Prophetic A.I. and Dream Interpretation

 

prophetic - adjective - related to predicting future events or to a prophet and divine messages (Merriam-Webster).

    Admittedly, I am NOT a fan of A.I. I don't like that it robs most, particularly students, of motivation, the conscientious effort needed to support industry. If learning comes too easily, most likely the facts gathered go in one ear and out the other pretty rapidly. As a former teacher, I found that my students retained what I was teaching when an engaging process was involved, i.e. gleaning via kinesthetic learning when coupled with auditory and visual. A.I. is cut and dry. A question is asked; an answer is provided. Satisfaction comes within seconds, which does not stimulate the long-term memory to retain data. And it certainly doesn't provide the learner with a valuable work ethic.

    On the other hand, at present, I don't have to involve the kids, especially as I retired from teaching in 2019. Right now, if I am looking for immediate gratification, i.e. a definition, a synonym, a translation, or an interpretation, I do rely on Google. If that makes me a hypocrite, I guess I'll plead guilty. This morning, A.I. acted as a prophet, interpreting a dream that I had right before opening my eyes. I dreamt that my deceased father, who was not visible to me in the dream, told me and my daughter to travel down a shoveled path through deep snow in the middle of the night to get to a resort hotel that had been his favorite haven in life. (Please pardon the stair-step prepositional phrases. If you don't know what I mean, Google it :).) We listened to him. Unfortunately, I woke up before we arrived at the hotel. As the dream fascinated me, I wanted to know what it meant. After I gave A.I. all of the necessary details, it immediately spat out the following:

  "When you connect the pieces, a beautiful narrative emerges: You, your daughter, and the memory of your father are all connected across generations. You and your daughter are walking through a quiet, cold, or reflective period of life (the snow and night), but you are well supported, and the way has been made manageable (the shoveled path). By directing you to the hotel, your father is reassuring you that there is a safe, warm, and comforting destination ahead for you and your family. It is a dream of deep reassurance, continuity, and ultimate shelter."

    It all makes perfect sense. I could not have come up with all of it within seconds myself. If I had called my analyst ex, he might have unearthed something similar, but being that he is somewhat tainted by subjective feelings (I broke up with him, not the other way around), his interpretation might have been tinged with negativity. Since A.I. does not know me a all, it can be totally objective, gratis. No human therapist can go that distance. 

    Am I a tad intimidated by A.I.'s intelligence, its ability to get to the crux of the matter sans a modicum of hesitance? Yup. It is a definitive, scary force that even has its creators taken aback. Which is perhaps the most frightening part. Frankenstein goes through the same quandary in Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, and he is a student scientist living fictionally in the late 1700s. I'm thinking schools might have to consider reinserting the work into their curriculums unless it may be a little too late? I digress. 

    What is the takeaway here? Everything we experience, particularly inventions, in this life is fine in moderation. It is when we become completely dependent on these things at our own expense that we lose our way. As humans, we have free will. We have to exercise it with caution. 

    Enough said. 

#A.I., #dream interpretation, #prophecy, #blog, #blogger, #personal essay

The Summer Cold: An Oxymoron?

 

oxymoron - figure of speech that puts two contradictory words side by side (Merriam-Webster)

At first glance, the title of this blog post presents itself as an oxymoron, side-by-side, contradictory terms, as summer is generally associated with heat, not cold. However, what a foreigner who is having difficulties with learning English might question and then curse is the language's preponderance of homonyms. "Cold" here refers to the virus, not the temperature even though the two are spelled and pronounced the same. In English, context is vital. 

A staunch defender of integrity, I am strictly against anyone's catching a wicked cold in June, July, August, or September as it's not only unjust, it just isn't humane. How cruel is it to be relegated to the interior confides of one's 12 X 10 apartment bedroom as families of tenants engage in joyous banter, indulging in grilled delicacies hot off the barbecue, three flights downstairs in the garden courtyard! The mismatched chorus of voices and marinading scents of the seared menu are amplified due to the concrete structure of the building and creep up to egg the hungry prisoner into wanting to cry. Yet there is no time for useless emotion as the afflicted is too busy negotiating disruptive sneezes, jarring coughs, and periodic nose blows. Ugh! The agony of it all! 

