It’s a lie. It’s all a lie.
When you believe in a lie, you fool yourself. When you say it with conviction, you fool others.
Get enough people fooled, and you got yourself a new religion.
Dear Diary – January 4, 2019
August 31, 2023
Dear Diary – March 26, 2001
August 29, 2023
[Written during my first trip to China]
My legs, especially my left calf, still ache from Hua Shang. That experience alone justifies my whole trip. I walked 6 km starting at about 1pm. Stopping only once for maybe 15-20 minutes for a Sprite and a flashlight, I reached the North Peak (Bei Feng) at a little after 5. I really should have continued to the South Peak (the highest at 2160m), but at just before a particularly treacherous climb, a stranger offered to take my picture. He did this twice later; he then asked me where I was going, so because I told him North Peak, he led me to the North Peak Hotel. I signed into an expensive room, thinking a locked door proof against bag theft — but unnecessarily, as there were no other guests at all! I got a TV, a washbasin (no running water) and access to outdoor lavatories (Must have been the “private bath” the guidebook lied about). Public toilets basically meant an open outhouse shitting down the rock face — so much for sacred mountain vibes.
I slept and, waking at 4 am, set off to climb the Blue Dragon. Only then did I know why one traditionally climbed the mountain at night: to conquer fear. Once I began, I could not return. Grasping the iron-link chain with one hand and flashlight with the other, all I could see were tiny, steep steps underfoot and clear stars overhead. Most stairs were about 60º, but several inclined more, and at least one near the beginning of the Blue Dragon was almost vertical, certainly 80º. At the very end, just before the sunrise viewing point, was the actual peak (2100m). From atop an enormous boulder crowned with pine trees and a lone camp light came the voices of two crazy park workers, exhorting all to brave the true East Peak. A guide at the bottom told me to be careful before I attempted to climb the rock. But as I realized the steps were actually more than 90º, and that my pack was pulling me backward as I yanked myself up on the chains, I gave up and went down again after about 10 feet.
When I returned after watching daybreak, I looked down at the Dragon and could only marvel at my audacity; I had come alone at night, scared half out of my wits, with heavy packpack and asthma and glasses and only 1 free hand, and I had climbed steps narrower than the width of my foot. With sheer rock cliffs on both sides and only a single metal chain between me and a quickly plummeting death. I did it. I have nothing left to fear.
Night owl here! OK also dinner time person (is that a thing?)
August 28, 2023
What’s your favorite time of day?
I’ve always been a night owl, always found it easier to concentrate when other brain waves were sleeping and not interfering with mine.
Now, though, I often find the most relaxing time of day is dinner time — because I get to cook for my family!
I never would have said that even five years ago. But the pandemic especially has given me a chance to try out all sorts of recipes, modifying, adding, subtracting as I go. It’s like a chemical experiment 🧪 for our digestive systems!
I can’t wait to get home from work, start up a little Cannonball Adderly, Bill Evans, or Dizzy Gillespie and fire up the grill/wok/air heater and roll up my sleeves.
Of course, I still enjoy the late late hours of a tipple 🥃 and a three-hour YouTube on the rise and fall of the Akkadian Empire (history nerd here). Not enough hours in the day!
Dear Diary – August 26, 1999
August 26, 2023
The meek shall only inherit the earth if they can get a long-term mortgage loan floated from the aggressively idle rich.
Dear Diary – Posts from the Past
August 25, 2023
I’ve kept a journal (OK, a diary) for many, many years now. It first started in September 1984 as a junior high school 1st year (7th grade) English assignment — each day, we would be given a writing prompt and at the end of the 10-week term (quarterly system back then), the English teacher would look it over and write feedback.
At least, that was the idea. In mid-October my family moved to a county and school system about 60 miles away (it’s more complicated — we couldn’t move in to the new house at first and so my siblings and I were looked after by various relatives, so we didn’t go to school for about nine to ten days). The new school didn’t use journals at all. English class was boring. Grammar and sentence diagramming.
So I kept writing at home, almost on a daily basis in the beginning.
But I’ve been fairly inconsistent over the years. I filled several notebooks, all different sizes and shapes. I stopped writing in one notebook at some point in 1999 when I moved to Japan and started another one. Then some time in 2004 I decided it was a waste of paper not to finish the 1999 one. Then I filled it up and started typing in a Word file. Then I went to Montreal four years ago and started writing in paper notebooks again.
