BURGER SCOOT

I started a post and ran out of inspiration fast. I just didn’t want to finish it. It’s a bad sign when a blogger doesn’t want to write about himself, but this isn’t a new thing for me, I have 46 other posts-in-the-making or outlines for a posts, or just titles that I just haven’t fleshed out. In this instance I can come up with an idea: All this talk about AI; would if I just stopped where my inspiration ended, copied it, pasted it below, and then asked WordPress’ “AI Assistant” to “re-write” the segment. Would it read better than my own prose?

At first, I tried asking AI Assistant to re-write my fragment, but all it did was correct my horrible grammar. The program is designed so that the operator needs to select from a list of options on HOW to rewrite the text: simplify, summarize, expand, or rewrite my sentences using any of the other seven optional tones available to the user.

Therefore, on the second and final rewrite I selected the AI Assistant to rewrite my fragment using the tone: “Passionate.” Then I clicked on the Accept button. My text disappeared then, one line at a time, a new fragment appeared, like one of those old timey dot matrix printers, but on speed. When it was done, a box appeared at the end of giving the operator an option to re-enter a different option if they are not happy with the results. I hit Accept again, and the box disappeared. The AI Assistant’s “Passionate” tone below my original is the results.

Mind you, this really isn’t true AI, nor are any of the other products out there that have “AI” slapped in its title. Still, if you have ever used one of these smart assistants, you know they come in handy, but having it write a blog post for you, or a term paper for a teenager, or whatever. is lazy at best, unethical at worst, and that slope from lazy to the dark side is very slippery. Here is the results from when I dipped my toe in it. 

My original fragment:

It’s April 6, 2024, sometime around 10:00 p.m. I’m sitting in Erik and Paul Olsen’s office. It’s Draft Night for the Dead Seagulls Baseball Association, a rotisserie fantasy baseball league. (What is rotisserie fantasy baseball? If you really want to know, click here.) When I first heard that we were going to have the draft at Erik and Paul’s place of business and that we would probably use their conference room, I envisioned a classy room with a big mahogany table, comfortable chairs, and a glass wall with the name of the Olsen’s business artfully etched on it, and maybe a big, heavy glass door, and with a long door handle of glass or mahogany. 

When our car pulled to the nondescript office, I knew the conference room wouldn’t look like I imagined. The office was a living space, probably like the one on the second floor, one of the Olsens’ tenants that had been converted into an office. The front room was now the Olsens’ front office; the kitchen now a snack area; the bedrooms; now storage spaces. The family room was the conference room, though there was nothing very “conferencey” about it. Tonight, it’s the Home of the 2024 Dead Seagulls Baseball Association Draft. 

There were boxes of paper towels, toilet paper, cleaning supplies, etc.—some sealed, some open, and others empty and needing to be broken down. Our “mahogany conference room table” consisted of two small round tables unevenly positioned against each other and two long, narrow, foldable tables pushed together and up against the round ones. 

I would have been disappointed if Erik talked up a big Capitalist operation. Instead, I was humbled by the ministry he and his brother have taken on in their retirements: They work with the County of Sacramento buying up slums, sprucing them up, and renting them out to families teetering on the poverty line. With the help of the County, he and Paul break even short of all the work it takes making these once rundown duplexes habitable again. I was so moved I had to suppress the urge to hug Erik when he told me what he and his brother did while picking up teachers’ pensions. 

Wait, this post is supposed to be about fantasy baseball. But as I was bidding for players on an uneven, creaking side chair, I was often reminded of where I was and how utterly frivolous this activity was compared to what our two hosts did during business hours and even in the middle of the night when tenants or the County Sherriff’s office called them when there were emergencies. I couldn’t help but feel foolish. Wait, Corey Seager is now on the block. I’ve set aside $35 to buy the star Texas Rangers Shortstop. Stay focused, Jack… 

AI’s version of my fragment, but with “Passion”:

It’s the evening of April 6, 2024, and the clock is approaching 10:00 p.m. I find myself seated in the office of Erik and Paul Olsen, a space that is serving as the venue for Draft Night for the Dead Seagulls Baseball Association, a rotisserie fantasy baseball league. As I delve into the world of rotisserie fantasy baseball, I can’t help but contemplate the setting for this event.

Initially, I envisioned a grand conference room outfitted with a magnificent mahogany table, luxurious chairs, and a glass wall adorned with the Olsen’s business name. Perhaps there would be a substantial glass door, its handle fashioned from glass or mahogany.

However, my expectations were swiftly shattered upon our arrival at the unassuming office. It became evident that the space had been repurposed as a multifunctional area, with the front room now serving as the Olsens’ office, the kitchen transformed into a snack area, and the bedrooms repurposed as storage spaces. The family room had been designated as the conference room for the evening, albeit lacking the typical ambiance associated with such a space.

The makeshift “mahogany conference room table” was composed of two small round tables awkwardly arranged alongside each other, accompanied by two long, narrow, foldable tables pushed together in an uneven manner. While this stark contrast could have brought disappointment, I was instead deeply moved by the noble work undertaken by Erik and his brother in their retirement.

Rather than being involved in a grand capitalist venture as I had imagined, they dedicated themselves to a philanthropic cause, collaborating with the County of Sacramento to revitalize dilapidated areas and provide housing for families on the brink of poverty. Despite the considerable effort involved in refurbishing these rundown duplexes, they endeavored to break even with the help of the County, exemplifying a selfless commitment to their community. Hearing about their endeavors left me overwhelmed, and I was compelled to restrain the impulse to embrace Erik in admiration.

Though the purpose of this post was centered on fantasy baseball, the juxtaposition of my surroundings and the frivolity of the draft couldn’t escape my mind. Seated on an uneven, creaking chair, I found it challenging to remain engrossed in the bidding process, as I was acutely aware of the stark contrast between the lighthearted activity at hand and the profound impact of our hosts’ altruistic work. Nevertheless, amidst these contemplations, the bidding for Corey Seager, the esteemed Texas Rangers Shortstop, beckoned me to refocus my attention and remain immersed in the exhilarating world of fantasy baseball.

Upon reviewing my AI-ego

While I must admit, I nearly laughed out loud when I read how the AI Assistant retooled the last sentence of the fragment. The rest of the fragment, minus a few parts, was far superior to my prose. This isn’t the first time I used Word Press’ AI Assistant: In my previous post, Hometown Pride, I wrote a very clumsy sentence that, unfortunately, is now lost. When I was wondering how to make it better, I saw the AI Assistant just begging me to employ it. When I did it came up with, “Hmm, my writing has decided to take the scenic route, weaving through tangents and meandering across the page. It’s like a verbal road trip with no GPS!,” which is too clever to have me write it. It initially deleted the “Hmm”, but I put it back in as if to say to the AI Assistant, “Hey, you’re not the boss of me.” But that moment, as does AI’s verse of my fragment in this post, haunts me: a machine writes better than I, and that hurts.