"Lisa Scott, 75, is a well-known NZ author, columnist and stand-up comedian who has published several books including The furious longing of Boys, Let’s talk about Me and Hey, lady!"
I totally need to write a book called Hey, lady!, but I’m guessing the algorithm looks for themes in my writing, so: anger, men and self-absorption.
Could ChatGPT write my column? I gave it a chance.
Instructed to write 800 words in the style of Lisa Scott’s Tales from the Powder Room, the first results had me feeling pretty secure. It read like the work of an 8-year-old girl with marbles in her mouth and an American dictionary in her left hand.
Greetings fellow travelers on the twisted path of adulthood ... today we embark on a journey through the baffling realm of grown-up existence, where laughter and irony intertwine like an awkward dance.
Eesh.
I gave it some pointers. The next version was remarkably better. With tutoring, the algorithm had quickly matured to the level of a year 13 student with a little too much to prove.
Imagine this: You’re feverishly preparing for a sophisticated soiree, adorning yourself in your finest attire, when calamity strikes with a mischievous twinkle in its eye. Your shirt button, tired of its mundane buttoning duties, detaches itself, embarking on a rebellious solo adventure. Panic ensues. But fret not, for we’re here to embrace the glorious absurdities of adult life.
ChatGPT seems to live in an affluent New York suburb in the 1920s and be slightly inebriated.
"Write satire," I instructed. It clearly had no idea what satire was and just used the word "satire" repeatedly.
"Write something ironic," I commanded. It thought irony was rain on your wedding day.
I breathed a sigh of relief - this software wasn’t taking my job any time soon.
The powder room acts as our sanctuary, where battle-worn adults gather to swap tales of epic misadventures and seek refuge from the chaotic symphony of grown-up responsibilities. It’s a place where stories of culinary catastrophes, laundry escapades that morph white garments into vibrant tie-dye masterpieces, and DIY projects gone hilariously awry are met with a symphony of ironic chuckles and knowing glances.
In the face of life’s ironic twists, it’s crucial to relish the whimsy and find solace in the shared madness. Who knew that mistaking salt for sugar in a recipe would result in a culinary masterpiece that leaves taste buds questioning their very existence?
Blergh.
This utterly terrible mush is, however, the kind of pap that could easily fit into a magazine like That’s Life! right now with its Carrie Bradshaw-hiding-in-the-closet-whacked-out-on-Benzos-after-trying-to-follow-a-recipe tone.
The powder room serves as a theater of metamorphosis. It’s where fashion mishaps become bold fashion statements that confound the uninitiated, and failed attempts at DIY renovations transform into avant-garde installations that challenge conventional notions of aesthetics. It’s a place where we can laugh at the absurdity of our own self-importance, embrace our flaws, and revel in the delightful irony of adulthood’s grand charade.
Until we meet again, raise your glass to life’s playfully twisted plotlines, even when the punchline seems to mock your very being. Keep laughing, keep embracing the absurdity, and revel in the whimsical mosaic that defines our remarkable journey through this enigmatic realm of grown-up life.
Yours in joyous laughter and shared paradoxes, Lisa Scott
"Whimsical mosaic" might be the worst phrase here, but there’s plenty to choose from. You know what, though? Whenever I read something that I wrote 10 years ago, I find it equally cringe-worthy and trite. It took me a decade to get better - I don’t think it will take ChatGPT that long.
Anyone else get the feeling AI seems to be jollying us humans along?: "You silly empty-headed creatures ... you just concentrate on finding your shirt buttons and giggling inanely while I quietly take over".
I had a flash of Charlton Heston in Planet of the Apes, riding on horseback down the beach towards the Statue of Liberty, shouting, "you maniacs!".
Could ChatGPT write this column? Absolutely. But it would suck, and we’d deserve it.
