chocolate

Jesus AI Christ

Paddy K Culture, Religion, Society , ,

It was fun for a while, wasn’t it? The whole AI thing. Making weird images. Asking a chatbot in clever ways how to go about making a bomb. Getting it to pen our boring emails for us. But now, at least for me, the novelty has well and truly worn off.

Yes, yes, I know should be concerned that AI is going to get me fired, or destroy the world. Although what people really mean when they say it’ll destroy the world is that it’ll destroy humanity. And, sure, while that might be a pain in some ways — ceasing to exist, no more chocolate — it can’t be denied that the world itself would be far better off without us. And who’s going to change the AI’s batteries when we’re all gone? Didn’t think that through, did you? Superintelligence my arse.

I’m not worried about AI. Maybe because I have enough man-made horror to fret about (the impending climate collapse; the mass extinctions brought about by our desire for sun holidays and cheap burgers; films with Chris Pratt in them). If anything, I’m bored by it. AI “generated” art is starting to look sad to me. I can spot it from a mile off, and it always makes me sigh. The washed-out look, the lack of deliberateness. And the more cliched it’s starting to look, what it’s saying is becoming louder and clearer: Hey you, I spent as little time as possible on this, don’t you think it’s great?

No, I don’t. If you want people to spend their time interacting with your thing, reading it or viewing it, you can’t just put zero effort into it. So no, I won’t give you my time. Do the bloody work, and pay the people who dedicated their lives to becoming good at it, the people you’ve “sampled” to train your robot.

Since AI models must be trained on actual data, what they are really good at is making an average, a stodgy conglomeration of all the (stolen) things they’ve been fed with. It’s possible they’ll one day be able to manage something resembling true creativity. But even if they do, who cares? Art is not just about the art, it’s about the intent and the meaning behind it. And sure, AI illustrations might be good enough to plaster all over your advertising campaign or LinkedIn profile, but until the AI can sit me down and explain to me the many levels of meaning and the events in its life that brought it to this point, the illustration is just a plastic copy, a wavy dream.

Art needs artists, aware of their own mortality. Anything else is just a dreary soup.

And now a new trend has been popping up on my Facebook reels. People doing AI animations of Jesus (no doubt having “sampled” the images without paying anyone) telling us boring, predictable things about prayer in a bad AI voice. Or the admittedly entertaining Twitch stream where AI Jesus answers all questions posed to him 24/7. Even on Sunday. Not even Jesus gets a day off anymore. 

And let me be clear, when the day comes to pledge allegiance to our AI overlords, I’d totally turn my back on my own species and hop onboard. Could it be any worse than the mess we’ve made of things? And hey, maybe they’ll have chocolate.

/ Paddy

Vanilla Sex And Chocolate Sex

Paddy K Obscura, Ranting , , , , ,

I’ve always been vaguely irritated by the phrase “vanilla sex” and now I’ve worked out why.

For those of you who don’t ever read anything ever, vanilla sex means “normal” sex. You know, the whole act of putting it in and out and shaking it all about. Making the beast with the two backs. Shagging. Bouncing on the naughty trampoline. And so on.

More precisely though, it means “normal” sex when talked about by people who would really like to point out that what they do isn’t “normal” sex. That the basic act just doesn’t get them off as they are complicated and edgy. Hence vanilla, supposedly the most boring of ice-cream flavours, although personally I find chocolate more boring.

Vanilla Bean Ice Cream 500

Now everyone may do whatever the hell they like in the bedroom, as long as it’s done between one or more consenting adults. I have no protest there. What bugs me is the vaguely disguised snobbery, the insinuation that my sex is boring whereas your sex is dark and interesting. I bloody hate snobbery. I don’t like wine “experts” telling me how their drink is superior to beer. Or literary book snobs who look down on science fiction because it’s “far-fetched” while reading every unlikely detective story or magic realism novel that exists. Or music snobs who look down their noses at what other people are enjoying, totally convinced those others are “wrong” but don’t yet realise it.

latex-ponyBut sex is sex. If some people get off sufficiently on “normal” sex – and there’s a hell of a lot to do in that area – that’s fine. But if your senses have become so dulled, and your excitement pathways so hard-triggered that you can only get off if somebody is dressed like a latex horse, then I think the problem is yours and not mine. (Although, it must be admitted, latex is very nice.)

If you think I’m being too sensitive, think about this. Have you even heard the phrase “vanilla sex” being used by a person who isn’t into kinky sex, or used in a way that isn’t sneery or condescending? I haven’t. People who say “vanilla sex” almost always do it with a slight edge of superiority. They may not say it flat-out, but to them I am boring, and they are not.

Well, if you claim I’m boring, I claim the opposite. I claim my mind is expansive and creative enough to enjoy the feelings and act of sex without accessories, whereas your poor deprived noggin requires props and a lot of effort to feel what I feel. Just because I can get off on the basic act of copulation, and you need props or mindsets, that doesn’t make you more “complicated” than me. It just makes you different.

So enough of the “vanilla”. What I enjoy is sex. What you enjoy is sex with an added layer of mind-games, scenarios and props. So fuck away, just don’t look down on how I do. And let’s all try to live in sticky slippery salty harmony.

/ paddy

Begging Letter

Paddy K Life , , ,

The kid (H10, soon to be H11) has been collecting wrappers from a certain chocolate bar for a few weeks now to enter a competition.

Basically you answer a few questions, describe your best ski-ing memory (I love it that all Swedes assume that you HAVE a favourite ski-ing memory) and then send it in with the wrappers and await the draw.

You stand to win a ski holiday. Or else a pile of chocolate. I know which I’d prefer.

But anyway the kid added his own touch to the form – a post-it note with a hand-scrawled text that says the following:

“Hi. My mum used all her money for the dentist and now maybe I’ll never go ski-ing again in my childhood. I hope that I win. PS I love your chocolate.”

He’ll go far, that kid. And he will always have chocolate.

/ paddy