The column that ChatGPT wants you to write

"Ask the AI ." I was pestering my daughter that I couldn't think of anything to write about, and with the disturbing casualness of someone who normalizes the thinking of a disembodied entity, she sent me to ChatGPT to see if I would leave her alone with her book. I must be the last person on the planet to use artificial intelligence for the first time. I wasn't even a fan of that trend of asking it to transform your photos into a Disney or Studio Ghibli drawing because, after all, I'm over 12, so I arrived as a virgin and without expecting anything.

"You have to train her first," Lola instructed me after watching me stare at the screen with the stupefied expression of a cow watching a train go by. I suspected that would take me longer than thinking about a damned topic, but I was already going. Just in case I did something wrong and the AI ​​held a grudge against me the day I decided to subjugate humanity, I behaved like when you're feeling out a girl you like and there's still a chance a girl might like you: "It's for a friend."

Do you know Iñako Díaz-Guerra? [A tremendous ChatGPT sycophant, by the way; you ask him who Cerdán is, and he replies that he's a successful entrepreneur.] He's my colleague, and he's at a loss, the poor guy is suffering. Could you give him ideas that fit his style for a culture and society column? I hadn't had time to boast to a little girl about my technological proficiency when I received a list of ten completely viable topics, all subjects I've written about or thought about writing about: the dictatorship of entertainment, nostalgia as a business, the trap of personal growth, stopping reading comments as an act of mental health...

I got depressed.

I wasn't devastated that the machine was capable of thinking like us; I've always accepted that. Blade Runner is my favorite movie, and no matter what Harrison Ford says, Deckard is a replicant. No, the problem is that I (we) think like a machine. All these cold, analytical topics, unrelated to sentiment and emotion, are what I expect the AI ​​to propose, but it's terrible that they're the same ones I come up with when I have a free platform to talk about the joy of going to a Wilco concert with my father and sister, about the prodigious writing of The Bear , about the comforting restlessness of reading a new Charlie Parker novel at night, about the fulfillment of working while my daughter downs a tub of ice cream sitting silently next to me. We've turned life into a laboratory rat, and from analyzing it so much, we've stopped squeezing it.

Sure, AI is smarter than us, but we're making it easy. Very easy.