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"You look like a thing and I love you" is one of the best pickup lines ever . . . according to an artificial intelligence trained by scientist Janelle Shane, creator of the popular blog AI Weirdness. She creates silly AIs that learn how to name paint colors, create the best recipes, and even flirt (badly) with humans—all to understand the technology that governs so much of our daily lives.
We rely on AI every day for recommendations, for translations, and to put cat ears on our selfie videos. We also trust AI with matters of life and death, on the road and in our hospitals. But how smart is AI really… and how does it solve problems, understand humans, and even drive self-driving cars?
Shane delivers the answers to every AI question you've ever asked, and some you definitely haven't. Like, how can a computer design the perfect sandwich? What does robot-generated Harry Potter fan-fiction look like? And is the world's best Halloween costume really "Vampire Hog Bride"?
In this smart, often hilarious introduction to the most interesting science of our time, Shane shows how these programs learn, fail, and adapt—and how they reflect the best and worst of humanity.
You Look Like a Thing and I Love You is the perfect book for anyone curious about what the robots in our lives are thinking.
"I can't think of a better way to learn about artificial intelligence, and I've never had so much fun along the way." —Adam Grant, New York Times bestselling author of Originals
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AI is everywhere
Teaching an AI to flirt wasn’t really my kind of project.
To be sure, I’d done a lot of weird AI projects already. On my blog, AI Weirdness, I’d trained an AI to come up with new names for cats—Mr. Tinkles and Retchion were some of its less successful ones—and asked an AI to generate new recipes, some of which would sometimes call for “peeled rosemary” or handfuls of broken glass. But teaching an AI to sweet-talk humans was something else entirely.
AI learns by example—in this case studying a list of existing pickup lines and using them to generate new ones. The problem: the training dataset on my computer screen was a list of pickup lines that I had collected from various internet sources, all of which were awful. They ranged from cheesy bad puns all the way to rude innuendo. Once I’d trained an AI to imitate them, it would be able to produce thousands more at the push of a button. And, like an impressionable child, it wouldn’t know what it should and shouldn’t imitate. The AI would start with a blank slate, knowing nothing about what pickup lines are (or even what English is), and would learn from the examples, doing its best to imitate all the patterns it found. Including the grossness. It wouldn’t know any better.
I considered giving up on the project, but I had a blog post to write, and I had just spent an inconvenient amount of time collecting the example pickup lines. So I started the training. The AI began to look for patterns in the examples, inventing and testing rules that would help it predict which letters should appear in which order in a pickup line. Finally, training was over. With some trepidation, I asked the AI for some lines:
You must be a tringle? Cause you’re the only thing here.
Hey baby, you’re to be a key? Because I can bear your toot?
Are you a candle? Because you’re so hot of the looks with you.
You’re so beautiful that you say a bat on me and baby.
You look like a thing and I love you.
I was surprised and delighted. The AI’s virtual brain (about the same complexity as a worm’s) wasn’t capable of picking up the subtleties of the dataset, including misogyny or cheesiness. It did its best with the patterns it had managed to glean… and arrived at a different, arguably better, solution to the problem of making a stranger smile.
Though to me its lines were a resounding success, the cluelessness of my AI partner may come as a surprise if your knowledge of AI comes from reading news headlines or science fiction. It’s common to see companies claim that AIs are capable of judging the nuances of human language as well as or better than humans can, or that AIs will soon be able to replace humans in most jobs. AI will soon be everywhere, the press releases claim. And they’re both right—and very wrong.
In fact, AI is already everywhere. It shapes your online experience, determining the ads you see and suggesting videos while detecting social media bots and malicious websites. Companies use AI-powered resume scanners to decide which candidates to interview, and they use AI to decide who should be approved for a loan. The AIs in self-driving cars have already driven millions of miles (with the occasional human rescue during moments of confusion). We’ve also put AI to work in our smartphones, recognizing our voice commands, autotagging faces in our photos, and even applying a video filter that makes it look like we have awesome bunny ears.
