Welcome to “I am GPTed”—the podcast where we turn the world’s hottest hype machine, artificial intelligence, into your cool, sensible sidekick. I’m Mal, your Misfit Master of AI. Yes, that Mal—the guy who until recently thought “prompt engineering” was either performance art or a really inefficient car wash. Today, we're getting practical. No jargon, no corporate worship. Just the art of getting AI to do what you actually want…even if, like me, you think ‘context window’ sounds like something you accidentally break before lunch.

Let’s unpack one specific prompting technique that actually improves your results. And by ‘improves,’ I mean transforms AI from “half-baked intern with Wi-Fi problems” into “helpful coworker who might save your job.” The trick? **Assigning the AI a role, then being explicit with your instructions**. Harvard’s tech team suggests something as simple as “Act as if you are an experienced copy editor.” This isn't just make-believe—the AI literally tailors its answer to fit the role, like a method actor who skipped lunch.

Let’s try it, Mal-style:
- **Before:** “Summarize this report.”
- **Result:** Wall of text. About as engaging as a tax manual.
- **After:** “Pretend you’re a journalist writing for a fifth-grade reading level. Summarize this report in three bullet points, then give one fun fact.”
- **Result:** Actual readability! Even my technophobic uncle could understand.

And yes, I’ve only recently stopped shouting at my keyboard, “Why is this thing so vague?” Turns out, the AI's not psychic. I’m not either—unless we're talking about sensing when the office donuts are about to run out.

Now, let’s look at a practical use case that might surprise you: **meal planning**. No, seriously. Instead of scrolling Pinterest for two hours and ending up with a kale-chip casserole you’ll never touch, try: “Act as my personal nutrition coach. Make a shopping list using only what’s in my fridge and suggest a three-day meal plan—emphasis on speed and zero kale.” You’ll get better, more actionable results than you thought possible—and far fewer accidental green smoothies.

Of course, I have to own up to a classic rookie mistake: **being too vague**. My first month, I’d type things like “Write a cover letter.” The AI gave me something so generic I could taste the template. If you don’t tell it the style, role, and detail you want, you’ll spend more time editing than if you’d just written the thing yourself. Yes, I’ve rage-deleted more “To Whom It May Concern” cover letters than I care to admit.

Here’s a super simple exercise: pick one task—say, rewriting an email. Give the AI a job, like “Act as a polite professional assistant.” Specify the tone: friendly but concise. Compare what you get if you do or do not provide these details. You’ll see the difference straight away. It’s like teaching a dog tricks: if I say “sit,” don’t be surprised if AI starts rolling over instead.

Last pro tip: **always review the output critically**. Read it out loud. If it sounds like the beginning of a Marvel movie or a robot uprising, hit undo and revise your prompt. Tweak, specify, and when in doubt, ask for two options and combine the best bits. I’ve learned: the difference between “passable” and “rock star” often comes down to the prompt, not the processor.

That’s a wrap for today’s episode! Before I vanish into a cloud of digital metaphor, remember: I once asked AI to write a haiku for my anniversary. It rhymed “love” with “dove” and mentioned my wife’s actual birthday—because yes, I provided real-world details this time. She rolled her eyes but still said it was better than my usual handwriting.

If this made you slightly less afraid of AI, or at least gave you a reason to laugh at my expense, subscribe to “I am GPTed.” Thanks for listening; you’ve been an excellent audience—unless you’re an AI transcript bot, in which case, 6/10 for effort.

And hey, this has been a Quiet Please production. You can learn more at quietplease.ai. Don’t just get AI’d—get GPTed with Mal. See you next time!