It’s, quite frankly, a great big mess.
But there are some good ideas in these notebooks, and lots and lots of bizarre poems that I swear I do not remember writing. (Also at least half a dozen attempts at “automatic writing.” If you don’t know what that is, look it up.)
So from time to time, I’ll post some bits and pieces here. Just for safe-keeping.
Who knows? I may wind up publishing some of it at some point. Or at least drop some of it into the mouths of future SciFi characters.
AI “loses its mind” when fed AI-created drivel
August 19, 2023
In other words, without “fresh real data” — translation: original human work, as opposed to stuff spit out by AI — to feed the beast, we can expect its outputs to suffer drastically. When trained repeatedly on synthetic content, say the researchers, outlying, less-represented information at the outskirts of a model’s training data will start to disappear. The model will then start pulling from increasingly converging and less-varied data, and as a result, it’ll soon start to crumble into itself.
https://futurism.com/ai-trained-ai-generated-data
So, as more and more lazy people ask AI to “write” for them, the programs get less and less accurate…
Or, as the authors of the study conclude, “…without enough fresh real data in each generation of an autophagous loop, future generative models are doomed to have their quality (precision) or diversity (recall) progressively decrease.”
I.e., the use of AI-generated content to train AI doesn’t work, and since there is already way too much AI-generated garbage all over the internet, it’s almost impossible to sort out which is which when the AI-creators “scrape” data from the web.
So…
See, machines can’t replace us entirely — their brains will melt!
But then again, that might not be so hopeful after all. When AI takes over the world, maybe it won’t kill humans; perhaps it’ll just corral us into content farms…
At least we won’t wind up as batteries.
Yet.
PS. I find it both hysterically amusing and disturbing that my blog program offers an “experimental AI assistant.” Granted, the program does let you know that AI-generated content accuracy is not guaranteed, but wth would I want to use AI for a personal blog? The whole purpose of a blog is to WRITE. AI-generated text is not writing. It is intellectual property theft.
Everybody I know needs it!
August 15, 2023
If you were going to open up a shop, what would you sell?
OK, OK, in all seriousness, I would probably open a jazz café / restaurant. But only on the weekends.
We live at the foot of a mountain trail, and it’s really popular with retired folks and young families.
My wife and I have already begun thinking about our “second life” after retirement, and I’ve been frankly bored with the whole EFL teaching thing for a while now.
But pizza and the Duke? Yeah. That’d work.
The future looks like…
July 11, 2023
What are you most excited about for the future?
I look forward to seeing whether the future looks more like WALL-E…
…or Star Trek…
…or maybe some combination thereof…
And no, I have no idea why Jetpack/WordPress did that
July 5, 2023
How I learned how NOT to carry a shoulder bag to work
July 2, 2023
Have you ever had surgery? What for?
Yeah, minor surgery. On March 3, 2020, I had a benign tumor the size of a gum ball removed from my left shoulder.
It had been created by repeated rubbing of my shoulder bag strap on sweaty skin. Or rather on sweaty shirt over sweaty skin. I walk half an hour back and forth the train station to my workplace each morning and evening, and the summers in Kyoto are hot hot hot.
So there I was lying on a surgeon’s bed, getting my shoulder skin snipped into three pieces and pried open. My blood pressure shot up to 190 at one point. The surgeons told me to relax.
Uh. Yeah. They didn’t tell me how close the tumor was to a major artery, but I could make an educated guess.
There was a cloth screen between my face and my shoulder so that I couldn’t see what they were doing. And of course they had numbed the entire area and I couldn’t move my left arm at all.
But it was an unpleasant experience. No pain, but I could of course still hear the clip clip clipping of scissors on skin. And I have an imagination.
(Fwiw I have written a short story based on getting my wisdom teeth taken out—also with local rather than general anesthesia—though I didn’t include the factoid that my root tips shot across the room like tiny cannonballs and were never found again).
Fortunately, the surgery was successful— they even showed me the tumor (it looked like a tiny blancmange, and now you’ll have that image in your mind next time you eat one). They even asked me if if wanted to keep it (um, no thanks).
And afterwards the scar was barely visible, so good a job they did with the stitches.
Two days after the surgery, we went into lockdown and had to wear masks everywhere.
Talk about good timing.
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