I wouldn't tell myself anything. I'd just help me with my Lego project. I know because I remember myself stepping through a time portal and helping me.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
When you were a kid, what did you want to be when you grew up?
What all kids wanted to be: A Spy-scientist-video-game-developer-astronaut. Ah yes, childhood was the age of amalgamations of professions. I think the call it "intersizing." Sure would be cost-efficient if you had just one guy who could perform a whole bunch of awesome tasks
What was your favorite movie as a child?
StarwarsstarwarsStarwarsstarwarsStarwarsstarwarsStarwarsstarwarsStarwarsstarwars
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Cereal is Gross
Cereal is a terrible breakfast food.
First off, have you ever been excited about cereal? At a breakfast buffet, are like, "Hmm, what will I- OH MAN CHEERIOS." No, it's something you have when you don't know what you want for breakfast. That already places it at a pretty mediocre level right off the bat.
You start off. You pour little tasteless flakes covered in sugaring glaze or whatnot, stuff that's barely passable as low-class trail mix, into a bowl. Then you soak them in milk, which isn't too bad since milk rocks, but have you ever tried to drink milk in the morning, just after you've woken up? It feels thick and tasteless and you can barely force the stuff down your throat, yet it's somehow passable if we put it on cereal.
So you start off eating it. It's okay. nothing really leaps out at you, but knowing cereal, all the dust and gribblets are going to be on top, sticking you with eating flavored sand while all the flakes and stuff worth eating drowns in milk. When you get to them, they are devoid of taste and completely soaked. And of course, there is the age old question of how much milk to put in a bowl? Too much, and it's just soggy goop. Too little, and you're basically eating crackers for breakfast.
And, when you're finally done, you look, disappointed, at the pool of bronwish milky remains, which is all that's left. Drinking it is the last thing you want to do, but you feel guilty leaving half of that crap still in there. Whenever I pour it into the disposal, it feels like I'm defiling my sink.
And after all this, it's still not enough! Have you ever tried to get through a morning on nothing but a bowl of cereal? It's the equivalent of crossing the Saharah desert with a bottle of water, or that's what it seems like when you're staring at the lock, willing lunchtime to come faster.
It's ridiculous. And yet, I still eat it every morning.
First off, have you ever been excited about cereal? At a breakfast buffet, are like, "Hmm, what will I- OH MAN CHEERIOS." No, it's something you have when you don't know what you want for breakfast. That already places it at a pretty mediocre level right off the bat.
You start off. You pour little tasteless flakes covered in sugaring glaze or whatnot, stuff that's barely passable as low-class trail mix, into a bowl. Then you soak them in milk, which isn't too bad since milk rocks, but have you ever tried to drink milk in the morning, just after you've woken up? It feels thick and tasteless and you can barely force the stuff down your throat, yet it's somehow passable if we put it on cereal.
So you start off eating it. It's okay. nothing really leaps out at you, but knowing cereal, all the dust and gribblets are going to be on top, sticking you with eating flavored sand while all the flakes and stuff worth eating drowns in milk. When you get to them, they are devoid of taste and completely soaked. And of course, there is the age old question of how much milk to put in a bowl? Too much, and it's just soggy goop. Too little, and you're basically eating crackers for breakfast.
And, when you're finally done, you look, disappointed, at the pool of bronwish milky remains, which is all that's left. Drinking it is the last thing you want to do, but you feel guilty leaving half of that crap still in there. Whenever I pour it into the disposal, it feels like I'm defiling my sink.
And after all this, it's still not enough! Have you ever tried to get through a morning on nothing but a bowl of cereal? It's the equivalent of crossing the Saharah desert with a bottle of water, or that's what it seems like when you're staring at the lock, willing lunchtime to come faster.
It's ridiculous. And yet, I still eat it every morning.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Stars
Stars are pretty awesome. I don't just mean 'awesome,' but AWE-some. Full of awe 'n' all that. Let's put that on the table where we both can see it. You lookin' at it? Good. Now get a blanket, some pillows, let's make a fort! While we do that, I'm going to talk about stars.
They're pretty much the pinnacle of an organized society. Every year, you can chart their locations. They move in a graceful, perpetual dance upon which our entire system of navigation is based. In a very real way, it was these objects of the future (In that we see them now as points to one day get to) that helped us spread ideas and get where we are. That is a beautiful irony.
