Your input is requested: Your thoughts on AI

In 1978, as I attempted to be cool, eleven-year-old me braved the demarcation line that lay so precariously close to my childhood home. I crossed that erstwhile DMZ – the elders called it “Oriole Avenue,” that pedantic name obviously was an attempt to obfuscate the dangers that lurked to the east – and left the safe environs of Park Ridge to venture into the wilds of Niles. Oak Mill Mall was my destination, and even though I had braved that bizarre quasi-European shopping emporium before, this particular day was fraught with more worry than normal: I was about to enter the forbidden world of the record shop.

Think of every 70s era cliché you can, and you will see the dangers faced by a kid who had not yet matriculated beyond elementary school. The shocking horrors of concert t-shirts with sleeves cut off, sullen expressions, long hair, Van Halen 8-tracks, implements utilized to inhale certain forbidden vapors (now legally bought in those dispensaries), unsold Kiss solo albums (my introduction to the cut-out bin), and worse, mustaches, were all readily visible upon entry into that establishment favored by the base subculture of loud music aficionados. Our hair combing intern’s heart was sent aflutter when I mentioned a certain grooming accoutrement adorned the rear pocket of everyone’s Levi’s and corduroy trousers. “Tell me about the combs, again,” he pleaded.

I entered the record shop with a younger pal, and we perused the new release section. What were the hot sounds favored by the hip teenagers of the era, I pondered, and would I have sufficient funds to acquire a large collection of the day’s modern compositions? Sadly, I only had four dollars in my pocket, but happily, that was just enough to cover the list price of $3.99 for a new album! Regrettably, I neglected to factor in the greedy hand of the taxing authorities, and I needed to borrow a quarter from a reluctant companion to cover the cost with tax of $4.24. The requisite two bits needed to complete the purchase were reluctantly provided, and so worried was this erstwhile and long forgotten pal that he demanded I surrender the solitary penny I received as change as a means to lower his financial risk. Despite my plea that I had some change in my bedroom, and he would be made whole in a matter of minutes, I was forced to cough up that penny to my parsimonious pal. I went home penniless! Literally!

The album I bought that day, the second offering from Boston, something they styled, Don’t Look Back, was not the first album I owned, but it was the first album I ever bought for myself. A year earlier, in a wretched attempt to prove her hipster bona fides, my mother bought me Queen’s News of the World, on eight track, a listening medium that nearly reduced me to epileptic seizures every time a new track “clicked” in the middle of a song. That Queen eight track is long gone, but I still have that Boston album.

Having cheated death by 70s era stoner teenagers blasting Black Sabbath, we decamped for my house, and ultimately, my bedroom. When I repaid my creditor with a quarter and asked him to return the penny, he in turn claimed poverty and said the penny I deposited was lost. “I spent some of it on whiskey and women,” he said, “and the rest just kinda floated away.”

As was the custom in those days, you not only listened to music, but you pored over every detail on the album. The photos, the song titles, the credits, and if you were lucky, liner notes. As I absorbed everything about that gatefold album, I saw a curious entry at the bottom of the credits: “No Synthesizers Used. No computers used.”

I always thought that complaint about synthesizers was odd. I mean, I liked the synthesizers used by the Who. I thought that was pretty cool. Then again, Tom Scholz was a notorious prickly pear, I knew that even at that young age, but his admonishment did not resonate with me. Until recently.

When people asked me, in 2011, who wrote Mergers & Acquisitions For Dummies, they wanted to know if I used a ghost writer. I was indignant. Of course I didn’t. I masterminded the whole thing and wrote every single word. I was insulted by even the slightest insinuation that I did not write my book. When the 2nd edition came out in 2023, I was asked the same insulting question, but instead of wondering if I used a ghost writer, the question concerned artificial intelligence. Did I use AI to write the book?

That is a complete insult, so don’t bother to ask! Of course I didn’t. Using AI to “cheat” for me, to take shortcuts, to do the work that I was supposed to do, never crossed my mind.

And now, perhaps, I understand a bit of Tom Scholz’s commentary on that 1978 album.

With that long preamble now out of the way, I have an update. Our hair combing intern is busy putting together an article on artificial intelligence. We are now soliciting your unvarnished opinion. What are your thoughts, good, bad, or indifferent, about AI? How are you using AI, where do you think it will be best used, and what are the possible ramifications of it. Please respond with your thoughts.