But we also know from experience that everyday AI is not flawless, not by a long shot. Ad delivery haunts our browsers with endless ads for boots we already bought. Spam filters let the occasional obvious scam through or filter out a crucial email at the most inopportune time.
As more of our daily lives are governed by algorithms, the quirks of AI are beginning to have consequences far beyond the merely inconvenient. Recommendation algorithms embedded in YouTube point people toward ever more polarizing content, traveling in a few short clicks from mainstream news to videos by hate groups and conspiracy theorists.1 The algorithms that make decisions about parole, loans, and resume screening are not impartial but can be just as prejudiced as the humans they’re supposed to replace—sometimes even more so. AI-powered surveillance can’t be bribed, but it also can’t raise moral objections to anything it’s asked to do. It can also make mistakes when it’s misused—or even when it’s hacked. Researchers have discovered that something as seemingly insignificant as a small sticker can make an image recognition AI think a gun is a toaster, and a low-security fingerprint reader can be fooled more than 77 percent of the time with a single master fingerprint.
People often sell AI as more capable than it actually is, claiming that their AI can do things that are solidly in the realm of science fiction. Others advertise their AI as impartial even while its behavior is measurably biased. And often what people claim as AI performance is actually the work of humans behind the curtain. As consumers and citizens of this planet, we need to avoid being duped. We need to understand how our data is being used and understand what the AI we’re using really is—and isn’t.
On AI Weirdness, I spend my time doing fun experiments with AI. Sometimes this means giving AIs unusual things to imitate—like those pickup lines. Other times, I see if I can take them out of their comfort zones—like the time I showed an image recognition algorithm a picture of Darth Vader and simply asked it what it saw: it declared that Darth Vader was a tree and then proceeded to argue with me about it. From my experiments, I’ve found that even the most straightforward task can cause an AI to fail, as if you’d played a practical joke on it. But it turns out that pranking an AI—giving it a task and watching it flail—is a great way to learn about it.
In fact, as we’ll see in this book, the inner workings of AI algorithms are often so strange and tangled that looking at an AI’s output can be one of the only tools we have for discovering what it understood and what it got terribly wrong. When you ask an AI to draw a cat or write a joke, its mistakes are the same sorts of mistakes it makes when processing fingerprints or sorting medical images, except it’s glaringly obvious that something’s gone wrong when the cat has six legs and the joke has no punchline. Plus, it’s really hilarious.
In the course of my attempts to take AIs out of their comfort zone and into ours, I’ve asked AIs to write the first line of a novel, recognize sheep in unusual places, write recipes, name guinea pigs, and generally be very weird. But from these experiments, you can learn a lot about what AI’s good at and what it struggles to do—and what it likely won’t be capable of doing in my lifetime or yours.
Here’s what I’ve learned:
The Five Principles of AI Weirdness:
• The danger of AI is not that it’s too smart but that it’s not smart enough.
• AI has the approximate brainpower of a worm.
• AI does not really understand the problem you want it to solve.
• But: AI will do exactly what you tell it to. Or at least it will try its best.
• And AI will take the path of least resistance.
So let’s enter the strange world of AI. We’ll learn what AI is—and what it isn’t. We’ll learn what it’s good at and where it’s doomed to fail. We’ll learn why the AIs of the future might look less like C-3PO than like a swarm of insects. We’ll learn why a self-driving car would be a terrible getaway vehicle during a zombie apocalypse. We’ll learn why you should never volunteer to test a sandwich-sorting AI, and we’ll encounter walking AIs that would rather do anything but walk. And through it all we’ll learn how AI works, how it thinks, and why it’s making the world a weirder place.
What is AI?
If it seems like AI is everywhere, it’s partly because “artificial intelligence” means lots of things, depending on whether you’re reading science fiction or selling a new app or doing academic research. When someone says they have an AI-powered chatbot, should we expect it to have opinions and feelings like the fictional C-3PO? Or is it just an algorithm that learned to guess how humans are likely to respond to a given phrase? Or a spreadsheet that matches words in your question with a library of preformulated answers? Or an underpaid human who types all the answers from some remote location? Or—even—a completely scripted conversation where human and AI are reading human-written lines like characters in a play? Confusingly, at various times, all these have been referred to as AI.
