iWanna iRoomba!

I am convinced that this nifty invention will be the answer to all my household needs... Well, at least it will keep my floors clean.

I'm adding it to my wishlist:

• One iRoomba
• One automatic mind translator (put together from old hairdryer parts)
• One droid that understands the binary language of moisture vaporators (and speaks fluent Bocce)
• One Doctor Who Mini RC Dalek Battle Pack

Actually, I have that last one already. And. It. Is. So. Cool.

Go on. Call me a geek. I dare you. You just want my wonderful toys.

Mammorama

Well, after years of avoidance, I finally went through with it. I had a mammogram. You see, my plan was, if I waited long enough, the technology would advance to the point where the experience wouldn't be nearly as uncomfortable as the stories made it out to be. And believe me, there are stories. Women talk.

So, okay, I'm beginning my fourth decade. There's no going back. A woman's gotta do what she's gotta do. I braced myself for the worst.

The nurse led me into a small room with a machine that really did look like something out of a science fiction movie. This thing looked like it could flat iron my hair, transport me to Venus, and tell me the time when I got there. The nurse said to me, "Just pretend you're a model and we're going to take some pictures." The nurse, who was maybe a little over half my height, took another look (up) at me and said, "You really could have been a model." (It was the "could have been" that tweaked me just a bit).

I've noticed something about nurses (in my vast experience of about three or four trips to the hospital in my lifetime), especially the older ones. They develop their own style, their own little catch phrases for putting patients at ease. I'll never forget that one nurse I had when I was in labor with my son. "Just stay loose as a goose, loose as a goose." For an hour she said this. I was ready to knock her "loose as a goose" at that point. Thank God she went off shift. I was in labor for 20 hours and I don't think I could have handled it. Twenty hours of labor is one thing; twenty hours of "loose as a goose" and one might be capable of murder.

So, anyway, this nurse, the one who was giving me my mammogram, says to me that a lot of women are nervous when they come in, so she handles it like a photo shoot to make them relax. And you know, she wasn't far from the truth. Because it was "lay your arm here" and "turn your head this way" and "lean in" and "imagine you're Cleopatra." It did indeed feel just as awkward as a professional photo shoot. (You know the ones where you think "This is either going to look really weird or really spectacular." And then you see the picture later and it either looks really weird or really spectacular.) Perhaps the only difference was when she asked me if she was hurting me. Photographers would never ask that question. Beauty knows no pain.

It wasn't that bad, really. It was a bit of a squeeze and there were moments of discomfort, but it didn't last that long to be truly terrible. I'm not saying I'd rush out to do it again tomorrow, but maybe it won't take me a decade to get there next time around.

Kindle Me This

Going Digital

The theory class I'm a GA for had a guest speaker today--a professor who spoke on the topic of "digital theory." Imagine that. Digital theory. She's building a project around how the English language is changing in relation to technology. How we use language and our perception of the "Book" is changing rapidly due to our use of text messages, email, and online media. An interesting point, though, is that even though our perception of these things change, these older forms are still with us. The scroll did not go away with the invention of the codex; the hardbound book did not go away with the invention of the dimestore paperback. And the codex will not go away with the invention of the computer. In a way, we've come full circle: how often do we think of how our ancestors may have read scrolls when we're scrolling down a webpage?

To me, there will always be a tactile pleasure from curling up with a good book that simply could not be replaced by a computer (or even one of those little electronic book readers). But the digital world is here, and there's no going back now.

Art vs. "Product"

Someone said something in class tonight that got me thinking. And the man who said this is mature, a junior high school teacher, and to all appearances reasonably intelligent. So I was mildly surprised and amused by what he said.

What he said was, "Music by Britney Spears really isn't that bad. In fact, it's rather good." For which he got some good-natured ribbing and comments that Britney Spears does not actually "make" her music. To which he replied, "No, she doesn't. What she is is a brand name. She is part of a product, and just like any other product, it can be good or bad. Yes, it's the engineers and technicians and song writers and choreographers and image makers behind her that do all the work, but they slap her name on the end product and that's what sells the records. It's no different than Madonna, or Paris Hilton, or even the Monkees."

