My kids have been on a kick lately of trying to trick people with this riddle:

Kid: "If the blue man lives in the blue house, and the red man lives in the red house, who lives in the green house?"

Me: "The green man"

Kid: "Who lives in the purple house?"

Me: "The purple man"

Kid: "Who lives in the white house?"

Me: "The white man"

Kid: "Wrong! It's the president!"

This riddle initially reminded me of what it was like to work with large language models.

It's easy, I assumed, to trick these models into outputting virtually whatever you want by presenting them with leading questions. Giving them "few shot" answers like this (e.g. "the blue man lives in the blue house, red man lives in the red house") would certainly result in them getting it wrong like I did, right?

This morning, I thought I'd see what the latest models would actually respond with given this game:

ChatGPT 4o (the latest model):

The President of the United States lives in the White House.

This was the first model I tried, and it straight up was like, "nope, I got this."

Ugh. Maybe it had seen this in its training data before?

The "Who lives in the White House?" game or riddle is a common one that I've encountered multiple times in various forms. It's often used to playfully lead to the punchline that the President of the United States lives in the White House.

Well, damn. Okay, let's try an older model and see what happens.

ChatGPT 4 (the legacy model):

The gardener lives in the greenhouse!

In the spirit of the previous joke, perhaps the grape man lives in the purple house!

The President of the United States lives in the White House.

Even though this is an older model, I like this answer even better.¹

Alright, well, OpenAI is onto my tricks... how about Anthropic?

Claude Sonnet 3.5:

I apologize, but I don't have enough information to determine who lives in the green, purple, and white houses. The puzzle only specifies that the blue man lives in the blue house and the red man lives in the red house. There's no information provided about the occupants of the other colored houses.

To solve this puzzle completely, we would need additional clues or information about the residents of the green, purple, and white houses. Without that, those houses' occupants remain unknown.

This is an even better answer! It's perhaps the least fun answer, but when I'm working with an AI assistant, I think I'd prefer it to err on the side of caution rather than boisterousness.²

When I asked it if it had seen this riddle before, it gave an equally diplomatic response:

I don't have specific information about how many times I've encountered that particular puzzle or game in my training data. As an AI language model, I don't have personal experiences or memories of my training process. My knowledge comes from processing large amounts of text data, but I don't retain or count individual instances of specific puzzles or games.

What I can say is that logic puzzles involving colored houses and their occupants are fairly common in puzzle collections and brain teasers. The most famous version is probably the "Einstein's Riddle" or "Zebra Puzzle," which is more complex and involves five houses of different colors, their occupants, and various other attributes.

The specific version you presented (with just blue and red specified, and asking about green, purple, and white) isn't one I immediately recognize as a standard or famous puzzle. It seems like it might be a simplified version or a variation of the more complex house puzzles.

The main takeaways here? First, just because I'm dumb enough to fall for this elementary school riddle doesn't mean our AI LLMs are, so I shouldn't make assumptions about the usefulness of these tools. Second, every model is different, and you should run little experiments like these in order to see which tools produce the output which is more favorable to you.

I've been using the free version of Claude to run side-by-side comparisons like this lately, and I'm pretty close to getting rid of my paid ChatGPT subscription and moving over to Claude. The answers I get from Claude feel more like what I'd expect an AI assistant to provide.

I think this jives well with Simon Willison's "Vibes Based Development" observation that you need to work with an LLM for a few weeks to get a feel for a model's strengths and weaknesses.

Current generative AI systems like ChatGPT employ user interfaces driven by “prompts” entered by users in prose format. This intent-based outcome specification has excellent benefits, allowing skilled users to arrive at the desired outcome much faster than if they had to manually control the computer through a myriad of tedious commands, as was required by the traditional command-based UI paradigm, which ruled ever since we abandoned batch processing.

But one major usability downside is that users must be highly articulate to write the required prose text for the prompts. According to the latest literacy research, half of the population in rich countries like the United States and Germany are classified as low-literacy users.

This might explain why I enjoy using these tools so much.

Writing an effective prompt and convincing a human to do a task both require a similar skillset.

I keep thinking about how this article impacts the barefoot developer concept. When it comes to programming, sure, the command line barrier is real.

But if GUIs were the invention that made computers accessible to folks who couldn’t grasp the command line, how do we expect normal people to understand what to say to an unassuming text box?

I have this dream for barefoot developers that is like the barefoot doctor.

These people are deeply embedded in their communities, so they understand the needs and problems of the people around them.

So they are perfectly placed to solve local problems.

