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Posts Tagged ‘kamala’

AI; the grift that keeps on grifting. Feed it, press a button, and (in the immortal words of our president) “Bing Bong Bing,” there you have it: AI slop.

It’s everywhere, now including your bookshelf. If you’re not careful, that is.

And we weren’t.

We wanted to read Robert Reich’s new memoir, Coming Up Short, so we went to the Evil Empire (aka Amazon) and searched. “What format?” was the question. Hardcover, Paperback, Kindle, or Audio? Paperbacks are easier on our ancient hands, so that’s what we picked. And there was our first error. I did not see the red flag, did not twig that this was a new release, available in both Hardcover and Paperback? That never happens. If you get a hardback deal, publishers aren’t going to undercut that with a simultaneous paperback release. Sadly, all we saw was the reduction from the hardcover price (expected in a paperback), so we dropped that turd into our cart and hit the checkout.

My bad on that score.

When the book arrived, it was (as my wife described it) like opening a door to an alternate universe. I was coming up the stairs as she first viewed our purchase, and all I heard her say was, “….the hell?” The cover (pictured, right) was unlike anything we’d ever seen on a new release from a major publisher. It was also about half the thickness of a major release (150 pp vs the 400 pp of the hardback).

….the hell? Indeed.

What we had purchased was a bunch of AI slop.

Someone—definitely not Shem Grant, the named author of this tripe, whose magnum opus has now been de-listed from Amazon—fed a bunch of open source info into an AI chatbot, had it spit out enough slop to fill the 150 pages required to give it a spine, slapped a cartoonish rendition of its subject on the cover, and voila, instant grift. I’ll admit, I’ve not read this “product,” but in skimming through I found it repetitive, composed much like a high schooler’s book report, and rife with errors (within three minutes I fact-checked two: Reich was born in Scranton, not New York, and he was a Rhodes Scholar, not a Marshall Scholar).

Yup . . . AI slop.

Is this a thing? I wondered. Heading back out to Amazon, I executed similar searches for new memoirs and found similar AI-generated knock-off versions:

  • Jacinda Ardern’s A Different Kind of Power had half a dozen slop versions
  • Liz Cheney’s Oath and Honor had a few grift versions, plus about a dozen “workbook” editions
  • Kamala Harris’ 107 Days had fifteen (!) “books” that included the phrase “107 days” in their title, all by “authors” who had no other titles to their credit

In addition to these obvious attempts to con buyers by piggybacking similarly titled slop onto the sales of new releases, there were many self-styled “biographies” that had dubious authors, were listed as “independently published,” and often had obviously AI-generated covers (some that were really bad, and I mean like embarrassingly bad).

So, this stuff is out there, and there is a lot of it.

Remember when self-publishing became a thing? Remember how everyone wrung their hands over that? “There’s already enough crap out there in the book-sphere, and now everyone who can hold a pencil is going to think that they’re a writer!”

Hehe. Good times, eh? Because now, not only can anyone with enough grip strength to hold a pencil pose as a writer, but all those who are too lazy to even pick up a damned pencil are able to churn out utter rubbish, slap a fake name and an SEO-optimized title on it, send it into the Amazonian jungle to sting the unwary, reap the grift, and move on.

It’s enough to make one want to give up.

But, lesson learned. Once burned . . . .

k

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Walter Wofford’s sculpture of Harriet Tubman as the “Beacon of Hope,” installed at Lake Placid, NY
Enterprise photo — Delainey Muscato

Hope and I have had a long and complicated relationship, one punctuated by frustration, despair, anger, and (occasionally) joy.

For many, Hope is an emotion of wishes and prayers, of what-might-be‘s and wouldn’t-it-be-nice‘s. Hope personified, for such folks, is often depicted as angelic or maternal, protective and supporting. Sweet, embracing, serene.

Not for me. My relationship with Hope has usually been adversarial. Many times, I—having striven toward a goal with zero success—have fallen into the shadowed abyss of anguish and surrendered myself to failure. It is at such times that Hope (damnable Hope) has ridden onto the stage clad in armor, grabbed me by the scruff, and thrust me forward once more unto the breach. For me, Hope is not a thing of winged feathers and soft, motherly caresses but, as musician/writer/actor Nick Cave described it in Issue #190 of The Red Hand Files, Hope is “the warrior emotion that can lay waste to cynicism.” Hope is the creature of sharp insistence, unseen kindnesses, and the whispered encouragement of ultimate victory.

In the last ten years, I have often felt despair. I’ve felt it for most of that time. It has been a harsh, brutal, sorrowful decade, both personally and (more consequentially) on a global scale. Politically, Hope has become a stranger to me, as my nation fell into a vortex of recrimination, grievance, division, and blatant partisanship.

But then something happened. About six weeks ago, our president (bless him), seeing the trend-lines and poll numbers auguring his defeat, decided to bow out and pass the torch.

It was then that Hope—the Warrior Emotion—woke from her slumber, shook the dust of years from off her armor, and sounded the call.

Hope is not heavy-handed. Hope does not have to bash us over the head to get her point across.

Hope is the hand on the shoulder, the confident smile, the steely gaze and the wink. Rather than a wouldn’t-it-be-nice, Hope is the we’ve-got-this.

As the scales fall from our eyes and we see the right-wing contenders for what they are, as we learn of their vision for our future, and as we read what it is that they intend to do should they be returned to power, Hope exhorts us once again to rise, to stand, to speak out, and to vote for a future that benefits us all, rather than just the privileged few and the people who look, love, and think as they do.

For the first time in a very long time, I am filled with Hope, eager to instill that Hope in others, and willing to believe that, this time, we might have a real Hope of success.

k

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