Hunting Mosquitoes With a Blunderbuss

Perhaps I’m more disconnected from regular life than the average Joe, but look at that video. Did you know the LLM thang had progressed this far, this fast? Internet wags who stubbornly still call it nothing but glorified autofill might want to rethink their opinions. Although no one ever rethinks their opinions on the internet, do they?

Another term that gets used to describe all manner of LLM ouput is slop. It was the word of the year, and an addendum has been made to the word’s entry in the dictionary to account for the output of Large Language Models. Most devotees of calling everything an LLM puts out “slop” are textual complainers, not visual cavilers. I’d like to take up the cudgels for anyone who wants to call the video we just watched slop, because it is. Just not for the reasons they’d like to think it is.

By referring to the things that LLMs put out as slop, people are mostly objecting to the great leveling that they produce. But the average of everything is bound to be average, isn’t it? Complaining about it seems a fool’s errand. I was on the committee that named the internet, and I remember that Fool’s Errand came in second in the naming list. Pandora’s Hope Chest and The My Little Ponies of the Apocalypse had too many letters, and fell out of the running early. Al Gore said it was the internet, and here we are. Calling machine written text slop, when referring to the internet, is silly. The internet has always been 99% poorly written slop. At least chatbots can spell correctly.

So exactly where is the here, you know, where we are? Watch the video again. It’s not easy to make a video like that. It looks to my eye about as sophisticated a final LLM product as you could find. Then again I might have fallen behind the times in the time it took me to type this. Progress, if you want to call it that, is happening fast, and picking up speed.

My wife is quite innocent, and asked me how much of the video was real. She assumed that at least the young woman host must be a green screen projection of a real person, and some of the backgrounds must be some sort of Colonial Williamsburg real-life thing. I told her that the girl, and everything else, appears to be some guy name Jonathan, sitting at a desk, who types faster than I do, and knows how to stitch together all the LLM apps and LLM prompts to produce videos like that.

I asked an LLM (Chat GPT) to explain exactly how to make a video like this. It didn’t have any trouble, and explained it in great detail, which I won’t bore you with. I’ll bore you using my usual methods. I did ask it to make a short summation of how the video was achieved, and it kindly boiled it down:

Creators usually build these videos with a multi-stage AI pipeline rather than one app alone.

Typical apps:

OpenAI Sora, Runway, Kling AI, or Luma AI for generating photorealistic video clips
ElevenLabs for AI voiceovers
Adobe Premiere Pro or DaVinci Resolve for editing and stitching shots together

The prompting technique is highly structured. Instead of a simple sentence, creators stack detailed layers describing:

format (“vertical iPhone selfie vlog”)
subject (“young woman with messy auburn hair”)
action (“walking through Tudor London talking to camera”)
environment (“muddy streets, timber houses, chimney smoke”)
camera behavior (“handheld shake, autofocus hunting, rolling shutter”)
lighting (“flat cloudy daylight”)
realism flaws (“compression artifacts, motion blur, imperfect framing”)
negative constraints (“no CGI look, no cinematic lighting, no face warping”)

The realism comes from intentionally simulating imperfect smartphone footage rather than polished cinema. Modern AI models learned not only historical imagery, but also TikTok/influencer behavior patterns and phone-camera physics. Creators then generate many short clips, discard bad outputs, and edit the best pieces together into a seamless “historical influencer vlog.”

I noticed that the intrepid authors of videos like these seem to have at least mostly solved the problem of drift. LLMs had a tendency to allow things to morph into different things when making longer clips, so something like the narrator would be a problem. She’d be the internet ideal of a hot babe one minute, and slowly turn into someone else as the video went along. The characters in the video are pretty immutable through the whole thing, a real accomplishment. I found it kinda amusing that Anne Boleyn’s face was grabbed from a portrait I recognized, just made a little less dowdy and two-dimensional. A few months ago, an LLM might have made her look like Anna Nicole Smith after enough frames, for inscrutable LLM reasons.

So I promised you I was going to complain, in your honor, about the LLM slop this video represents. Here goes:

It’s wonderful. Truly. It’s a hair’s breadth from being an entire movie production studio RAMmed into a Dell Optiplex. It could be as big a breakthrough as Edison’s kinetoscope. To find its equal, I’d have to go back to Charlie Chaplin setting up shop on North La Brea Avenue, and thinking about making more than Keystone Kops two-reelers. It has that kind of potential. Unfortunately, it will all be wasted.

