Experiment: consider a question to which you yourself know the answer, and which requires some amount of explanation. Let's say a question in your professional field of expertise.
Now ask this question in two places: one, on reddit, in an appropriate subreddit; two, on ChatGPT.
Dystopian fiction can be divided into two broad categories: libertarian fantasies, in which people are finally able to kill everyone they don't like with impunity (Mad Max, The Walking Dead); and liberal fantasies, in which people finally appreciate the value of art and literature (Station Eleven, Fahrenheit 451, 1984).
#foodtoot I may need help with this: I splurged on some nice ravioli, filled with ricotta and artichoke, at the Italian deli, but I don't know what kind of sauce to make with it. Any suggestions?
Here's the best way to figure out how much faith investors have in the whole AI thing: which company's shareholders have voted to replace the company's CEO (or its entire C-suite) with an AI?
After all, the CEO makes obscene amounts of money (think of all those bonuses!), while there's compelling evidence to suggest that CEOs don't actually make that much of a difference. If there was ever a job in need of AI replacement, it'd be CEO.
I just realized that in the unlikely event that Trump would actually go to jail, there's a nonzero chance that both his fans and his haters would purposely start committing crimes just to have a chance to end up in the jail cell next to him.
On the Serious Trouble podcast, host Ken White aka @Popehat, a federal lawyer, explains the "cockroach in the spaghetti" defense. It goes like this:
"Members of the jury, if you were in a restaurant and you found a cockroach in your spaghetti, would you eat around it or send back the dish?"
In Trump's Stormy Daniels case, Michael Cohen is the cockroach that the prosecution is asking you to eat around, so according to this argument, the jury should send back the spaghetti = dismiss the case.
In my mind, I'm the CEO of a company that handles the print distribution of those glitzy yearly reports that charitable organizations like to put out. The company would be called No Good Deed Goes Unpublished.