Quantum Computing... A Leap for Mankind?

Folks, hopefully you saw the December 3rd 60 Minutes segment on Quantum computing.  If not, I’ll be updating you with the interesting, if not scary details discussed – Merry Christmas!  It seems that IBM, Google, Microsoft and China are the major players developing this technology that will take us to new stratospheres of computing power.  The technology moves away from the traditional transistor based architecture that has been around for three quarters of a century…give or take a decade.  The CPU complexes are called QuBits.  And you will be able to link many thousands of these QuBits together to create computers that are over a million times faster than today’s most speedy computers.  I have to say, the gear looks super impressive, like something out of Star Trek.  Unfortunately, one of the requirements to be able to have these Qubits run so fast is that they need to be kept at a temperature of 400 degrees below zero.  For comparison, that’s colder than deep space where your closest sun is more than a lifetime’s drive away.  Think about having this technology for your home computer.  On the upside you could cancel your AC maintenance contract.  On the downside you’ll need to get additional health insurance, as you’ll be having a heart attack every month when PSE&G sends you their electric bill.  But at 400 below zero, you could think of it as you doing your part to end global warming!

One problem they talked about was that currently, the technology makes mistakes, a lot of them.  It reminds me of the 90s, when the then new Intel Pentium chip first came out.  As long as you didn’t need to do high-precision division (whatever that is) you were fine.  Still, it made me feel like I wanted my IRA to be managed by someone using good old paper and pencil.  It brought new meaning to the phrase “Old School.” They’re hoping that in the next five years, with the help of summer school classes, they can teach the technology to do arithmetic accurately.

On the 60 minutes program they also had an interview with a senior person from the Cleveland Clinic who is supporting the technology in the hopes of using it to eventually solve some of healthcare’s greatest challenges, like cancer and autoimmune disease.   The solution to many of these challenges revolves around having enough processing power to address the molecular complexity of the human being.  Similarly, when the Human Genome Project first began in 1990 they estimated that with the fastest CPU technology available, it would take about 13 years to crack the first human genome.  And they were correct.  With today’s CPU technology, (400 below not required) you can crack your own personal human genome in a few days.  And just in case you were wondering, it’s not particularly cheap, yet.  The challenges of cancer and autoimmune disease are even more complex, but with computers that will be a million times faster, it looks promising…as long as the after school math help is effective. 

But, and there is always a but, as much as this technology has great positive potential, it could also be extremely efficient at cracking encryption codes on our credit cards.   We’ll all need to ensure we have the room in our homes for a large safe to hold all of our gold, as credit cards and electronic banking will become obsolete.  “Beware of the NoGoodNicks!”  

I choose to remain positive and look forward to the day when I have a Quantum based iPhone that can keep my pina colada cold on the beach!   Happy Holidays!

Fly Fishing, the New Contact Sport

So I’m meeting an old friend for our annual three-day fly fishing adventure.  This year we’re again flying to Utah, and driving three plus hours to the northeast corner of the state to fish on the Green River.  Up front let me say, I’m a horrible fly fisherman.  If my skills were evaluated, I’d be a solid C-.  Naturally the fact that I fish once a year doesn’t help.  

After a three and half hour drive from the Salt Lake City airport we arrive at a restaurant that has a fly fishing store attached to it.  As you wait for your table, you can browse for any items you might have left at home.   This is a life saver for me.  While we’re perusing the cases of flies my friend starts speaking with a guide who just today fished an area called, Jone’s Hole.  We’ll be hiking and fishing in that remote area tomorrow.  The guide explains to my friend where fish are biting and what they’re hitting.  He begins to explain this multi-tier rig where fly lines cascade from one another.  (So you’re fishing with multiple flies at the same time.) I wince as this is sounding complicated. My friend understands completely, but as soon as the guide started describing this tiered contraption, my mind glazed over.   We get to our cabin and thanks to the Internet and knot tying tutorials, I’ve created my own diabolical multi-line configuration, which I’m eager to test out in the trees and bushes tomorrow.  We’ve been to Jone’s Hole before.  This section of the Green River tributary is narrow and fast with shrubs and trees on both banks.  It is imperative that you have expert casting skills and a tight, simple rig – I have neither. 

As we arrive in the Jone’s Hole parking lot we notice a bazillion large pitch-black creatures scurrying on the ground.  They’re called, “Mormon Crickets”.  The big ones, and there are a lot of them, look like they’re the result of a horrific nuclear accident. I’m glad I’m wearing thick boots with high, rubberized socks.  As the day progresses, I complete my usual amount of shrub trimming and have come to realize I need to replace my fly with something that looks more like one of these mutant crickets.  The closest thing I have is a dark looking grasshopper.  I’m dreading dismantling my contraption and having to leverage my weak knot tying skills.  But it’s time to man up and reach for the gusto.  After a commensurate amount of cursing, I complete the operation.  I’m very pleased with myself and make my first cast.  My fly goes directly into the tall trees and with that, it’s time to call it a day.