You see, I can picture what could be accomplished with this setup, or probably the setup that comes right after this one. Movies and television entertainment could be wrested back from the avaricious, depraved, unfunny, and historically, economically, and socially illiterate people who have a death grip on it now. But I know in my heart it won’t be. Staunch traditionalists will continue to complain that they don’t make movies like they used to, and then renew their Netflix subscription, lest they miss out on seeing Batman XIV, an adaptation of La Cage aux Folles.

The premise of the Chloe vs. History is charming, if you squint hard enough. The simalacrum of the same kind of vapid influencer girl with a camera on a stick, going on vacation and telling you all food is amazing as long as it’s served in a foreign restaurant, going back in time instead, could have an element of humor in it. It doesn’t, but it could. It’s a testament to the kind of imagination at work. It took a lot of intelligence and hard work to find, master, and cobble together all the LLM applications that make that video possible. The nature of the intelligence stopped there. It doesn’t know what to ask it, excuse me — tell it — to do. So he makes a TikTok influencer vlog, because it’s all he knows. Of course he’s double smart, because he knows it’s the only sort of thing his audience is going to understand, too.

Once the charm wears off, you notice that the missing element is something truly intelligent, insightful, or even informative. The THING, the agglomeration of apps and circuits, is probably nearly capable of producing a new Citizen Kane if you told it to, a real story with real characters who do dramatic but believable things. No one will even try. The same people who make Helen of Troy a rich, dark hue, and say Thomas Cromwell was the hero of the Tudor piece, and a sex machine to boot, will make the LLM slop, because they’re in charge of the big budget slop already. They’re currently using cameras instead of mainframes, but they’ll adapt. The remaining set painters, the ones not already in the breadline from green-screen filming, will be laid off, and the production of anti-human entertainment pablum will accelerate, not diminish, simply because it will be cheaper.

Granpa told me all about the genie in the lamp.

It’s the oldest story ever and came from the land of the sand and the women with only eyes. It’s in there, the genie of everything, but you have to find him and let him out. Then he’s out and you have to figure what to do with him. Granpa says he’s wonderful but as dumb as a stump, just like all of us. He can do anything but doesn’t know what to do. He needs guidin’.

The lamp is always hidden in plain sight he says. Men go prospectin’ all over the landscape for the easy riches but they’re generally layin’ right there on the ground but you step over them in your hurry and scurry to look for them. Granpa points to the men through the door of the grog shop and they’re playin’ cards and Granpa says what good does it do for them to find the riches anyway.

Granpa would take the books down from the high shelves that the kids weren’t supposed to get because the treasure in them was too dear to waste on such as us. He told me to run my hands over the cloth on the cover to see if it was the real deal inside there. They don’t waste the nubbly cloth on the fakers.

The lady wouldn’t like it but Granpa would shush her and we’d go home and open that book but only so far. A book is like a man, Granpa would say. You can only bend him so far back until he can’t take it no more and then his back breaks. People always put the book back on the shelf but you can always tell because neither the man nor the book can stand up straight any more after that.

Scheherezade told that Sultan all those stories and it kept her alive and me too.

Back to the Future

Dawn has come to Millwood, the city where Richard Anderson lives—a city neither small nor large, simply a normal community where people live together, work together, and do things for each other. This is the story of one day in Millwood—just any day.

The story begins at daybreak. All is quiet in the Anderson home; everybody is asleep. It is still some time before Richard has to get up for breakfast, but while most people are still asleep, many are at work doing things for others—things which mean a great deal to the community, including Richard himself. While Richard sleeps, men at the dairy are filling bottles with fresh milk, and long before daybreak, Richard’s milkman picks up the milk and delivers it to the Anderson home in time for breakfast. All night long, the bakers have been baking bread for the day—bread which the delivery man now takes to stores and homes. Long before stores and schools open, trucks are bringing food for Richard’s dinner into town from nearby farms and distant places. From a refrigerated truck, the butcher is already unloading meat—some of which will be on Richard’s table today or tomorrow.

