H.I. (Human Intelligence)

You may have read some of the headlines about search engines rolling out new tools powered by artificial intelligence.

In one instance, a chat bot was trying to talk a guy into ending his marriage.

In another, the bot began arguing when the user pointed out that the information the bot provided was incorrect.

A well known psychologist recently reported that after uploading a few of his books into a A.I. program, the software was able to write a long article in a matter of seconds, perfectly consistent with his views and opinions but also an original work.

If you google A.I. art, it will bring up images, some of which are fantasy-like or futuristic, others a little disturbing.

Last summer there was big uproar over a piece of A.I. generated art that won the prize for digital art in the Colorado State Fair.  

The.. uh.. artist said he typed text into an A.I. program which generated the piece of art.

There is plenty of disagreement in the art world about whether the images created by A.I. are actually art. 

Sure it requires imagination to create A.I. art.  But whose imagination?

If someone asks me to create a futuristic painting and they describe to me the details they want included in the piece, does that make them the artist or me?

Of course there is going to be a market for A.I. art.

There’s still a market for black velvet paintings of Elvis.

Yes, some of what’s generated by A.I. looks or sounds scary.

But I’m most scared by the lack of human intelligence involved in the use of A.I. 

That is, humans who ask A.I. to do things ‘just to see what will happen’.

There have already been reports of users making ‘jail breaks’ (attempting to get around safeguards in A.I. software).

If we truly want A.I. to be a benefit for the world then why not limit it to those who are working to cure degenerative diseases or terminal illness? 

Or I don’t know, help bring about world peace?

Do we really need to make it easier for someone to cheat on their college thesis

or do research for us when doing it ourselves will only benefit our brain?

More studies are showing that passive use of media contributes to cognitive decline.

In an age where dementia and Alzheimer’s are on the rise, why are we creating more ways for humans to use less of their brains?

Anything that makes life easier is attractive.  But is easier always better?

Making Christmas

During dinner, following an unusually long moment of silence, Finn sighed heavily and, as if suddenly having a huge realization, said:

“Daddoo, I REALLY need to get a new sewing kit. With LOTS of cloth and needles and everything.”

“Really, why is that?”  I asked.

“Because I want to be an elf. And I don’t have a costume. And to make a costume, I’m REALLY going to need a lot of stuff,” he said.

“You mean a Christmas elf?” I inquired.

“Yeah,” he said shortly as if, “What else?”

Over the last several weeks Finn’s questions about Santa Claus and everything relating to Christmas have increased in number and complexity. He has only visited Santa once, when he was two, but he still talks about it.

“So that Santa, the one that I sat on his lap, that was the real Santa right?” he asked one day randomly when we were all in the car.

“What do you think?” we responded.

“I think he was,” he continued, “But if HE was the real Santa who are all the other Santas?”

“Good question,” Erin said.

We gave him the usual spiel about them all being Santa’s helpers.

“Why do they want to be Santa’s helpers?” he asked. “And why does he need SO many helpers? Isn’t he like magic and can do anything? And how can he go all around the world in one night?!”

He had posed the ‘around-the-world-in-one-night’ question a week or so earlier after having a conversation with friends. Someone (it was never clear who) had “looked it up on the internet” and said it was “impossible.”

Before the age of too much information, it seemed much easier to maintain the mythology of Santa Clause. There was some sharing of opinions among friends but very few of us kids dared to say that anything related to Santa was “impossible”.

Santa was real for me until I was eight. My Mom had a stock line about Santa when we posed questions that demonstrated a waning belief in his existence.

“When you stop believing in him, he stops coming to visit,” she said.

None of us wanted that. Though it actually turned out not to be true, it did keep the mysticism alive for a while longer.

Even in our teens and early twenties, at Christmas time, my siblings and I could often be heard shouting in earshot of our Mom, “I believe Santa! I believe!”.

“Yeah, I know you do!” she’d reply with a chuckle.

Back at the dinner table, my conversation with Finn continued…

“By the way, Daddoo, are Christmas elves real?” he said, searching my eyes intensely.

“What do you think?” I said.

“Ummm” (there was a pause) “Could be!” he said. “And anyway, even if they’re not real, I can still PRETEND to be one.”

“That’s right,” I said.

“So I still need the stuff to make the costume,” he said.

“I understand,” I said, “We’ll get to work on that.”

Christmas magic is alive and well in Ulster County.

Puttin' on the Ritz

There was a Sunday morning routine that took place in my childhood household, before the whole family piled in the car and headed to church. The shining of shoes was central to it. And that was usually followed by all the boys combing our hair with Vitalis. The scent of shoe polish still takes me back. I haven’t smelled Vitalis in a long, long time.

In preparation for our trip to Erin’s sister’s wedding last weekend I was putting a little polish on my shoes before packing them. And of course Finn wanted to be a part of it.

“Oh that’s a good idea! I think I might need to shine my shoes too!” he said, running upstairs to retrieve them from under his bed.

He yelled back down to me, “And I can do it by myself. Ok Daddoo? Ok?”

We had tried shoe shining a couple of times before but he was more interested in putting his fingers in the polish and using the buffing brush as a toy than actually shining his shoes.

“And I can do it ALL BY MYSELF,” he reiterated, returning to my side with his shoes in hand.

“Ok, that’s fine,” I assured him.

I finished my own shoes and stayed close just in case.

But this time he was more focused. It was almost as if the process had been percolating in his mind.

He did try to mix the polish colors briefly but when I stopped him, he moved on.

He covered every inch of each shoe with polish. Probably three times a much as was needed but I did appreciate the thoroughness.

Waiting for the polish to dry was a little difficult but it gave him time work on his cloth wielding technique.

Soon we both agreed that the polish had dried enough (probably five minutes) and he could no longer contain his exuberance.

