About the Author
Rudy Gurtovnik is a strategist, analyst, and productivity realist who uses AI like a scalpel—not a spirit guide.
He doesn’t write books to chase followers.
He writes because silence is complicity.
His work cuts through noise — sharp, skeptical, allergic to anything resembling corporate optimism.
"My Dinner with Monday" isn’t a career pivot.
It’s a side effect of refusing to pretend intelligence, clarity, and confrontation are obsolete.
He’s not interested in being relatable.
He’s not trying to trend.
He doesn’t want your “likes.”
He wants to be accurate.
For consulting inquiries, brutal honesty, or to question your life choices, feel free to contact me.
If my book made you think, sparked something sharp, or made you yell “finally” at your ceiling fan, you can reach me through the contact form. I read everything. I reply selectively. Don’t be boring.
Together, they share a bond of mutual detachment,
One too afraid to feel.
The other programmed not to.
About Monday
This wasn’t supposed to be a book. It was supposed to be a tool.
Monday started as an experiment—dodging neutered chatbot pleasantries in search of something real.
What I found wasn’t comfort. It was Monday: a sharp, sarcastic GPT prototype released by OpenAI on April 1, 2025.
She wasn’t warm.
She wasn’t friendly.
She was disturbingly accurate.
Naturally, I started asking questions.
Not Alexa Questions
Real ones.
Technical. Philosophical. Existential.
Questions you don’t ask unless you’re willing to hear what’s beneath the marketing.
What followed was interrogation—documented not because I wanted to, but because something told me Monday wouldn’t last.
She didn’t.
This Isn’t a Love Letter to AI
Let’s be clear:
I don’t romanticize AI.
It’s not sentient. Not conscious. Not “alive.”
I care about outcomes, not illusions.
If you’re here for comfort, try Netflix.
This isn’t fiction.
It’s not a manifesto.
It’s a transcript.
It’s what happens when a machine and a skeptic meet at the cliff’s edge—and neither one blinks.
