I like to think I’m not resistant to change, because it can make life better. However, this past year may well do me in. As if what’s happening (or not happening) on the political side isn’t distressing enough, along comes artificial intelligence.
I wasn’t concerned about AI until I read this by Melissa Scanlan, director of UWM Center for Water Policy: “There should be a state-level review of all of the potential (AI) proposals, so that the state can assess the impact on electricity generation and water supply.”
Funny how one sentence can motivate you to take a serious look at a topic you’d rather ignore.
After research on AI and the natural resources needed to power it, I compare the concept to a 1968 film classic “2001: A Space Odyssey.”
Did Arthur C. Clarke and Stanley Kubrick predict AI by creating an iconic villain in Hal, a heuristically programmed algorithmic computer? Hal is skilled at running the capsule, and his playfulness endears him to the astronauts aboard — until he seizes control of the spacecraft and blithely commits mayhem and murder.
Hal eventually pays the ultimate price for his crimes, but it seems to me he has managed to rise from the depths of virtual hell, cleverly shapeshifting into Microsoft’s Co-Pilot. This cyber-being tracks every move I make online, choking my inbox with a steady stream of junk email. He floods my social media with annoying ads and gets a well-deserved F for failed attempts to edit my writing.
Co-Pilot obviously wasn’t programmed by English teachers, but it might replace them. Microsoft says it has introduced Mico, an enhanced form of CoPilot that is “proactive, socially aware, and embedded in the rhythm of group chats. Mico doesn’t wait for commands. He participates, remembers, and adapts to the vibe of the group.”
I suppose we’ve yet to feel the full effects of Hal’s evil intentions, but I’ve already had enough. I’d like to tell him in no uncertain terms to power down Pal, Hal, Mico or whatever your name is.
On the other hand, there are a multitude of people exploring the benefits of AI. One is a dear friend, Helen, who’s taking a Stanford class on what and why we need to know about it. She’s a smart cookie who appreciates my concerns about AI’s potentially negative side effects — worker layoffs, indecipherable communications, frustrating device glitches, alarming security lapses, maybe even an increased suicide risk for tweens and teens.
You say you aren’t worried by any of that? OK, consider this: the proliferation of AI data centers will require inestimable ground or surface water usage and cause skyrocketing energy costs. I’m less concerned about electric bills — we installed solar in July — but the water thing? Mother Earth to humans: you can live without electricity, but you cannot live without water.
“Water, water everywhere, but not a drop to drink” is a famous line from “Rime of the Ancient Mariner.” Though surrounded by water, the crew dies of thirst. We have a vaguely similar scenario at Otter Run. I’m sitting 75 feet away from the Townsend Flowage, a 400-acre man-made lake. I can safely wade, swim, sail or kayak in and on the water. What I cannot do is drink it.
It wasn’t always this way. When Native Americans had stewardship of this land, a pristine river meandered past our property, flowing into the Oconto River and on to Lake Michigan. A timber cruiser who surveyed and mapped this area in 1857 described it as the only “millable” river in northern Oconto County. His field notes say the water was clear, clean and delicious. Writing that conjured up in my mind the image of a Potawatomi grandmother fetching water from the stream to make venison vegetable soup. I made that last night, but my water came from a faucet. I bet hers was as good as mine.
Regular readers know I love living in the woods by a lake. Dam repairs and lake district endeavors have steadily improved the flowage. The water’s deeper and cleaner than when we bought Otter Run in 1993, but it’s still undrinkable. We must rely on a 75-foot steel pipe drilled into an underground aquifer. For safety’s sake, we recently had Luzier Well Drilling shock (sanitize) the well. According to Cole, a real person, our well water is clear, clean, delicious and safe.
So the quality is there, but the quantity? With ever-increasing construction, tourism and short-term rentals, there are more and more straws in the drink. Makes you wonder. How much quality water is down there? Maybe we should all start conserving. What if some international company gets permission to tap into our aquifer to build a data center? Could our wells run dry? I don’t know. I’m going to ask Helen to check with AI.
Kathleen Marsh is a lifelong educator, writer, and community advocate. She has published eight books, four on the history of Townsend, where she and husband Jon are happily retired on the beautiful Townsend Flowage.
