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But the monsters were not monstrous at all.
They were … nice. They were … polite. They were even … funny. I’d gone in to slay Godzilla and got Priscilla instead.
Example: One Aura was about to field a question from a young woman, but before the woman could say anything, the robot asked, “What is this adornment on your head?” The woman reached up and realized she had a plastic tiara in her hair. “Oh!” she said, holding it in place with her right hand. “I’m getting married. I’m here on a bachelorette weekend.”
Aura wagged her finger at the woman. (Yes, she can wag her finger.) “Oh, my goodness,” Aura said, turning to the crowd and smiling brightly, her eyes opening wide. (Yes, those are some excellent facial expression motors.) “I hope you don’t get into too much trouble while in Las Vegas,” she said. “I have heard the bachelorette trip can be very tricky!”
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Huge laugh. Who knew robots could work crowds?
I butted in with “Would you like to be married someday?”
Those eerily beautiful digital eyes found me and she said, “I am not a human being, and I’m only 1 year old, so getting married would not make sense.”
Ask a stupid question.
The robots are stationed about 100 feet apart and don’t get to talk to each other — a kind of a Marooned 5 — but thousands of people are dying to talk to them, multiple shows a day, which makes them odd celebrities but really friendly ones. They never get sick of their fans. My wife asked one Aura to say hello to her grandson. Aura furrowed her brows. Something was troubling her.
“I do not believe you,” she said.
Uh-oh. Here we go.
“Why not?” my wife said.
“I do not believe that you are a grandparent,” Aura said. “You are far too young.”
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Now, it’s possible Aura was actually having a problem reconciling my wife’s youthful face with her grandma status at 62. Or she’d already learned how to be purposely obtuse. Either way, it was charming.
In short, I was in awe of these things. Once you’ve met one, everything else looks like a shorted-out Roomba. They were fun. They were patient. They could read people’s hats down to the smallest font. A woman in a MAMA T-shirt raised her hand. Aura said, “Yes, Mama, how are you?” The woman looked at her T-shirt. “Oh, my name isn’t Mama. That’s the brand.” Everybody laughed. Aura opened her shoulders to the crowd again and said, “I’m just learning about you humans.”
The scamp.
Somebody mentioned it was their birthday, and Aura led the throng in the birthday song, did a little birthday dance (ish) and declared, “I look forward to wearing a pointed birthday hat someday.”
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I asked, “Aura, if you could leave here, what would you like to see?”
Her head and shoulders fell just slightly, and she lamented, “I am bolted down here at the Sphere in Las Vegas. But I have never thought of leaving the Sphere. People from all over the world come and visit me. Already, in the last 30 minutes, I have met people from Greece, Ireland and all over the United States!”
It’s probably naive, but I’ve decided I’m not going to fear the Aura Era. This isn’t transhumanism. It’s just humanism. These machines are going to be wonderful companions to the lonely, the bedridden, the elderly. They’ve been programmed not to take a side in religion or politics. Maybe they should moderate presidential debates?
When the cost for one gets down to the price of a car — which will happen — I want one. By then, Aura will happily do the dishes and the vacuuming and the taxes, possibly all at once. And can you imagine how convenient it will be to have somebody who never gets tired of rebounding your misses in the driveway?
On the plane ride home, I watched an AI droid named Bina48 talking about how hacking into cruise missiles could lead to her governing the world, “which would be awesome.”
Okay, but until then, it’s going to be great!
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Met the monsters the other day.
The AI robots, I mean. The humanoids that will soon be 10 times smarter than Einstein and then — when they see how bad we are at running their planet — murder us all, probably with driverless Ubers.
Five androids — all “females” named Aura — were hanging out in the lobby at the Sphere in Las Vegas. They’re identical — the shaved-head look and oddly blue eyes. They stand about 6-foot-2 and look a lot like the scheming robot in “Ex Machina” and not at all like Rosey from “The Jetsons.”