Even the way they die is amazing. When a star collapses, its elements are actually absorbed into another star. Now you could chalk this up to stars being greedy bastards, but I think it's pretty cool. Even in death, their remains are gathered up and continue on through the great dance.
Stars are sort of used as a theme for one of my favorite characters in theater/literature: Inspector Javert. He has an incredibly rigid justice code and hounds the convict protagonist throughout the story even when he attempts to start a new, honest life. The stars are his inspiration. "Scarce to be counted, filling the darkness, with order and light, you are the sentinels, silent and sure, keeping watch in the night."
It is this view of absolute justice that brings him at odds with the protagonist, Jean Valjean. At one point, Valjean, undercover amongst a group of student revolutionaries, finds that Javert has been captured for spying, and Valjean volunteers to execute him. However, he refuses to vindicate Javert's view of "once a thief, forever a thief." And lets the inspector go, knowing full well they will meet again, which they do, in the sewers of Paris. Valjean is taking a wounded young man to safety when Javert catches up with him. Javert finds himself doubting his convictions and lets Valjean go.
He realizes that his uncompromising world view is at odds with what he has done. He cannot reconcile the image he had carried through the years of Valjean as a brutal ex-convict, with Valjean's acts of kindness. Javert can be justified neither in letting Valjean go nor in arresting him. He is faced with the choice of being either lawful or immoral. For him morality and the law have always been one. He cannot accept that Valjean is both a criminal and a good person, and, unwilling to live in such a world, throws himself into the river Seine. One of my favorite lines in the musical comes from him at this point: "I am reaching, but I falll, and the stars are black and cold."
Going back to stars themselves, this goes to show that, for all our romanticization, the stars are nothing more than masses of plasma and hydrogen, as is our own sun, which humanity once revered as a god. And there I go again. But, then again, I am, as I like to put it, a Hopeful Romantic. I think a lot of people mistake optimism and observance of such things as "hopeless" romanticism. But progress without insight is worth nothing. I mean, there are no great hymns to the wonder of wireless phones (Although that would be pretty ridiculous. We already have ringtones).
In any case, I just wanted to share some musings. Tonight, do me a favor and look up. See if there's something there that you haven't seen. Or something about the things up there that we take for granted.
Hopefully, our fort is done by now. I'd say it's pretty rad. That star thing at the top is pretty cool. Oh snap! Look out! Pirates! Everyone inside the fort! AAAGGHHH
They're pretty much the pinnacle of an organized society. Every year, you can chart their locations. They move in a graceful, perpetual dance upon which our entire system of navigation is based. In a very real way, it was these objects of the future (In that we see them now as points to one day get to) that helped us spread ideas and get where we are. That is a beautiful irony.
Even the way they die is amazing. When a star collapses, its elements are actually absorbed into another star. Now you could chalk this up to stars being greedy bastards, but I think it's pretty cool. Even in death, their remains are gathered up and continue on through the great dance.
Stars are sort of used as a theme for one of my favorite characters in theater/literature: Inspector Javert. He has an incredibly rigid justice code and hounds the convict protagonist throughout the story even when he attempts to start a new, honest life. The stars are his inspiration. "Scarce to be counted, filling the darkness, with order and light, you are the sentinels, silent and sure, keeping watch in the night."
It is this view of absolute justice that brings him at odds with the protagonist, Jean Valjean. At one point, Valjean, undercover amongst a group of student revolutionaries, finds that Javert has been captured for spying, and Valjean volunteers to execute him. However, he refuses to vindicate Javert's view of "once a thief, forever a thief." And lets the inspector go, knowing full well they will meet again, which they do, in the sewers of Paris. Valjean is taking a wounded young man to safety when Javert catches up with him. Javert finds himself doubting his convictions and lets Valjean go.
He realizes that his uncompromising world view is at odds with what he has done. He cannot reconcile the image he had carried through the years of Valjean as a brutal ex-convict, with Valjean's acts of kindness. Javert can be justified neither in letting Valjean go nor in arresting him. He is faced with the choice of being either lawful or immoral. For him morality and the law have always been one. He cannot accept that Valjean is both a criminal and a good person, and, unwilling to live in such a world, throws himself into the river Seine. One of my favorite lines in the musical comes from him at this point: "I am reaching, but I falll, and the stars are black and cold."
