Skip to main content

AI-AI-Oh...dear




Do we ban AI or embrace it so enthusiastically we end up with sphincter burns?

We know it rapes the planet but still we use it.


Will it render us obsolete in the work place?

I could be resting in smugness here because I might just keep my job - recent feedback from my talk, My Tutu Went AWOL!, said, ‘Well, AI certainly couldn’t replicate this man’s work!’

Though as my talk is about my tours of the military bases in Iraq and Afghanistan in the guise of Madame Galina Ballet Star Galactica, a Sugar Plum Fairy wannabe with a missing dance partner, who she must replace from a selection of likely candidates pressganged onstage from the paying audience, possibly nobody would wish to replicate my work.


Might a nuanced rather than an either/or approach to our use of AI be a thing?

Let’s agree to rein-in personal use.

Not creating more CO2 in the atmosphere in a year than does Delhi posting photographs of ourselves transformed into beetroots wearing Santa costumes; making hyper-realistic porn images of Nicholas Galitzine, Jessica Rabbit and Anne Widdecombe; or to create footage of morbidly obese women having accidents sky-diving and providing Cheddar with a twin Gorge.



#mytutuwentawol #publicspeaker #talks #publicspeaking #cabaret #iestynedwards #bassbaritone


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Me Featuring in The Sunday Times, Nicely...

  This happened. The editor thinks it's a book of dog sitter stories waiting to happen. I am scribbling away at same...  I first house-sat by accident. I was originally at Haven House, Lembton, as a live-in safety net for Lady Olive Simmonds, a seventy-nine year-old Bostonian with a lilac afro, a Temazepam habit and leg ulcers. Haven House was by the sea. Eighteenth century, elegant, comfortable.  But there was Olive... Always in pain; either drunk, hungover or both; barely educated. She had married a man who was knighted, and believed this gave her a licence to be a twat. According to Olive, her fellow Lembtonians were all dull academics - this group having reading ages older than hers, which was thirteen - or failed schizophrenics. She had serious monophobia, with staff working (unnecessarily) every day apart from weekends. At weekends, first thing, anxious, she would ring round the Lembtonians that were still speaking to her - six in number - inviting them for coffee, ...
Post a Comment
Read more

The Marine Says I Must Re-queer...

                                                                 Being camp in Camp Basra... Stacks, ex-Royal Marines Commando, recently watched my Tutu Went AWOL! show on Zoom. He had notes. I was shifting from foot to foot, he said, and gesturing too much. 'And you must put back the stuff about the Brigadier and your fellow comedian being homophobic...' The Brigadier had been sneering about my act, saying it would be more suited to Butlins. But, more importantly, he believed I was an 'inappropriate influence on 42 Commando'.  Stacks, deadpan, commented, 'Sir, before Iestyn started hanging out with us, sir, it had never occurred to him to play Tiddlywinks with anything other than his thumb, sir.'  My fellow comedian, who I'll call Mark, because that's his name, asked Reg, Garrison Sergeant Major, in front of ...
Post a Comment
Read more

I Love the Library

                            Therese, soprano, never uses a library. ‘Oh, no, Iestyn. Unlike you, I pride myself on always buying my books.’ I agree with Helene Hanff, who said that buying a book you haven’t read is like buying a dress without trying it on. ‘How do you know the dress will fit, Therese?’ I asked. ‘I always know what’s going to fit me, book-wisely speaking. I tune into asking the universe what it needs me to read for the greater good, go into the bookshop and find that I’m drawn to a department, then a section of carpet, then the particular shelf and there will book the book, in a sort of outline of almost light picked out from the others around it.’ ‘But there are billions of books out there, Therese, in umpteen shops, divided into squillions of bits of carpet and…’ She was giving me her look: a nurse at my hospital bed telling me the prognosis was far from ideal. ‘Yes, but with me it’s narrowed down q...
1 comment
Read more