Richard’s community is always at work. All night in the telephone building, operators have been busy at the switchboards, putting through calls—perhaps to a doctor or fire station. In the city’s water plant, pumps run day and night to keep Millwood’s reservoirs filled, and men check gauges so that Richard and others always have water. At the power plant, engineers keep watch so there is electricity whenever it’s needed. At the post office, workers sort mail throughout the night so Richard’s mailman will have the letters ready in the morning. Meanwhile, at the newspaper office, men and women work to meet the deadline for Millwood’s morning paper. As getting-up time approaches, the newsboy is already on his route, delivering the paper to Richard’s home.

For Richard, the day is just beginning. On his way to school, he sees people in his community at work—like the linemen who keep the electric lines in good repair. Richard has never really stopped to think about how much people in his city depend on one another. His mother shops at the grocery store, and he often buys things there too, but he hasn’t thought about what the city would be like without stores—no groceries, no shoe stores, no furniture stores. The people who work in these places do important jobs for their neighbors. A community needs many kinds of workers—ways for people to get from one part of town to another. Some go by taxi, some walk, others use their own cars, and many use buses. Buses are slower than taxis but cost less and are easy to use. Bigger buses take people to many parts of the country, stopping in Millwood too. Trains come and go from the railroad station, carrying people and goods. Trucks carry mail from the station or from the helicopter field, which brings mail from nearby suburbs and towns. Helicopters need little space to land on, unlike airplanes, which require large airports on the city’s outskirts. Many people come and go by airplane daily.

Though Richard may not realize it, he has an important job too—going to school to learn the things that will help him become a good citizen, ready to take his place in the community. No matter what someone does for a living, many people depend on them—and they, in turn, depend on others. People who work in factories make goods for stores to sell; people in offices write letters and keep records. Some are craftsmen, some professionals like doctors and lawyers, some are storekeepers, and many are housewives who manage homes and care for children. Whatever a person does, it helps—whether in big or small ways—to make the community a better place.

In City Hall, people work for the city itself. The mayor, elected by citizens, runs the government and oversees departments like the police, who make the city safe and direct traffic. They enforce laws made by the people for their own safety. The fire department is also part of the city government, ready day and night to respond to fires before they spread. The city hires workers to build and repair bridges, streets, and sidewalks, and to maintain streetlights for safety. It also helps protect public health by monitoring the water supply and inspecting food-handling places. Another department collects garbage and burns it, while a city dump holds non-burnable waste, keeping Millwood clean. The city provides playgrounds for children, ball fields, jungle gyms, and benches for adults to rest on. Recreation also includes tennis courts, a recreation center for parties and games, and a public library with books, records, and films for all ages. Richard and his family go to church, and there are other churches for those who worship differently.

Millwood has a radio and TV station, where programs are created by many people—from actors to technicians—ensuring Richard gets the right show at the right time. He enjoys watching television and sometimes learns a great deal from it. The family often goes to the neighborhood movie theater, and Richard’s father enjoys bowling once a week with friends. At night, when Richard goes to bed, he may not think much about what his community has done for him or what he has done for it—but the work of the community never stops. Bread is baked, milk is processed, newspapers are printed, electricity is generated, water is pumped and purified, and phone calls are connected—day and night. The work of the community goes on, with people helping and depending on one another, all partners in making Millwood a better place to live.

Before my time, but time-adjacent enough to recognize that the video is not exactly raging propaganda. No one is talking about running roughshod over the whole world or anything. Little Richard isn’t being brought up to be much of an ideologue, although a stretch in college in the 1960s should take care of that deficiency.

At any rate, a lot of America was just like that back in the day. The parts that weren’t, weren’t. They refused, or were unable to act the way the people in the video were acting. The suburbs and exurbs served the same purpose as the frontier once did. When cities became corrupted, people reassembled themselves out in the landscape and started over. A republic, if you can keep it, over and over. It has as many obligations as benefits, and anyplace with benefits eventually attracts people who want them without toting the knapsack of obligations that everyone else is carrying. Eventually the free riders get a quorum, and a new frontier is necessary. Lord knows where we’ll find one now. Perhaps the bombed out numerous remains of Free Rider City will be the new frontiers, after the locusts move on.

