Bust my ass vs. bust a cap in someone else’s ass
Operation: Make Goddess edit 200,000 words of piping hot AI garbage a week is going as well as you’d expect.
I hired the industry’s best editor to edit 5,000 words of it. Only to be told to go back to the original and edit it myself.
Appreciate the vote of confidence.
Here I am canceling a nail appointment … painting over my toenail polish so I don’t have to do that whole process … changing my Thursday flight to Saturday so I don’t have to miss a workday … changing my flight HOME to next Saturday rather than miss a workday … oh and I guess not going to Jared’s DJ gig in Miami on Wednesday night because who the fuck is going to do all this work?
And do not even get me started how bad the AI garbage is. Like, I went to journalism school. I read a thousand books about the six types of ledes and the PAS system and the 4 Us and all that flaming bullshit that WORKS.
Now I have people who never wrote a declarative sentence — and not only are my NON NATIVE ENGLISH SPEAKING employees better writers, but my 3-year-old niece is a more effective communicator.
Look, I made a deal with myself that I don’t need any personal fulfillment or wins out of this.
But god fucking Jesus Christ DAMN, I don’t want my name associated with some of the stuff I am about to let go live.
And no, I am not leaving at 5 or starting at 9. I am up early reading. And late.
I am not always where my keystrokes can be counted.
And no I will never give them my phone again to scan for forensic evidence.
This whole endeavor has been a series of reopened wounds.
Like, whatever Walter did to ruin the company.
Whatever Brad did to make me feel like I wasn’t performing enough when I was doing both of our jobs.
Whatever that ballerina pussy fuckhead Wayne did to instill in us that “editorial — you are just processors, no need to labor over stuff, just get it out” and I fought so hard for no, we serve customers! They deserve our best even if our writers/traders don’t give it to editorial!
Whatever the rest of those losers did to make me vacillate between wanting to bust my ass and bust a cap in someone’s ass.
I hate this phase so goddamn much.
I was listening to some kid on the Daily Show — a kid because 28 years old is baby faced to me now — how the AI masterminds envision a “utopia” where no one works and we all get Universal Basic Income.
Jon Stewart rightly called it “dystopia” — and said how people who got meaning from work their whole lives, die when that connection ends.
Not that I wouldn’t take a check from the government to go sit and write books. Believe me, I won’t die from lack of meaning. PROMISE.
But … how do I get through THIS dystopia in the meantime?