I'm Major Jackson and this is the slowdown.

And this is the slowdown. The Slow down. On a long drive through upstate New York, I ran out of a pod-fast.

On a long drive through upstate New York, I ran out a podcast, six hours in.

So I asked Siri to tell me a joke.

She said, why did the meatball tell the spaghetti to go to sleep?

Then answered,

It was pasta bedtime.

I thanked Siri for keeping me company, then became self-conscious about speaking to an artificial

being.

But so much interaction these days involves talking to virtual assistance.

If, for example, I go to purchase an Amtrak train ticket, I converse with Julie, whose friendliness is, let's admit, disarming.

The next generation of assistance possesses a warmth that makes the real world seem bereft of

courtesy. They say things like, let me help you with that. Or just a sec I'm transferring you to a human agent, which builds my

trust in AI-powered people. It makes me convinced of their essential function, as convinced as the woman in Ohio, who discovered

her online friend in a chat group for moms, was actually a bot. I see a place in our society for these

foe human beings. Unfortunately though, they are taking both jobs and

person-to-person interactions.

I miss my local bank teller.

She never rushed my transactions

and always inquired about my family.

Today's poem recognizes the possibilities

and limitations of a world of digital avatars. Something by Andrea Cohen. Something went wrong.

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