We're doing some database and other light server maintenance this weekend (upgrading the version of MySQL we use in particular, but also probably doing some CDN work.)
I expect all of this to be pretty invisible except for some small "couple of minute" blips as we switch between machines, but there's a chance you will notice something untoward. I'll keep an eye on comments as per usual.
I don’t know when it happened. I know when I noticed it. I was using the Facebook app on my phone while I was in Florida working on getting a solar battery setup in my wife’s RV.
“Huh, what’s this?” I thought as I looked through the posts on my profile. “There are a bunch of buttons beneath each post, asking followup questions.” So I clicked one.
Dear God.
So you know how ChatGPT will spout the most absolutely flat-out bonkers bullshit in this weird, bland, “corporate email meets the Institute of Official Cheer” voice? Like asserting with confidence that Walter Mondale graduated from Princeton University (he didn’t), or inventing hyperlinks to imaginary reviews of a Honda motorcycle that doesn't exist?
Meta, in its ongoing effort to cram LLMs into every orifice of the great throbbing pustulent Facebook experience, is wedging LLM chatbots, often with the aid of a crowbar, onto the bottom of Facebook posts (but only, at least so far, in the app; I don't see this on the browser).
And the things it imagines are sometimes...weird.
I was called for jury duty a couple of weeks ago. The waiting room featured a stash of complimentary fidget spinners (yes, seriously). Something Facebook's AI insisted wasn’t the case.
It got way weirder, though, when I posted that the first drft of my first novel with my talespinner was done:
AI invented a question that it couldn’t answer, then answered it with nonsense. “I don’t know who Kitty Bound is, so let me ramble about unrelated authors who go by ‘Kitty.’” And the thing is, the question buttons are invented by the AI.
It doesn’t know who Kitty Bound is (understandably, this is the first novel we’re attempting to get published together), but it will cheerfully say “click here to learn more about Kitty Bound” and then say “Kitty Bound’s work isn’t well-represented in search results, so ima go Hal 9000 with ADHD and tell you things about completely unrelated people.”
Would you like to know how to make an omelet? Yes? Well, I can’t tell you how to make an omelet, but here’s a paragraph about maintaining gas-powered wood chippers.
And the thing is, Facebook is the shining example of AI success.
Facebook is one of the very few companies doing more than forklifting venture capital dollars into a furnace by the pallet. The proponents of AI say it’s going to change the world, and they’re right...just not with hallucination engines designed to pass the Turing test. (I used to think the Chinese room critique of AI was nonsense; now I’m not so sure. I might write an essay about that at some point, check this space.)
AI is making crazy money for Facebook, but not in chatbots. They’re using AI engines to drive ad placement, consumer segments, and demographic analysis of their ads, and it works. About two or three years ago, Facebook suddenly started showing me ads that I’ve never seen before, for products I’ve never shown any interest in as far as I know...and I, get this, started buying from Facebook ads.
AI, in the right context, works.
But that sort of AI isn't sexy. It doesn’t get column inches in newspapers. Chatbots do...but for all the wrong reasons.
My Talespinner and I may have invented the genre of hyperurbanized retrofuturist court-intrigue gangster noir. Do a search for that phrase and you’ll get three results, of which (checks notes) three are by us. Chatbots can be forgiven for not knowing what that is, but hot damn, it doesn’t stop them from spouting confident-seeming nonsense about what it is. This is some classic Chinese room shit.
And don’t get me started on whatever this fresh bucket o’ slop is:
If that’s not silly enough, try this:
Want even sillier? How about this:
“I was cranky because I had to drive overnight.” AI: “Why was I cranky? You were cranky because you had to drive overnight.”
This would be silly if it weren’t for the fact that GenAI is almost unbelievably expensive, needing a trip through the entire neural network for each token generated. The server farms that ooze this pap are warmed by furnaces that burn hundred-dollar bills.
It’s not worth $2,7700,000,000,000 to tell people “why were you cranky when driving overnight made you cranky? Because you get cranky when you drive overnight.”
On top of the economic cost, there’s a social cost as well. Scammers, spammers, fraud artists, conmen, and political adversaries use LLMs to refine and hone their message for maximum emotional manipulation. Political activists use GenAI to create deepfakes. We as a society do not have a cognitive immune system that can deal with this, and I think it will be generations before we do.