People like to point to traditionally minded people, with horrified looks on their nose-ringed faces, and screech that trads want to take us back to the 1950s. I can assure you that I’m fairly conversant in all sorts of history, and that the 1950s you fear and trads want isn’t reachable by putting the Caddy with the big fins in reverse. It was way, way more sophisticated, challenging, and complex than life is today, and it would take a lot of work to achieve it. Going to other planets would look easy compared to assembling the modern version of Millwood again, and making it at least common, because people being people, universal is not possible.

This sentence punched me in the face:

In City Hall, people work for the city itself.

Pull the other one. It has bells on.

The Sixties Never Happened

Hear me out: The sixties never happened.

No, really. The idea that generational shifts happen in neat, tectonic fashion, bang-on the first day of each decade, is useless for encapsulating eras. So I’m gonna fix it. Well, at least the years between 1952 and 1982. Those thirty years were split into two parts, not three: The Fixties, and The Endless Bummer. The thing everyone calls The Sixties never happened.

The hinge point was 1966, or thereabouts. The no-mans land that opened up between the two eras was brought into stark relief in about 1965, when you could go to the cinema and see the last gasp of the Fixties, The Sound of Music, an honest to god musical, then go back in the evening and see the dawning of the Endless Bummer in Help!, an entertaining but disjointed and irreverent slapdash affair. When you went home to your split-level ranch in the suburbs, mom and dad put Sinatra’s  It Was a Very Good Year on the living room credenza record player.

But now the days are short, I’m in the autumn of my years

Indeed. Meanwhile, the kids went down in the basement rumpus room and used the portable hi-fi to play the Rolling Stones doing Satisfaction.

When I’m driving in my car
And a man talks on the radio
He’s telling me more and more
About some useless information
Supposed to fire my imagination

It was a baton pass, and the baton wasn’t just dropped, it was thrown into the shrubs. We went from everything’s Technicolor to everything sucks, and barely noticed the change. All of a sudden it’s the Endless Bummer, one that lasted until about 1982.

I wasn’t alive or anything interesting like that, but I have a library card and relatives: The Fixties were the greatest time in the history of the United States, so probably the greatest time in the history of the world. You can fight me on this if you’d like, but I’ll be showing up to the debate in a giant two-tone convertible with more horsepower than a B-25, spangled with enough chrome to reflect Telstar signals back into space, with Technicolor Marilyn Monroe on the bench seat next to me, and a trunk full of penicillin. That beats everything that came before, easily, and everything after, even if you do favor FM radio over AM.

The real Fifties didn’t start in 1950 anyway. Truman was still president in 1950, and I can’t think of a less Fifties-ish person than Harry. He was pure Roosevelt hangover. He looked and acted more like Woodrow Wilson’s haberdasher than a modern person. He stumbled into the Korean War because he missed World War II. It was all he knew. Harry had olive drab hemoglobin.

Harry was so brain-dead that he offered to run as Eisenhower’s vice-president after the big war. It’s a testament to Ike’s probity that Harry had no idea he was a Republican, or even a normal human being. Ike was an American first, a concept that a machine politician like Truman couldn’t understand, never mind get behind. It suited the coming Fixties. It’s useful to remember that the political yings and yangs of Joseph McCarthy and JFK were both considered staunch anti-communists.

And JFK had nothing to do with the traditional take on the 1960s. Flower power would have no appeal for a lace-curtain Bostonian Irishman like him. Ike was an old general, but presided over a young, civilian boomtime. JFK was the hood ornament on Ike’s era. It hit a big pothole in Dealey Plaza, but the vibe allowed it to coast for a few years before Johnson was able to drive the car all the way into the fiscal, moral, and military ditch. Then it rolled downhill pretty fast, and right into the lake where Jimmy Carter was trying to beat a bunny to death with a paddle. So The Endless Bummer started out with the Electric Kool Aid Acid Test, and ended up with another sort of Kool-Aid test in Guyana. They cheaped out and used Flavor Aid, of course, but they didn’t skimp on the cyanide.

Now, the Fixties are often maligned as a cultural wasteland, mostly by people with rings in their intellectual noses. Well, the Fixties gave us Miles Davis’ Kind of Blue, and the atypical Dave Brubeck’s Take Five in the same year. Wes Montgomery was inventing smooth jazz right in front of your eyes. There was the birth of bossa nova. Broadway theaters were heaving with musicals. And they didn’t call it the Golden Age of movies for nothing. The industry had to compete with the television all of a sudden, and managed it just fine by giving much more to look at. There was something for everybody, too. From ’52 on, you could sit with your feet stuck to the floor and your eyes glued to the screen in a big, gaudy movie house and see The Quiet Man, Shane, Roman Holiday, The Big Country, and watch the most exciting twenty minutes in movies, ever — the chariot race in Ben-Hur.