The next day we’re fishing in the canyons that have been dug out by the Green River over millions of years.  The topography is nothing short of amazing. The canyon walls soar hundreds of feet high.  There are tiers of a variety of stone with colors ranging from gray to red to brown.  Large pine trees grow precariously out of the walls.  And the water, as you can imagine, it’s crystal clear.  Being from the East coast I never get used to the images, and the iPhone saves a ton on film costs.  In the canyons we’re fishing with a guide in his titanium rowboat.  It’s specifically designed to handle the fast moving waters of the rocky bottom Green River.  The guide sits in the middle of the boat and rows - a lot.  There’s no motor.  My friend is standing in the rear and I am in the front.  The guide is great, no attitude and has no problem repeating instructions to me…ad nauseam.  We’re fishing with a large fly that has a monster size hook.   I’ve lost a number of fish throughout the day.  It’s become my go to move.  I’m also battling to cast my fly far enough out and in the right spot on the water.  This deficiency is requiring me to quickly pull my initial cast out of the water and then lickety split recast further out.  This becomes my second go to move of the day.  The only problem is that once the fly has landed on the water during the first cast, it’s almost as if it’s stuck in glue.  Getting it to release becomes a constant herculean effort.  But once it does let go, the fly and its armor piercing hook, becomes a dangerous projectile traveling at Mach 5.  And the best part, I have absolutely no control over where it’s headed as it comes flying back towards the boat.  The guide and my friend are constantly cringing, covering and ducking.  At one point I nailed my friend in the chest and got a well deserved incredulous look.  I’m sure the guide was wondering when his turn was coming.  

So we’re in the last hour of the day and our guide takes us to a new area of the river.  I make my cast and determine right away, I’ll need to recast.  The fly with the big hook comes screaming back at me and before I can duck I feel something smack me about a quarter inch from my eye.  In a purely reflex move my hand immediately presses up against the side of my face and I can feel the hook embedded right next to my eyeball.  I glance at my two teammates, they’re stunned.  It’s as if they’ve seen a ghost - a ghost with a hook through his eye. 

The guide is now in a state of heightened concern.  (Later he said he was thinking it was time to call for a helicopter…if only we had connectivity.)  He raises his voice and says, “Don’t Move!”  He pulls the boat over and then while looking me straight in the face says, “Okay, move your hand away.”  At that point he loses it and says, “Oh My God!”  As you can imagine, just a bit of angst percolates upwards.  I’m thinking to myself, I don’t feel any pain, and I think I’m seeing out of two eyes, but maybe I’m in shock and the hook is actually sticking out of my eyeball.   As it turns out, the guide was able to remove the hook with one quick maneuver.  Any thoughts of a movie or modeling career are over, but I did not lose an eye.  Then he applied a huge dab of disinfectant from one of his fingers that was caked in fish guts.  Very reassuring.  And that night at the restaurant/fly fish store I bought a great pair of anti-glare sunglasses with a protective wrap-around feature.

Final Note: Five minutes after almost losing my eye, the fishing gods smiled down upon me.  I caught a five-pound, 23 inch golden Brown Trout.

Come Fly With Me

This story is dedicated to my wife who puts up with…well a lot as it relates to me.  I often think I should have chosen a career as an arctic explorer.  Because I’m often told that I’m skating on thin ice.  But to be fair, this was not an arranged marriage.  To paraphrase Dathan from the movie, The Ten Commandments: She made this choice of her own free will.   

So I meet an old friend to fly fish once a year.   He’s on the west coast and I’m on the east coast.  The last three years we’ve gone to the Green River in the northeast corner of Utah.  This means flying into Salt Lake City (SLC) and then driving another three and a half hours to get to the destination.  My poison of choice is United Airlines.  Unfortunately two years ago United stopped offering direct flights between Newark and Salt Lake City.  Last year they put me on a connecting flight through Chicago with a 40 minute layover.  I couldn’t sleep for a month as I was constantly thinking about how I was going to be running down the gangway and banging on the door to the plane demanding, and then pleading that they open the door and let me on.  

This year six months in advance I decided to abandon United and booked a flight on Airline “X”.  Salt Lake City is one of their major hubs and they had an abundance of direct flights.  I’m all set now, until...  I had a 6:40PM flight out of Newark, their last flight of the day to SLC.  I got up that morning at a leisurely pace thinking to myself boy it rained pretty good last night, I’m glad I don’t have a morning flight.  I picked up my iPhone and there was one new message, it’s from airline “X”.  It read and I’m paraphrasing, “You seemed to be getting way too comfortable, one might say even cocky, so we decided to cancel your flight.  We took the liberty of rebooking you on another flight.  It’s a connector through Detroit that will get you to your final destination by Christmas.  And to put a cherry on top, we’ve made it virtually impossible to get your money back.  We will only offer an e-credit so we can do this to you again on your next flight with us.  Thanks for choosing “X.” 

