Limits: Where Identification ends

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Yesterday afternoon, I emerged from my cardiologist’s office without any bad news. It was a lovely New York day, and to celebrate, I resolved to put my lazy ass on a corner electric Citibike, and bike home across the park. But no electrics were available, and so, (without really much in the way of regrets), I hailed a cab.

The cab driver was white haired and wrinkly like me. Beyond that kind of description, I really can’t detect age. He spoke with a European accent and was listening to classical music. He used WAZE-like software. It told him ‘in zero-point-one mile turn right’, and after 2 blocks, it commanded, ‘turn right’. He used it well.

I thought we must have a lot in common, and so (in contrast) to my usual, I asked him a question, and learned he was ‘from Hungary’.

‘Ah’, I thought, ‘a cosmopolitan from an East European capital’, immediately assuming he had meant ‘from Budapest’. (As I visualize this scene in my mind’s eye, he is even wearing a beret — an image of ‘low confidence’.) I sat back and continued to muse: he’s not ashamed to rely on AI; he likes classical music; how alike we must be!

We chatted about his street routing software. Of course, I didn’t tell him that I had spent the prior day, in totally dark unknown Queens and Long Island on a shiva call, a total of almost 4 hours in the car, relying on WAZE solely to navigate — successfully! Despite touting the computer (for those my age), I never really learned to use WAZE. We don’t own a car in Manhattan. (Sondra has access by means of a close and solid friendship that envious sexist me believes only women have the ability to construct and enjoy.) Therefore, I never had an opportunity to learn. For me, like a musical instrument, any computer routine or app requires practice. In recognition of that fact, I had asked Sondra if she minded me being her chauffeur — with WAZE — on her twice monthly shopping trips to New Jersey. She had no problem.

So I was in the back of the cab feeling ‘up’ on WAZE, resolved to practice and become more proficient and confident. In other words, this type of software — a good example of AI, I thought — was on my mind.

My doppelgänger and I agreed it was very, very helpful; but not 100%, (nothing is). I told him that this software, and what it does, is an easy and early example of how AI is going to impact our lives.

But rather quickly I realized we seemed to be on different tracks. He didn’t see street routing software, like WAZE, as an example of what I considered to be AI. As I continued to listen to him, I found I could identify with him to a degree, try to get back on his track. I could understand that AI was something else to him. It was coming but it hadn’t yet arrived. He (and I) could see what he considered to be AI was looming in the future, and was sinister and somewhat diabolical. I kept my mouth shut (of course), but tried to imagine myself behind ‘his’ wheel; seeing AI looming ahead, threatening my job, my sustenance — while in the rear view mirror, all those self driving Teslas and Waymo’s were fast approaching.

He continued on and I half listened, thinking how easily we can misunderstand, how fluid are ‘definitions’ and boundaries, such as ‘what is AI?’ and what ‘isn’t’. So as I mused on our misunderstanding and what is AI after all — [and yes, who the hell would care!] — I heard him say that AI was the work of aliens. I kept trying to stay in his lane; yes, like the coming of the automobile, like television; we are in for a profound period of societal adjustment — shake-ups, jobs lost, jobs created — true revolutionary changes.

But as I continued to listen, I realized he was not talking metaphorically or symbolically. No, by ‘alien’, he meant the real thing, a race of non-humans from outer space who were behind AI. AI was their ‘project’. He knew it for sure; he had read the books; he believed.

At that moment, we pulled up to my curb. I can’t say I was not relieved. I tapped ‘CREDIT’ on his payment terminal and hovered my iPhone containing my credit card information, until it beeped and flashed ‘approved’. He complimented me on the easy fluidity of my handling the payment. I had given him the highest percentage tip the terminal allowed. He was a good bracing reminder. I don’t think I overtipped.

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To the reader. This goes out to a small number of subscribers who Substack tells me (always to my surprise) that I not only ‘reach’ but also ‘engage’. Other than my kids (a loyal bunch) and Sondra (she’s too busy to open anything plus I’m just too southern slow in reaching the point), I don’t know who you are. That’s perfect for me; the healthy mental exercise is enough. I enjoy these little Substack postings and hope you do too. If you happen to be someone ‘engaged’ by me, feel free to forward this email to anyone who might enjoy them also. I always welcome new subscribers.

Arnie