They made thoughtful movies about regular people back then. I mean regular regular people. How about Ernest Borgnine as Marty? David Lean reeled off the greatest string of movies ever: The Bridge on the River Kwai, Lawrence of Arabia, and Doctor Zhivago.  You could even take a girl to that last one, and she’d like it. Frank Lloyd Wright was building Usonian houses while Royal Barry Wills held down the trad suburban fort with his elegant colonials and Capes in New England while Googie style spangled the west coast and Midcentury Modern filled in everywhere else. Women wore Dior and pencil dresses and pillbox hats.

In the late sixties, the studio system fell apart, and the Hollywood New Wave took over. For a while, Warner Brothers was owned by a casket manufacturer that had a sideline of parking lots. That had predictable results on the output. Eventually auteurs got the upper hand, and they made a bunch of popular movies that made big money. But do you notice anything about this list of the top ten American New Wave classics?

  • Bonnie and Clyde (1967)

  • The Graduate (1967)

  • Easy Rider (1969)

  • Midnight Cowboy (1969)

  • Five Easy Pieces (1970)

  • The Last Picture Show (1971)

  • Taxi Driver (1976)

  • Chinatown (1974)

  • Nashville (1975)

  • Apocalypse Now (1979)

Yep. Great cinema. But. Uniformly bleak, ambiguous, cynical, mostly violent and nasty. It’s what happens when nihilism takes over from the sunny optimism of the Fixties. You get the Endless Bummer. Throw in The Godfather, and you’ve got the entire zeitgeist encapsulated: Why bother trying? Everything is crooked.

Let’s take a look at a tale of two cities, as it were: Anne Bancroft.

Anne seems pleasant enough, so I won’t be ragging on her personally, just using her to point out how the worm turned just from 1962 to 1967. First, she won an Oscar for The Miracle Worker. She played Anne Sullivan, who through dint of perseverance and affection teaches a deaf, dumb, and blind Helen Keller to interact with the world. It’s typical of movies from the Before Times. It’s based on real, important things, tough sledding emotionally, perhaps, but uplifting and inspirational in its final effect.

Then 1967 rolls around and Anne is Mrs. Robinson in The Graduate. Whoah, there’s a tectonic shift. No one is going to help a disabled girl in that one. Benjamin Braddock is maybe the Ur-self-absorbed college grad. Dustin Hoffman played the shrimp that launched a thousand Lloyd Doblers, guys who don’t know what they’re for, only that they’re against everything on offer. Middle-aged Anne slept with her neighbor’s kid, and then turned into a bunny boiler when he started dating her daughter. It was supposed to be an evisceration of suburban life, but it’s closer to what people who rub elbows with Woody Allen think the suburbs is like. The heavy fog of disillusionment, generational enmity, unexplained ennui, and a full Peter Pan outlook on life was the Long March Through the Endless Bummer in a nutshell. The movie is funny in its satirical way, but for the life of me I’ve never understood the idea that it’s romantic. I guess I have to quote myself here:

Now, many people think Romeo and Juliet is a love story, instead of a cautionary tale about teen infatuation that ends up with everyone dead. These same people also think The Graduate is a sweet love story, and that it has a happy ending. Not hardly, if you’re paying attention. Here’s the final scene of the movie: Link to video.  In the back of the bus, it finally dawns on Benjamin Braddock that he has no idea why he was trying to woo fair maid. It was forbidden, so he wanted it. He’s already ambivalent about her. She looks at him and maybe wonders what she saw in him in the first place.

“It was forbidden so he wanted it.” If there’s a better encapsulation of the imbecile impetus behind the Endless Bummer, and the death of the Fixties, I haven’t seen it. And I had to write it myself.

The High-Risk, High-Reward Milieu

This video might be interesting to any number of people from most any walk of like. It’s like catnip to anyone who ever constructed a commercial building. I think it’s the greatest example of construction, ever. You can build things taller, or wider, or goofier (I’m looking at you, Gehry), or more expensive, or more elaborate, but you can’t ever surpass what was accomplished by so few men in so short a time, resulting in a more iconic building. The Empire State Building in New York City is the greatest office building in the world, and has been since the day it opened.

