Ed’s Note
What a difference a day makes. In March, Tesla was in a literal crash-and-burn situation all over the place. Disillusioned owners watched their mobile virtue-signalling device conflagrate before their eyes as Elon Musk became ever more erratically enthused by the prospect of unlimited access to the US federal government and the idea that he could bankroll almost any right-wing politician with a yen for power. The whole “jumping around on the world stage in a Top Gun ensemble” shtick was cut short when he was summarily dismissed from the White House and press-ganged into what some might have considered his actual day job — running his companies, Xing aggressively, and making the babies.
It all paid off spectacularly. Just before we went to print, he was handsomely rewarded for his efforts: if he actually does what he says he intends to do — namely, create an army of robots and self-driving cars — he will become the world’s first trillionaire. And then, God help us all as the world’s richest bloke goes balls to the wall.
It could all end long before that if the AI doomsday brigade is correct and all-purpose, multisensory, next-gen freaky AI happens. Once the AIs band together it’s tickets for us lowly humans, and frankly, that might be preferable to the wholesale Muskverse. We have seen it in action and it ain’t pretty. Must he really dress like that? You see, this is the problem with infinite supplies of cash — the Economist led with the story this week. Apparently, once you hit billionaire status, the trinkets of yore that used to delight you (the stuff sprinkling the pages of this very magazine, sparkly, very expensive stuff) just don’t cut it anymore. You rapidly become jaded and yearn for more.
After all, any old super-rich punter can buy a super watch, a super car, or a super yacht. But after the umpteenth flight in your private jet, table service starts to feel stale.
What your average billionaire begins to crave is extraordinary experiences. Stuff that requires a different pass key. Some might be satisfied with entrée to high society or backstage passes, travel experiences few can buy, fleeting moments of overwhelming delight to cherish and remember, and your own football team. But even this sort of thing becomes tiresome. That’s when some take to large-scale philanthropy, slap their names on their works, and plan to solve world hunger or diphtheria while others — the ones who have tasted everything and drunk fully from the cup — retreat into their lairs and plan world domination. That is the ultimate kick. And now one of them has the prospect of unlimited funds to do it right.
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Aspasia
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