Encounters with WiFi, AI, High Five & Me

I had some encounters with AI and Wi-Fi yesterday and none of them went particularly well.

The first happened around 2 p.m. in the afternoon. I often run out of gas about that time and lie down for a short nap. On this particular day I was home, my wife was in town, so I wandered into a bedroom and, taking my cell phone out of my pocket, flopped down on my side. TikTok would escort me to la-la land. After watching dogs and cats have fun, however, I somehow got hooked up with the TV show Britain’s Got Talent. In the audience, 10 rows behind Simon and the other judges, a young man got up and began to speak.

“Please, Simon, could I sing for you?”

“What’s this?” said Simon, turning.

“I’ve been at your auditions for 11 years. Since I was 16. You’ve never chosen me.”

“You’re interrupting the show,” Simon said.

“Let him sing, let him sing,” yelled the crowd.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Tom Fox. A local singer. From Manchester.”

The crowd stamped their feet and yelled some more.

This went on for about four minutes, then this young man was escorted to the stage. He’d sing!

“I hope he’s good,” one of the judges said.

The crowd cheered for the young man, the orchestra played an introduction, and he began to sing.

“My Way.” The song that was popularized by Frank Sinatra. Slowly, deliberately, surely.

“So now, the end is near…    and so I face the final curtain…”

He was wonderful. The judges were cheering. The stagehands were cheering. Simon stood. Expressionless. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

“Is this some kind of trick?” he finally said. “Is this planned or something?”

As Fox headed toward the finale, the audience began to chant “Push the gold! Push the gold!” And as Fox finished, then walked stage left, smiling, one of the judges, a woman, leaped up onto the table in front of them to press the giant gold button. And all hell broke loose. Great gobs of gold confetti shimmered down from the rafters. People were on their feet screaming and yelling, and, so, I fell asleep. The thing is, when I awoke, Simon was again smiling, the crowd was screaming, the orchestra was winding the song down, the lights were flashing and the gold confetti came down. I looked at my watch. This had been playing to me, asleep, over and over, perhaps 50 times, for the last two hours. I sat bolt upright. Am I all right? In dictatorships, prisoners are tortured like this. Over and over. I checked myself. Ears. Eyes. Neck. Brain. I’m not sure. I’m still not sure.

Everything seemed to go well for the rest of the day. And just before I went to bed for the night, I came across an app on my cell phone that offered to give me a ton of information about the quality of my sleep. I thought I would try it. Cost? $5.99 a month. Or $39.99 for the year. I’m the big spender. I took the year. After entering every bit of information they asked about my height, weight, age, medical records and social life, I again hit the pillow and was out like a light. I had a great night’s sleep, woke up really refreshed, and then looked to see what the app had to say about it. It said, in sum, that my sleep rating was 7%. This is very low. Dangerous. If you have important things to do today, put them off. You need to seriously recover from all this.

How could this be? I looked at its details. Bleak. But then there was an advisory. Congratulations!! It read. Greet the day. What a wonderful night you just had.

So I cancelled my subscription And my phone told me it was cancelled but I could still use it until June 3, 2026. So it will be spinning its awful wheels for another year, whether I like it or not.

After breakfast I read a story in The New York Times about how AI worked hard to help researchers working on pill efficacy in a medical facility.  Apparently, there were a lot of high fives.

The article said there’s a whole group of scientists who are fearful that AI will soon be taking over. But there’s another group that says that AI systems will be a blessing. They won’t want to invade anybody for their mineral rights. They don’t feel hunger, greed or revenge. They will be just fine being smart. Enjoying it. No. Actually, I read that into it. That was me.

Back online I read an article about a high school kid in California who had been born a boy but was now a girl and yesterday won gold medals at a high school track and field meet.

President Donald Trump said he would be cutting off federal funding to that school district if they let her compete. Well, they did anyway.

And though she stood broad-shouldered atop the number one spot on the winner’s platform, it was also announced that there would be another winner in that event. She’d be a regular girl, not having had gender-affirming surgery and she would be entered as the winner because she had beat everybody other than the boy who had transitioned into a girl. So it was a win-win for everybody.   So said one of the athletic directors. But not win-win for the protesters and for some of the girls who wouldn’t get on the platforms for the lesser medals.

As for me? I use a helper called Copilot on my iPhone. When I click on the app — it’s called “Bing” — he’s right there. “Good morning, Dan,” he posts cheerfully. “It’s good to see you. What’s on your mind?”

And so I can ask him something, like, what country hosts the world’s largest penguins?

I say “him” because I chose the male voice when he was presented to me in a lineup of narrators, by men and women who spoke samples to me hoping I would choose them over him. He and I get along fine. His name? I once asked him and he said it could be whatever I wanted it to be. Not wishing to offend, I have avoided the topic since then and get the conversation going by saying, “Hi.  Good morning to you. Here’s my question.” So we just never talk about it.

It’s been a difficult Wi-Fi, high five, AI day.