Opening That Door

 New York and Los Angeles, two of they country's largest school districts, have issued temporary bans on Artificial Intelligence. The most obvious reason being that in a place where plants are grown, bringing in plastic flowers doesn't make a lot of sense. 

I am, for the time being, the Media Arts teacher at an elementary school up the road apiece from Los Angeles. Coincidentally, if one were to travel that road you would have to drive through a region once known as Silicon Valley. I would like to change the name, since that sort of thing seems all the rage right now, to Uncanny Valley. 

First, a little background: My career as a Media Arts teacher began in a previous century when I was simply the computer teacher. The "lab" in which I worked was filled with Mac LCIIs, nominally networked by wires to tractor feed printers. Aside from the opportunity to play what the kids referred to as "The Shooting Game" which was the floppy disc driven eight bit version of Oregon Trail, the other main concession of those times was the chance to make a picture using Kid Pix. In spite of my exhortations to try and use the freehand tool of drawing lines and shapes with their mouse, my little artists were more than content to plotz a page-filling stamp of a heart with their tame vaguely typed on or near it and insist that I print it out. For their mom. 

Eventually through very kind donations from our business partner, our school was able to install a PC lab that would connect to Al Gore's Internet. For some time this setup required a good deal of help running programs from CDs that needed loading and setup from yours truly. It wasn't until I started running web-based programs like Starfall that I was able to shift away from typing tutors and simple math games. Not long after that, Google Docs and Sheets allowed us to write stories and slideshows that were all part of the eternal student plea: Can I be done now?

As students started to enter my room with more and more native user skills, it did not take long before they discovered the copy and paste tool that allowed many of the most clever to lift chunks of text or images to suit their needs. Access to Wikipedia made it possible for those in the know to lift a three paragraph essay on The Oregon Trail in minutes, leaving plenty of time for playing Cool Math Games. 

I would like to believe that I was that most savvy educator who was able to detect this intellectual theft and force these kids back on the path of "meaningful research" and a journey of self-discovery. I know that this was not always the case. 

Now, coincidental with the budget-driven gutting of our district's tech department, the doors to the kingdom of Artificial Intelligence have been left in the hands of "teacher discretion." Currently this particular teacher of children ages five to eleven has chosen to keep that issue off the table, even as online companies have begun to encourage all users to embrace these tools. I'm looking at you, Google. Since the Uncanny Valley stalwart is the same company that supplies our district with Chromebooks for student use, that Pandora's box is opened right along with the lid to every laptop. 

"Hey Google, write me a three paragraph essay on the evils of Artificial Intelligence." 

Did I mention that our school district, along with the state of California, no longer allows student use of cell phones at school? But we seem to be fine with the "discretionary use" of artificial intelligence. 

Did I mention that I am planning to retire at the end of this school year?  

Don't Pick At It

 Atlantic Industrial Coatings told the White House that its own failures were responsible for the botched renovation, not vandals. This contradicts the convicted felon’s claim that the pool had been sabotaged. the company blamed its own work, saying that workers did not spray enough primer to keep the pool liner’s layers stuck together. The company also said that its repair plan for the liner layers called for the use of two chemicals that weren’t compatible with each other. The chemical on top reached a high temperature that the one below couldn’t handle, leading to the bottom layer of the liner blistering and coming loose.

If this were a contractor that an American taxpayer had called upon to fix their Koi pond and chunks of the renovated pool had come loose after just a few days, bringing not just American Flag Blue bits floating to the surface but also a resurgence of the muck the alleviation of which was the whole reason to begin the project in the first place, said taxpayer would be asking for their money back. But since the pool in question here happens to be located between two national monuments, and the job that was bungled by the contractor was paid more than fourteen million dollars of (checks notes) our money, we probably won't get a lot of traction for calling 5 On Your Side. 

Since the former game show host seems to be in such a generous mood these days handing out checks to citizens, maybe he could arrange for a refund of five cents per adult for this no-bid job he handed out to the "pool guys" at Mar-A-Lago that has yet to be repaired. 

And speaking of reparations, no mention of the method of compensation for the several people, including American Olympian David Hearn, who were arrested and charged with vandalizing the pool. Claims that antifa had sent squads of hooligans out prior to July 4 of this year turned out to be just as ridiculous as all those boasts about handing out cash awards in the face of his global mismanagement. No tariff check. No Doge Check. No masked bands of saboteurs sneaking in and cutting a three hundred yard slit in the lining of his vanity project. Just the nonsensical ravings of a lunatic mind.  

Forty-eight days from now, we all have a chance to begin to dismantle this insanity. Please vote in the midterm elections. Vote in such a way as to bring an end to this madness. 