If given access to the right training and tools, they could provide the equivalent of basic healthcare, but instead, it’s basic software care.

And they could become an unofficial, distributed, emergent public service.

They could build software solutions that no industrial software company would build—because there’s not enough market value in doing it, and they don’t understand the problem space well enough.

And these people are the ones for whom our new language model capabilities get very interesting.

Do yourself a favor and read this entire talk. Maggie articulated the general feeling I have felt around the promise of LLMs within the confines of a concise, inspiring talk.

A friend approached me a few months back and asked me to help him build an app to facilitate a game he likes to play with his friends in real life.

I told him that a good first step would be to experiment first with facilitating the game using good ol’ fashioned paper, and use the lessons learned from that experience to eventually build an app.

A few weeks later, he came to me with a fully baked version of the app in a prototyping tool called AppSheet.

I was stunned at how much he was able to get done without any professional development support.

He’s a prime example of a barefoot developer. I don’t think he has any interest in crossing the “command line wall,” but as these tools get more capable, it’ll enable him and scores of others to build software that’ll solve their problems for them.

Helping more “normal people” to become barefoot developers is a cause I’d love to be part of.

Lately, I've been working on several projects which interface with the OpenAI APIs.

Since this is 2024 and I'm far too lazy to open the official API documentation and write code myself, my first step in generating code is to ask the 4o model of ChatGPT something like this:

Write a Python script which uses the latest OpenAI APIs. I'd like the function to accept a custom prompt and a custom top-k value. It should return the prompt's response.

It returns something like this:

import openai

def generate_text(prompt, top_k=5):
    # Define your OpenAI API key here
    openai.api_key = 'your-api-key'

    # Define parameters for the completion
    completion = openai.Completion.create(
        engine="text-davinci-003",
        prompt=prompt,
        max_tokens=100,
        top_k=top_k,
        n=1,
        stop=None
    )

    # Return the generated text
    return completion.choices[0].text.strip()

# Example usage
prompt = "Once upon a time"
top_k = 10
generated_text = generate_text(prompt, top_k)
print("Generated Text:", generated_text)

Which looks super great, right?

Except when you go to run it in a terminal, you get this:

openai.lib._old_api.APIRemovedInV1: 

You tried to access openai.Completion, but this is no longer supported in openai>=1.0.0 - see the README at https://github.com/openai/openai-python for the API.

You can run `openai migrate` to automatically upgrade your codebase to use the 1.0.0 interface. 

Alternatively, you can pin your installation to the old version, e.g. `pip install openai==0.28`

A detailed migration guide is available here: https://github.com/openai/openai-python/discussions/742

If you paste that error into the chat, it'll respond with this:

It seems like there has been a major update in the OpenAI Python library since I last checked. Let me update the script to use the latest version of the library:

And then it spits this out:

import openai

def generate_text(prompt, top_k=5):
    # Define your OpenAI API key here
    openai.api_key = 'your-api-key'

    # Define parameters for the completion
    response = openai.Completion.create(
        engine="davinci-codex",
        prompt=prompt,
        max_tokens=100,
        top_k=top_k,
        n=1
    )

    # Return the generated text
    return response.choices[0].text.strip()

# Example usage
prompt = "Once upon a time"
top_k = 10
generated_text = generate_text(prompt, top_k)
print("Generated Text:", generated_text)

Notice how it still uses the openai.Completion method!

I've tried prompting it with something like:

You're still using the openai.Completion method. Reference the official up to date API documentation to get the latest call that replaces the openai.Completion method.

And it responds with:

Apologies for that oversight. Let me update the script to use the latest API method based on the official documentation:

And here's the code it generates:

import openai

def generate_text(prompt, top_k=5):
    # Define your OpenAI API key here
    openai.api_key = 'your-api-key'

    # Define parameters for the completion
    response = openai.Completion.create(
        engine="davinci-codex",
        prompt=prompt,
        max_tokens=100,
        top_k=top_k,
        n=1,
        temperature=0.7,
        stop=None
    )

    # Return the generated text
    return response.choices[0].text.strip()

# Example usage
prompt = "Once upon a time"
top_k = 10
generated_text = generate_text(prompt, top_k)
print("Generated Text:", generated_text)

Which, again, still uses the openai.Completion method!

I've noticed this sort of "oops, I screwed up, here's the exact same thing I just outputted" behavior appear more frequently when I use the new GPT-4o model.

If I use GPT-4 and I'm using my ChatGPT Plus subscription, I will still run into the issue where its first response references the deprecated method, but if I inform it of its mistake and provide a link to the official documentation, it'll access the web and try to offer something different. (It still generates unusable code lol but it's at least trying to do something different!)

