason to expect any delays on my morning flight.

Foolish mortal, what was I thinking? Of course, there’s a delay. The flight crew is coming in from Milwaukee and that flight hasn’t taken off yet. Our departure time gets pushed back a few times, unlike the plane, until I get bored and walk up to the gate agent to ask for an update on when the crew might arrive.

He points down the concourse and says, “There she is now.”

She? She, as in one person? That’s the flight crew we have been waiting for?

Why, yes, it is. The solitary woman rolling her suitcase behind her as she runs to the gate is the reason we’ve all been delayed two hours, so far. Those two hours, BTW, are more time than it would have taken for her to Uber from Mitchell to O’Hare.

It’s going to be a while, because she has to get on board and set up whatever nobody bothered to set up in the two hours we’ve been waiting. Then, we’ll spend the next 40 minutes boarding by group. I’m in Group 2, which is actually Group 10, after Global Services, Platinum, Active Military, Families with small children, Inactive Military, First Class, Families with large children, people who need extra help, and Group 1.

With nothing but time on my hands, I start doing the math.

We’ve got a $100 million jet that hasn't done any of its scheduled jetting for the past two hours. Even if the plane is older and it cost half that when new, that’s still $50 million. If the airline’s paying 6% interest on the loan they took out to buy this thing, that’s $3 million per year, or roughly $340 per hour, 24/7. The airline will be on the hook for about $700 of carrying costs for this delay, which will lead to other delays and re-bookings all along the chain of dominoes on the schedule. (They'll try to make it up in the air, but it's tough to erase a two-hour delay on a two-hour flight.)

Meanwhile, there was at least one other flight, possibly two, that was supposed to depart while we were waiting for our damsel from Milwaukee. Those planes were delayed, along with their crews, which meant other flights also got delayed with their crews. There’s a multiplier effect here, and the airline is probably paying more than $1,000 per hour as our delay ripples across the schedule. Some crew members, including pilots, might time out for the day and need replacement, as well.

But, wait, there’s more. We only have one gate agent to handle the flight, and now there's a new delay.  Early in the boarding process, some guy tries to get the agent to switch some seats so the passenger  can sit with his friend, but the plane is full and the agent cannot accommodate. This guy isn’t taking no for an answer, though, and we end up delayed another seven minutes until the agent finally asks him to step aside so the rest of us can board.

So, we’ve got equipment that’s idle and workers getting paid to wait and passengers who will miss appointments, totaling many thousands of dollars, but somebody at the airline thinks they’re saving money. I happen to be flying United this particular day and I’m at O’Hare International Airport, the world’s busiest. It’s also United’s home and its busiest hub. No surprise, of course, that they’ve cut the number of gate agents and other staff over the years, but it would be surprising to me if they’re really saving much. You can measure employee costs directly, but it’s much harder to measure the costs created by understaffed operations.

Those are just the airline’s costs, of course. The costs of missed connections is a burden for the customers, but that doesn’t show up on the income statement. On the income statement, staffing costs are lower and somebody’s getting a bigger bonus this year for keeping those costs under control. Someone else is getting a smaller bonus, or zero, as they absorb the costs that are shifted, not saved, as headcounts fall. Maybe it will balance out as the higher bonus for one guy gets deducted from the other.

Many years ago, airlines discovered that it was less expensive to give passengers a full tomato in their salads, rather than half a tomato, because it cost more to slice the damned things than they were worth.  I suspect some of the savings from cutting staff are equally elusive.
 
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I was crushed by a bus door on Friday and it was a major learning experience, although I’m not completely sure what lesson I'm supposed to be taking to heart.

Usually, a ride on the CTA is an uneventful opportunity to mingle with my fellow citizens while avoiding both traffic jams and overpriced parking lots. Even when the bus is full, you can almost always find a spot to stand without becoming, um, excessively intimate with your fellow passengers.

On this particular ride, the place to stand was near the front door, which crushed me when the driver opened it at the next stop. I didn’t scream like a little baby, but I did let out a very deep and thunderous and manly groan that alerted everyone to my agony. Even the driver noticed, which was nice, since he was the only one who could close the damned door.

