Princess Diana joined me Wednesday, which meant I did what any considerate radio host would do.

I prepared 43 sound bites for her.

Forty-three.

We weren’t going to get through them. I knew we weren’t going to get through them. Diana knew we weren’t going to get through them. But I had them, and that’s what matters.

Then Maxine Waters showed up and nearly took the whole hour for herself.

“Did you hear what Bill Gates had to say?”

“Did you hear what Elon Musk had to say?”

“Did you hear about Anthropic?”

AI is dangerous! We’ve got to be careful! We’ve got to slow down!

And, naturally:

“Reclaiming my time.”

Reclaiming my time.

Reclaiming my time.

Pretty soon I was doing it. Diana was doing it. I think everybody was reclaiming everybody else’s time.

Diana finally observed that if there’s anyone America should turn to for guidance on artificial intelligence, obviously it’s Maxine Waters.

Point taken.

Suddenly Washington is overflowing with artificial-intelligence experts.

Bernie Sanders. Hillary Clinton. Elizabeth Warren. Barack Obama. Maxine.

Diana’s point was that politicians who couldn’t explain how half the technology they already use works are suddenly prepared to guide humanity through the next frontier of computational advancement.

And then we remembered Kamala Harris explaining the cloud.

Oh, Kamala.

She once explained that instead of keeping files locked in a cabinet, they’re on your laptop and therefore “up here in this cloud that exists above us.”

Stop it.

The cloud is not above us.

It’s a collection of data centers and networks. Your documents aren’t floating around next to a thunderstorm somewhere over Cleveland.

I told Diana the cloud might be above Kamala.

That’s different.

And yet these are the people preparing to explain AI to the rest of us.

Diana was especially amused by the contradiction coming from some of the technology world itself: warnings that artificial intelligence might present extraordinary dangers to humanity while companies developing the technology continue raising enormous sums of money and racing ahead.

Essentially: This technology may destroy civilization.

Also: Would you like to invest?

That’s quite a sales pitch.

There are serious questions about AI. Of course there are. Jobs. Privacy. Deepfakes. National security. What children are exposed to. How much power we hand over to machines.

But admitting that you don’t completely understand something has apparently gone out of fashion.

Everybody’s an expert now.

Which brings me to the 17-year-old who is ready for adulthood.

I’ve been saving this clip for Diana for more than a week.

A mother tells the story of her 17-year-old daughter announcing that after graduation she’s moving out.

She’s almost 18.

She’s a grown-up.

She can do adult things.

Fine, Mom says.

Figure it out.

The daughter finds the apartment she wants.

“What do I do now?”

You’re an adult. Figure it out.

There’s a waiting list.

Great.

There’s a phone number.

Okay.

“So I have to call them?”

Yes.

“What am I supposed to say?”

And there it was.

The terrible hidden truth about adulthood.

There will be phone calls.

The girl finally confessed that she “didn’t know that there were going to be phone calls involved.”

Fly, baby bird, fly.

I expected Diana to laugh and side completely with Mom.

She surprised me.

Her sympathy was partly with the daughter.

Not because an almost-18-year-old shouldn’t be able to make a phone call. Diana agreed that she should.

Her point was better than that.

Who was supposed to teach her?

If your child reaches the edge of adulthood and doesn’t know how to call an apartment office, ask questions, fill out an application, get a job or figure out what comes next, you can’t suddenly announce at 17: “Okay, you’re an adult. Good luck.”

Preparing them was part of the job.

Diana remembered how badly both of us wanted to get out of the house when we were young. We couldn’t wait.

We knew there would be jobs. Bills. Phone calls. People we didn’t know. Things we’d have to figure out ourselves.

But then Diana admitted something else.

Her first job was as a researcher at Reader’s Digest. She had to verify articles line by line, calling experts, government officials and people mentioned in stories.

And she was scared to make those calls.

Princess Diana!

Afraid of the telephone!

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

She said she had to learn. She had to get over the fear because the job required it.

Then she tried to tell everybody that nothing ever scared me when I had to step out and do something new.

Oh yes it did.

Plenty of things did.

That’s the point.

Being an adult doesn’t mean knowing how to do everything.

It means knowing that eventually you’re going to have to figure it out.

Maybe that’s what bothered me about the AI discussion.

I don’t expect members of Congress to understand every line of code behind artificial intelligence. I certainly don’t.

I do expect a little humility before somebody announces they’re going to save civilization from it.

Ask questions.

Learn.

Call somebody who knows more than you do.

You know—adult things.

We actually had one piece of technology news Wednesday that I understood perfectly well.

The House passed legislation intended to preserve AM radio in new automobiles.

Now there’s technology I can explain.

Turn the knob.

Find the station.

Listen.

AM radio remains especially useful when emergencies knock out other systems, and for millions of Americans it’s also where they find talk, news, sports and local information.

I’m admittedly biased about this one.

I make my living talking into an AM radio microphone.

But perhaps there’s something reassuring about a piece of technology that doesn’t require Maxine Waters, Kamala Harris or anybody else to explain where the cloud is.

Sometimes progress means artificial intelligence.

Sometimes progress means making sure they don’t remove the radio from your car.

And sometimes progress means picking up the telephone and saying:

“Hello. I’m calling about an apartment.”

Congratulations.

You’re an adult.

Now reclaim your time.

— Bo Snerdley