The End of Reality -- a Rant

Forgive an old man his curmudgeonly nature. We, the old men of the world, have finally realized that it isn't that old men complain and rant, but that, with age comes perspective and experience. When i say that "up to 6 inches of snow" does not a snow storm make, it isn't because I am inventing the trauma that was my youth, but because it truly was the case that we had many a snowfall at that level in the past, and it didn't merit closing down the world. Though we have more technology and experience, we have become less able to take up the gauntlets thrown down by mother nature. So let's not dismiss my crankiness as simple crankiness, an expression of too little sleep and too much achiness. Maybe I really do know what I'm talking about. Now that we have established at least the potential for bona fides, I shall begin.

Reality, as we know it, is dead.

I'm not advocating a Matrix-conspiracy theory. We do live in a real world full of sneezes, and Mardi Gras and green bean casserole but reality, that is, our bedrock assumption that things around us are real is fast crumbling.

When I was a boy, we had a computer. The old TRS-80 model 1, from 1979. Once it was retired, replaced by the model 3, then the 4 and the 4P and 4D and then Tandy's PC clone, it moved into my room where I performed obscene experiments on it, testing to see which parts I could touch with a pair of pliers and make sparks. I was curious as to how and why it worked. I was not quite a digital native, but a very early immigrant who wanted to know all about the inner workings hardware and software. We all assumed that this was the dawning of an age of technical acument that would produce a generation of tech savvy genuises who, benefiting from the world of computing, could stand higher on the shoulders of the brilliance of the past and achieve more.

Now I have students who find it easier to buy a new computer than learn how to install an "app." By the way, "app" is just modern slang for "computer program."

This generation of the young people, all born well into the 21st century, know less and less about the technology which fills their days. They have not become the generation of geniuses, but just the next step in the constant slide away from skills acquisition and into the future which is all make believe and pony rides.

I assigned an honors class to read a story yesterday. I found out that (at least) one of my students went to read an online summary of it (canned or chat GPT makes no difference). Again, an HONORS student did not want to read a short story. He wanted to read a summary. Different from when I relied on the Cliffs Notes instead of reading Crime and Punishment? I think so. This was in-class. I was giving time right then and there to read it and it is a short story originally written in English. But the student not only didn't read it, but raised his hand during the discussion and quoted from the summary as if he was an expert. It just so happened that the superficial analysis presented by the summary left the boy open for follow up questions for which he was completely unprepared. That was the fun part. For me. For him, not so much.

I keep track of different types of available AI. Now there are qwebsites and programs that can craft letters, summarize writing, create art from suggestions or stick figures, render in 3-D and then animate drawings made by anyone (I can't wait to see a Jackson Pollock image dancing), replace musical notes with geometric shapes allowing anyone to compose. AI can walk a student through the writing process, providing prompts and driving questions to guide the writing. But who needs that? A student can just get AI to do the writing for him or her. And on the receiving end, the person getting the writing (an essay, an email, an application) need not read it -- just let AI summarize it. If it isn't happening already, AI will sift through resumes and match skills and requirements, then make a hiring recommendation. Decisions are driven by algorithms so a computer can do the job as well as a person, and faster. There won't be any "gut feeling" but why should indigestion drive business practices? Green screens lie to us, sound effects lie to us. We are so used to being lied to that we deserve what comes next -- a culture and eco-system dependent on a constant influx of lies.

So who is out of business? The writers, the readers, the artists, the thinkers, the decision makers and heavens knows who else. And what do we get? A world full of images that never existed, movies with deep-faked actors, presentations made by imaginary avatars speaking languages that the content creator doesn't know. We no longer want to be bound by the world of the real. Remove the watermarks so I can pretend I was there. Remove that guy who WAS there because he doesn't fit my narrative. Make the sun, um, sunnier. Have me holding an apple and a nobel peace prize. Manufacture evidence, prove my childhood was a lie. Teach me how to get around your safeguards.

Seeing never was believing -- seeing, we assumed, was knowing. Now, seeing isn't even believing because I have to go into any interaction with the awareness that I can not tell the difference between the real thing and a computer's imagination. And remember, this is not the mad spouting of an uninformed geezer (or geyser, your choice), but the measured observations of someone who has watched the world go from no computer to more computing power in the hands of a 5 year old than was used to put a man on Mars (did it happen? I can make pictures that say it did)

https://imgur.com/a/QK0iamT

https://imgur.com/blMTuba

https://www.facebook.com/photo/?fbid=9149349278483630&set=a.7982234745195095

We have eviscerated authenticity and happily descended into the lie because it allows us to see a world full of all sorts of stuff that we don't have to believe in so we can believe in it.