Enter the Mrs.  She jumps on her iPhone and with lightning speed assesses the situation and finds a flight on Jet Blue that leaves out of JFK Airport in about two and half hours.  It’s raining again and I can’t see getting my sorry act together and then making the trip down Rt.78, onto the Turnpike, over the Goethals & Verrazano Bridges, onto the 15 mile stretch of the heinous Belt Parkway which floods consistently on sunny days.  Nope, I’m just going to sit on the floor and cry.  She’ll hear none of it.  I’m leaving whether I like it or not!  My wife grabs me by the ear, picks me up off the carpet (next to no exaggeration here.  It was like when someone gets some horrific news and suddenly adrenaline kicks in and they have super strength - go figure.) and throws me and my gear into the car and we take off. 

Turns out Waze wanted to take us thru the Holland Tunnel to get to JFK.  I cringe thinking, “Really, the Holland Tunnel, why don’t we just go through Pluto, wouldn’t that be faster?  Then we saw signs saying that the Holland Tunnel was closed until further notice.  Turned off Waze and brought up Google Maps.  In the pouring rain we muscle out way over multiple bridges and onto the dreaded Belt Parkway where we dodge small lakes on our final leg of the adventure to JFK. 

I get to Terminal 5 and approach the Jet Blue area.  (I haven’t been to JFK or flown Jet Blue in over 15 years…this will be fun)  There is an alarmingly large sea of people and they all look like they’re late for their flights.  Oddly though, there are no customer service agents helping folks with the automated check-in system.  I fail a number of times trying to get the scanner to recognize the e-ticket barcode on my iPhone.  (So much for problem free AI.  Hopefully the scanners connected to our ballistic missiles are from a different manufacturer.)  I walk away before turning into the Incredible Hulk and throwing the kiosk through a wall.  I collect myself, walk back to the kiosk, decide to insert my credit card and voila, I’m in. 

As I approach my gate, I look out the large windows and see a number of Jet Blue planes.  They all look gleamingly new.  The main bodies and wings are an off white color and the tail of the planes have a nice soft blue and green plaid design on them.  I get to my gate and look out the window at my plane.  It’s a solid green.  It could have been in the St. Patrick’s Day Parade.  It was Green all over, except for where the numerous scratch marks were.  This plane looked like it was in a catfight with about twenty tigers and lost bad.  It was as if they went to a garage sale, saw the plane and said, “This is a bargain we can’t pass up.”

Inside, the plane was fine and the attendants were very nice.  We’re all seated and ready for take off, literally 20 minutes ahead of schedule.  I’m thinking, finally a break.  Then I looked up and noticed one of the mechanics in a bright orange vest is standing in the doorway of the cockpit.  He’s speaking with the pilot.  They’re not smiling.  I quickly put two and two together and surmised this is not good.  As a matter of fact, the only thing that could be worse is if they got on the PA system and told us we had a mechanical issue and we’re not taking off…which is what happened next.  The captain steps outside the cockpit and picks up the microphone.  He let us know that we did have a minor technical issue, but it’s been addressed.  He continues, unfortunately now we just need to complete some paperwork that will take 15 minutes, then we’ll be on our way.  Then the lead flight attendant jumps in and tells us that the PA system needs to be rebooted before take off and that will take 20 minutes to complete.  Then the captain gets back on the airwaves and says, “Oh, and because of the heavy rain, we’ll be taxiing on the runway for about an hour before take off.  Disappointing as all of that was, I still have to give the captain and JetBlue a lot of credit.  They came out promptly, explained the situation and kept us all from melting down in our seats.  My airline of choice would never do that.  Instead, they would take the Marie Antoinette approach: “Oh are they upset? Let them eat cake.”  Only there’s never any cake. 

Death Valley...in Winter

On Super Bowl Sunday I flew to SoCal to connect with my son.  The next day we’re driving to Death Valley National Park.  As usual, I have not prepared nearly enough. My survival plan will be: Adhere to a strict diet of muscle relaxers while in Death Valley, hoping to mask the pain for a few days and fool my body into thinking its as young as my son’s.

