I finished a strenuous workout without fainting. This was a minor victory for me, as I’m prone to passing out. I used to faint as an altar boy, and I dropped the first time I gave a lecture, too — a presentation in front of 200 people at the Harvard Club of NY. Wheeled out on a stretcher and everything. My boss at the time, who was in the audience, had a custom bracelet made for me with instructions for care and a suggestion to call him in the event of any future public speaking mishaps.
Recently I kept 499 out of 500 middle schoolers awake and focused. These days I’m much better at the whole public speaking thing. In December, I visited a few schools to talk about my adaptation of The Boys in the Boat, and I kept an entire auditorium of easily distracted teenagers interested for the whole hour. Sure, one kid fell sound asleep during one of the talks, but I’m proud of my percentage. The nearest teacher felt bad, and went to wake him; I encouraged her to let him rest.
Lennon and McCartney wrote swimming pools. In his book of lyrics, Paul McCartney talks about how he was at Lennon’s place one day for a writing session, and the two joked about how the new pool in the latter’s backyard had been purchased with funds from their songwriting efforts. Then they joked that they needed to write more swimming pools. I like that. I’d like to write a new surfboard and some college tuition.
The number of exoplanets has surpassed 5,000. When I was working on Bill Nye’s Great Big World of Science in 2019, the figure was just above 2,000. Granted, they’re not all Earth-like, but that’s a lot of worlds in our cosmic neighborhood. Does one of them have a coffee shop? Do they make oat milk cortados?
Popular Science shut down. The website lives on, but the venerable old magazine is no longer producing a print issue. I loved working there. Amazing people, and the focus on the future was always so mind-blowing. Here’s one of the great images from my days there as a lowly editor.
And a really embarrassing video from my time writing an aptly named column, The Luddite. My editor, Mr. Haney, gave me a handheld communication device that miraculously recorded videos.
Young readers, please note the very professional way I addressed my editor, and the equally professional manner in which I was sitting with my feet on the desk. That’s how to be an adult, kids.
McConaughey should be the AI sheriff. If you haven’t seen the Salesforce AI commercials, treat yourself. They’re quick, funny, and interesting. In this one, the incomparable Matthew McConaughey wonders if AI needs a sheriff. My opinion? Yes, and it should be him!
What would this look like? Any significant new AI company would need to send its leaders out for a night with Sheriff McConaughey. They’d talk, philosophize, drink to excess, maybe run through some woods or across a field in the dark, howl at some of those exoplanets, play the harmonica, etc.
If they happened to be harboring any ill intent or troubling uncertainty about the power of the systems they’re building, the sheriff would absolutely draw that out of them. Then he could decide in the morning whether these leaders were fit to proceed. He’d be the final test in a regulatory approval or AI certification process.
McConaughey for AI Sheriff. Let’s make it happen.
Why am I writing more about AI? Because I have a new book coming out in a few weeks. I’m the ghost or coauthor of this one, written with Daniela Rus, the director of the Computer Science and Artificial Intelligence Lab at MIT. She’s absolutely brilliant and her ideas are mind blowing. I’ll write more about this book closer to the publication data, but in the meantime, check it out!
A former neighbor asked if I’m still writing. This question, which I hear a few times a year, used to annoy me. The key word is still. Are you still writing is really another way of asking the writer if they’ve finally given up. If someone has at some point mumbled under their breath that they’re a writer, asking them if they’re still writing is akin to asking your banker friend if she’s still employed. Hey, do you still have a job? Or did they figure things out and fire you?
So, if you know someone who says they’re a writer, ask them what they’re working on. You’ll show them a little faith, and they’ll probably change the subject. You both win!
The other question to avoid: Are you published? I get this one too, and it’s a not-so-subtle dig. When my friend Kass tells people he’s a doctor, no one asks if he’s board-certified, which is convenient in his case, because he’s an equities trader without any formal medical training. He doesn’t need a fancy degree to administer emergency care in Las Vegas airports, and you don’t need the stamp of a traditional publisher to be a writer, either. A better question: “What do you write?”
In a roundabout way this reminds me of the time I sat with my dad while he negotiated with a car salesman. The salesman asked my father what he did for a living. My dad replied matter-of-factly that he dealt drugs. The salesman smiled, then turned serious, because my dad did not smile back, and the negotiation wrapped up quickly.
That’s all. Click one of those little hearts if you liked this, and thanks for reading!