How could this happen? Isn't the immune system supposed to be at its most functional during the summer? Hmm. Could the young man vying for the same bag of slaw as I was in Trader Joe's be the culprit? I vaguely recall his unapologetically sneezing in my face. Where was my N95 when I needed it the most? Where was his? 

One ribbon of silver in the cumulus cold has to do with Artificial Intelligence. It gives the victim time to test AI to see how accurate it is. I can't tell you how many times I Googled "average length of the common cold" just to see if the information had not been edited in the meantime to read the optimistic "three days" as opposed to the realistic "7-10." If it is indeed correct, I learned that one with an upper respiratory infection is contagious for up to ten days. The peak of the annoying symptoms is four to five days into the virus. And here's something else that isn't common knowledge: one can generously and unknowingly give the heinous bug to another three days before his or her own symptoms kick in. A truly anonymous gift. (It makes me want to err on the side of paranoia and invest in a stash of new masks.) Despite a plethora of over-the-counter remedies, one can't escape the virus. If one gets a little testy and thinks he or she can outrun a cold, it is never a good idea as it could wind up evolving into pneumonia, something I just had in March that I don't recommend. 

When it comes down to tackling the summer cold, patience is a virtue. Despite having to postpone or give up plans to do myriad fun, social things that I do in the summer, I'd rather listen to Mother Nature and ride out the miserable creature horizontally. Alone in bed. Contagious only to myself. After all, how many opportunities do I get to lose myself while binge watching any and all of the movies or series based on novels by Jane Austin on streaming? Practically none. And with my sole companion, a hefty box of Kleenex by my side, I am prepared for unlimited mucus as well as tears. I just can't complain, but I desperately want to. 

The moral of the story is stay six feet away from anyone who looks capable of sneezing in your face at Trader Joe's even if it comes down to losing the store's most coveted item, the last box of Steamed Pork and Ginger Soup Dumplings, to the culprit. As soup is what is recommended for the cold sufferer, he may need it more than you will. 

#cold virus, #common cold, #facts, #blog, #blogger, #personal essay, #humor

The Veracity of the Seen and Unseen

 

veracity - noun - the quality of being true, accurate, or honest (Merriam-Webster)

    Although I have a feeling that I confessed this truth before, I appreciate funerals more than weddings. (You might want to read my blog on how the two compare.) I apologize if I am coming across as morbid, but if funerals include more than one eulogy (as in the case of Jewish memorials), they can be informative, if not downright enlightening. From the eulogies, sometimes bitingly candid, I usually learn more about the deceased than I knew prior to his/her passing. Conversely, weddings are innocuous fluff as the speeches given purport to induce laughter as opposed to education, which makes sense given the occasion. But no matter how exposing the exposition is at either celebration, is it possible to see the veracity of what has been kept unseen? 

    In life, there are those who wear masks, hiding secrets that they believe will never be revealed, and those who prefer to be naked, metaphorical exhibitionists who are not afraid to revel in veracity regardless of whether or not others may find their candor offensive. Yet it is on the masqueraders that I wish to focus. Grifters at heart, they tread lightly and whisper half-truths, fooling friends and family as they sideline expectations and allude negative judgements. (It must be exhausting to be a successful pretender.) They are so good at deception that once exposed, no one wants to believe the factual evidence against them as it appears too farfetched. (Unable to take responsibility, the "victims"–usually guilty–use "I was framed" as their standard retort. It is no doubt overly used in prisons.)