Now Madonna I've got a grudging respect for. She wasn't much more than a Britney, perhaps, in the beginning of her career, but I think just by sheer longevity she has gone on to prove that not only can she create, she is also capable of reinventing herself as well as making some pretty canny business decisions. Paris Hilton. Pffh. I don't really know. I haven't bothered to listen. But I have my doubts about someone who gets on a label just because she's rich.

But the Monkees? My adorable Monkees? How dare he make such a comparison? Okay, so they were a "studio" band. So they never actually played their instruments. So they didn't write the songs. So what? They could sing. And they were cute and funny and made me laugh. In a good way. So *not* like Britney Spears.

His comment revealed one of my own prejudices: I have more respect for the Jewels and Sarahs and Toris of the world--musicians who truly create, live and breathe their own music-- than I do for these megastar "faces" on an industry product. Why should the struggling unknown musician, singing and playing in the corner of some cafe somewhere, seem more authentic to me than a Britney Spears? Because I do agree with him on one point. The product itself is an authentic creation through the group effort of creative people. Why do I give them less credit? Why do the works by these other musicians seem more "real"?

I think what it comes down to is what these "brand name" people have to bring to the table. I don't see Britney really working for her product. All she does is show up. If she were contributing something worthwhile-- hours of practice before she appears on national television, for example-- that might be something. If she took voice lessons, or songwriting, and contributed something to the creation of her product other than whining about her tabloid lifestyle, that might be something else entirely.

And then there's the fact that this "product" is so industry driven. They are playing to the Lowest Common Denominator, to the bottom line. They will produce whatever their market research says will make the most sales and rake in the most dough. I don't think that's coming from that "truly creative backwater" that Gibson was talking about.

Anyway, I'm going to go listen to the Monkees and meditate on "Another Pleasant Valley Sunday" and "Daydream Believer."

Smells like Manipulation

Someone's finally done it, folks: aroma-emitting sign technology, or "Kaoru Digital Signage" as it is known in Tokyo.

On the one hand, this seems like a pretty cool idea. On the other, I can't imagine how many people will be allergic to these things. We are bombarded by so much sensory media now as it is, and now there's more? Scents are extremely powerful motivators. If you don't think so, click here to read the entire article.

Knowing me, I'll probably be in the 1% of the population allergic to the damn things.

The Demonization of Science

So I finally got out to see the third Resident Evil movie. And I took the trouble to watch the first two, even though the plot is fairly straightforward, just because I like to get the big picture. Granted, these films are not high Art, but they are viscerally pleasurable: the special effects are exceptional, the plot is passing fair, and the hero, Milla Jovovich, kicks ass. (I've been a fan of hers ever since she released a CD in 1997, but I digress...).

However, this movie (or rather, series of movies) got me thinking. Thinking the kind of thinks only my brain can think. We know, don't we, that every era produces movies, especially science fiction movies, that reflect the fears of our age. For instance, The Day the Earth Stood Still wasn't really about our fears of alien invasion, it was about our fears of the Russians. I've read this somewhere-- don't ask me to quote my sources now. So.... what are the movies of today revealing about our fears now?

Whenever we look at a monster movie, the monster isn't really a monster, is it? The monster is us, it's that through-a-mirror-darkly image that reflects back at us in our darkest hour. The monsters in this movie, the mummies, are denied their humanity by a genetically engineered virus. Within hours of exposure to the virus, people are reduced to mindless, ravenous creatures with only one crude, overwhelming need: the need to feed. The mummies stagger through the streets, still wearing the clothing of their previous lives. I don't believe I am mistaken in suggesting there is some cultural criticism going on here. We have become a nation of mindless consumers. If we're not careful, we could become mummies; perhaps we already have.

