Thirteen Pages of Pure Malarkey
Back in my day, if you had a business idea, you could explain it on a cocktail napkin at the local diner before the coffee even got cold. Now, these high-tech hotshots in San Francisco think they need thirteen pages of 'policy ideas' just to tell us they’re going to invent a brain in a box. They call it 'Industrial Policy for the Intelligence Age.' I call it a cry for help. I’ve seen shorter instruction manuals for a riding lawn mower, and those actually result in something getting done. Who has the time to read thirteen pages of tech-talk? I gave up after page three because I had to go check if the squirrels were getting into the birdfeeder again.
It’s all 'people-first' this and 'wealth funds' that. It sounds like a bunch of hippie nonsense dressed up in a suit and tie. They want to 'kick-start the conversation.' Well, I’m starting it right now, and the conversation is: get off my digital lawn! They talk about 'superintelligence' like it’s the second coming of the steam engine, but I can’t even get my smart TV to stop asking me for a software update every time I want to watch the evening news. We’re building 'super-brains' while the average kid today can’t even count change without a calculator. It’s a disgrace.
The Three-Day Work Week Fantasy
One of the big 'ideas' in this paper is a shorter workweek. They think the robots are going to do all the heavy lifting while we sit around sipping lemonade. Let me tell you something about a shorter workweek: it’s called being retired, and you have to earn it by working forty years at the plant, not by clicking buttons on a glowing rectangle. My grandson told me he wants to 'work from home' in his pajamas. I told him if he wants to wear pajamas all day, he can move back into the basement—oh wait, he’s already there.
These OpenAI folks think that if the machines take the jobs, we’ll all just live off some 'public wealth fund.' In my neighborhood, we call that 'welfare,' and it didn't come with a fancy 13-page brochure. They’re promising a utopia where nobody has to break a sweat. You know what happens when people don't sweat? They get soft. They start caring about things like 'organic kale' and 'artisan water.' If the robots start doing all the work, who’s going to know how to fix a leaky pipe when the 'superintelligence' decides it’s too good for plumbing? Not these guys in the hoodies, that’s for sure.
Who Is Running the Show Anyway?
The paper talks about 'government-led' investment. Since when has the government been good at investing in anything besides more paperwork? I remember when the Post Office was the pinnacle of technology, and now I’m lucky if my Christmas cards arrive before Easter. Now we want to hand the keys to the 'Intelligence Age' over to the same people who can’t fix the potholes on Main Street? It’s a recipe for disaster. They want to build massive 'data centers' that use more electricity than a small country. My electric bill went up five dollars last month because Shirley left the porch light on, and these guys want to plug in a giant metal brain?
The critics in the article are right—it’s a lot of 'familiar ideas' without a 'clear path to action.' That’s just fancy talk for 'we’re making it up as we go along.' They want us to have faith in their motives. I don't even have faith that the grocery store will have my favorite brand of bran flakes in stock two weeks in a row. Why should I trust a company that’s trying to build a god in a server rack? They say they want to help the economy, but I bet you a wooden nickel that the only people getting wealthy off these 'wealth funds' are the ones writing the 13-page papers. It’s a shell game, plain and simple.
Conclusion
So, excuse me if I don’t go out and buy a celebratory bottle of prune juice just yet. These OpenAI folks can write all the papers they want, but until a robot can figure out how to program my VCR or get the neighbor's dog to stop yapping at 3 AM, I’m keeping my wallet closed and my lawn mower gassed up. The world is changing, sure, but common sense shouldn’t have to change with it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I think the mailman is late again.