    Two cases in point: I know of two sisters; the younger actually stole the identity of the elder, meaning she took her name, her resume, her credit cards, etc., and made good use of them. Delusional, the guilty party who never served time for her crime is most likely under the impression that few know about her misdeed. She hides behind her beauty that has allowed her room to be dishonest. Another pretender is someone I've known for fifty-some years, a teacher from a good family, well educated and seemingly together. Recently, he spent a month or two in rehab, recovering from thirty years of crack use, an egregious habit he hid from all until it nearly killed him. When I found out about it, I didn't want to believe the reality as it was incongruent; it just didn't fit into the equation. How could someone in a position of reverence be living a double life? Like many, he became lost in his masquerade, finally removing the mask before it destroyed him. By taking responsibility as opposed to playing the victim, he regained respect he had lost from friends and family and is doing well in the present. Thank Goodness! 

    Getting back to the funerals for a sec, what dozens have taught me over the years is that we can never know the entirety of a person, not even if that person is a close relation. Each individual composes his/her own play, conveniently editing out revelatory, potentially damning asides that he/she, the main character, should relay, yet doesn't to save himself/herself from what he/she might just deserve: a reckoning with veracity and the aftermath that follows. 

     In this life, there is the seen and unseen, the two are locked in an invisible competition. Seen should remember that sooner or later, Unseen will be exposed. Most likely, there will be a high price to pay. So yes, to answer the initial question, the unseen can be seen. Yet another question remains: Will the onlookers accept the truth about a person's dark, unseen side when it leaks out into the light to be seen? 

#veracity, #seen vs. unseen, #truth, #blogger, #personal essay, #blog

Desiccated New Mexico: The Final Frontier

 

desiccated - adjective - thoroughly dried out; depleted of moisture; lifeless; dull (Merriam-Webster).

    In 1983, I agreed to help my sister, a music teacher in Odessa, Texas, relocate to Salt Lake City, Utah via her classic Caprice sedan. We wound up doing some sightseeing throughout New Mexico on the way. The only memory I retained from the expedition was of Santa Fe. I had bought a ring from an Apache woman near the steps of the capital building. I still have the memento. Because it has been nearly 45 years since I had visited the state, I accepted an invitation from my friends Brian and Chuck, a sweet, gay couple I had met on the world cruise, who own a former B&B in Corrales, a desiccated village nestled between Albuquerque and Santa Fe. 

    If you have never been to New Mexico, you may be unaware of the first hand effects of climate change. According to Chuck, who has been residing in semi-rural Corrales for decades, this summer has been an inferno of unrelenting heat, usual for a typical desert, but unusual for their semi-rural hamlet of 8,500 that sits at about five thousand feet above the sand. The daily afternoon rains, the entrance of which once could be predicted down to the hour, have been as unreliable as an adolescent in his/her last semester of high school. What I found disconcerting was that the Rio Grande River running through Albuquerque had vanished. In its place was a parched, serpentine ditch decorated by yellow-leaved cottonwood trees drooping beside the banks. Sad, especially when the Mid-West is underwater from recent torrential precipitation. 

    What I observed as hopeful is the abundance of Native Americans who still hold onto to their fine art and crafts. As I was departing from the airport, thousands were entering from all over the globe to attend the annual Indian Marketplace held in the center of Santa Fe. Native tribal people representing over 200 nations (who knew there were that many left?) congregate there to sell their unique turquoise and silver jewelry, handmade leather goods, sand paintings, baskets, woven tapestry, and pottery off of blankets spread out on the concrete: the most beautiful collections of physical storytelling that I have ever seen. Those not in the business of retail are landowners (President Bill Clinton was responsible for giving most of the government land back to the tribes) as well as casino proprietors. Of course, many are not as successful as there is a high incidence of drug addiction and alcoholism in their communities. But I can say the same for those outside of their nations. Addiction is ubiquitous in this country. 