  

The car ride is over five hours and since I’m not trusting of other people’s driving, my son very much included; I drive most of the way.  If anyone knows how to wrench a back, it’s me.  We got a late start and after driving two hours we came across a questionable looking Burger King.  We decided to drive another half hour, figuring at that point we’d be around the halfway mark to Death Valley. We were on Rt. 395 which became a single lane road that ran for over a 100 miles with nothing on either side.  And I mean NOTHING!  Also amazing – not one car was ahead of us the rest of the time we were on 395.  When you’re driving on a desolate road for that distance, seeing absolutely nothing, after a while you get the feeling that you were left off the group txt message that should have alerted you about a nuclear attack that you happen to be driving into.  Back to important matters, a severe case of “Hangry” has set in and my son did the best he could to avoid getting his head chewed off.  After the missed BK opportunity, the first eatery we ran into was inside Death Valley.  It looked to be a left over oasis from the 1800s.  Again we passed and wound up having lunch at 4PM when we arrived at our motel.  Something a bit quirky - we arrived at the motel at 3:45PM and asked if we could check in.  No other patrons were in sight, so we thought this was a simple ask.  With a bit of a militant attitude, we were told that we could not check in till 4PM.  I’m thinking well that’s kind of off, but no biggie, the restaurant was a few feet away so we grabbed lunch and came back to check in.  At this point the line to check in was out the door.

Death Valley is a massive national park.  About 90% of it is in California and 10% in Nevada.  Death Valley holds the modern day record as the hottest place on earth.   It was recorded in the early 1900s at 134 degrees Fahrenheit – hence our February expedition. There are multiple signs posted by the Parks department explaining that you want to be careful while at the park because helicopters cannot fly in extreme heat.  The signs go on to say, so if you’re injured in a remote area, like you decide it would be fun to play with a big rattle snake and he bites you, they will not be able to get help to you before you die. I memorized the verbiage on the sign and repeated it to my son every time I saw him leave a trail and head for some scrambling that I’m confident would be impossible for me to follow.  The Park landscape is varied but for the most part, a good description would be, “Other Worldly.”  There are super white sand dunes that were used by George Lucas during the filming of two of his Star Wars movies.  The general store has a map that identifies the locations where filming occurred.  Naturally I only saw that map on the way out of the park, but I did pick up a Death Valley Star Wars t-shirt as a memento.  There are mountain ranges that have multiple types of minerals laced throughout them.  The colors are spectacular greens, oranges, purples, reds and whites.  And there are great viewing points that overlook the various basins in the park.  Two thousand years ago the main basin was a 30 foot deep lake – can you say Global Warming?  Scientists believe the reason that the lake eventually disappeared is because there are four significant mountain ranges that sit between the Pacific Ocean and Death Valley.  Rain cannot consistently make it over that many mountain ranges.  Having said that, when it does rain in Death Valley, like once a year, it’s usually torrential.  You need to get yourself and your vehicle to higher ground as the flooding becomes deadly fast.

Our motel is a massive complex of old single story structures, looking like something out of Schitt’s Creek.  The rooms are sparse with paper thin walls that separate the rooms.  We never met our next door neighbor but we got to know his nightly ritual.  At 3AM he’d put his TV on with the volume maxed out.  At the same time he’d intermittently be on the phone, screaming over the TV volume with what might have been family members.  They must have enjoyed the ranting almost as much as me.  Then at 6AM he’d leave the room, get in his car and drive off.  We wouldn’t see or hear from him until the next night at 3AM.  

The first morning in Death Valley I’m up early due to prince charming next door as well as being on east coast time.  I leave the room looking for a cup of coffee while my son sleeps in.  This becomes a ritual as my son and I are generally on a ten hour time difference no matter what planet we’re on.  It’s a nice morning, and the sites from the motel parking lot are extremely, yes, otherworldly.  I’m thinking this is what the moon, or mars might look like.  I walk to the restaurant and see a sign posted on the entry door stating, “No Power, No Idea when it might come back on.”  I go to the front desk and ask for details.  There were none to be had.  The person behind the counter didn’t seem concerned or feel moved to find out what’s going on, or when the power might come back.  I come to the conclusion that people in Death Valley live by their own code.  The phrase, “sense of urgency” is not in that code.  I decide to try to call my wife and make sure nothing apocalyptic has happened.  The motel rooms have no phones and they also do not have Wi-Fi.  In Death Valley, they want you off technology and seeing the sites.  (I’m thinking it’s probably best to leave some clues that we were there.)  As I’m walking back to the room, a mild breeze picks up, nothing significant.  The temperature is about 40 degrees, so much for breaking records.  Lowest recorded temp in Death Valley was 20 degrees in 1990.  I have a long history of breaking things, so I’m thinking this record might still be up for grabs. 

I get back to our room, open the curtains & shades in an attempt to rally my son.  I head back out walking across the street to the general store thinking maybe they have their own generator and hot coffee can be had.  I’m half right.  They have a generator, but it is only supporting the store’s refrigerator.  It’s 40 degrees out with a breezy drizzle, I’m not in the mood for ice coffee.  I might sing a different tune in the summer when the temp climbs to 116 degrees regularly.  The store is bustling as everyone is coming in looking for something.  One woman lets us all know she drove 30 minutes to the next town looking for coffee and found out that all of Death Valley has no power. The situation was very reminiscent of our neighborhoods when hurricane sandy hit in 2012.   Crowds of people were in the Kings supermarket looking to use the three power outlets in their tiny eatery.  Anyone with a multiport power strip was royalty.