The lady out in the harbor with the lantern jaw, wearing a bathrobe, holding an ice cream cone, and beckoning every country on Earth to use America as their recycling bin has nothing on the Empire State Building. I wouldn’t be surprised if half the population think the Empire State is named after the building, not the other way around. The only structure as iconic as the Empire State Building might be the Eiffel Tower, and that’s nothing but a radio antenna, when you really look at it. Big deal.

The Empire State was completed during the Depression. They didn’t have trouble finding people willing to take risks to earn a living just then. So you’d be forgiven if you assumed that they’d look at workers as kind of expendable. You assumed wrong, however. Up to 3,500 people worked on the building at any one time. Four people died during construction. That’s 3,500 people working two shifts, day and night, to complete the tallest building in the world in one year and 45 days. Four deaths.

Let’s compare that to the World Trade Center Project in 2001. One World Trade Center, which is as ugly as a home-made suit, took 8 years to build. It had somewhere between 4,000 to 5,000 workers, and depending on who you ask, had 5 worker deaths. If you do the math, the fatality rate per worker is essentially identical to the Empire State Building. Other big buildings like the Burj Khalifa and the Shanghai tower claim lower fatality rates, but I don’t trust stats about worker safety from closed societies, thank you very much.

So you can see the guys in the video working on the Empire, hanging all over it like King Kong would a few years later. They didn’t fall off much. They didn’t have OSHA, or any number of other safety foofaraws that are in place today. So how did they manage to stay in one piece while working four times as hard as people would in the future?

It’s simple, really. They were smarter than people are now. Not the kind of smarter that’s in vogue nowadays. None of them was plucked from any Ivy League admission offices. They were predominately Irish and Italian immigrants, at least from what I’ve read. They had nerve. They had skills. Mad skills, by the look of it. They had experience building things like railroads, mining ore, or erecting steelwork, even if it was a little closer to mother earth. Many were craftsmen, with prodigious hand skills developed by long experience. They were used to working around heavy machinery and keeping their fingers out of the gears.

By comparison, modern workers are skilled at avoiding risk, instead of managing it. They’re more conversant with technology-driven tasks. They crave automation, standardized working conditions, and lunchtime. They’re not really skilled in navigating dangerous situations in the way their predecessors were. But they died at the same rate, because building great big things is inherently dangerous, and having little experience with true danger make them vulnerable to brain farts, as we used to call them.

The Empire State Building was constructed in a truly high-risk, high-reward milieu. Men with a high tolerance for risk, or whose desperation for work overrode their tolerances, needed mental toughness, and relied on their experience in risky environments to stay safe. Modern workers rely on a rulebook that only the shop steward has read. The investors, who didn’t stick one spud into a rivet hole, were also working in a high-risk, high-reward mode. The building didn’t start to turn a profit until the 1950s.

We could use a few guys like the men who financed and built the Empire State Building just now. God knows where we’re going to find them.

Littel Known Facts

I once arranged a Hendrix song for a klezmer band,  and called it: The Wind Cries Murray.

I have an extra organ. It allows me to stand unaided.

A circus once ran away to join me.

It is illegal to sell olive oil marked “extra virgin.” Sorry.

I declined the premiership of Costaguana. I wasn’t going for any of that shite.

When I was born, my dad gave Bill Clinton a cigar. You know the rest.

One of my harsh looks once left a DNA sample on a passing motorist.

I joined the London Philharmonic because it needed more cowbell.

The three fastest-growing lost tribes worship me as the god of infertility.

I’m five-foot-fourteen.

I was banned from America’s Cup yacht racing for playing defense.

I’ve shot four holes in one. Guy.

I once sold an encyclopedia salesman a vacuum cleaner.

Growing up, I was acknowledged as the toughest kid in my neighborhood until those boys moved in.

I invented the spork. I don’t get any royalties because I insisted on calling it the foon.

I had a full-sized tattoo of myself applied.

I killed the deputy.

I’m so handsome I was sued for alienation of affection by a narcissist.

I hold the patent for Wite-Out for websites.

All told, six women have committed suicide over me, so I now carry a really strong umbrella.

Tag: history

Find Stuff:

Archives