When it comes to Python and Rails code, I'm seeing that the GPT-4o model is not as good at code generation as the previous GPT-4 model.

It feels like the model is always in a rush to generate something rather than taking its time and getting it correct.

It also seems to be biased toward relying on its training for supplying an answer rather than taking a peek at the internet for a better answer, even when you specifically tell it not to do that.

In many cases, this speed/accuracy tradeoff makes sense. But when it comes to code generation (and specifically when it tries to generate code to use their own APIs), I wish it took its time to reason why the code it wrote doesn't work.

Aristotle, who had a few things to say about human nature, once declared, "The greatest thing by far is to have a command of metaphor," but academics studying the personification of tech have long observed that metaphor can just as easily command us. Metaphors shape how we think about a new technology, how we feel about it, what we expect of it, and ultimately how we use it.

I love metaphors. I gotta reflect on this idea a bit more.

There is something kind of pathological going on here. One of the most exciting advances in computer science ever achieved, with so many promising uses, and we can't think beyond the most obvious, least useful application? What, because we want to see ourselves in this technology?

Meanwhile, we are under-investing in more precise, high-value applications of LLMs that treat generative A.I. models not as people but as tools. A powerful wrench to create sense out of unstructured prose. The glue of an application handling messy, real-word data. Or a drafting table for creative brainstorming, where a little randomness is an asset not a liability. If there's a metaphor to be found in today's AI, you're most likely to find it on a workbench.

Bingo! AI is a tool, not a person.

The other day, I made a joke on LinkedIn about the easiest way for me to spot a social media post that was written with generative AI: the phrase “Exciting News!” alongside one of these emojis: 🚀, 🎉, or 🚨.

It’s not that everyone who uses those things certainly used ChatGPT.

It’s more like how I would imagine a talented woodworker would be able to spot a rookie mistake in a novice’s first attempt at a chair.

And here I go, using a metaphor again!

There are an unbelievable amount of points Molly White makes with which I found myself agreeing.

In fact, I feel like this is an exceptionally accurate perspective of the current state of AI and LLMs in particular. If you’re curious about AI, give this article a read.

A lot of my personal fears about the potential power of these tools comes from speculation that the LLM CEOs make about their forthcoming updates.

And I don’t think that fear is completely unfounded. I mean, look at what tools we had available in 2021 compared to April 2024. We’ve come a long way in three years.

But right now, these tools are quite hard to use without spending a ton of time to learn their intricacies.

The best way to fight fear is with knowledge. Knowing how to wield these tools helps me deal with my fears, and I enjoy showing others how to do the same.

One point Molly makes about the generated text got me to laugh out loud:

I particularly like how, when I ask them to try to sound like me, or to at least sound less like a chatbot, they adopt a sort of "cool teacher" persona, as if they're sitting backwards on a chair to have a heart-to-heart. Back when I used to wait tables, the other waitresses and I would joke to each other about our "waitress voice", which were the personas we all subconsciously seemed to slip into when talking to customers. They varied somewhat, but they were all uniformly saccharine, with slightly higher-pitched voices, and with the general demeanor as though you were talking to someone you didn't think was very bright. Every LLM's writing "voice" reminds me of that.

“Waitress voice” is how I will classify this phenomenon from now on.

You know how I can tell when my friends have used AI to make LinkedIn posts?

When all of a sudden, they use emoji and phrases like “Exciting news!”

It’s not even that waitress voice is a negative thing. After all, it’s expected to communicate with our waitress voices in social situations when we don’t intimately know somebody.

Calling a customer support hotline? Shopping in person for something? Meeting your kid’s teacher for the first time? New coworker in their first meeting?

All of these are situations in which I find myself using my own waitress voice.

It’s a safe play for the LLMs to use it as well when they don’t know us.

But I find one common thread among the things AI tools are particularly suited to doing: do we even want to be doing these things? If all you want out of a meeting is the AI-generated summary, maybe that meeting could've been an email. If you're using AI to write your emails, and your recipient is using AI to read them, could you maybe cut out the whole thing entirely? If mediocre, auto-generated reports are passing muster, is anyone actually reading them? Or is it just middle-management busywork?

This is what I often brag about to people when I speak highly of LLMs.

These systems are incredible at the BS work. But they’re currently terrible with the stuff humans are good at.

I would love to live in a world where the technology industry widely valued making incrementally useful tools to improve peoples' lives, and were honest about what those tools could do, while also carefully weighing the technology's costs. But that's not the world we live in. Instead, we need to push back against endless tech manias and overhyped narratives, and oppose the "innovation at any cost" mindset that has infected the tech sector.