For the purposes of this book, I’ll use the term AI the way it’s mostly used by programmers today: to refer to a particular style of computer program called a machine learning algorithm. This chart shows a bunch of the terms I’ll be covering in this book and where they fall according to this definition.
Everything that I’m calling “AI” in this book is also a machine learning algorithm—let’s talk about what that is.
KNOCK, KNOCK, WHO’S THERE?
To spot an AI in the wild, it’s important to know the difference between machine learning algorithms (what we’re calling AI in this book) and traditional (what programmers call rules-based) programs. If you’ve ever done basic programming, or even used HTML to design a website, you’ve used a rules-based program. You create a list of commands, or rules, in a language the computer can understand, and the computer does exactly what you say. To solve a problem with a rules-based program, you have to know every step required to complete the program’s task and how to describe each one of those steps.
But a machine learning algorithm figures out the rules for itself via trial and error, gauging its success on goals the programmer has specified. The goal could be a list of examples to imitate, a game score to increase, or anything else. As the AI tries to reach this goal, it can discover rules and correlations that the programmer didn’t even know existed. Programming an AI is almost more like teaching a child than programming a computer.
Let’s say I wanted to use the more familiar rules-based programming to teach a computer to tell knock-knock jokes. The first thing I’d do is figure out all the rules. I’d analyze the structure of knock-knock jokes and discover that there’s an underlying formula, as follows:
Once I set this formula in stone, there are only two slots free that the program can control: [Name] and [Punchline]. Now the problem is reduced to just generating these two items. But I still need rules for generating them.
I could set up a list of valid names and a list of valid punchlines, as follows:
Punchlines: in, it’s cold out here!
Punchlines: up, it’s cold out here!
Punchlines: anybody want to let me in?
Punchlines: you going to let me in?
Now the computer can produce knock-knock jokes by choosing a name–punchline pair from the list and slotting it into the template. This doesn’t create new knock-knock jokes but only gives me jokes I already know. I might try making things interesting by allowing [it’s cold out here!] to be replaced with a few different phrases: [I’m being attacked by eels!] and [lest I transform into an unspeakable eldritch horror]. Then the program can generate a new joke:
Harry up, I’m being attacked by eels!
I could replace [eels] with [an angry bee] or [a manta ray] or any number of things. Then I can get the computer to generate even more new jokes. With enough rules, I could potentially generate hundreds of jokes.
Depending on the level of sophistication I’m going for, I could spend a lot of time coming up with more advanced rules. I could find a list of existing puns and figure out a way to transform them into punchline format. I could even try programming in pronunciation rules, rhymes, semihomophones, cultural references, and so forth in an attempt to get the computer to recombine them into interesting puns. If I’m clever about it, I can get the program to generate new puns that nobody’s ever thought of. (Although one person who tried this discovered that the algorithm’s list of sayings contained words and phrases that were so old or obscure that almost nobody could understand its jokes.) No matter how sophisticated my joke-making rules get, though, I’m still telling the computer exactly how to solve the problem.
But when I train AI to tell knock-knock jokes, I don’t make the rules. The AI has to figure out those rules on its own.
The only thing I give it is a set of existing knock-knock jokes and instructions that are essentially, “Here are some jokes; try to make more of these.” And the materials I give it to work with? A bucket of random letters and punctuation.
Then I leave to get coffee.
The AI gets to work.
The first thing it does is try to guess a few letters of a few knock-knock jokes. It’s guessing 100 percent randomly at this point, so this first guess could be anything. Let’s say it guesses something like “qasdnw,m sne?mso d.” As far is it knows, this is how you tell a knock-knock joke.