That was the more obvious observation (along with the desert setting of the third movie--hmmm. Wonder why they did that?). But more disturbing to me is the underlying theme that science is dangerous and evil. The scientists in these films are amoral--even immoral--whose only concerns are with the success of their project. The corporations that back them are only interested in their bottom line. The computer program in charge of security will do what is most expedient, including killing humans, in order to protect the project. Although one could argue that science produces both the T-virus that creates the mummies and the anti-virus that reverses the process, showing that some good can come from experimentation, we are presented on the whole with an overwhelming number of images and characters representing science as a malevolent entity. This is the Mad Scientist motif at its very worst.

Meanwhile, back in the real world, science is struggling. It is under attack in our schools. People fear what they do not understand, and they do not understand science. So an uneducated populace dismisses it as worthless. Projects that could ultimately benefit humankind go unfunded by a government that is incapable of understanding it (and cherry picks only what it sees as useful to the war machine). Laws are passed limiting funding in research. These things are all connected. We are reaching forward technologically faster than our scientific understanding can keep up. The system seems headed for a breakdown.

That's why I find it disturbing that movies like these reinforce the idea that science is evil. The population at large is already confused, undereducated, and fearful about the subject.

On the other hand, Milla's character Alice is a paradox. She, too, is a product of science. She was infected with the T-virus, but her DNA has assimilated it and she has evolved into some advanced form of human. She is stronger, faster, and possesses psionic powers. There is a telling scene where she regains control of her body by mentally shutting down the satellite that sends orders to the chip in her brain (put there by the "evil" scientists in an effort to control her). A definite victory for the human spirit over technology. And yet that power was given to her by science.

I guess the connection that needs to be made is that science is just another extension of the human spirit. And that is something not to fear, but to celebrate.

The Terror and the Ecstasy

Most people don’t realize how much they’ve been penetrated by technology.
Isn't that an interesting concept? We've been penetrated by technology. Like it's living inside of us. And perhaps it is. Gibson pointed out how many vaccinations we receive in childhood: Many of us living 100 years ago would never have reached our fifth birthday.

The future is no longer knowable: In the 1950s, grown-ups planned the future: one positive—rockets to the moon, the world’s fair; one negative—the atomic wasteland.
It seems to me that on the whole, if people even stop to think about the future, they are mostly apathetic. I don't think anyone truly believes in atomic warfare anymore (except maybe Tom Cruise); I don't think a whole lot of people believe in a Star Trek future either (except maybe the die hard Trekkies). The Environment is the new hot topic: Is the world warming or cooling? Reminds me of that Robert Frost poem: Will we end in fire or ice?

It's difficult today to find a non-mediated human.
Again, I love his choice of words. A non-mediated human. We cannot escape it. Media surrounds us and defines our existence. Even if we live our lives in opposition to it, we are still responding to its presence. Daily we are bombarded by images, words. I am often struck by the fact that I read so fast naturally that I have already read a billboard or advertisement before I can look away. I can't even decide not to read it because by the time I look at it it has already penetrated my mind. It reminds me of those science fiction stories where ads are beamed directly into peoples brains as they are walking down the street. I think that this would drive me crazy, but the truth is, it's already happening.

In the 1920s, recordings of music from the Appalachians—people who never heard a recording, or radio—sound fundamentally different.
This concept fascinated me, especially with its ties to music. Culture is constantly influencing culture, but the rate increases exponentially with the introduction of media. We notice, don't we, how quickly new bands influence one another, how scores of them seem to sound the same. We may never have a culture that can produce a band like the Beatles again. I mentioned this in an earlier post, but Gibson surmised that Nirvana may have come out of the last truly creative period. (He says) We no longer have a backwater culture behind the main culture where a movement can gain momentum and grow. Young bands are catapulted too quickly into the spotlight only to flash and burn out in the glare of the paparazzi. Is he right?

Victrola trauma—a preacher who listened to one of the first recordings thought it the voice of the devil. He was experiencing the cusp of change. We don’t find it strange we can hear the voices of the dead whenever we want to.
Not only do we not find it strange, we can go online and download those voices in mere seconds.

The non-mediated world is a lost world. We cannot get back there. There is a sense of loss, but a sense of what we are gaining: Loss and Christmas morning at the same time.
I like the way he phrased that.