    Although I did not see any ranches with cowboys or ranch hands in the area, I did see plenty of corralled horses next to modest and not-so-modest, adobe-clay homes, contributing to the pervasive sense that New Mexico could just represent the final frontier, the last (dry?) taste of the former, Wild West that has been relegated to mythology. If you are not American but are interested in seeing an authentic, unique portion of this sumptuous country or if you are a citizen but would rather go to Europe instead, visit Albuquerque and Santa Fe before they dry up completely. You won't be sorry you did. There is no place in the world even remotely like New Mexico. 

#New Mexico, #desert, #Wild West, #blog, #blogger, #personal essay, #travel 

Polyamory and the Pipes

 

polyamory - noun - having more than one romantic or sexual relationship at the same time with the knowledge and consent of everyone involved. (Cambridge Dictionary)

If you have been reading my blog posts religiously (and who has?), you may recall that I tend to start my day listening to the headlines via The New York Times app. Since the basic news is just downright discouraging to hear first thing in the a.m., I gravitate towards human interest stories, articles that appeal to us as human beings. Most typically, they are positive in nature. Fortunately for the subscribers, The NY Times has succeeded in keeping the idea of "good news" alive and well. 

This past week, I picked up on two such human interest stories. The first is the most recent podcast under the nomenclature of "Modern Love." It features a doctor of psychology who has experimented with polyamory. During the interview, she answers two main questions: 1. What is the rationale behind polyamory? 2. Why be polyamorous?

But before I continue to answer the aforementioned, I'd like to comment on the term itself. When I think of polyamory, adultery comes into my mind. It used to be that adultery left a bad taste in society's mouth and was grounds for divorce. In the Bible, it is the only grounds for marital separation.Yet polyamory is a tad different than adultery. What separates the two boils down to the duality of honesty vs. deception. What has made adultery so unseemly is that it is done on the sly. The disloyal party goes to great lengths to hide the extracurricular love affair(s) from his or her or their spouse. On the other other hand, polyamory– another name for open marriage for those who are joined legally at the hip–is mutually agreed upon cheating. The cards are all facing up on the table before the deeds are committed. And they remain that way. Which makes it okay? I guess so. So much has changed in my lifetime that it is dizzying. 

Back to the questions. The rationale behind polyamory is that if you engage in it, you can share your love with more than one person. Why be polyamorous? You can experience the complete, unmitigated fulfillment of romantic love with more than just your main squeeze. Which is reminiscent of the thinking that was popular during the 1960s: "Love the one you're with" (CSNY). Personally, I would worry about sharing more than one STD, but sexually transmitted diseases are not the focus in the podcast. (Perhaps they should at least come up? Or is there an implied assumption that all of the male polyamorous wear condoms? Maybe. The men of my generation sure don't, but I digress.)

As in most human interest stories, there is irony. In this one, the featured psychotherapist, who was once in a heterosexual, polyamorous relationship herself, understands why people are polyamorous. Yet she herself, who admits to being a lesbian, would not participate in polyamory if she were, hypothetically, in love. From my own experience, people who are in love don't wish to share their partners with anyone else. Commonly in most humans, the intensity of romantic love unearths insecurity and jealousy, two deal-breakers when it comes to sexual partnerships. Perhaps humans do have the ability to mate for life monogamously after all?

Okay, so now you're wondering where the "pipes" come in. Well, I and the Times are not referencing your plumbing or your vocal cords here. We are talking about the bagpipes. According to the audible segment "The Headlines," bagpipers living in NYC can no longer find practice spaces inside of the city. Apparently, involuntary listeners in the various apartments and parks, notably Central Park, do not appreciate the often grating sound of the instrument and are complaining about it. Ergo, the pipers (and there are many since there are multiple bagpipe bands in the New York area) are leaving the inner city and relocating to the suburbs where the population is less dense. Whether or not they will be more appreciated there is left up to speculation. I can say that I grew up in a suburb of NYC with a sister who played the pipes. Although she practiced alone in our woods and was separated from neighbors by at least one acre, the teenage boys next door retaliated by riding their noisy motorcycles on their side of the fence until the air was filled with cacophony, i.e. noise pollution. One good deed deserves another? Well, not exactly. It's more like noise invites noise. The New York pipers may wish to move near cornfields, such as those in Iowa. I think they would be safe from unappreciative ears and/or retaliation there. 