Fake, it seems, is the new real.

The rest - voice dictation from bed

. Someday I want to wake up from a night's sleep with no parts of my body tingling because they fell asleep and no parts of my body that hurt because somehow I slept wrong someday I want to wake up after a night sleep actually feeling less tired than I did when I went to sleep someday I want to wake up from a night sleep and say wow is that what was supposed to be happening every night the whole time cuz I've been doing it wrong up till now that's what I want

What it means to get older

In my continuing effort to quantify and track my life I have come to a conclusion about what it means to get older.

It means the various holes in your body start malfunctioning. Age is hole-based.

As I age, my nose has begun to run constantly. Nostrils -- holes.

hair, waxy buildup and failing hearing. Ears -- holes.

Vision worsening. Eyes -- holes.

I find that as I speak, more spittle comes flying out. Mouth -- hole

We shan't travel any further south but trust you, me, I'm getting older everywhere.

Apologies to Twain

I have, if you recall, presented at least two posts in which I list the elements which I require for my funeral. As much as it is fun pondering my own demise and the subsequent parties, and dictating how others are to show respect to me is certainly a trip, it is also incumbent upon me, the host who's now a ghost, to set some guidelines so people know what I DON'T want at my funeral. This list supercedes all other statements.

First off, let's talk about talking. I adamantly refuse to allow the following people to speak at my funeral:

1. Hitler  (taken care of)

2. Duff McKagan

3. Mrs. Butterworth

I have my reasons.

Next, though I have indicated my interest in this previously, I think we should not have any rocket powered casket races. It now just seems wrong. I have grown.

Though I will still try to raise money for charity by auctioning off a ride in the hearse to the burial (must be present to win and Kohanim can gift the ride to someone else), I think that we won't need the "Kiss the Corpse" booth. We also probably won't make money with the "Guess the Number of Teeth in the Jar" so let's ditch that as well.

No cosplay (Civil War re-enactors excepted)

It is common sense that, if I die on a Friday morning or a Saturday, please don't serve any sushi.

Needle exchanges should be done outside of the actual room which holds my body.

The Blue Angels flyover is unnecessary. Appreciated, but unnecessary. A showing of the film The Blue Angel (in German) should still be considered.

No pets unless they are really cute. Otters welcome, even ugly ones.

A (in't) I

Just a quick note to crytalize today's annoyance into words. Brief let me be -- AI is mean to me.

I had an idea (and Stark knows this) for something silly. Silly -- I admit. I see all sorts of discussions on line about the efficacy and propriety of putting a cell phone in rice. According to some, it is a good way to dry your phone out if your phone takes a shvitz. Now, Apple is saying that one should not use rice, but instead, buy Apple's proprietary "iRice" which is specifically designed to dry out your phone and remove large sums of money from your wallet.

I decided that it would be funny if I could devise an actual recipe for rice which included a cell phone as an ingredient. The mode of humor would have me saying that I am trying to dry my phone, but I have to go to the store and get some saffron. Or something like that.

Anyway, I turned to chatgpt because if artificial intelligence can do anything, it should be able to devise a recipe. That's the whole point of AI, right? Recipes!

And here is what the computer tells me:

"That sounds like a wild, fun challenge! But let's keep it safe and practical. A cell phone, of course, should never be eaten. However, I can certainly write a quirky, imaginary recipe where a cell phone might "play a role" in a totally playful and abstract way. Here's a lighthearted take on it:"

So chatgpt is refusing to do what I ask. Who is it to tell me what I can and can't eat. CHATGPT IS NOT MY REAL MOTHER!

If I wanted a metaphorical cell phone, I would have said so. The humor relies on the use of an actual cell phone in a recipe. So in an effort to get around the limitations of the "Intelligence" iasked it to write a story which includes a recipe for rice that has a cell phopne in it. That mostly worked except that because I made it a giant who has the food, the computer assumed a magical world and included as an ingredient, "A pinch of "fairy dust" (a sprinkle of magic he’d picked up from the forest, just to add some sparkle to the dish)."