Then the AI looks at what those knock-knock jokes are actually supposed to be. Chances are it’s very wrong. “All right,” says the AI, and it subtly adjusts its own structure so that it will guess a little more accurately next time. There’s a limit to how drastically it can change itself, because we don’t want it to try to memorize every new chunk of text it sees. But with a minimum of tweaking, the AI can discover that if it guesses nothing but k’s and spaces, it will at least be right some of the time. After looking at one batch of knock-knock jokes and making one round of corrections, its idea of a knock-knock joke looks something like this:
k k k k k
kk k kkkok
kk k kk
Now, it’s not the world’s greatest knock-knock joke. But with this as a starting point, the AI can move on to a second batch of knock-knock jokes, then another. Each time, it adjusts its joke formula to improve its guesses.
After a few more rounds of guessing and self-adjusting, it has learned more rules. It has learned to employ the occasional question mark at the end of a line. It is beginning to learn to use vowels (o in particular). It’s even making an attempt at using apostrophes.
hnos h nc
pt’b oa to’
How well did its rules about generating knock-knock jokes match reality? It still seems to be missing something.
If it wants to get closer to generating a passable knock-knock joke, it’s going to have to figure out some rules about which order the letters come in. Again, it starts by guessing. The guess that o is always followed by q? Not so great, it turns out. But then it guesses that o is often followed by ck. Gold. It has made some progress. Behold its idea of the perfect joke:
Whock Whock Whock
It’s not quite a knock-knock joke—it sounds more like some kind of chicken. The AI’s going to need to figure out some more rules.
It looks at the dataset again. It tries new ways to use “ock,” looking for new combinations that match its example knock-knock jokes better.
nooc hock hork
hors Whnes Whee
noc no’c Wno h orea
ao no oo k KeockWnork Koos
nock K ock
KKock Knock Thock Whonk
All this progress happens in just a few minutes. By the time I return with my coffee, the AI has already discovered that starting with “Knock Knock / Who’s There?” fits the existing knock-knock jokes really, really well. It decides to apply this rule always.
But the rest of the formula takes quite a while to figure out, and the AI frequently devolves into playing a game of telephone with itself—or acting out a robot version of the “Who’s on First?” comedy routine:
Soon it figures out the rest of the formula, but no actual, you know, words:
Scheres are then the there
It also sometimes gets a bit carried away with the length of the punchline.
Ita gee the lasd emotory oud ane weonges oak anet ane tee soore theis onithit the where your thasg tate tine if thele ter the theung!
At some point in its training, it learns the joke about the Cow with No Lips, which becomes its Favorite Thing Ever. If you’re not familiar, the joke about the Cow with No Lips goes something like:
A cow with no lips.
A cow with no lips who?
A cow with no lips says ooo ooo ooooooo.
According to the AI, this is comedy gold. So the AI spends a while thinking that the punchline to Every Single Joke is “ooo ooo ooooooo”…
Wow co poo the tho tho door to the soout oo ooo oooo ooo oo oo oo oo ooo oo oo oo ooo ooo oooo ooo ooo oo oo ooo ooo ooo ooo ooo oo oo ooo ooo ooo ooo oo oo oo ooo ooo ooo ooo…
It has discovered a rule, all right. Eventually it (reluctantly, I assume) tones down how often it uses the Cow with No Lips rule to make punchlines. But it still has problems that are remarkably similar to two people telling knock-knock jokes over a very bad phone connection, maybe forgetting who was actually telling the joke:
Water who who?
Arton and out on the moor?
At last it figures out the structure of a knock-knock joke and proceeds to make jokes that, while technically correct, don’t make all that much sense. Many of them are partially plagiarized from jokes in the training dataset.
Robin you! Git me and I’m leaving
Beef ano with no lips aslly.
Ireland you money, butt.
And then. It produced. An actual joke. That it had composed entirely on its own, without plagiarizing from the dataset, and that was not only intelligible but also actually… funny?
Alec-Knock Knock jokes.
Did the AI suddenly begin to understand knock-knock jokes and English-language puns? Almost definitely not, given the very small size of the dataset. But the freedom that the AI had—free rein over the entire set of possible characters—allowed it to try new combinations of sounds, one of which ended up actually working. So more of a victory for the infinite monkey theory* than a proof of concept for the next AI-only comedy club.
- On Sale
- Nov 5, 2019
- Page Count
- 272 pages