So what is the takeaway here? If not taken seriously, human interest stories can be quite entertaining. One thing is certain: They are a good way of ignoring the 24-7 news cycle and the anxiety that it disseminates.

#human interest, #TheNewYorkTimes, #good news, #blog, #blogger, #personal essay

Hollywood Icon Marilyn Monroe at One Hundred: Will Her Legend Endure?

 

icon - noun - famous person who represents a group or idea (Merriam-Webster)

    After one hundred years, through the magic of photography (and technology), Marilyn Monroe maintains her blonde, seductive looks, and hence, enduring legend. Until February, the Academy (of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences) Museum in L.A. is honoring her perennial beauty as well as her controversial past in a meticulously complete exhibit for all to experience for the price of admission. But for how much longer will Marilyn remain an American icon? 

Although the exhibit premiered in June, last night, the Academy Museum opened it to members only. Being that my daughter is one of them, she was permitted to include two friends. Fortunately, she chose her best female friend from France and me. For thirty minutes, we were treated to the curators' lecture that revealed all of the particulars regarding the colorful displays, including Marilyn's elegant wardrobe set aside in plexiglass from her classic movies, such as Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, Some Like It Hot, and How to Marry a Millionaire. After the info session, we all headed up to the space, meticulously designed in reds to appeal to the aesthetically minded. What struck me initially was the diminutive size of the costumes. With a waistline of 22 inches, hardly voluptuous Marilyn would have been a size 2 or 4 today but was an 8 back then. (The camera put on twenty pounds making Marilyn more zaftig then she actually was. Hollywood has always been good at deception.) Looking around, I also noticed that the average age of the onlookers was about fifty. My daughter and her friend, 35 and 36, were about the youngest there. As their generation is more savvy re: past pop culture, I was not surprised that they knew quite a bit about Marilyn. I asked the French friend what Marilyn's reputation is over in France, and she said, "The same as here," meaning Marilyn is most likely still recognized in European countries wherein the Hollywood fantasy is still of interest. 

Yet does all of the existing American population know Marilyn? Unless the parents are fans, Generation Z doesn't. After I filmed and posted a short video of the Academy show on TikTok, most of my followers (approximately 35 and up) responded favorably. Some even reposted the video, but most of them are probably fifty and over. I have no way of knowing.

An hour later, I found myself at a cast party for a stage production I was just in, and I sat next to Max, a twenty-year-old student of jazz music (our company's sound man) who grew up in Culver City, the home of Gone With the Wind and The Wizard of Oz. As the musical genre is much older than Marilyn (and the films nearly as old), I thought that perhaps he would have at least heard of her. Nope. "Who's that?" he asked. I replied, "Google her." If Gen X doesn't care about Hollywood icons of the past, their Generation Z kids won't either. Such a shame. All of history should be taught. (As an aside: an allusion to Marilyn had come up in a play that I had been teaching to my high-school juniors back in 2019. Of course, they had been clueless, so I had made sure to provide them with all of the backstory on her. They might still recall who she is today. Hopefully.) 

Despite no longer being a uniformly household name, Marilyn is still lucky that the Academy and wealthy followers remember her and will continue to preserve her memory in tightly sealed, temperate vaults wherever they can be found. Although this sounds awful, Marilyn is fortunate she passed at the ripe, youthful age of 36 as it is possible that her career might have lost momentum over time. The studios did not like Marilyn since she had grown to be "difficult," open to working with only about three directors. And her character type, the Blonde Bombshell wound up losing popularity, vanishing completely during the women's movement. Sadly, Marilyn might not have been able to overcome typecasting as her range was on the limited side, and audiences tend to hold onto stereotypes. Roles depicting complex, female characters might not have been offered over time. On a personal note, I think it would have been tragic to see her fall victim to "the rich face," numerous face lifts, etc., resulting in a plastic countenance like other Hollywood stars whose names will go unmentioned. The need to stay young might have weighed down a buoyant, forever-young Marilyn, crushing her legend. 