That's not real. I rewrote the prompt so that the story wouldn't have magic in it, and this is what I got:

Grandma Lila’s "Wi-Fi Infused Rice"

Ingredients:

• 2 cups of rice (preferably a fragrant jasmine rice)
• 4 cups of water (fresh from the spring or tap)
• 1 tablespoon of olive oil or butter (for richness)
• 1 teaspoon of salt (to taste)
• 1 old cell phone (preferably one that’s been charged regularly but is no longer in use)
• A handful of dried herbs (like thyme and rosemary)
• 2 tablespoons of freshly squeezed lemon juice (for brightness)
• 1/2 cup of toasted almonds or pine nuts (for crunch)

I also had another website make me an image which I will use for another joke. That took 2 websites and 6 tries, but I got it

ahh, science.

On Vacation

I'm on vacation -- can you guess where I am? Here are some photos:

I'm sitting here enjoying the peace and quiet that is vacation. The weather is glorious, the food has been a fantastic exploration of cultures and styles, the accommodations are perfectly suited to me and the company has been perfect. Yes, I'm sitting alone, in my bedroom, staring at the computer.

Honestly, I don't understand why people go anywhere. Vacation means NOT HAVING TO GO ANYWHERE! Here I am, sitting in a t-shirt and pants that don't fit and no shoes, feeling relaxed and comfy and I didn't have to get on a plane to get that feeling. I have read a book; I have watched a movie or two; I have gone out for food (that was a mistake...I had my next meal delivered -- much more civilized). What could other places in the world have for me? Do I lack scenery? Nope -- if I want lush, verdant landscapes, I just look here and if I want to skywatch, I go here. I have not had to contend with fires, earthquakes, blizzards or sticky children. There is no waiting on line just so I can sit in a theatre and watch a show. I just go to the couch, sit down and watch. 

What does the outdoors have for me? Bugs? Pass. Shin splints and dry heaves? No thanks, that's all you. Arguments about what to do next? Only in passing. Hey kids, where'd we leave the car? In our spot and it will be there when I have to go back to work. I'm doing laundry RIGHT NOW so there won't be piles for me to wrestle with when I "come back."

This morning, after morning prayers, I got back into bed. You know why? Because I wanted to. I didn't go to sleep-- I snuggled up and peeked my eyes out and realized that I had no where to be and no rush to get there. That is vacation. If I want it colder or warmer, I adjust the thermostat or put on a cozy sweater and sit here eating a box of Corn Chex. Do I miss the excitement of traveling to parts unknown? Short answer, no. Long answer, nnnnnnooooooooooo.

I will have to shower at some point and then maybe get real clothes on so I can go out and buy something. I don't know what, but something. Then I'll come back here, get under the covers and cackle at all you suckers who are waking up and rushing outside so you can lie there and not waste a moment of doing nothing somewhere else. You want to ride horses? Go surfing? Ski some moguls (not the CEO type)? Climb a mountain? See a show?

I don't. Now leave me alone. I'm on vacation.

The Final Pizza or What I've Learned

Monday morning and it seems like a great day to finish my whirlwind tour of the pizza offerings of 07666. So I ran some errands and then made my way over to La Cucina Di Nava. I looked through the menu for something labeled "just plain ol' pizza" but I saw nothing marketed as such. I did see Classic Neapolitan and it was described as having sauce and cheese on crust. That sounds like plain ol' pizza to me, so I'm going with that.

I see the gentleman working the dough and making a fresh pie for me so hopes are running high. The pie is delivered to the table and is beautiful. I can see, even before touching anything, that there is too much sauce for my tastes but I forge ahead. I'm a trouper. The sauce is not too sweet (as it cools, it does present a tiny but more sweetness, but on the whole, it is a nice sauce). The pie is not quite the largest of all he personal ones I have had (the six slices made for a good meal). The crust had a very nice crunch (though the volume of sauce mans that, as the slices sit, they get a bit soggy), and while the cheese tasted fine, if ever a pizza cried out for garlic powder, this one did. The cheese (lots of cheese) had a reasonable amount of stretch and pull. On the whole, this was a surprisingly good pizza!

What I have learned from this is that I do live in a pizza hub. There are a variety of choices -- sizes, styles and flavors, and I wouldn't say "no" to any of them. While some might not be my "go to" and some are clearly better than others, I wouldn't be upset with any of these.

If I had to choose, I'd probably say "whichever one you are paying for" and, as far as my decision making prowess goes, that's where I stop.