Going back to stars themselves, this goes to show that, for all our romanticization, the stars are nothing more than masses of plasma and hydrogen, as is our own sun, which humanity once revered as a god. And there I go again. But, then again, I am, as I like to put it, a Hopeful Romantic. I think a lot of people mistake optimism and observance of such things as "hopeless" romanticism. But progress without insight is worth nothing. I mean, there are no great hymns to the wonder of wireless phones (Although that would be pretty ridiculous. We already have ringtones).
In any case, I just wanted to share some musings. Tonight, do me a favor and look up. See if there's something there that you haven't seen. Or something about the things up there that we take for granted.
Hopefully, our fort is done by now. I'd say it's pretty rad. That star thing at the top is pretty cool. Oh snap! Look out! Pirates! Everyone inside the fort! AAAGGHHH
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
When Life Gives You Lemons
When life gives you lemons, you make lemonade. But, in order to make a legitimate glass of lemonade (any amount, really), lemons alone are wholly insufficient. What, are you just going to squeeze out the juice? You may as well just suck it, gettin' all Stonewall Jackson up in here. General S.J. was a bro. He was like Robert E. Lee-class genius. Such a bro. A secessionist bro, but you get him, his best bud Lee, Alexander the Great, and Sun Tzu in a room and watch world domination happen in a matter of hours. What was I talking about, again? Oh yeah, lemons.
No, you're gonna need, like, sugar and water at least. And have you ever tried mixing sugar, water, and lemons together? That is NOT lemonade. The last you probably made lemonade, it was probably with some strange magical powder from the grocery story (And I'm telling you, that pink is not natural.) So in addition to life giving you lemons, water, sugar, the necessary preservatives to make a typical glass of lemonade, you'd also need the necessary mixing implements. A blender, or at the very least, a toothpick to swirl it around with. And then, of course, you need a cup to put it in. Where else are you going to make it, in your mouth?
No way, life's not going to give any of that. Life's a jerk; a cruel, heartless controller who gives you citrus for no other purpose than to laugh at your inability to transcribe it into a more presentable, palette-friendly state.
When life gives you lemons, you have no other choice but to suck 'em. Like Stonewall Jackson. And then you can take over the world!
Or at least the Union. Damn Yanks!
No, you're gonna need, like, sugar and water at least. And have you ever tried mixing sugar, water, and lemons together? That is NOT lemonade. The last you probably made lemonade, it was probably with some strange magical powder from the grocery story (And I'm telling you, that pink is not natural.) So in addition to life giving you lemons, water, sugar, the necessary preservatives to make a typical glass of lemonade, you'd also need the necessary mixing implements. A blender, or at the very least, a toothpick to swirl it around with. And then, of course, you need a cup to put it in. Where else are you going to make it, in your mouth?
No way, life's not going to give any of that. Life's a jerk; a cruel, heartless controller who gives you citrus for no other purpose than to laugh at your inability to transcribe it into a more presentable, palette-friendly state.
When life gives you lemons, you have no other choice but to suck 'em. Like Stonewall Jackson. And then you can take over the world!
Or at least the Union. Damn Yanks!
Monday, May 17, 2010
Who wants to talk about robots?!
While watching my morning dose of the BBC this morning, I saw the latest techno-marvel from Japan: A robot that, at first, looked identical to the human it was designed after. The first time I looked, they looked like- no, they were twins. Then it began moving in simple, jerky, programmed movements. Despite the obvious hardware deficiencies of the robot, it was still a glimpse of the future deeply immersed in the "uncanny valley." (The point at which something stops resembling a human and begins to look too human (For Xbox 360)) Before i get into that though, I'd like to talk about robots in general.
I do, of course, believe that as robot programming becomes more complex, we will get closer and closer to true 'artificial intelligence,' especially with organizations like the Association for the Advancement of Artificial Intelligence (AAAI). Indeed, it may well be possible to achieve 'artificial intelligence.'
"But see here," you must be saying (or you're letting me say it for you, in which allow me to put more words in your mouth: unctuous, uncouth, and Thermopylae. They're all quite tasty) "Artificial intelligence is pure science fiction. Any program, no matter how advanced, must have some boundaries." And you would be right. However, 'artificial' does not mean 'false,' but 'man-made.' Thus, it is 'created intelligence.' And what is intelligence in this context if not sentience? I bring up the greatest (known) sentience engine in all of history: the human brain. The human brain is essentially a machine inlaid with various programs: programs for muscle control, respiration, nervous systems, and, of course, abstract thought. And if you think about it, the human brain already comes with a set of parameters, notably: Social boundaries and chemical limitations. Social boundaries are taught to us from the day we are born and carry such a heavy weight in our minds that they may as well be 'programmed' into us throughout our lives. Chemical limitations refer to stress levels and the ability of the mind to concentrate on multiple things at a time. The brain is the greatest organic computer ever.