Yes, perhaps Fate had mapped out her destiny accordingly to her advantage. Our pretty, sexy, faux Marilyn will always be a constant, an ageless star in the constellation of Icon, preserved for anyone curious enough to explore her region of past popular culture. 

#MarilynMonroe, #icons, #Hollywood, #blog, #blogger, #personal essay

 

Escaping into Anachronism

 

anachronism - noun - anything (person, place, thing, event, etc.) out of its proper time in history. (Merriam-Webster)

    Although I have featured the above word twice before, it has been begging me to take a closer look at it. I don't remember whether or not I told you (I probably did), but life in California is way different than life on the East Coast particularly as there are way more outlets for you to escape into your passions. From doing the tango to collecting antique cars, no matter what floats your boat, you can find a group of people who are into the same thing so that you can bond accordingly. 

    Bond, the heartbreaker I alluded to in my last post, is back in my life, probably for good this time as I plan to hold onto him. Why? I have never met a man quite like him. Merely to say that he is "interesting" would be a trite euphemism, a gross understatement. Here I am left with no synonym as there is no adjective that can even come close to being precise when it comes down to depicting Bond.

    Recently, he introduced me to an establishment sans an actual building that he frequents: the Society of Creative Anachronism, founded in Berkeley, California in 1966. I wouldn't call it a cult because unlike a branch of a particular political party that will go unnamed, it doesn't have a prescribed, omnipresent, omnipotent leader calling all of the shots. However, each kingdom elects a king and queen just for the sake of historical accuracy, which is paramount. What the organization amounts to is a large, international collection of individuals who escape into Medieval times just for kicks. Basically, it is like a continuous revamping of Braveheart sans the lighting, cameras, etc. When it comes to recreating the time period, the SCA members go the distance in terms of wearing the exact costumes and participating in researched pastimes. Many possess Medieval weapons and use them competitively for sport. Obviously, no maiming or killing is allowed. Bond, who also creates and sells museum-quality, Medieval crossbows, is a champion archer who has earned the title of Lord because of his unmatched marksmanship with a bow and arrow. Since Odysseus is back in vogue due to Chris Nolan's ubiquitous The Odyssey, I would say Bond might fit into the character's sandals quite well albeit he is not willing to go that far back in time to do so. But who knows? As the movie is so popular, maybe a branch of the SCA might break off and escape into Homer's time frame as well? As the past is as vast, yet more familiar than the future, anything is possible when it comes to the creative anachronistic style of life.

    For the next two weeks, the twenty SCA kingdoms throughout the world will be converging at Cooper's Lake Campground in Slippery Rock, Pennsylvania for the Pennsic War, an annual Medieval reenactment involving something like 10,000 people. No kidding. This is a serious meetup that is not open to the public like any Renaissance fair would be. But if you showed up wearing just the right costume, no one would tell you to get lost in the woods although as the PA campground is so vast, many SCA members might be already. Lost, that is.

    Wouldn't it be great if all of the wars, particularly the one happening in the Middle East right now, were just staged for fun sans casualties? It might not be a bad idea since there are people in the world today who are so bellicose as to crave combat. Why not give them something a bit more creative to engage in? The budget involved would be a lot less than the billions already being spent in reality. And everyone would walk away unscathed, perhaps shaking hands in friendship? 

    As John Lennon wrote, "Strange days indeed. Most peculiar, mama." His own anachronism, he was ahead of his time as opposed to the other alternative. Still he might have smiled at the thought of the SCA. 

#hobbies, #pastimes, #anachronism, #blog, #blogger, #personal essay