With non-perishable breakfast treats in hand (Devil Dogs, Twinkies, and Ring Dings), I head back to the room.  The wind is picking up now.  Back in our room, my son has gotten himself together and we enjoy a nutritious breakfast and prepare to head out.  Wind, sand, and rain is now blowing sideways with exceptional velocity.  We hop in our car as I think, “Is this really a good idea, or is this just Death Valley and I need to suck it up? “As I’m about to pull out, I can feel the wind start to pick the car up off the ground.  With visions of being blown off the road and weeks later the rangers finding our remains…after being eaten by the sand people, I make a management type decision.  We head back to our room and wait another hour before successfully launching.

Over the next two and half days we saw amazing sights.  One of the great things about Death Valley is you can see a ton of jaw dropping sites by taking a short walk from your car.  I did test myself on two challenging hikes into canyons.  I’m happy to report, there were no injuries and the wild geologic sites made the endeavors well worth it.  When we stopped for gas (at six dollars a gallon) I popped the gas cap door cover.  It was packed with sand.

During the ride home on single lane Rt. 395 there were a number of trucks ahead of us.  I felt like I was in a Speed Racer cartoon because there are short stretches where the highway goes from one to two lanes.  This is to let the trucks move over so cars can speed ahead.  The only problem is that this passing lane lasts only a short distance.  When the opportunity comes everyone puts a death grip on their steering wheel and hits the gas hard to ensure passing before the lane disappears.  Poor timing and you become the ignition for a colossally explosive accident that looks like something out of, “Mad Max Beyond Thunder Dome.”   I thought I was being punked because on a number of occasions I was the only driver who didn’t get to pass which totally frosted me.

On the last full day in Death Valley we drove to the top of Dantes Point.  It’s at about 5,500 feet of elevation and pretty much the highest viewing spot in DV.  It looks down on Badwater Basin, the lowest spot in North America – 282 feet below sea level.  The view is awe inspiringly cool.  We arrived at Dantes Point in the morning.  It was about 35 degrees and with the very stiff wind-chill, it felt like 200 below.  My son used a covid facemask to provide some level of protection for his face - genius.  We got a couple of good looks in and before we turned into icicles, decided to head back to our car.  As we made that decision a couple who looked about five years older than me approached and asked if we’d like them to take a picture of us.  The man looked envious and said to me, “I’d give anything for my son to take a trip like this with me.”   After biting my tongue, I did everything I could not to say, “Really, I’ll Trade Ya?” Lastly, it’s amazing how complete strangers can not only be generous, but also re-enlighten you about what’s important in life.

Innocent Until Proven Guilty

Innocent until proven guilty – we are the greatest nation in the world and that is our rule of the land.  Having said that…Holy Mackerel, that was a ton of documents they found in our ex-president’s possession.   It seems the one document that Mr. Trump was showing off the most to his comrades was Martha Washington’s secret recipe for Apple Pie.  As the story goes, George used Martha’s pie as a laxative.  God forbid it falls into the wrong hands and becomes weaponized.  Thanksgiving dinner will never be the same.

Folks from one of our upstanding political parties are trying to deflect what’s occurred here.  They’re pointing to the U.S. Justice department as the real problem.  It seems Justice needs to be fixed first before we’re all put in prison.  I’m not an expert on that notion, but what I can say is this:  I’d like to know how was he able to keep the documents for such a long period of time?  What, was the national archives sergeant at arms on extended leave?  Maybe they should hire an intern with a professional wrestling background to help him.  His “To Do” list has to be way too long.  If any department needs a reorg, it’s the archives.  I can tell you if the ex-president tried that nonsense with the Bedminster Public Library there would be hell to pay within a week - lots of hell! This isn’t rocket science – you check a document out and if you’re late returning it, you pay a dime a day.  After a week, the phone calls get rather curt.  After that, Bookman (another Seinfeld shout out) comes to visit you.  Miraculously, documents are found and returned.  It’s very straight forward.

What I really can’t fathom is, what did our ex president want with a Bazillion documents?  What was the purpose?  Was he thinking of writing a spy novel?  Or did he have a folding table set up at flea markets across the globe?  Maybe he’s not as solvent as he makes himself out to be?  And once he was caught – okay you made a mistake keeping the bazillion documents - why refuse to return them?  I mean you lose an election; you’ve got over 60 days (we’ll forget about January 6th, he was busy that day) to figure out what documents you’ve brought home and need to be returned.  With 60 days my cat could figure that out.  I’ve heard that these more than 50 boxes, all chock full of interesting documents, travelled with Mr. Trump between Florida and New Jersey and a favorite place to store them was in bathrooms.  Granted by the looks of the pictures I’ve seen on the news, they’re very nice bathrooms.  A couple of the ex-president’s political supporters, with straight faces have said, “Well that’s not so bad, the bathroom doors lock.”  As absurd as that comment might sound, I can tell you with over 60 years of experience working bathroom doors, all of the ones I’ve had the pleasure to use - lock from the inside.