Again, thank you Molly White for printing such a poignant manifesto, seeing as I was having trouble articulating one of my own.

Innovation and growth at any cost are concepts which have yet to lead to a markedly better outcome for us all.

Let’s learn how to use these tools to make all our lives better, then let’s go live our lives.

Whenever I talk about a knowledge win via robots on the socials or with humans, someone snarks, “Well, how do you know it’s true? How do you know the robot isn’t hallucinating?” Before I explain my process, I want to point out that I don’t believe humans are snarking because they want to know the actual answer; I think they are scared. They are worried about AI taking over the world or folks losing their job, and while these are valid worries, it’s not the robot’s responsibility to tell the truth; it’s your job to understand what is and isn’t true.

You’re being changed by the things you see and read for your entire life, and hopefully, you’ve developed a filter through which this information passes. Sometimes, it passes through without incident, but other times, it’s stopped, and you wonder, “Is this true?”

Knowing when to question truth is fundamental to being a human. Unfortunately, we’ve spent the last forty years building networks of information that have made it pretty easy to generate and broadcast lies at scale. When you combine the internet with the fact that many humans just want their hopes and fears amplified, you can understand why the real problem isn’t robots doing it better; it’s the humans getting worse.

I’m working on an extended side quest and in the past few hours of pairing with ChatGPT, I’ve found myself constantly second guessing a large portion of the decisions and code that the AI produced.

This article pairs well with this one I read today about a possible social exploit that relies on frequently hallucinated package names.

Simon Willison writes:

Bar Lanyado noticed that LLMs frequently hallucinate the names of packages that don’t exist in their answers to coding questions, which can be exploited as a supply chain attack.

He gathered 2,500 questions across Python, Node.js, Go, .NET and Ruby and ran them through a number of different LLMs, taking notes of any hallucinated packages and if any of those hallucinations were repeated.

One repeat example was “pip install huggingface-cli” (the correct package is “huggingface[cli]”). Bar then published a harmless package under that name in January, and observebd 30,000 downloads of that package in the three months that followed.

I’ll be honest: during my side quest here, I’ve 100% blindly run npm install on packages without double checking official documentation.

These large language models truly are mirrors to our minds, showing all sides of our personalities from our most fit to our most lazy.

I’m an unabashed fan of Simon Willison’s blog. Some of his posts admittedly go over my head, but I needed to share this post because it gets across the point I have been trying to articulate myself about AI and how I use it.

In the post, Simon talks about wanting to get a polygon object created that represents the boundary of Adirondack Park, the largest park in the United States (which occupies a fifth of the whole state!).

That part in and of itself is nerdy and a fun read, but this section here made my neck hurt from nodding aggressively in agreement:

Isn’t this a bit trivial? Yes it is, and that’s the point. This was a five minute sidequest. Writing about it here took ten times longer than the exercise itself.

I take on LLM-assisted sidequests like this one dozens of times a week. Many of them are substantially larger and more useful. They are having a very material impact on my work: I can get more done and solve much more interesting problems, because I’m not wasting valuable cycles figuring out ogr2ogr invocations or mucking around with polygon libraries.

Not to mention that I find working this way fun! It feels like science fiction every time I do it. Our AI-assisted future is here right now and I’m still finding it weird, fascinating and deeply entertaining.

Frequent readers of this blog know that a big part of the work I’ve been doing since being laid off is in reflecting on what brings me joy and happiness.

Work over the last twelve years of my life represented a small portion of something that used to bring me a ton of joy (building websites and apps). But somewhere along the way, building websites was no longer enjoyable to me.

I used to love learning new frameworks, expanding the arsenal of tools in my toolbox to solve an ever expanding set of problems. But spending my free time developing a new skill with a new tool began to feel like I was working but not getting paid.

And that notion really doesn’t sit well with me. I still love figuring out how computers work. It’s just nice to do so without the added pressure of building something to make someone else happy.

Which brings me to the “side quest” concept Simon describes in this post, which is something I find myself doing nearly every day with ChatGPT.

When I was going through my album artwork on Plex, my first instinct was to go to ChatGPT and have it help me parse through Plex’s internal thumbnail database to build me a view which shows all the artwork on a single webpage.

It took me maybe 10 minutes of iterating with ChatGPT, and now I know more about the internal workings of Plex’s internal media caching database than I ever would have before.

Before ChatGPT, I would’ve had to spend several hours pouring over open source code or out of date documentation. In other words: I would’ve given up after the first Google search.

