What a year to be teaching a class titled “Imagining the Apocalypse.” Barely three weeks into the fall semester, dire warnings came out from the creators of various companies of artificial intelligence who gathered to tell the tale of our demise via social media. According to The Guardian, several industry insiders warned that there was a “greater than 10 percent chance” that AI would cause human extinction by 2030. Some other insiders softened the blow by stating it would be the beginning of the end of humanity.
I did what any self-respecting teacher would do when confronted with such terrifying news: I turned music on in my classroom. Using a tool that selects music based on my previous listening habits, Nickleback blasted through the speakers. Before I could wonder in what world I listened to something that would reference Nickleback, I began singing and turned on the karaoke function so we could sing together in the classroom. I belted out the lyrics in my best heavy-metal Broadway voice. Students laughed, cringed, or quietly sang along while giving the side eye to others around them. Could anyone else see how ridiculous this whole class set up was?
You know, if humans are going to be extinct by 2030, I want to go out on a high note. Literally.
I haven’t given much thought to the end of the world recently other than talking with a friend about the best ways to preserve large quantities of oats. Earlier in my life I considered myself a low-grade “prepper” for impending apocalypses. But I’ve fallen down on this job when said friend then asked what my water preparations were. Can’t make oatmeal without water, after all. These preparations seem frivolous now that we have it on good authority that there’s only about three years left in our timescale. What can I possibly do with all of these oats now?
I’m also not sure what to do with this time scale especially with this advanced warning. My father knew for six months that he was dying from glioblastoma. He spent some time reminiscing and was fortunate to see most of his friends before he died, but he wasn’t able to do much else since he lost his mobility. I often wonder what occupied his mind those last few months knowing that he was going to die soon, if not exactly when.
Now I’m not sure what might occupy my mind these next three or so years except for living as I have been living. I don’t know if there’s even a way to do anything differently. I used to think if I knew my time was coming to an end that I would travel. The reality is that traveling is out of budgetary reach and I still have to show up for my job. Like during the pandemic, I suspect we’ll all continue to work as though nothing extraordinary is happening in the world around us. However, it seems that we have been given a time limit more realistic than the infamous Doomsday Clock.
Speaking of doom, I found a way to stop doom scrolling before bed. I’ve been working on collages in what I’m calling art notebooks. Apparently, I spent many hours on my phone reading bad news because I’ve taken over the dining room table crafting for two or more hours each night. I’ve now filled up several notebooks. I still somehow heard the news of our rapidly approaching AI-induced demise. Doom scrolling not required.
My husband has taken a different approach and has been making all kinds of things thanks to his recent acquisition of a small 3D printer. I would say something, except now I just say “thanks” as he makes me tape holders, dinosaur shaped waste baskets, and a container for our trash bags. Tonight I watch as he adjusts a design thinking he is building something cool. Instead, he is working on calibrating the printer to avoid “elephant foot.” From what I could understand, it’s when the initial plastic layer gets too melty on the heated plate and spreads, which can upset the design of an object overall. I imagine the Wicked Witch of the West after she’s doused with water, melting and oozing all over the floor.
Technology seems like an elephant foot to me. At each step of development, there were no advance plans or warnings. I think back to the internet when I first went on for the joy of reading magazines and books for free. There wasn’t any regulation, so it soon became a shoddy marketplace of stuff to buy rather than the inclusive library it began as. Social media also grew out of control before we understood the major invasion of privacy and data collection efforts of its creators. In the 2020 docudrama, The Social Dilemma, developers confessed that algorithms had grown beyond what they would ever have control of again.
When AI was released to the wider public in 2022, it was as though we hadn’t struggled through the previous technologies. Now legislators are behind again, sounding as though they don’t know what’s going on because they actually don’t. And neither do we, really. Except, from what we hear, AI will take over jobs, making my current students wonder if it’s even worth going to college at all. What will they do when they are done with school? How will they pay back their student loans?
Honestly, I can’t see AI taking anyone’s jobs. Why would it settle for a white-collar life when world domination is so tantalizingly close?
For the next three years, you’ll find me in my classroom belting out Nickleback or at my dining room table gluing paper into notebooks. I’m not sure what else is in store for us but I hope that tales of our demise are being greatly exaggerated.