“This is the part I’m really good at!” he said, whipping the cloth back and forth as fast as he could while generating a machine-like sound effect with his mouth.

It’s definitely more fun to shine your shoes while you’re wearing them. If you have to do several at once, it doesn’t really make sense but if you’re doing just the one pair it’s the only way to go.

As an adult, I’ve had my shoes shined by someone else just once, in my twenties when I first moved to New York City. I was waiting for a bus. There was a shoe shine stand close by and one of the guys kept telling me he could make my shoes look real good. He was right. But I remember feeling a little uncomfortable. Almost like it was too personal.

The Finn machine had wound down.

“I think that’s good,” he said.

“What about the buffing brush?” I asked.

He looked at me with eyes widened as if I had just said, “Wanna drive the car?”

“Yes!” he said, “The buffing brush!!”

Soon the ‘machine’ had revved back up, now in buffing mode. A few minutes later he pronounced the shoes done.

On the day of the wedding, I heard someone comment on his shiny shoes.

“Did you know that they’re BUFFED?!” he said.

Later he asked me if he could have his own shoe shine box.

“Not just yet,” I said.

This is an experience we need to share for few more years.

Detours

It was a family outing that was not going well.

Everyone was grumgry, the term we use for deteriorating emotional states in absence of sustenance.

We had packed a picnic but 30 minutes into our journey we noticed the gas light was blinking. We probably would not make it unless we back-tracked to a gas station.

Erin hates back-tracking for any reason. I personally don’t mind it. I once back-tracked three hundred miles to retrieve my wallet, which I had left at a service station. I was traveling across the desert in the southwest at the time and I got to experience the same spectacular sunset two nights in a row. But I was also traveling alone.

Now I was in a car with two other loved ones. And grumgry was transmuting to hangry.

I had just completed the U-turn and Finn was beginning to whine about our extended trip.

A large Heron flew above the road just ahead of us.

“Oh look! See the Heron?!” I said, hoping to end the complaining with some nature fascination.

“Where?” he said, “I can’t see it!”

The angle was such that he couldn’t see it from the back seat of the car.

“Right there!” I pointed, desperately wanting him to see it but trying to keep my eyes on the road.

“I don’t see it!” he said.

Suddenly the Heron veered out of sight.

“Oh, sorry,” I said, “It just flew behind the trees.”

“Naaaooooo!” he sobbed. “Now I’ll never see the Heron! Ahhhh!”

I was kind of kicking myself because I had made a similar mistake with a hummingbird sighting a few weeks before. But it’s kind of a reflex.

He eventually calmed down, we got gas, had our picnic, went on a short hike but were still not in the best of moods. Maybe ice-cream would cheer us up.

We went to a place that shall remain nameless and the servings were so small I actually thought mine was a tasting. After that I was the grumpy one. Nothing kills the spirit more than being underserved with ice-cream.

We needed to end the day on a high note.

Not wanting to head home just yet, we were driving around sort of aimlessly and soon realized we weren’t far from the Saugerties Lighthouse. We decided on one last hike.

As we were winding through the trails and boardwalks, I looked across the shallow marsh and in the distance saw a lone slim silhouette standing in the water. It was a white Heron.

This time I was little more cautious.

“Finn, do you see anything interesting out there?” I said.

It was a little far off but he saw it almost immediately. Thank goodness. Though I was ready to say something like, “Aren’t those amazing lily pads?”

Our day trip had been a jumble of detours and false starts until that last piece fell into place. Suddenly a puzzling excursion had been reworked into a graceful mosaic.

Off Duty

The other day I was trying to get Finn’s attention.  He was sitting in a chair staring off into space. I can’t remember why it was important for me to interrupt him but nevertheless I did.

“Finn,” I said for the third or fourth time.

“I’m off duty,” he replied.

“Really?” I said. “What exactly does that mean?”

“I’m just not doing anything,” he said matter-of-factly.

I kind of wondered what being “on duty” meant for him but I didn’t inquire further.

I’m sure he was repeating what one of us might have said when we were in the middle of something and attempted to “pass the baton” so to speak.  

“Talk to Mommy. I’m off duty.”

Would I say that?

Regardless, I don’t think it’s really possible to be off duty as a parent once you become one. You never stop thinking about your child for more than a moment or two.

Even on date nights we inevitably spend half the time talking about Finn.

Summer is the season for taking time off. The rising temps and heavy humid air naturally slows you down. So it’s no wonder we want to get away for awhile.

There is an art to vacationing and it often takes as much effort as not. The expense, the supplies, the planning, the packing, unpacking, packing again. How much time one actually spends relaxing depends on so many things.

I’ve personally become more fond of spontaneous days off and evenings in the backyard when Finn and his friends are playing independently. Or little family day trips.

Recently, I’ve read about the significance of children having time off from scheduled events in the summer. The importance for them to experience boredom, so they can learn, with proper guidance, how to deal with it.

Who knew that lying in the grass staring at the clouds is actually valuable and important? Well, we all probably knew it intuitively. But for some reason, having a study to confirm it offers some sense of satisfaction.

I’ve never had a problem with being bored. If there is one thing I know how to do, it’s to contemplate. Creativity springs from contemplation. Taking the first step in a project beyond contemplation usually presents more challenges for me.

An even bigger challenge is turning off the creative brain. Giving it a rest. Not thinking about what “the next thing” should be. That, for me is the hardest part of vacationing. Putting everything on hold.

That’s where Finn is a huge help. He’s so in the moment that when we’re watching him, it’s almost impossible not to be present as well. It’s something I had noticed well before Finn came along. Children have the innate ability to be here now.

Of course there are other ways to quiet the mind. Crashing waves. A walk in the woods.

But there’s nothing that quiets the mind as well as observing a little one who’s “off duty”.