But on a more serious note, many of the documents contained scary important information that potentially puts our service men and women, as well as our allies at risk.  And considering the aggressive turmoil in the world today – Great Risk.  Something that will remind us and we should keep in our minds regarding what can happen when political figures become selfishly reckless:  On December 6, 2022 there was a Congressional Gold Medal Ceremony honoring the police departments that worked to save the U.S. Capital during the January 6th Riot.  The family of fallen Capital Police Officer Brian Sicknick refused to shake hands with senate minority leader Mitch McConnell and house republican leader Kevin McCarthy. The Sicknick family lost a son and brother; he’s never coming back to them.  All because of political recklessness.  (Criminality to be determined-innocent until proven guilty.) When you make it personal and think how YOU would feel if it was your son or daughter that lost their life because of these types of reckless actions, well you might have a come to Jesus moment…as you pray to some higher power trying to understand what has happened to your family.   

“We live in most interesting times” ~ Chamberlain had no idea back in 1898 just how interesting.        (P.S. – the Bedminster Library and all of its employees and volunteers are wonderful.)

Where is AI Taking Us?

Lately there’s been a temporary lull in horrendously obscene activities from our politicians, and California has not dropped into the ocean…yet.  So to fill the gap until our politicians get back on track and natural disasters abound, mainstream media has chosen to report on the profound and scary advances that Artificial Intelligence (AI) has been making.  The godfather of AI, Geoffrey Hinton has left Google over concerns and others like Apple cofounder, Steve Wozniak are calling for regulations to protect us from bad actors.   And not just the kind on TV soaps.

There is an AI application called, chat gpt developed by a company called Open AI that is extremely advanced and has a ton of data in it.  Not all of the data is accurate, seriously.   I wonder who it thinks won the 2020 election.  Also, the last time I read up on it, the catalog of chat gpt info only includes data through 2021.  It’s a time-share system that you can sign up to use at a very reasonable price.  It appears that many of our nation’s high school and college kids have been leveraging chat gpt to write their complex, time consuming papers…and they’re passing with flying colors.  Some proponents of chat gpt are saying, “Look, kids have been cheating since the dawn of time (so disappointing), this is just one more way that kids will be kids.”  Unfortunately with this tool, it’s like a cave man sitting around a ring of rocks, trying to make a fire for the first time.  Then someone from the future passes him a saltshaker filled with plutonium and says, “Hey, why don’t you try sprinkling some of this on it.”

Why has AI technology become so powerful of late, Moore’s Law, which states: technology grows twice as powerful every eighteen months, while the price halves.  The updated version of Moore’s Law is even more aggressive.  To demonstrate how aggressive, in the 1990s the Human Genome Project was initiated to research and identify all of the chemical units that make up the genetic blueprint required to build a human being.  When they started, it took ~ thirteen years to crack the first one at a cost of about $2.7 billion. Today, that same result can be achieved in a few days at a cost less than $1,000.  Try and wrap your head around that!  Taking this learning technology to the next level, with AI a politician or media announcer’s voice can be mimicked accurately (deep fakes) and a convincing likeness can be generated.  So could it be that the vast majority of our media and politicians have been replaced by an AI application?  It could be that no one really suggested that we forfeit the Social Security benefits that we’ve paid into.  AI did it.   And no one suggested that I should be entitled to remuneration due to the fact that over 250 years ago, my pasty-faced Irish immigrant ancestors settled in New England and were forced to eat lobster every night as indentured servants.  Again, AI.  And could it be that Biden and Trump are actually good friend, barbecuing together on weekends, genuinely selfless individuals not caring about the welfare of lobbyists, only looking to help Americans?

Could it be the NoGoodNicks have hoodwinked us all?   Something to think about as we ponder regulations that will force our nations’ students to start writing their own papers again.

Three Years of Spanish - Not Good Enough

Over the last couple of years my wife and my mid twenties daughter have gotten into a healthy habit of occasionally taking vacations together - without me, and without asking me if I’d like to come along.  (For the record I’m a pleasure to be with!) It’s become a running joke with our friends and my wife takes significant heat for it.  I sit back and enjoy the banter since for once, I can’t catch flack for the grief my wife is getting on my account.  It’s refreshing!  Truth be told though, I’m relieved when I’m not asked to join in.   Generally speaking, I don’t travel well.  My body has become resentful, more like revengeful when I step outside of my safety zone of life.  Like when the bellman at the hotel says to you, “Do not drink the water out of the tap, just ask and we’ll bring you bottled water.”  Outside of sending my mind to some very dark places, this kind of comment is problematic for two reasons: First, if I leave my zip code, all bets are off on how my stomach is going to react to water not provided by New Jersey American Water.  I picture the lining of my digestive tract as a sea of army men who’ve been put on alert.  They’re all standing ready to meet an overwhelming hoard of heinous invaders who will be wreaking havoc in moments. Second, my wife drinks about 200 ounces of water a day.  Not only will the folk delivering water start blocking my number, but I’m going to go through a small fortune tipping the kind souls lugging the H2O.  The other significant challenge is sleeping.  Flying overnight, not able to sleep and starting the next day at 9AM bubbling with excitement is a non-starter for me.  Without an assist from our perfectly legal NJ dispensaries, getting an acceptable night’s sleep ain’t happening.  And out of fear of staring in my own modern day version of the movie, “Midnight Express” I’m not carrying.

