I can’t deal.
The new tech, with its astonishing utility and terrifying implications, makes me want to go back in time. In fact, let’s say to 1964. Quite a year. Cassius Clay became world heavyweight champ. Mary Poppins took over the movie world. Designer Rudy Gernreich’s “monokini” topless swimsuit was unveiled. Martin Luther King Jr. won the Nobel Peace Prize. The US Surgeon General declared that smoking is hazardous to your health.
And, of course, as you recall, the Federation of Rhodesia and Nyasaland was dissolved.
As for technology, there was also stuff going on. The Moog synthesizer prototype was introduced. BASIC computer language was published. Gemini 1, an unmanned test of a two-man space capsule, was launched. Or so I’m reminded by my mentor and muse, the sweet and ever-attentive Wikipedia.
Because, once again, 1964. What the fuck did I know? I was 9. I didn’t care all that much about public health or computer programming, whatever that was. What I did care about was one bit of technology that left me gobsmacked, simply incapable of grasping the possibility of what I was seeing before my very eyes
The Super Ball.
It was a rubber ball formulated by the genius chemist Norman Stingley using the synthetic polymer polybutadiene, seasoned with hydrated silica, zinc oxide, stearic acid and who-knows-what-all, then vulcanized to 329° F and compressed at 3,500 pounds per square inch. And it bounced like no ball ever bounced before. If you dropped it from shoulder level, it would bounce 92% the way back. Nipple height, I suppose. If you put a little mustard on your release, you could make it bounce higher than the roof. Much higher.
Because: magic. It was like airplane flight or cotton candy: clearly impossible, yet there it was. Whamo-O sold them by the tens of millions.
I still get the shivers thinking about it. This wasn’t long after the Cuban Missile Crisis and, having cowered under my desk as a first-grader, I couldn’t help fearing what would happen if the Russians got hold of such technology. Could they bounce right in and start forcing us to eat borscht? To this day I cannot accept that Super Balls are real.
This brings me to some brain-frying developments I was confronted with for the latest episode of Future Forward, a podcast on media, technology, politics and society I sidekick on with my pal, the bona fide new-media pioneer and tech aficionado Steve Rosenbaum. I don’t choose these topics; he does.
We began the episode with Apple Vision Pro, the $3,500 goggles that let you have an “immersive” interaction with digital content superimposed on your physical space — what they used to call virtual/augmented reality but now call “spatial computing.” However you describe it, it’s very Phillip K. Dick. And I can handle that. Because it’s a gizmo that may, should it ever inspire applications besides pretending you’re Tom Cruise in Minority Report, eventually become an ordinary piece of utilitarian hardware, like a smartphone or a blender. So, whatever. No freakout.
But then Steve hits me with Sora. Holy hell. Sometimes doing his show is like being invited to someone’s home for dinner and being served a dish with hazelnuts — because I’m more or less stuck there, and I’m deathly allergic to hazelnuts. Sora, an Open AI video generator that creates seamless, rich videos indistinguishable from the most extravagant cinematography, was a fucking hazelnut pie. I strongly suggest clicking on the link, because otherwise I cannot convey the verisimilitude of these videos, including infinite detail in lighting, shadows, reflections, skin tones and body movements. Yet there are no actors, no sets, no lighting gear, no camera. The “filmmaker” just types in a few word prompts, like a Google search, and what comes out is mind boggling.
Wanna know why Hollywood went on strike? Sora is why Hollywood went on strike. The new labor contracts for actors and writers will temporarily create disincentives for producers to dehumanize movie-making, but it’s safe to say that in the near future Minority Report 2 will require no studio or gaffers or craft services, because every scene will be generated by hitting SEND. If you want to know what that means for the millions of people around the world who earn livelihoods in film or video production, go back to 1790 and ask a cobbler. There will be only one Oscar. It will go to a robot. No afterparties.
Among other ramifications. To contemplate those, Steve introduced me to the company called MetaHuman, whose elevator pitch is: “High-fidelity digital humans made easy.”
It’s an iPhone app — an iPhone app! — that combines all the features of Photoshop, motion-capture technology and police-sketch software to “animate” characters based on the human subject you record. “Animate” is in quotes because the end product is not Bullwinkle J. Moose, Daffy Duck or Dora the Explorer. It is a virtual human, once again, indistinguishable from actual photography.
Remember when your parents told you that you can be anybody you want to be? Yeah. That was a lie. Until now.
Just try to wrap your head around the abuse of all this technology in service of Deep Fakes, utterly lifelike videos of personal or political enemies sodomizing a sheep in front of a group of kindergartners. Or prostrating themselves before Satan. Or taking cash bribes from the Ayatollah. Or performing in drag with George Santos and George Soros. Use your imagination. I don’t care to. I’m in shut-down mode. Because unlike nuclear technology and bio-technology, there is no international body, no government agency, no set of regulations or ethics protocols to keep this shit safe.
I’m still in denial about a polybutadiene toy; how am I supposed to keep it together now that dystopia has arrived?
Yeah, I’m a Luddite. Why not? Works for me. Because you know what? You know who had it all wrong? The people who told 18th-century cobblers to get with the program. “Change is good,” and all that guff. Tell that to Hiroshima. Tell that to the Ozone Layer. Tell that to democracy.
You know who else had it wrong? The English band called The Cyrcle, in 1966.
And I think it’s gonna be all right
Yeah, the worst is over now
The mornin’ sun is shinin’ like a red rubber ball
New technology, especially like AI that may dislocate people's livelihood, is distressing. What's even more distressing is just hoping it goes away and then getting smacked in the back by it. Thanks for the podcast tip. Love your writing!You're great, Bob!