Vertiginous moments: we realize the contemporary, experience terror and ecstasy, then retreat from it because we cannot stay in that state of panic. We're more comfortable with who we were 10 years ago.
I love technology, I really do. When it works, when it's beneficial, it can be truly wonderful. Kind of like that comment Harrison Ford makes in Blade Runner: "If it's a benefit, it's not my problem." But I think I agree with Gibson. Even with the best toys, we still experience a certain level of resistance, of discomfort. Well, anyone over 30, that is. I mean, just looking at music as an example, I am far more comfortable with CDs as a medium. I own an iPod, but I haven't completely made my peace with it. I still haven't completely figured out how it works. It frustrates me, so I retreat from it. But I marvel at it all the same.

More Human Than Human

The 25th anniversary of Blade Runner has stirred up some thoughts on a subject that is becoming more and more relevant with each passing year, or perhaps more accurately with each new leap in technology. From the time Mary Shelley penned Frankenstein, science fiction has examined not only what makes us human (which is arguably what most fiction is about), but what makes our creations "human." When does a created being--a "monster", clone, robot, android, holographic projection, artificial intelligence--cross over and become, if not "human", then a person worthy of being granted the ever-elusive prize of "human" rights? Considering that many people on this planet have not yet achieved this status, it is no surprise that some people would have difficulty granting rights to something created by humans. Even some science fiction-minded individuals who have no difficulty recognizing aliens as "people" -- even those aliens so dramatically different from human as to be almost unrecognizable as "human", like a silicon-based lifeform, for instance-- find granting the same status to a created being problematic. The argument runs, as I understand it, that if something is created and programmed and what-have-you, it is a thing and not a person, no matter how much it may think, act, or look like a human. As my favorite galactic gumshoe puts it (referring to a damaged android who has been crying), "She's programmed to say she hurts!"

I find this question of sentience puzzling, for I am certainly not suggesting we grant "personhood" to pocket calculators and cell phones. Up to a point, the above argument is correct, at least concerning technology as we know it today. If you have ever had a conversation with an AI (they have them at various places online and some art exhibits), you'll know what I mean. I have had some frustrating encounters with such creatures and find them to be very stupid machines. But I digress.

What science fiction makes possible is the taking of an idea or a technology or both and projecting them out to a possible conclusion. As in the case of Blade Runner, what would happen if we were so successful in creating an artificial human, an android, that it took on a life of its own, developing memories, experiences, a range of emotions, and most especially, a desire to live? Other characters in movies and television who explore this idea are Data (Star Trek: Next Generation), the Doctor (Star Trek: Voyager), Terminator (Terminator 2), and David (A.I.). I'm sure there are more. And in books, of course, the list is endless; however, the master of them all would be Isaac Asimov. I recommend the novella "Bicentennial Man" and "Kid Brother," one of Asimov's short stories, among many others.

What fascinates me is the moment of transition: When does an android go from a collection of programmed knee-jerk reactions to a person? How does it happen? And why? Is this what we call a "soul"? Is this how new sentience evolves? It's about more than just intelligence; intelligence cannot be the only factor. My list for defining sentience is as follows (subject to revision):

self-awareness

creative expression

emotions/empathy

ability to dream and to wish

ability to learn

desire to live

I have not decided if one must possess all, or some, or at least two from the above list to be considered sentient. Something to think about.

Wikipedia has an interesting article on Sentience, if you're interested. In short, it says, "Some science fiction uses the term sentience to describe a species with human-like intelligence, but a more appropriate term for intelligent beings would be 'sapience'." The article also includes "free will" and "ability to experience suffering" in addition to some of those items I listed above.

More important, perhaps, than the "when" and "how" and "why" sentience/sapience develops is our own internalization of that process. Our attitude towards the Other determines our own humanity: When we deny sentience/sapience to an obviously sentient/sapient being, it is we who are diminished, not the opposite.