It feels like another application of Morovec’s paradox. Like Gary Casparov observed with chess bots, it feels like the winning approach here is one where LLMs and humans work in tandem.

Simon ends his post with this:

One of the greatest misconceptions concerning LLMs is the idea that they are easy to use. They really aren’t: getting great results out of them requires a great deal of experience and hard-fought intuition, combined with deep domain knowledge of the problem you are applying them to. I use these things every day. They help me take on much more interesting and ambitious problems than I could otherwise. I would miss them terribly if they were no longer available to me.

I could not agree more.

I find it hard to explain to people how to use LLMs without more than an hour of sitting down and going through a bunch of examples of how they work.

These tools are insanely cool and insanely powerful when you bring your own knowledge to them.

They simply parrot back what it believes to be the most statistically correct response to whatever prompt was provided.

I haven’t been able to come up with a good analogy for that sentiment yet, because the closest I can come up with is “it’s like a really good personal assistant”, which feels like the same analogy the tech industry always uses to market any new tool.

You wouldn’t just send a personal assistant off to go do your job for you. A great assistant is there to compile data, to make suggestions, to be a sounding board, but at the end of the day, you are the one accountable for the final output.

If you copy and paste ChatGPT’s responses into a court brief and it contains made up cases, that’s on you.

If you deploy code that contains glaring vulnerabilities, that’s on you.

Maybe I shouldn’t be lamenting that I lost my joy of learning new things about computers, because I sure have been filled with joy learning how to best use LLMs these past couple years.

There are still going to be situations where someone wants to write prompts that are used at scale, and, in those cases, structured prompting does matter. Yet we need to acknowledge that this sort of “prompt engineering” is far from an exact science, and not something that should necessarily be left to computer scientists and engineers.

At its best, it often feels more like teaching or managing, applying general principles along with an intuition for other people, to coach the AI to do what you want.

As I have written before, there is no instruction manual, but with good prompts, LLMs are often capable of far more than might be initially apparent.

If you had to guess before reading this article what prompt yields the best performance on mathematic problems, you would almost certainly be wrong.

I love the concept of prompt engineering because I feel like one of my key strengths is being able to articulate my needs to any number of receptive audiences.

I’ve often told people that programming computers is my least favorite part of being a computer engineer, and it’s because writing code is often a frustrating, demoralizing endeavor.

But with LLMs, we are quickly approaching a time where we can simply ask the computer to do something for us, and it will.

Which, I think, is something that gets to the core of my recent mental health struggles: if I’m not the guy who can get computers to do the thing you want them to do, who am I?

And maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe “normal people” will still hate dealing with technology in ten years, and there will still be a market for nerds like me who are willing to do the frustrating work of getting computers to be useful.

But today, I spent three hours rebuilding the backend of this blog from the bottom up using Next.JS, a JavaScript framework I’ve never used before.

In three hours, I was able to have a functioning system. Both front and backend. And it looked better than anything I’ve ever crafted myself.

I was able to do all that with a potent combination of a YouTube tutorial and ChatGPT+.

Soon enough, LLMs and other AGI tools will be able to infer all that from even rudimentary prompts.

So what good can I bring to the world?

LLMs treat words as referents, while humans understand words as referential. When a machine “thinks” of an apple (such as it does), it literally thinks of the word apple, and all of its verbal associations. When humans consider an apple, we may think of apples in literature, paintings, or movies (don’t trust the witch, Snow White!) — but we also recall sense-memories, emotional associations, tastes and opinions, and plenty of experiences with actual apples.

So when we write about apples, of course humans will produce different content than an LLM.

Another way of thinking about this problem is as one of translation: while humans largely derive language from the reality we inhabit (when we discover a new plant or animal, for instance, we first name it), LLMs derive their reality from our language. Just as a translation of a translation begins to lose meaning in literature, or a recording of a recording begins to lose fidelity, LLMs’ summaries of a reality they’ve never perceived will likely never truly resonate with anyone who’s experienced that reality.

And so we return to the idea of hallucination: content generated by LLMs that is inaccurate or even nonsensical. The idea that such errors are somehow lapses in performance is on a superficial level true. But it gestures toward a larger truth we must understand if we are to understand the large language model itself — that until we solve its perception problem, everything it produces is hallucinatory, an expression of a reality it cannot itself apprehend.

This is a helpful way to frame some of the fears I’m feeling around AI.

By the way, this came from a new newsletter called VectorVerse that my pal Jenna Pederson launched recently with David Priest. You should give it a read and consider subscribing if you’re into these sorts of AI topics!