So our daughter is graduating from a master’s program in Social Work; and we thought, correction, my wife thought it would be nice to plan a trip with her before she starts her new job.  I’m thinking fine, I’ll celebrate no more college tuition payments.  Then from way out in left field, I’m thrown a monster curve.  My wife says, “And you can come too.  We’re going to Spain.”  I probably looked like I was having a stroke because I was stunned and could not think of an acceptable way to gracefully escape.  If I come clean then my years of enjoying my significant other catching grief disappears and I will become a wretch.  To be more specific, “a gigundo wretch.”  (That’s Spanish for a very large wretch)  

The date of our flight is approaching.  I’m stocking up on multiple flavors of antacid and any legally acceptable binding medication that will not send me down the Midnight Express path.  (As you can tell by now, that movie had a significant impact on my 21-year-old psyche.  It, along with the documentary, The Social Dilemma should be required viewing for our high school students.)  In the months leading up to this trip, I’ve been banking on the thought that my three years of high school Spanish would make me quite useful.  I do have one unique talent, which I’ve been using for years to torture my family…and I wonder why I’m never invited.  In the 8th grade I took a half a year of Spanish and half a year of French.  I can recite the first dialogue I learned beginning in Spanish and half way through, without trying, I switch over and complete the dialogue in French.  That and I can conjugate any word, even a word like, rock.  Oddly I’ve never been able to monetize these skills, but worse, with about three days before take off, I realized I have no useable Spanish speaking skills.  Midnight Express be damned, I’ve lost the gray matter that housed those skills. 

I decided to make a trip to AAA to pick up some maps (like I’m going to use them) and power converter plugs, which we left in the hotel rooms.  Side note: I can be taken to the cleaners when buying a car-not a problem.  But lose a three dollar plug, it’ll ruin my day.  While in the AAA store I picked up a small book with frequently used phrases with the Spanish to English conversion.   It cost five dollars, I’ve hit a home run!   I race to find the most important phrase I can leverage, “Where are the bathrooms?”  Turns out they prefer to say, “Where are the toilets?”  I found that a bit too specific.  With the word bathroom, it’s open ended as to what you’re going to doing in there.  You could be combing your hair, reapplying lip balm, or brushing your teeth.  But with the word toilet, you’re removing all doubt about what your mission is.  But if the books says that’s the approach with the highest success rate, who am I to disagree – “Servicios” here I come!

So we land in Barcelona where its morning and bright and sunny.  We deplane quickly and weave our way thru multiple hallways.  We’re moving and I’m feeling pretty good.  Then we hit the end of a long line of people trying to make their way through customs - Ugh.  It’s moving at a snails pace as they have over five hundred people being serviced by two agents.   My adrenaline quickly drains out of my body as I’m convinced we’re moving backwards.  To fight off the monotony, I open my English to Spanish book and begin to practice my most important phrases.  Numero Uno listed above, and various emergency phrases.  With lots of time to kill, I stepped it up a notch and began combining phrases.   My wife and I had a favorite, “Where are the toilets.  It’s an emergency, call the police!”  In our sleep deprived condition, we thought that was hilarious, burst our laughing and couldn’t stop.  Our daughter joined the other 497 people and moved away from us like we had the plague.

We visited a number of cities in Spain.  Something very nice, in most cities there are orange trees lining the streets.  I assumed Spain is where they originated.  Wrong, they were brought in by the Moors who actually acquired them from southern China of all places.  We learned that three weeks out of the year the orange trees blossom, and the city streets smell like heaven.  It was amazing, you’re walking down the street, you take a breath and have to pinch yourself because you think you must have died.  On the other end of the spectrum I became a Paella and Sangria aficionado, and paid the price.

Through our guides we received fantastic history lessons.  I was always under the impression that ancient Spain was the defacto birthplace of Catholicism.  Turns out that around 600 AD, after the Romans vacated, the Moops (shout out to Seinfeld) controlled all of Spain and they did so for many centuries.  They were also fairly benevolent (when compared to other conquerors).  When the Moors took over they told Christians and Jews, look, we’re not going to kill you.  We’re not going to drive you out.  We’re not even going to force you to convert to our religion…even though we think we have the right prophet.  It turns out there were many parallels from the gothic ages that ring true today,  “Everything was done for Money and Power.”  Sworn enemies would put their differences aside in order to continue to do business together.  I’m thinking it must have been like, “I might kill you tomorrow, but right now, that silk you showed up with is pretty sweet.”  The various inquisitions across Europe, all created by people who wanted other people’s money and assets; and deceitfully used religion as justification.  It’s great that the human race is so civilized and other-focused now.