Deckard is astonished when Roy Batty saves his life. Had the situation been reversed, Deckard would have had to follow through with his orders to "retire" the android. In the end, it is the android that teaches the man a lesson in what it means to be human. For with his own death closing on him rapidly, Batty treasures each moment, each memory, and life itself.


"I have seen things you people wouldn't believe:
Attack ships on fire off the shores of Orion;
I've watched c-beams glitter in the dark near Tanhauser Gate.
All these moments . . . lost . . . in Time . . .
like tears in the rain."








22 Days til Lift-Off

Kittens vs. Cougars?

Cast: Age of Love: Kittens vs. Cougars on NBC

For the record, I have to say this: I hate "Reality TV." It has nothing whatsoever to do with reality, and it shouldn't have anything to do with TV. I'll stop there, because I don't want to turn this into a rant.

I heard the ad for this on the radio this morning and it just about stopped me in my tracks. I had to laugh. I mean, "Kittens vs. Cougars"? Come on, what will they think of next? I ran a search on the internet to get a closer look. The concept is ridiculous, of course, like all "reality TV", but what is interesting is the amount of controversy it's stirring up. Click here and scroll down to Comments for one woman's rant on the subject. She takes a typical feminist stance and makes some pretty good points. She is not alone.

The premise is this: Attractive 30-something tennis star gets his pick from a select group of 20-something "kittens" and 40-something "cougars." Somehow, someway, true love is supposed to figure in all this, but I think it has more to do with boob jobs and teeth whiteners. I don't know, but take a look at that cast picture. Can you tell the difference between the Kittens and the Cougars? I can't. They all look the same to me. One of my pet peeves about media culture: women come in only one size: 5'5" and 105 lbs. If this is supposed to be reality, then let's see some real women up there. Oh, wait, that's right, this is "reality" not reality.

The other thing I object to is the objectifying (no pun intended) of the opposite sex. The woman mentioned above complains about the stereotyping and objectifying of women in this case, but I think the man is being objectified as well. Here he is, Mr. Tall-Dark-Handsome-Tennis Star. Is that all that's required to engage the interest of these women? By making him the prize in this race, it diminishes his humanity. Under this kind of intense media microscope, is there really any opportunity for a real soul connection? And could any of these women, after subjecting themselves to this intensely competitive media circus, could any of them turn to the camera and say, "You know, after a couple of dates, I'm really not feeling a connection with him. I'm going to withdraw from the race." Likewise, could he make such a choice? What if he finds no true connection with any of them? But the dictates of "Reality TV" demand that there be a winner. So he'll have to choose someone. And to prove what? That age/experience wins out over youth, or vice versa? The artificiality of it all just disgusts me.

I'm not sure if I entirely object to the metaphor of "kittens" and "cougars" though. Fancy bit of marketing, that. Being (ahem!) "a woman of a certain age," the concept of being a "cougar" is not entirely unattractive. I'll have to think about it. I'm going to go clean my claws and get back to you.

P.S. We know from studies in quantum physics that the act of observing changes the outcome of the experiment. Therefore, whoever Mr. Tennis Star chooses is irrelevant. If left unobserved, he would end up with an entirely different partner. Whoa. Sometimes I amaze even myself....

29 Days til Lift-Off

Elegant Solutions

Earlier this week, I accepted a freelance job transcribing a DVD of a panel of experts discussing the latest challenges faced in the microprocessing industry. Although taking these extra side jobs requires a tremendous time commitment for which I get paid relatively little, it's good resume fodder. And I actually enjoy it.

These people are speaking my language, and yet I have no idea what they are saying. Okay, I have an inkling of what they're saying. It's hard to grow up in the Computer Age and not pick up a little jargon along the way. But still. Their meaning hovers on the very edge of my understanding. And I am fascinated by that.

I am listening to these guys talk about microarchitectures and software ecosystems, multicores and multi-threading, user parallelism, homogeneous and heterogeneous programming models, acceleration differentiation, platform characteristics and virtualization layers, codestreams and discreet processors.