Cashing In

 Last Wednesday, a third grade boy came up to me, waving a crumpled hundred dollar bill under my nose. My first inclination was to assume, as is often the case, that the kids had found the cache of play money scattered about the school. Upon closer inspection, I recognized that this was not cache money, but rather cash money. This eight year old had more money in his hand than I had seen in one place for quite some time. 

"Whose money is that?"

"It's mine!"

"We should probably put that someplace safe. Maybe in the office so that it won't get lost."

A nod.

"Where did it come from?

Long pause. "Jonathan."

Now it was my turn to pause, with a knowing look. "Where did Jonathan get it?"

The floodgates, as it so often happens with children, flew open. He went on to describe how Jonathan had given him a hundred dollars, and at least a couple other classmates their own crisp hundred dollar bill. They were stuffed in pockets and backpacks. Secretly. But the fifteen minute window in which these kids had sworn not to tell anyone else expired. The story began to unravel. 

Apparently, Jonathan had "found" nine hundred dollars under his grandmother's pillow. Jonathan has been looking for a way to connect with his fellow third graders, and he found it: give them money. 

Lots of money. 

To his credit, Jonathan was very generous. He kept none of the money for himself. He was hoping his new friends could, in his words, "buy themselves something they really wanted." The phone call our principal made to grandma was a delicate one. The hope was that Jonathan's altruism would not get lost in the wash. The sticky part was separating the parts that were right from the parts that were wrong. 

A few hours after this incident, the convicted felon and former game show host stood in front of a sparsely attended rally of his supporters and announced that he would be giving away cash money to every adult in America if they would just vote the way he wants them to. The money in question did not come from underneath his grandmother's pillow. 

Let's Make A Bad Deal

 Sometimes I like to toss around the sobriquet "former game show host" as if it were meant to be a put down for the convicted felon taking up space in the ruins of the White House. 

You may have noticed this trend. 

After this past Wednesday's speech at the Fuhrer Festival, I believe that it may be the most accurate depiction of a sloppy husk of a person who is currently grasping at straws in hope of staying out of prison. I am speaking most directly to the proposed five thousand dollar payout to every adult American if Republicans manage to retain control of Congress after November's midterm election. 

In case you missed it because you were watching the first NFL game of the new season, or perhaps reruns of South Park, or maybe you had an appointment that evening to have your corns shaved, the twice-impeached "president" was calling on anyone and everyone within the sound of his voice: “If the Republicans win, you win with us, and you get five thousand dollars.” 

Okay. For just a second let's skip the details like where that cash would come from, or if somehow the outcome was a dead heat, and walk right up to this thing and lick it. 

Go ahead. I'm sure it will be fine. No awful germs or tastes here. RFK Jr. it will be a nutritious start to your day. 

Oh. I see. You're skeptical. Why would you want to put your face anywhere near something that dropped from the slit below the Dear Leader's nose? I get that. As an alternative, I suggest we poke at it with a metaphorical stick: Does that five thousand dollars feel like it would pay for all the money we citizens have been shelling out for gas and groceries and electricity and so forth since the beginning of the Second Trumpreich? Your average household has spent an additional three thousand dollars since the adjudicated rapist took office for the second time, with little or no assurances that there would be any change in policy or spending over the next two years. 

Alright. Now we can do the scary math. This little "gift" from the account of the US government, currently estimated to be operating at a deficit of nearly two trillion dollars, will cost nearly one trillion dollars. Now, do you want to double down with the clowns currently running the show in order to push the country further into debt, or can you imagine that just maybe it's time to change the ringmaster? 

Or would you like to trade for the box in front of which Carol Merrill is now standing? 

Desperate times call for desperate measures, and in this case it seems that for the former game show host stupid times call for even stupider measures. 

Don't Worry About The Government

 I have written here before about how I used to get spooked by newspaper accounts of cattle mutilations. These fears sprang not so much from concern over the cows, since even back then my carnivorous predilection was already well-known, but rather for what might happen when these aliens or devil worshipers or alien devil worshipers ran out of cattle to mutilate. 

Would I be next?

Much in the same way I worried about being harassed by Big Foot. The humanoid beast who wandered the woods of the Pacific Northwest, not the monster truck. I was somewhat frequently found in the woods, but not in the Pacific Northwest. Still. What would happen when Big Foot's wandering grounds expanded because of some ecological malfeasance  and I would end up face to face with an unhappy Sasquatch because of some corporation's pollution distribution problem?

What if? 

Happily, it never occurred to me to worry that these two fears might merge and become great tall alien devil worshiping cattle mutilators skulking around the forests just outside my door. 

But since we're already talking about the devil, what ever happened to that other favorite seventies terror, The Devil's Triangle. This one bothered me greatly not because of my proximity to the Atlantic Ocean, but then again, I was not particularly concerned with geography when it came to arbitrary fears. 

