AI is here to stay, and is gunning for every one of our jobs. White collar jobs, that is, in the broader category of “indoor work, no heavy lifting” kinds of employment. The jobs especially at risk are the ones that everyone thought were immune from the kind of replacement that has already decimated industrial and farm jobs, not to mention Wal-Mart cashier jobs.
Before going any further, I need to digress just a little and lodge a small complaint about the abbreviation “AI” to begin with. Since the use of periods for initials is now passé, and even rejected on some government forms, the shortening of “Artificial Intelligence” to “AI” has saddled us with an abbreviation that simply looks like the name “Al,” as in short for “Alan.” This makes any statement about A.I. look like a guy named “Al” is at the heart of it all: “Al offers a bright new future for medical diagnosis,” or “Al raises privacy concerns” (Al’s such a worry wart), or just my first sentence above: “Al is here to stay and is gunning for every one of our jobs.” Al sounds like a pretty scary yet very busy guy.
But where were we? Oh yes, Al replacing all of us. Well, maybe not all of us: in a recent study, two groups of people were judged to be the safest from the threat of AI replacement: they were as follows:
- Musicians who perform live
- People who milk goats by hand
We can all breathe a sigh of relief there. But what about someone writing a humor column? About bluegrass, no less? Surely, it’s too obscure a field, at least at this point. It hadn’t ever occurred to me to worry about it. Humor, after all, is very much a human, as opposed to an “A” quality. It’s one of the few things that really differentiates us from the animal kingdom: that, and understanding the rules of baseball. Other animals sing, some can be taught to play an instrument, but you find very few stand-up comics in the wild, though one animal behavior expert once told me that ferrets tell in-jokes to each other, but they don’t laugh, and no one else understands them or thinks they’re at all funny.
Perhaps I’m feeling too secure, though. Can’t humor be learned with enough of the right data input? I was a little afraid to do it, but I decided to ask ChatGPT to write a bluegrass humor column. My prompt was to ask it to write a humorous essay about a bluegrass band’s new fiddle player. I’m skeptical, but if this works out, your Wednesday humor column will now be written weekly by a guy named Al.
Here is his first effort:
The Bluegrass Band was in desperate need of a new fiddle player. Old Bill, the former fiddler, had been replaced after a scandal involving an accidental “twist” of the bow during a solo and a broken chair. So, the band decided to hold auditions. It turns out, finding a competent fiddler is like finding a needle in a haystack, if the needle had four strings and a love for fast-paced Appalachian tunes.
Not too bad so far. I don’t get the capitalization of “Bluegrass Band,” though, which makes it seem like we’re talking about that band Butch Robbins and Alan O’Bryant had going in the early ’80s. The fiddle player breaking a chair was unexpected, I’ll give Al that much.
AI continues:
The first applicant, a guy named Rick, walked in with a fiddle so shiny it could double as a disco ball. He claimed he could play Orange Blossom Special backward while juggling, which seemed impressive until he started. What followed was more of a strangled chicken sound mixed with the noise of an engine trying to start in winter. Rick was politely shown the door.
Then came Sue. Sue had the confidence of someone who’d survived multiple family reunions, and came armed with a fiddle that looked like it had been through a few family feuds of its own. When she started playing, it was like hearing the heavens open and a chorus of angels getting a little too into it. The band hired her immediately.
Sue’s first performance? Well, let’s just say the chair stayed intact.
A return to the chair theme. Good, I think.
My review, or maybe I’ll just let Al write it (I won’t do that, honest): This really isn’t too bad, especially considering that it was generated in about two seconds. I have to say that I didn’t actually laugh at any of it, but then I don’t often laugh at my own stuff. You’ll have to be the judge of that.
Still, it does reminds me a little of the unfunny friend we’ve all known in some form or another, who still thinks he’s funny and suggests that we get together and “swap humorous stories” like the humorless lieutenant in Good Morning Vietnam.
I did expect—and got—some cliches: the haystack reference, the family feud, the “fast-paced Appalachian tunes,” “Old Bill,” etc., but this is also kind of what we get when humans, who come from other more mainstream genres of music or entertainment-writing, attempt to write about bluegrass. They think they’re being clever (in a “knee-slappin'” “toe-tappin'” kind of way). We’re all cringing. However, the stereotypes make up a high percentage of their points of reference, so we should probably give Al a pass on that. Al just needs a little bluegrass immersion.
I think I’d rather not give it to him.