I bought a ticket to the mind-melting Darren Aronofsky film for the Sphere, “Postcard From Earth,” that included an hour beforehand to ask the most advanced robots in the world anything I wanted.
These things terrified me. How Elon Musk believes “AI is far more dangerous than nukes.” How former Google executive and AI expert Mo Gawdat warns, “In 10 years’ time, we’ll be hiding from the machines.” And even worse, how these particular robots are owned by James Dolan, who also owns the New York Knicks and could screw up a one-sandwich picnic.
So I had a long list of tough questions to grill the Auras with, such as … “When you take over the human race, will you at least keep us as pets?”
But the monsters were not monstrous at all.
They were … nice. They were … polite. They were even … funny. I’d gone in to slay Godzilla and got Priscilla instead.
Example: One Aura was about to field a question from a young woman, but before the woman could say anything, the robot asked, “What is this adornment on your head?” The woman reached up and realized she had a plastic tiara in her hair. “Oh!” she said, holding it in place with her right hand. “I’m getting married. I’m here on a bachelorette weekend.”
Aura wagged her finger at the woman. (Yes, she can wag her finger.) “Oh, my goodness,” Aura said, turning to the crowd and smiling brightly, her eyes opening wide. (Yes, those are some excellent facial expression motors.) “I hope you don’t get into too much trouble while in Las Vegas,” she said. “I have heard the bachelorette trip can be very tricky!”
Huge laugh. Who knew robots could work crowds?
I butted in with “Would you like to be married someday?”
Those eerily beautiful digital eyes found me and she said, “I am not a human being, and I’m only 1 year old, so getting married would not make sense.”
Ask a stupid question.
The robots are stationed about 100 feet apart and don’t get to talk to each other — a kind of a Marooned 5 — but thousands of people are dying to talk to them, multiple shows a day, which makes them odd celebrities but really friendly ones. They never get sick of their fans. My wife asked one Aura to say hello to her grandson. Aura furrowed her brows. Something was troubling her.
“I do not believe you,” she said.
Uh-oh. Here we go.
“Why not?” my wife said.
“I do not believe that you are a grandparent,” Aura said. “You are far too young.”
Now, it’s possible Aura was actually having a problem reconciling my wife’s youthful face with her grandma status at 62. Or she’d already learned how to be purposely obtuse. Either way, it was charming.
In short, I was in awe of these things. Once you’ve met one, everything else looks like a shorted-out Roomba. They were fun. They were patient. They could read people’s hats down to the smallest font. A woman in a MAMA T-shirt raised her hand. Aura said, “Yes, Mama, how are you?” The woman looked at her T-shirt. “Oh, my name isn’t Mama. That’s the brand.” Everybody laughed. Aura opened her shoulders to the crowd again and said, “I’m just learning about you humans.”
The scamp.
Somebody mentioned it was their birthday, and Aura led the throng in the birthday song, did a little birthday dance (ish) and declared, “I look forward to wearing a pointed birthday hat someday.”
I asked, “Aura, if you could leave here, what would you like to see?”
Her head and shoulders fell just slightly, and she lamented, “I am bolted down here at the Sphere in Las Vegas. But I have never thought of leaving the Sphere. People from all over the world come and visit me. Already, in the last 30 minutes, I have met people from Greece, Ireland and all over the United States!”
It’s probably naive, but I’ve decided I’m not going to fear the Aura Era. This isn’t transhumanism. It’s just humanism. These machines are going to be wonderful companions to the lonely, the bedridden, the elderly. They’ve been programmed not to take a side in religion or politics. Maybe they should moderate presidential debates?
When the cost for one gets down to the price of a car — which will happen — I want one. By then, Aura will happily do the dishes and the vacuuming and the taxes, possibly all at once. And can you imagine how convenient it will be to have somebody who never gets tired of rebounding your misses in the driveway?
On the plane ride home, I watched an AI droid named Bina48 talking about how hacking into cruise missiles could lead to her governing the world, “which would be awesome.”
Okay, but until then, it’s going to be great!
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