A few passengers asked if I was okay, if I needed any help, etc., and one jealous guy with clearly capitalist intentions urged me repeatedly to call an ambulance. Nothing appeared to be broken, though, so I declined the opportunity to overburden the medical system.

Still, just in case I was really injured, I decided to take a photo of the bus number. Suddenly, the driver started paying attention. He yelled to everyone to stay away from the doors, even the back doors that couldn't hurt a flea. He wanted to know why I was taking a picture. He wanted to know whether I needed help. Then, he stopped the bus and ordered everyone off. Apparently, this was an incident that required an official response, but only if/when the injured passenger takes a photo.

Everyone left the bus, but I stayed with the driver, who kept telling me I should have stayed away from the door. It would have been nice if he'd mentioned that five minutes earlier, but he missed that opportunity. Of course, theoretically, I knew I wasn't supposed to block the door, but I didn't know that A) I actually was blocking the door and B) the motor that opens the door applies enough force to kill a child. I've been stuck near the door on an overcrowded bus a million times, but this was a first.

You live and you learn, as they say, although that aphorism only works out if you live.

So the driver was motivated at this point and he got on his phone to get help. I don’t know exactly whom he was calling, but it doesn’t matter, because nobody showed up. After waiting with him a while, I opted to try walking it off and headed to my next destination.

I was hurting quite a bit, but I knew I’d be hurting whether this was a big deal or nothing. If it was nothing, the walk would help keep me from stiffening up. If it was something, I’d find out eventually. I knew I’d be in pain for a while, no matter what, so standing with the bus driver wouldn’t make a difference.

An hour later, on my way back home, I saw the same bus coming down the street. I double checked the number because, as we all know, I took a photo. I guess someone finally showed up to take the driver’s statement or whatever and, unlike me, at least he got paid for his time.

Back home, now, I’m trying to figure out what I learned from this experience. If I’m going to get injured, at least I want to get some kind of life-changing insight out of the deal. I’ve tried to find a message about the arbitrary nature of fate, the need for self-reliance, maybe the limitations of rapid response. Nothing has come to mind, so far, other than avoiding buses that are so crowded you have to stand by the door. 

Maybe that has to be enough. Like Nietzsche said, if a bus door doesn’t kill you…


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We all know somebody like Jeffrey Epstein.

Not exactly like Jeffrey Epstein, I hope, but the reality is that he was of a type we all encounter in life.

He achieved success by leveraging people and cutting corners, using the appearance of success to draw the new connections that made him more successful. He was such a consistent manipulator that even his good friends knew not to trust him too much. They saw him cheat other people and they vowed they would not be so dumb as to allow the same fate for themselves, but that didn’t stop them from showing up at the party. It was fun and exciting and they wanted to be among the lucky few.

We all know somebody like that. They probably aren’t in the same circles as Epstein and Wexner and Trump, of course. Maybe they skated through high school on their looks or maybe they were hotshots on the playing field. Maybe their folks had a ton of money and they threw great parties or they had a job at a company where everyone wanted to work. Along the way, they got away with pretty much everything.

However, they got there, they were, are, and always will be the kind of people we swear (to God!!!!) we will never become. And yet, we all make the choice to stay in their orbit, despite our misgivings or revulsion at their character. Character is the key word here, because the same story repeats at all income levels, in all nations, among all faiths and ethnicities. Almost anyone, offered an invitation to hobnob with the rich and famous, would leap at the chance. It’s hypocritical to claim we aren’t like that, because we are.

Still, all the discussion about Epstein’s business dealings and who was on his jet and who his clients were is absolutely meaningless to me, a smoke-screen that distracts from the one thing that matters: sex trafficking. Hundreds or thousands of women and children have been shattered and I want to see their abusers tried, convicted and sentenced. If the statute of limitations precludes trial, I want them to be pariahs wherever they go. I want them to suffer for the rest of their lives the way they have created lifelong pain for the children and adults they scarred.

This is the big bright line in the Epstein saga, the line that cannot be erased. Stories about jets and parties and deals gone wrong are a diversion that protects the guilty. They connect to us as people, people who know and tolerate someone like Epstein. They allow us to forget the chronicles of lives destroyed.

