smagik

The Writer’s Guild of America is currently on strike and one of the things they are fighting for is that, going forward, the writers of screenplays must be human. According to an article about the strike and ChatGPT on Fortune.com, “the WGA’s basic agreement defines a writer as a “person” and only a human’s work can be copyrighted.” What is happening?!

I have not played around with ChatGPT, or any chatbots for that matter, but in the mere six months since its release, have been shocked, as many have, by the implications it poses. In the same Fortune.com article about the strike, they write that “the World Economic Forum this week released a report predicting that nearly a quarter of all jobs will be disrupted by AI over the next five years.” And, according to me, five years is basically like two minutes, so this is happening now.

I try to imagine a bot of any kind doing my job and have a hard time seeing how it could. At least for now. Until they create a robot who wants to wash bras and underwear in a sink at night while the rest of the clothing spins in a machine or is sent to dry cleaning, who wants to iron and remove stains and punch one more hole in a too large belt or hold a coat for an actor on a cold night, my manual labor job feels weirdly secure. For all of the reasons my job drives me crazy and has worn down my body and messes with my sleep, it appears safe for now. As long as they keep making movies with real live actors that is.

At any point all of the things we take for granted can shift and change and disappear and have done so for millennia, shocking us every time; horse and buggies, pay phones, CDs, family farms, Blockbuster, the list is too long. But, it’s always been this way, no? Do I just sound like an old person stuck in their ways, looking back longingly to the analog days of the 1980’s? Or is this something bigger and more existential as we try to imagine our place as a species in the world going forward?

AI can create art and write songs and stories, but without the experience of being human behind them, will they resonate? Does it matter? Will we, as humans, continue to bring our pasts, experiences, and ideas and simply project them onto everything we come into contact with, thereby making it meaningful? Regardless of who created it? I do not know.

Me too.

I recently became obsessed with middle age; from the books I am reading, to the movies and shows I’m watching and the conversations I’m having, I can’t stop thinking about the fact that if I (God willing) live to be really old, I’m still likely half way there. It took me by surprise, which is exactly what every middle aged person I’ve ever known says. Somehow the time between one third and one half disappears in a flash and there we are, our little selves in older bodies.

I turned 44 on Thursday and, as I have for so many birthdays, spent it on a costume trailer. This month also marked 20 years in the film industry and while I’d like to say that was a celebration, it was more of an existential “how did this happen and where did the time go?” kind of feeling. Twenty years ago I was just back from two months of galavanting through Mexico with friends, newly graduated from college and thought, well, I don’t have anything else going on, might as well give this film thing a shot.

I just started what will be my longest job in several years after taking four months off. During those four months I took a screenplay writing class, Spanish classes, joined a gym and basically settled into a retired lifestyle that has now come to an abrupt halt. I prefer that life to working! Goal for 44 is to come up with a way to make that life my new job.

Life is short. Time flies. Insert all appropriate cliches here because they are true! It’s hard to imagine the speed with which the years start to go when you’re a kid and each year is epic, a full fifth, sixth, or seventh of your life. Not one forty fourth.

I think Gen Z understands this. I love reading stories about the great resignation that recently took place. I admire those who say Nope; not going to jump on this bandwagon of expectations, or keep up with the Joneses only to wake up wondering where it, life, went.

I don’t exactly feel like I jumped on that bandwagon , I just feel extra extra positive I have no interest in ever doing so. I hope to keep as much of my creativity going over the next five months as I possibly can, while simultaneously helping to bring one of HBO’s dreams into reality. I recently had an astrological reading in which the astrologer told me I was great at manifesting others dreams and it was time to manifest my own.

That’s the plan.

The Sun Never Says

Even after all this time
The sun never says to the earth,
“You owe Me.”
Look what happens with
A love like that,
It lights the Whole Sky.

-Hafiz

I’m having a hard time coming up with my word for 2023 so, as I often do, I sit with scissors and glue stick and start to cut images and words out of magazines. I do this throughout the year, but really love to see what happens at the end of December when that week between Christmas and New Years challenges us to look both forward and back, to both dream of what’s to come and try to make sense of what just happened.

My most recent go at this exercise, though not finished, ends up full of flowers, snails crawling on cars and funny, smiling faces. It does not give me a clear answer or direction but rather points me towards fun, creativity, and nonsense; a journey rather than a destination.

I think if anything about 2022 was learned it’s that life is hard and weird and it’s always best to see the adventure and curiosity side of what could only otherwise be described as a terrifying human trip on a small planet hurdling through space.

I just listened to an astrology podcast that said 2023 will be the year of “What if..?” And, it’s our choice which direction we want to go with that question. What if it all falls apart? OR What if it’s all better than I can imagine? What if everything works out? What if my wildest dreams come true?

Blessings for a peaceful, joyful, fun, creative, and adventurous 2023!

I love a winter beach.

I love the off season. Just as beautiful. But, empty. Cold. No leaves allows for a better view. Wool socks. Wear your hat. People surf the Atlantic in winter, wow. The sun sets earlier here. Than out west. Cardinals against white are very red. Beauty. The Cape.

It’s wild out there!

I just landed back in New Orleans for one week, ending the year where it began. It’s warm and humid and there’s a Saint’s game and an eclipse and an election and it feels wired!!

I had no idea some people get so dressed up for football games; gold and black sequins, stilettos, and lots of purple mixed in. Tailgating under the 10 freeway, steak houses full, and sidewalk daiquiris spill over. Let the good times roll.

My room is on the 19th floor and after finding a quiet place to eat dinner, I snuck back, overwhelmed by the frenzy and still fighting the cold I caught two weeks ago. I have a view of both the moon and the Mississippi River, though I hope to be asleep when they both fall into the earth’s shadow late tonight.

What a time to be alive.

I voted by mail two weeks ago and have proceeded to mostly tune out the media since then. I feel optimistic and scared at the same time, the PTSD of 2016 is real. Tonight I will say a prayer and try to let it go, trusting that we are exactly where we are meant to be regardless of the hoopla.

Tomorrow I’ll eat beignets, drink chicory coffee, and enjoy this strange city and the fact that I get to be here again, in all its sultry chaos.

It’s pretty here, prettier than I imagined it would be, with rolling hills, lots of little lakes, and so many trees it’s hard to see where any of the towns are. Last weekend was sunny and warm, this one grey and rainy, but both pretty in their way. Fall is just reaching its peak, leaves are red, pink and orange with only the occasional gold I’m more familiar with; hardwoods rather than aspen and cottonwood.

I haven’t been on the road for work in a while and am slowly remembering how to live with a mini fridge, microwave, and on too little sleep. It won’t be a long job, those days might be behind me, but five weeks feels long enough.

I imagined having the energy to go explore small towns and thrift stores on my day off but am too tired when Sunday comes and I forgot how closed small southern towns are on Sundays. Church and Jesus are a thing here.

Though being on the road is difficult in many ways, there is also something about waking up in a town I would likely never otherwise be with a day to explore, all while getting paid, that I still love. Today began with blueberry pancakes, sitting at the counter of a diner near the hotel, cheap coffee and college football on tv. College football, like church, is a thing here. So are biscuits, for which I am eternally grateful.

My dad started growing zinnias this summer; rows and rows of zinnias. And now he has so many that each morning he cuts enough to fill a 5 gallon bucket and brings flowers to whomever he sees throughout the day. He tells me he can’t believe how happy it makes people. I think that is the best thing I’ve heard in a long time.

Today I was the recipient:) Thank you, babbo!