What do I think about AI?
Staying on the edge of AI as a philosophical question. Great readings, doomsday planning, ethics, and arguing about it together.
Wouldn't It Be Awesome If… · Season 3 · November 2026
A lot happened while I was quiet. Mostly, I started building things with AI, almost every day, and I'm finally ready to write about it.
So this newsletter is coming back, but differently. This post has three parts:
I'm never planning on being big, so I'd love to be intentional. This list is for people who actually read it. Three rules:
I'll send rarely. When I do, I'd like it opened. Nine out of ten is the bar.
Open at least six links in a year and you stay. The little card in the corner is counting, and it works on this page. Every live link you open punches a hole.
Fall below the bar and your seat goes to someone who wants it. On the way out, you owe the fee you named on the way in. Stay and you never pay a cent.
How much would it bother you to be dropped? Your bid gets sealed into the contract at the bottom.
These are the four things I want to make and write about in public. Step into any of them. Then spend your two chips on the ones you'd actually show up for. My hours go where the chips land.
Staying on the edge of AI as a philosophical question. Great readings, doomsday planning, ethics, and arguing about it together.
NagaBell, the family hub I built for my kids: games you unlock by learning, typing, a spelling-bee coach, and a bank that teaches compound interest. Soon, open source.
The middle-grade novel I'm writing. Near-future Michigan vs. Ohio, and an AI called HAWK that predicts everything.
What's still worth rereading, rewatching and relistening in a world that forgets in a day. Plus the classic book reviews and musings.
Yes. Most of what I make lives on its own sites anyway, and Substack can't enforce the rules above. The new list is a plain email list that I run myself. This post goes out on Substack one last time. Sign at the bottom and you move with me. If you don't sign, no hard feelings and no fee. You never agreed to one.
Every email you get has links made just for you, and opening one counts as a click. Opens are fuzzier, because some mail apps report every email as opened and others hide it. So clicks are the rule I'll actually hold you to. Opens are the spirit of it.
Sure. Just know that clicks on your links count as yours. If you want a friend in, send them this page. A seat costs a signature.
Probably nothing, because you'll stay. If you're dropped, I'll send you a note with your bid and a way to pay it. Paying is on your honor. Whatever comes in buys books, and I'll tell the list which ones.
Long term, here's where I think this goes: a few people, and a real letter in the mail, written with a pen. No links to count. Nothing to forward.
Dear reader,
If you got this, you were one of the few who stayed.
— A.
One signature and you're on the new list. Here's what you're agreeing to.
Every AI conversation I'm in goes to doom or to hype within four minutes. I want a third option: read the best thinking, argue about it with people I like, and keep updating.
This room is about staying on the edge of AI as a philosophical question. Great readings and writing. Doomsday planning. Ethics. What it does to empathy, to work, to kids. I built whatdoithinkaboutai.com as a starting point: you answer small, concrete dilemmas, each priced against real national polling, and find out what kind of thinker you are. For the next twelve months I'll be about as close to the frontier as a non-researcher gets. I can pretty much guarantee that. I'll report back, and we'll argue.
Make all three trades to see your position.
“The AI revolution is the process through which language is transformed from a tool into an agent.”
Yuval Noah Harari
I don't write code by hand. I describe what I want, argue with AI, and ship. This year I built a lot this way. The biggest thing I built is for my family.
It's called NagaBell, a family hub. My kids unlock games by learning. They learned to type in it. It has a spelling-bee coach that reads words out loud and keeps track of what they miss. And it's where their savings live, in Bank of Dad, which pays 5% a month so they can watch compound interest actually work. I want to lean into it, open-source it, and let other families run their own. This room is where I'd write about building it: what worked, what my kids broke, and what it cost.
Rates and rounding match how Bank of Dad really works. Yes, it's a terrible deal for Dad. That's the lesson.
It isn't only the kids' hub. My own Road to 40 runs on it too: I want my A1C from 6.0 to 5.8 before I turn 40, and our kitchen now runs on an app that plans dinners and places two grocery orders a week. Fair game for this room.

Working title: Nobody's Guess. It's in the spirit of Percy Jackson. It's set in the near future, Michigan versus Ohio, and an AI called HAWK predicts everything.
The morning Khris turned thirteen started like every other. He was up before the sun, standing on a hoverboard in the alley behind the academy kitchens, trying very hard not to hit Mrs. Petrakis's underwear.
It was hanging on a clothesline three floors up. It was enormous. It was flapping. And it was right in the way.
Everything in the alley was in the way. It was eight steps wide. (Two years ago it had been ten. The alley hadn't changed. Khris's legs had.) It was the worst place in Harbor Lake to practice anything, which is why nobody had ever told him he couldn't.
A kids' book club, maybe. Starting in January 2027, I'd like to try a beta-reading club for kids. This could be a really cool way to explore interesting ideas alongside me and some other interesting kids. If your kid might want in, check the box when you sign.
The cycle keeps getting shorter. A thing goes viral in the morning and is gone by dinner. So what's timeless?
I have a real obsession with this question. I keep three small sites, worth rereading, worth rewatching and worth relistening, for the things that hold up the second and third time. I want to go deeper: why some things last, how to find them early, and what it does to you to return to the same book at 20, 30 and 40. This room is also where the classic WIBAI lives: book reviews, musings and the year-end reading list.
Half-lives are my guesses. Arguing about them is the point.