So if you really think about it, Artificial Intelligence isn't as far off as it seems. However, once truly sentient robots are introduced, what would our reaction be? Would some see them as nothing but a curiosity, as more mindless automata? What about religious groups? How would production work? I mean, it wouldn't be anything like childbirth; they would have to be produced by a company, most likely for profit. What function would they serve? Is there really a niche for selling sentient beings? We'd have to expand our tolerance, our acceptance, outside the human spectrum and embrace the unfamiliar. 'Inhuman' would be an incorrect term. We are humans, but all sentient beings are people. We would have to make a difficult transition into a new world of tolerance.
And this brings me back to human lookalikes. To give accept a robot, even with sentience, would be easy. By the time AI is truly created, robots will be an everyday part our lives, like common appliances. I've already explained about the 'uncanny valley,' and it really does apply. Would you ever be able to get used to those glass eyes, that doll-like hair, that waxy skin? It's so close to human, yet very alien, like an impostor. Could you ever get used to such a thing? I just thought I'd pose the question. I was just thinking about how far our acceptance can stretch to such things. Think about it, if you will.
If you don't believe how close a robot future is, I'll have you know that a couple in Japan was recently married by a robot. Hopefully we'll one day have Pope John Paul Mk.II, who shall be programmed to be a super-cool guy and an awesome Christian, not a scary German like the current dude.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/asia-pacific/8685184
I do, of course, believe that as robot programming becomes more complex, we will get closer and closer to true 'artificial intelligence,' especially with organizations like the Association for the Advancement of Artificial Intelligence (AAAI). Indeed, it may well be possible to achieve 'artificial intelligence.'
"But see here," you must be saying (or you're letting me say it for you, in which allow me to put more words in your mouth: unctuous, uncouth, and Thermopylae. They're all quite tasty) "Artificial intelligence is pure science fiction. Any program, no matter how advanced, must have some boundaries." And you would be right. However, 'artificial' does not mean 'false,' but 'man-made.' Thus, it is 'created intelligence.' And what is intelligence in this context if not sentience? I bring up the greatest (known) sentience engine in all of history: the human brain. The human brain is essentially a machine inlaid with various programs: programs for muscle control, respiration, nervous systems, and, of course, abstract thought. And if you think about it, the human brain already comes with a set of parameters, notably: Social boundaries and chemical limitations. Social boundaries are taught to us from the day we are born and carry such a heavy weight in our minds that they may as well be 'programmed' into us throughout our lives. Chemical limitations refer to stress levels and the ability of the mind to concentrate on multiple things at a time. The brain is the greatest organic computer ever.
So if you really think about it, Artificial Intelligence isn't as far off as it seems. However, once truly sentient robots are introduced, what would our reaction be? Would some see them as nothing but a curiosity, as more mindless automata? What about religious groups? How would production work? I mean, it wouldn't be anything like childbirth; they would have to be produced by a company, most likely for profit. What function would they serve? Is there really a niche for selling sentient beings? We'd have to expand our tolerance, our acceptance, outside the human spectrum and embrace the unfamiliar. 'Inhuman' would be an incorrect term. We are humans, but all sentient beings are people. We would have to make a difficult transition into a new world of tolerance.
And this brings me back to human lookalikes. To give accept a robot, even with sentience, would be easy. By the time AI is truly created, robots will be an everyday part our lives, like common appliances. I've already explained about the 'uncanny valley,' and it really does apply. Would you ever be able to get used to those glass eyes, that doll-like hair, that waxy skin? It's so close to human, yet very alien, like an impostor. Could you ever get used to such a thing? I just thought I'd pose the question. I was just thinking about how far our acceptance can stretch to such things. Think about it, if you will.
If you don't believe how close a robot future is, I'll have you know that a couple in Japan was recently married by a robot. Hopefully we'll one day have Pope John Paul Mk.II, who shall be programmed to be a super-cool guy and an awesome Christian, not a scary German like the current dude.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/asia-pacific/8685184
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