jayrodtheoldbod

I got to thinking about IRC some time ago, and how much creative time we spent solving the fundamental problem of how, exactly, to use the internet without needing some sort of middleman, like a crazy person hosting a server for no clear reason, so that we could all communicate together.

That and designing the thing so that even if the hardware in your closet got hammered with a bajillion visits it wouldn't stutter because it was all too light weight for that. But also, fuck no I would rather throw myself down the stairs than arrange it so that I have to maintain it a lot. That type of thinking defined an era, and that's why zombo.com still works.

I have to put more maintenance into my Gmail account than the zombo guy does into the entire website, is what I'm saying. Return to monke, is what I'm saying.

God I love shitty cosplay that still works.

Somebody shakes their head and says something about milk and pizza

He's a survivor. He had a hunch and started walking casually toward the mountains, never to be seen again.

Please note that the prompt says "queens of England" very clearly, which turns it into a glorified Google image search, so the results are unacceptable trash, and vaguely leftist language about people being angry for the lack of racism are your problem, only. Fuck off, troll.

The real issue is that even with a handholding, direct and easy prompt, the tech cannot simply hand over pictures, even generated ones to avoid copyright issues, that come from easily discovered answers on Wikipedia and who knows how many other credible sources. The lineage of the British Royal Family is all but open-source data - probably is, literally - and your mom can probably name three Queens offhand though she's Canadian. This thing completely ate shit on an easy, easy prompt.

I don't know how many times now I've seen some YouTuber use "evil Jerome Powell" as a prompt for a thumbnail, and get a clear picture of him complete with devil horns, copyright be damned, so what the f? The AI isn't this stupid, that means they're nerfing it and screwing it up. You best believe they're still selling it, though.

What other results will it comically fuck up, but you don't have the knowledge to critique? You won't see the results, either, somebody else will use them to judge your resume; IS using them, now. Fucking lazy hiring managers are going to just plug your name into this thing and ask for a synopsis of your life so they don't have to work. It will just fill in missing information with lies, and they'll eat it up. I guess you shot two people a couple of years ago and didn't know about it. I wonder why you didn't get the job?

People have been crazy dumb with this AI, meaning young, smart, tech-savvy people with heavy internet backgrounds who should know better than to trust keep treating it like an oracle, because they have some weird blind spot about this technology. Ignorant executives who think math is for slurs are going to make it do everything.

They're going to use this technology to decide who gets an apartment, who gets arrested, and a bunch of other shit, save your leftism for that.

The stinky back of that poor tiger

The only time I get 10 hours and wake up tired is after a lot of drinking, so maybe you have other issues.

Try out Shreddit, it's a web app for exactly this. It even lets you filter by post karma so you can keep your hits. I've never used it but that's the name that came up over on Reddit from everyone talking about the announcement.

This announcement is just "oh by the way, the horse is now out of the barn. He left like 10 years ago but this is the announcement."

Shout out to whoever dismissed the first AI writings with "It's like a perfect Redditor. Totally confident and completely full of shit, doesn't even know that it's lying."

That doesn't happen by accident. That happens when everyone was already scraping the shit out of the site, at the very least.

This show is going to be a huge hit with line cook babydaddies.

This sounds like the battery and the charger's problem to handle, not mine.

All this tech, all this automation for every damn thing, and people keep coming at me like I'm supposed to do everything manually with my fingers and eyes and maybe an alarm or something to keep me on schedule. No. Stop it.

Make the charger handle it, or shut up. Make the phone, the charger, and the battery handle it together, you know, with digital automation. Do not even mention it to me.

This type of relationship is pretty common in war. You and the squad end up "in the shit" and now you have all crossed the boundaries of what civilians call "manliness". You are free, unimpeachable, the manliest thing, a real warrior, a soldier in battle. The things you do now define manliness, you are writing the rules. They can call you whatever, you will reply with the sort of laughter that silences fools.

People die around you. The sound of another man's voice becomes poetry to you. How much longer will you hear his voice? Who knows, tell him a shitty joke. Sit on his lap for a gag, do whatever. Drink in his presence, press his flesh against yours, be alive together, try to keep him in your memory, tomorrow we all may die. Has anybody seen those pictures of soldiers from the American Civil War all hanging out and mugging for the camera? Acting all "gay" with each other? That's what war does to men, sometimes, probably not that often, I fear.

Somebody online with a military background once remarked about the safest he's ever felt, including in civilian life, was when he was in some tent in a war zone with the rest of the platoon, everyone in their sleeping bags, crammed in the tent together like a litter of kittens in a box. Sure, they were in the death zone, for real, but he was warm and snug, surrounded by armed badasses who would come to his aid at once if anything nasty went down. He said he slept like a baby, that he's never felt that sense of security since, not even safe in bed as a civilian, later.

It means a lot to me that this book, TLOR, was pretty much written by the Great War. Tolkien went to that war, against his own will, compelled by shame campaigns, not even the law, in spite of his own convictions, and he did not have some safe posting at the base, no, he was at the Somme. He saw the worst of it, probably missed death by inches several times, saw mud and blood, was deafened and battered, only to survive at last, coming home as changed as Frodo.

He watched men charge into machine guns like mice into a blender, watched them die of trench foot and the stupid ways war kills you without even glory or honor to show for it, saw that sometimes courage is just hiding in your little hole and not screaming when the tanks roll over. He saw Mordor in person. No man's land.

Then he came home, and did he write some edgy darkness? No. He wrote this thing, this fantasy, with its message of hope that evil can be vanquished, and that men can be good, yes, even when they seem utterly lost to goodness. This is somehow the lesson that the War to End All Wars had taught him. He had nothing left to prove, so he made a pretty, frivolous thing, for children, but couldn't help it, he couldn't help making something bigger than that. He knew how intimate men become with each other under fire, and it ended up in the book.

That is the only thing he wanted to remember, that unexpected love when suffering and death are right on top of you. I wonder who Legolas was to him? Somebody young and beautiful, who deserved to live a thousand years, but didn't, probably. They shall not grow old.

We shouldn't need the machine guns coming at us to hug our friends, that's probably what he wanted the world to know.