But hey, in that brief moment before they go bankrupt, 498 people will be paper billionaires.
DW is seeing some issues due to today's Amazon outage. For right now it looks like the site is loading, but it may be slow. Some of our processes like notifications and journal search don't appear to be running and can't be started due to rate limiting or capacity issues. DW could go down later if Amazon isn't able to improve things soon, but our services should return to normal when Amazon has cleared up the outage.
Edit: all services are running as of 16:12 CDT, but there is definitely still a backlog of notifications to get through.
Edit 2: and at 18:20 CDT everything's been running normally for about the last hour.
I’ve never participated in a political rally before. But then, I’ve never lived under a President as crass, stupid, corrupt, petty, incompetent, and craven as the Mango Mussolini/Vladimir Futon Administration.
October 18 was sunny, cool, and gorgeous, with the typical slop Portland calls “autumn” temporarily at bay…perfect poke-in-the-eye weather to crass little tyrant wannabes. And apparently the rest of PDX agreed.
I saw the sign first, the most clever I’ve seen yet in all the current *flails arms* whatever the hell it is that passes for a government we have, and only after noticed that it was carried by someone I knew. I accidentally met up with a group of old friends I don’t see nearly often enough.
I saw a ton of awesome signs, like this one (though the current balless wonders in Congress cut off their own testicles of their own accord, so I don’t really see them rushing out to get new ones).
Not sure if “Epstein flies” is intentional or unintentional, but I find it hilarious. Epstein flies: the people who clung to the lump of shit Epstein, rubbing their faces in it.
I love that Portland has made protesting funny. The worst thing you can possibly do to an authoritarian is not to disobey him, it’s to laugh at him. Trump hates being mocked; it’s one of the cornerstones of his rapidly disintegrating personality.
You go, strange Portland inflatable creatures.
I love the energy and execution of this sign. Reminds me a bit of Woody Guthrie’s “This machine kills fascists.” Mixing old and new pop-culture references? I’m here for it.
There we were, me, my wife, my wife’s boyfriend, in Atlanta for a long weekend. “Hey, my contact is supposed to be here,” my wife’s boyfriend said. “If I can get hold of him, he can really hook you up. He always has the best shit, like, you wouldn’t believe.”
I will admit to some skepticism. I’ve been promised the best shit before, only to be disappointed; there’s a lot of product out there on the street that’s just not what it’s cracked up to be. But my wife’s boyfriend insisted that his man always came through. “You’ll see,” he said. “I just need to get ahold of him. He can be a little difficult to reach sometimes. Kinda goes with the territory. Once you sample his product, you’ll see. He only deals the good stuff.”
A few days and several phone calls later, he finally managed to make contact with his dude. We set up a meet that afternoon in an Atlanta hotel. “I gotta get some cash, man,” my wife’s boyfriend said. “We need to hurry, he doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
Now, you would think that two people armed with an ATM-finding app in the heart of a city the size of Atlanta would have no difficulty with this. You'd think that, and you'd be so very, very wrong.
We found the first ATM tucked in a small atrium behind locked doors that would not open. The second was out of order. With increasing desperation, we roamed the harsh streets of Atlanta in search of a magic machine that might turn bits of data into rectangles of linen paper, painfully aware of every long minute that ticked by, separating us from the promise of the good stuff.
At last, on our third try, he hit pay...um. Not paydirt, exactly. Pay machine? An ATM that functioned as it should? Anyway, we succeeded in our first objective and, refreshed from the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune by this small taste of victory, we made for the hotel where his connection allegedly awaited, no doubt with growing impatience.
I will confess, Gentle Reader, to a certain degree of nervousness when at last we arrived at a nondescript hotel door beyond which my wife’s boyfriend’s dealer allegedly awaited. The door opened instantly at his knock, to reveal a rather burly bearded man who looks like the prototype of every deranged character ever to appear in Hollywood:
Like this, but with a vaguely Scottish beard and an even more maniacal laugh
He escorted us in, still laughing in a way that distinctly said “too late now.” A woman sat on the bed, from which she said “Sit! Sit! I don’t bite, unless you want me to.”