Are you listening? Do you hear what is happening? This is the sound of language evolving. This is the sound of words stretching around new meanings, expanding to encompass new concepts, shifting to fill our need to communicate. This is the sound of language doing what it was meant to do.

Amazing, isn't it?

TMI! TMI!

In class last night we were discussing how our modern culture really discourages us from getting too close to each other. For instance, when we ask "How are you?" this is generally a casual greeting and we're not looking for an in-depth response. This may be more of a Western culture thing, for a Chinese woman in class related how the Chinese take this question quite literally. She said she often hears from other foreigners about how they start to respond honestly to this question and then find that the other person "has a funny look on their face." In China, she went on to say, if you don't want to know, you don't ask the question. One might say simply, "Have you eaten?" instead, or something equally specific and mundane.

The professor called this the "TMI" phenomenon. You know how with email and cell phone text messages all these acronyms have come into general use: TMI stands for "Too Much Information." This is used when faced with an unwanted response to the question "How's it going?" that is perhaps too long or filled with too many intimate details. I send text messages on a regular basis and even I did not know this. But then, I'm one of those weirdos that spells everything out. (I am probably more likely to receive a TMI than send one!)

This whole conversation arose out of our discussion of W.H. Auden's The Unknown Citizen, which thematically underscores this idea of the modern individual being obscured by a series of superficial factoids. What you do and what you buy is not the same thing as who you are and why you do what you do and how you feel about it.

So why is it that in this modern age, with its plethora of communication devices, are we so distinctly uncomfortable when people start to really communicate with us?

The professor gave an example.

Some years ago, he was working with a colleague who began to tell him of an odd experience he had had during his previous employment in Milwaukee. He had been working there several weeks, when one day he went out to his car and found a note. The note read,

"I have been watching you for awhile now. I find you attractive and I'd really like to meet you. Please call me if you would like to make arrangements to meet. However, if you are not gay, please consider this note a compliment."

The professor paused and we all waited for him to finish the story. Then he said, "You know, whenever I tell this story, I always get the same reaction from the women every time. They all want to know, 'What did you say? What did he do?'"

(And this is absolutely true--every woman in class was nodding her head, waiting breathlessly for the answer).

"But," he continued, "right at that moment, I was feeling very uncomfortable. This was a TMI moment. This was Too Much Information. I did not want to know."

So what did you say? we asked.

He said, "Huh. Milwaukee, eh?"

"O brave new world that has such people in it!"

A friend of mine mentioned recently how she observed some pre-teens in a mall walking along with their iPods all plugged in and not saying a word to eachother or anyone else. And these were 10-12 year olds, mind, not 16-18. How could these kids even be friends, she wondered, without ever talking or sharing anything?

Now, I could counter that with what I have observed of my 14-year-old. He is in constant communication with his friends: text messages, cell phones, myspace, etc. So I don't think they are lacking connections completely. And-- it's ghastly, I know-- it likely consists of things like "do u wnt 2 go 2 the mall w/me?" But they do communicate. However, it does seem that when they are in eachother's physical presence they are far more comfortable "plugged in" than not.

I think today's younger generation may be lacking in certain face-to-face people skills, but they are gaining (perhaps) communication skills in other areas, compensating for the impact these new technologies have on our culture. I am very cautious whether to put forward the opinion that this is a benign, neutral, or negative change, whether it is a "natural" or "unnatural" outgrowth of our culture's evolution. My gut feeling is that as long as these things are used to bring people together rather than put boundries between them then it is a good thing.

And I have to admit, as an adult, I rely a great deal on email and cell phones to communicate with my friends, especially those long distance. And look, here I am, blogging. There is something very attractive, very enticing about having a cyber-room of one's own (to paraphrase Virginia Woolf). Sure, I would much rather be with my friends in person, but lacking that... well, this is not a bad way to share one's thoughts. And it's fun!

Is it really communication, though? Or does it set up an illusion of communication? Are we all lost on Sting's metaphorical island, sending out our "Message in a Bottle"? Is anyone ever really listening?


Current mood: Reflective
Current music: Kate Bush Aerial