A colleague and I were asked to do a presentation on using AI in the classroom. We used the above clip to spark a conversation, but the “who cares if it’s real” has been haunting me ever since I first watched this clip.

The old school marm in me wanted to scold Mr. Reeve’s for his “that’s awesome,” but, there is that awesome part to it. I’ve learned so much from the unreal in books and movies and art in our world.

Our species has been escaping reality since we first figured out how to dance stories around the fire pit — and/or began fermenting things or tapping into mushrooms. We are masters of escaping our own shit and hiding in what’s not real.

Mental illness is no stranger to my family, so I might be outing myself here, but I can sit outside for hours and amuse myself with the stories I make up about the geckos darting across my balcony or the packs of stray dogs and chickens that roam my parking lot. I love this little make-believe connection I think I have with other living things.

I then get back to my reality and do my thing whether it’s work, play or all the other stuff in between. The mental escapes are a gift during a very hectic, busy, sometimes high-stress life.

So, of course, I welcome innovation that will make my life easier. I’m all about our electricity, running water, the Internet, computers. I have so many devices that help guide me through my life, I’d be lost without them. I mean how else would I know that I’ve earned a great or shitty sleep score? Or, get my hot meal in minutes?

So yay that AI trims away some of the time we used to spend on work. Last year I introduced ELA teachers to using Microsoft CoPilot to score quarterly writing assessments. This year AI is embedded in just about every program we use. In a matter of milliseconds it can whip up something that would have taken me hours to produce. Granted it’s not perfect, I still have to tweak. Most of the time, I end up scrubbing much of what was created and do my own thing — probably more an issue of my controlling side than the product.

I refuse to use it for writing because that’s very much a part of who I am. I’m a weirdo who thrives on the productive struggle that comes with getting your words right. My job includes giving teachers feedback and providing schools with informational emails about this or that, I know I should use AI to help with that because it’ll give me back some much-needed time for other tasks (and I certainly don’t begrudge my colleagues who do — it’s amazing how good AI is with these sort of things). I don’t use it because, for me, writing reiterates reflection and next steps and I want to deliver information through my own unique voice (even though AI can do that too).

But, here’s the thing, my voice is the result of programming from genetics, education, experiences, all the stuff that’s happened through my filters and biases to create the way I express myself. I’m not much different from AI — it’s just way quicker at the processing piece and drawing from an infinite supply of experiences (all that we post into the internetesphere is there for the taking and adapting).

My matrixy reality is holy gigabite, how truly unique am I? And, does it matter?

AI is evolving so quickly there’s now a rightfully-so debate over the use of an AI actress. Some countries are using it to write laws.

Albania has appointed an AI program that is their Minister of State for Artificial Intelligence. Not surprisingly there is backlash over this and the AI minister’s role is being questioned, so it responded to its constituents.

“Some have labeled me unconstitutional because I am not a human being,” Diella said in a response video, appearing on two large screens as a woman in traditional dress to address parliament. “That hurt me.” (https://time.com/7324934/albania-ai-minister-diella/, October 11, 2025 1:12 AM CT)

Let that sink in a bit.

I’m not saying any of this is right or wrong. I truly don’t know, but I do know whether or not we, as a species, care about what is real and what is not is no longer an obvious answer. Maybe it never was, and I lived in my own bubble.

America is not alone with its grapple on truth (what I define to be real), however, it’s part of my programming, so I am continually dismayed by where we are with our acceptance of other people’s alleged truths. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve asked myself “for fuck’s sake, is this real?”

And, even more so, does it matter? There was a time when I wouldn’t have hesitated to say yes. Now, I’m really wishing there was that magical blue pill, so that I could spend my alleged golden years not knowing the harsh red-pill truths.