I don’t know why there’s such surprise that China has built a successful generative AI model to rival ChatGPT. Their generative image models are already way ahead of the competition.
I know that here in the West we view China as a supplier of cheap manufacturing and spicy noodles alone, but elsewhere it is acknowledged as the world’s oldest continuous living civilisation.
Perhaps we might learn a better — or different — way of doing things, if only we could jettison our cultural racism.
Any nation that deploys terror bombing — obliterating entire neighbourhoods and all civilian infrastructure — is not civilised in my book. I don’t care what the propaganda says.
Suppliers so enamoured by their cutting-edge tech that they forget to get the basics right.
I spent Sunday morning completing work for a colleague. Why? Because I promised I would deliver.
The result: what I thought would please them. A polished and compliant end product, ready for them to take over.
Were they satisfied? Of course not! Instead of appreciation, complaints and criticism.
Which rather hammers home all that my family says to me each time they find me working in my own time to meet a deadline:
“Why do you bother? Nobody appreciates you!”
Hmm, a bit close to the bone. But possibly true. All the work I did yesterday has just been thrown in the bin.
Why is the politicians’ answer to every problem social integration, or a supposed lack thereof, even when there is no evidence to support that hypothesis. Naturally, a gut feeling doesn’t count as evidence.
We spend a fortune on tuition for our kids, but in the end, we must admit it’s pointless.
Every human being must ultimately decide where they stand: whether to help themselves or not.
“We’ll be there in ten minutes.”
An hour and ten minutes later, and still waiting.
Timekeeping is not our forté.
Why not just say what you mean?
Update: They’re not coming, but forgot to let me know.
Turns out people don’t like Nazis. Who knew?
There’s an easier way of protecting young people from harmful online content than changing the law, requiring internet service providers to take down harmful content.
It’s called parental responsibility. Don’t give your toddlers and pre-teens smartphones. And don’t give them unsupervised access to the internet in their bedrooms.
My generation, I feel, has widely abdicated personal responsibility in this vital area, ceding authority to tech companies to pacify our children.
No doubt there’s an element of generosity at play in us gifting these expensive gadgets to our families, but generosity ought to be tempered by commonsense.
At the very least, put some rules in place as to how and when they are used. Giving government ever more power to regulate our lives is hardly the better alternative.
My superior begs I be admitted to the programme board.
“Ooh, ah, unlikely. No disrespect to him, but membership is strictly by invitation.”
But please, pleads my boss; he’s the only person who knows what he’s talking about.
I get you, comes the retort. But it’s a no. You’ll just have to represent as best you can.
Tricky. I’m not senior enough to be allowed in the room, but the knowledge they need is stuck inside my head.
“Today’s definitely a day for a coat,” I say, coming in from the storm.
Our son looks at me with contempt. “I am NOT wearing a coat,” he barks.
I look down at myself, drenched just dashing from the car to the door.
“It’s pouring down out there,” I mutter.
“You see, this is the problem with you,” he yells, “As soon as you come in, you’re causing an argument.”
Tragic that, despite being forever weary of hype, I fell for the hype.
Alas, marketing departments are getting better and better at pushing half-baked products as the next best thing, where in practice they’re largely just vapourware.
Disappointed not so much with these companies as with myself. How did an arch cynic get so taken in by the unsupported claims of the not-so-independent review industry?
A colleague notes I have been extraordinarily productive lately, producing all manner of guidance needed by our team and the organisation as a whole.
“What’s your secret,” they beg, “a new beverage?”
It’s meant in jest, but they’re not far off. This productivity is indeed linked to nourishment of sorts: in this case, my quarterly injection.
“You’ve just caught me at the peak of my bell curve,” I respond. “Make the most of it while it lasts.”
For in weeks to come, I will be sliding back into that heavy fog characterised by lethargy and procrastination, nearly impossible to escape.
But, for now, yes, it’s like I’ve been turbocharged, addressing every need as it arises. In these moments, I could almost see myself as a leader.
Sadly, no one wants cyclical leader only on top form half the time.