On the political front—and what front isn’t political right now—this is a scandal to tarnish the enemy while protecting anyone on our side. It’s the Golden Age of Hypocrisy, brought to you by whoever is turning the levers of power. Right now, it’s the Republicans who own the Mark of Cain and they are accepting the diversionary challenge with relish.  In Washington, on social media, it’s a battle of memes and sound bites, both real and AImagined.

Lost in those sound bites is the bitter truth. This is about crime. Everything else is a shiny ball that distracts us from the singular focus that is the least we owe to the victims.

Every so often, there aren’t two sides to a story.
 
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The world has changed, but not in a good way, and it’s getting pretty painful to try to keep score…

• Sir Mix it Not. I’ve always been a free-speech absolutist. I grit my teeth and put up with the hate speech and the pornography and even that damned Kars for Kids commercial. But even I have my limits and I am 100% in favor of a total ban on remixes. If the original was so good that someone wants to copy it, then it was too good to be copied. Done.

• Needing dispensation. I really like nice pens and I’m really cheap, so I have a shameful tendency to kinda, sorta, mistakenly, purely-by-accident forget to return the pen if the restaurant server hands me a keeper with my credit card slip. Most of the time, though, the server’s pen came from someplace other than the restaurant where I’m dining, so re-stealing the item they stole is less of a crime, right? It’s like I’m the Robin Hood of writing utensils.

• Dreams of donuts past. I miss Dunkin’ Donuts. Yes, I know there are still stores with that name—half of it, anyway—but it’s not the same as in the old days. At the start of my work commute, I’d roll up to the drive-thru at Dunkin’ Donuts for the sustenance that would carry me downtown. Always a large coffee with a Boston Crème and a Chocolate Frosted, made on the site by an immigrant family staking its claim to the American Dream. Then they decided to make the donuts in a giant warehouse and truck them to the shops, just a bit colder and harder and staler. Even the company that owns the chain is so embarrassed they don’t even have Donuts in their name anymore. Can’t blame them.

• My cup underflows. I decided to give up on K-cups and micro-plastics in my brain, so I bought an actual, real-live coffee pot. And then I bought ground coffee to complete the set. The ground coffee package says to use two tablespoons per cup and the coffee machine says one tablespoon per cup, and that’s only half the challenge. Neither one says how big a cup is supposed to be. Yes, I know that technically a cup is eight ounces, but it turns out a cup on my coffee pot is really six ounces, while my coffee cup is ten ounces. I think this is what they mean by new math.

• Lost meaning. I’m confused by much more than cups these days. My medicine bottle says I need to take my morning pills with a full glass of water, but they fail to mention how large a glass I’m supposed to fill. In the laundry room, I still can’t figure out what a Quick Wash is supposed to include and I have no idea whether my socks have light soil, heavy soil, or medium.  Whatever choice I make, anything that goes wrong will be user error and, it occurs to me that this was the plan all along.

• Vanishing history. People my age can tell you where they were when they heard that JFK was shot, where they were when the towers collapsed, what kind of television they were watching when Neil Armstrong set foot (allegedly!!!!!) on the moon. For most people walking the Earth today, those are dates on the pop quiz, nothing more. Like potato chips and beef jerky, every world-altering event has an expiration date, replaced by a new line of demarcation that will fade away in time.

• Missed connections. I lost my cellphone a few weeks ago and I suddenly realized how much I need this thing, even if it’s only to receive all those 6-digit PINs I get when I’m trying to log in from my computer. Nobody makes phone calls anymore, so it’s really just an app machine and, if you’re not using an app, it’s pressuring you to do so. it was a stark reminder that we are, in fact, The Borg. (Don’t get too excited here. Seven of Nine has left the building.)

• Infringed benefits. Eavesdropping would be my guilty pleasure, except that I don’t feel guilty about it, at all. As a blog writer, I’m conducting research by listening to the voices of the unheard and the rhythm of the streets. Overly poetic, but true, and here’s what I’ve been hearing recently. When parents compare notes about their kids’ careers, they don’t ask each other about titles or offices or, in your dreams, administrative assistants. Nope, the big question is, “Do they get insurance?” Really, we’ve sunk so low in the gig economy that some parent can tell another their kid was just hired as a manager at a major company and it’s not a certainty that insurance comes with the job.

 
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