I used to read accounts of airplanes and pleasure cruises that simply disappeared in a region off the coast of Bermuda that became synonymous with disappearing pleasure cruises and airplanes. GPS did not become available for civilian use until the 1980s, so that meant that once you drifted into this triangular region with just your wits and a compass that became instantly useless, you were very much on your own. Left to be devoured by great tall alien devil worshiping cattle mutilators patrolling the area in unidentified floating objects. 

As late as 2023, a French sailboat went missing in that bit of Caribbean geometry. Then again, the number of pilots, passengers, sailors and potential castaways that have travelled through this potentially hazardous zone of terror might suggest that we didn't have anything to worry about.

But that's just what those great tall alien devil worshiping cattle mutilators patrolling the area in unidentified floating objects would like you to think. 

Misinformation Accomplished!

 " I’ll never forget two firemen. We thought it was coming down on top of us, and two firemen — big, strong guys — and I’m not the smallest guy in the world — they grabbed me under the arms, said, ‘Gotta get out of here.’ And they literally lifted me up. This is not easy to do. I’m big. They lifted me up and they started running with me. I said, ‘Fellas, I can run myself.’ But they were amazing, but they thought it was coming down; it didn’t come down. US Steel.”

These were part of the "prepared remarks" that the convicted felon who claims that he never met the woman he raped shared across the street from another demolished building: The White House. 

You may recall the roasting that George "The W Is Silent" Bush received after his performance art piece in which he hopped out of a plane that had just landed on an aircraft carrier. In his flight suit, he posed for photos and made the most out of his junior flight instructor badge before changing into a suit and tie. Once behind the podium on the USS Abraham Lincoln, he stood in front of a banner in May 1, 2003 to repeat the message, "Mission Accomplished." 

A couple things: Military operations in Iraq and Afghanistan continued until August 31. 2010. So the mission was far from "accomplished" as this dog and pony show played out. Also, the USS Abraham Lincoln was only thirty miles from shore. In San Diego. There was no reason that W couldn't have used a helicopter to make that hop. Except he needed those points to help him graduate junior flight instructor class. 

Oh. And that aircraft carrier. It may sound familiar too. Mostly because recently it sailors have been abandoning ship when they weren't complaining about the conditions on board during its nine month deployment. Twenty-three years later, it's headed back to San Diego. 

Meanwhile the feeble-wobble currently making bad decisions used the twenty-fifth anniversary of the September 11 terrorist attacks to make it all about himself, neatly dovetailing with the bizarre AI memes his social media count keeps pushing out. As a general flanked by Patton and MacArthur. Sitting in a meeting, regaling George Washington with his plans for a ballroom. 

What I am suggesting here is that the convicted felon and his predecessor in war crimes share a very active fantasy life. Since the last time the twice impeached "president" was involved in any sort of airborne "daring do" he was hiding in a catering truck he can continue to dream. 

For the crew of the USS Abraham Lincoln, I hope their tour of Fantasy Island is ended, and someone can take the former game show host's phone away, leaving him the option to spin his tales of stolen valor to anyone who will listen. Natalie? 

Spam

 Every day.

Every single day. 

My inbox is filled with email from all manner of things Democratic. The party, that is. 

They want me to back the cause and be aware, but most of all they want money. They need my contribution to keep up the fight. Times are hard. Times are dangerous. They think I should know. 

I do know. Isn't that what I have been whining about, off and on, for the past ten years right here on this very spot?

Okay. So we agree. Things have gone for worse to worser, and there is no hope in sight. Well, unless I chip in the prescribed fifteen to one hundred five dollars. Then everything will be alright. 

For the record, I have sent money to campaigns and causes. In the past. That is why I am currently receiving so very many emails asking that I send more. 

Except current realities preclude me from supporting James Talarico. And/or Abdul El-Sayed. Or any of the myriad candidates in any of the fixed number of states that would bring about a leveling of the playing field we call "politics in America." These realities are primarily economic, but I will attest to a certain degree of a difficulty with reality itself. 

All that money I spent trying to get Kamala Harris elected did not turn out the way I wanted. Nor, apparently, did it buy a spine for those Democrats currently ensconced in their difficult but considerably more comfortable situations than mine. You are asking me to pitch in to support the writing of yet another strongly worded letter to the clowns currently in charge? With the full and complete knowledge that they do not know how to read?

Some of these emails try to disguise themselves as "surveys." They claim to want to know my position on issues like the relative fitness of the Orange Worst to run our country. I will answer faithfully right up until the moment that they want me to click on that recommended contribution button. 

I understand that it costs money to print posters. It takes money to put up TV spots. It takes money to get those clever social media posts coming. It takes money to keep my local public television station on the air. 

They sent me a tote bag. 

Now I want my government back, thank you very much. 

For that, you will receive my vote.