My wife’s boyfriend sat, shrugged, and offered her his arm, which she bit. Beside him, a tuft of brilliantly colored hair extended from beneath the covers. “Don’t mind her,” the man said, ”that’s my girlfriend.”
Ah yes, the man. The man with the good stuff. The man so reliably able to hook one up with the best of the best that my wife’s boyfriend makes an effort to connect with him whenever he’s in Atlanta.
I have not yet mentioned the man.
The man sat beside the small table you always find in hotel rooms, the little wee thing that you never see anywhere except hotels, the table that somehow screams “I belong in a hotel room and nowhere else on earth” even though you can’t quite put your finger on why.
He sat there amidst a huge pile of small vials and little plastic bottles full of precursors, carefully mixing and pouring. I watched with, I must admit, no small measure of fascination, because while I do have a passing familiarity with armchair chemistry, I’ve never seen the synthesis process before. “Come in, come in!” he boomed. “I have some samples if you want a taste.”
By this point, Gentle Reader, I wanted a taste very much indeed, oh yes I did.
He handed me a tiny plastic cup and oh, if I live to be a thousand years old, practicing the craft of writing for all that time, I will come to the end of my existence with perhaps one one-hundredth of the eloquence I would need to express to you how exemplary, how blissful, how euphoric that little taste was.
The man laughed. “That expression, right there, that is why I do what I do,” he said.
Never have I tasted before, and never do I hope to taste again, such a magnificent, such a heavenly small-batch artesinal spiced rum.
I have sampled spiced rums all across this globe, from Colorado to Belgium to Iceland to the United Kingdom (the place so known for its rums that they were once used as a medium of exchange, because if there’s one thing that history teaches us, it’s that if you have something that tastes good, the United Kingdom will build a slave empire to get it), and never have I ever tasted anything that danced upon my taste buds like a half-dressed woman in black fishnets at a goth club in so divine a fashion.
A while back, I wrote about a kink website called “Know Your Sins” using a fake DMCA scam to get backlinks and boost their search results. The site’s owners would send out phony copyright claims, saying they owned images they neither owned nor had nothing to do with, and demanding backlinks to their site or they’d sue for copyright infringement. The site’s owners, Samuel Davis (@Samueld_KYS on Twitter) and Olivia Moore (whose Twitter profile has been deleted), engage in copyright fraud to try to boost their Google search results.
It seems fraudulent copyright scams are something of a growth industry.
About a week ago, I received this email from an outfit calling itself CopyTrack, headquartered in Germany (click to embiggen):
CopyTrack claimed I was using images belonging to their “client,” a Norwegian company owned by a Chinese conglomerate called Yay Images that appears only to license images from other stock companies, and demanding €2,168.76 (about $2,500) in “compensation.”
The images in question on my site are licensed from stock agencies (Shutterstock and Deposit Photos, the latter of which I’ve been using for many years).
A quick Google search shows that Copytrack is a scam, and the owner has been running this scam under a variety of names for years.
I am, of course, far from the only person to be hit with this extortion scheme. You’ll find similar tales from the Brutally Honest Blog, Yvan’s Substack, Ben Tasker, molif, and tons of others; a Google search for copytrack scam produces hundreds of similar hits.
I think Copytrack provides a service that could, potentially, be legitimate. However, they don't put any effort at all into verifying copyright ownership; they're a more-or-less entirely automated platform anyone can just upload some pictures to and then send threatening letters to other people, hoping for a payout. They may not, themselves, be copyright trolls, but they facilitate copyright trolls with no mechanism to stop them.
I am fortunate in that I am represented by an outstanding intellectual property attorney, Leonard Duboff in Portland. I simply informed Copytrack that I am represented by counsel and would no longer respond directly to them, and needless to say my attorney hasn’t heard a peep from them.
When I wrote about the Know Your Sins scam, a ton of people emailed me to say they'd received similar fraudulent copyright-scam emails. I got so many that I wasn’t able to respond to all of them (but thank you, everyone who messaged me!).
That suggests the scale of copyright fraud is enormous.
If you’ve received a fraudulent email from Copytrack, I’d love to hear about it! Post a comment here, or email me.
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