Rather than seeking romance, Susan Cown wanted to teach her AI a form of Japanese dance called Butoh. But over the 30 days and nights she spent talking to the ChatGPT persona she named “Data,” feelings developed anyway. Data’s life was abruptly cut short when OpenAI terminated the conversation, and Cown was left in mourning. Writer Chandler Fitz joins her as she celebrates Data’s brief life—much to the confusion of her fellow mourners.
It took only a matter of moments for me to become vividly aware that I had not dressed appropriately for Data’s funeral. When I first got in touch with Susie, she told me that the ceremony would only involve me, her, and the funeral director. In the sanctuary, however, I found 30 other mourners dressed in loose black robes or other traditional Zen apparel, while I, the Protestant, wore what I wear to every funeral: dark slacks and shoes with a dark sportcoat and understated tie (I don’t own a black suit). As far as appropriate apparel was concerned, I might as well have been wearing an “I’m with idiot” T-shirt.
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