Just before leaving Spain we decided to leave our euros, US dollars, and my wife’s jewelry in the hotel room safe.  We hope to get that back before Christmas, but considering how I murdered their language for over a week, I’m not counting on it.

And the piece of resistance – My wife expertly used all of our frequent flyer miles to fly us 1st class.  On the ride home, I had a center of the plane, single seat in an enclosed pod with a very nice size TV.  And flight attendants seemed to be mind readers, as they knew that I wanted mimosas for the ride home, and an ice cream sundae tall enough to knock over the Empire State Building.  I watched the original Ghost Busters movie and Field of Dreams.   Outside of the missing the orange blossom smell, I thought I was in heaven. 

THE BEAST

So the wife and I fly down to Florida with one of the planned activities being the renting of a car for the day to drive an hour or so to see my niece and her first baby, now four months old.  The day comes, I’m off to the car rental location and pick up my car.  Luckily I look at the dashboard and notice that the “you better get gas very soon” light is on.  It’s blaring brightly and I notice that the needle on the gas gauge is buried way below the “E” for empty.  Why anyone would want to pick up their car and promptly run out of gas is beyond me.  Maybe they have a bizarre sense of humor.   Also the rental location does not have a gas pump.  I found this odd, as their business is to provide cars that just so happen to need fuel to operate. 

After scratching my head for five minutes trying to figure out where the gas cap release button is (I’ve broken the code on why there’s no gas in the car) we have our car, now filled half way up with gas and head north.  We arrive at our destination and greet our niece and new baby.  He’s very cute and all is good.  I look out the back sliding glass doors and see their dog, Loki.  An “Oh Shit!” feeling immediately comes over me.  He’s a 125-pound Rottweiler with a head the size of one that T-Rex probably had.  He’s very eager to meet us as we’re mixing it up pretty good with his Mrs, and his new charge.  Turns out he’s a big mush and craves attention.  He will not be denied what he feels is his god given right to be scratched and pet until your hands and arms go limp.  He has a couple of foibles:  He does not want ANYBODY touching his paws and god forbid you try to touch his claws.  Their vet tech tried to file one claw, once, and then refused to try any others, as he feared for his life.  (I have a flashback remembering that years ago my brother was a vet tech for a short while, until one of his larger canine clients had an off day and mistook his hand for dinner.)  So with that, Loki has claws that rival those of a polar bear.  Oh and he loves to jump up on people where said claws become extremely dangerous.  In the future, if I ever encounter a grizzly bear in the Alaskan outback, it won’t be a totally foreign experience when I’m torn to pieces. 

Ah but the piece of resistance, Loki sheds in such volume you’d think a herd of wooly mammoths lived in the house.  You’d also think that a short-haired dog has minimal shedding – Wrong!  From an hours worth of shedding they could easily stuff a queen size mattress.  And when he leans up against you, demanding a thorough back scratch until he passes out, you walk away caked in black hair, looking like a close relative to Sasquatch.  Making the experience even more enjoyable, maybe because he’s always in the humid Florida air, is the grimy film that covers your hands after digging into his fur.  You need a brillo pad and lots of hot water to scrape it off.  Throw all of these attributes into the mix and the icing on the cake is that he carries a thick musky smell that has a lot of heft to it.

Having said all of this, we have a very enjoyable visit, the dog is too friendly but comically so.  We drive back to our hotel late (rental location has closed) and instead of paying the hotel $75 to park the car; nearby friends let us use their open parking space – Great!  The next morning is bright and sunny, but hot already. I get up to drive the car back to the rental lot.  I walk a short block to our friend’s out door parking area.  The car looks steamy, but most importantly, it’s still there.  I open the door to the car and it was as if someone was sitting inside with a baseball bat and took a full swing at my face.  There is a heavy musty smell inside the car and in microseconds, my olfactory glands send a message to my brain, it’s “The Beast!”  (A shout out to the Seinfeld episode where a valet with “Beyond BO” ruins Jerry’s car.)  Also keep in mind, the dog was never physically “in” our car.  I immediately start the car and roll down the windows driving like a mad man in a failed attempt to lose the Loki stench.  I get to the rental location, park the car, and throw the keys at the attendant as I quickly head for the door telling anyone that will listen what a great vehicle it was.  I’m now waiting for my deep cleaning bill that most certainly has to be on the way.

P.S.  When I turned the car back in I figure out why they give you the car with only fumes.  On a $75 dollar rental, I bequeathed them about $15 in gas.