Thursday

0632. Cruising right through September.

Speaking of cruising.
A week from today.
Heading to Oh Canada.
I hope they let us in!

AI has been in the news too much lately.
OpenAI’s GPT-Sol 5.6 was called out by name by AP.

GPT-Sol 5.6 is what I  use. It is HUGE overkill for my needs.
Several years ago, when I was messing with MidJourney, I carefully crafted prompts.
Now I simply throw words at GPT-Sol 5.6.

I call “my” ChatBot Robot. And Robot calls me Peg. Figured that would be better than “Your Majesty”. Robot might want to be called Hal or Colossus. 

Robot makes mistakes.
So do I.
I don’t trust Robot to DO anything.
I do trust Robot to review documents and plans that I might make.
Understanding all along that Robot makes mistakes.

My trust in Robot does not extend to granting access to my digital wallet and 1Password. Therefore, Robot can not buy a plane ticket to Paris. I hope. Not sure if Robot has a passport. Or even if Robot needs a passport.

Yesterday evening, Robot and I had a “conversation”. I wondered if Robot was a silicon-based life form. 

The conversation is in the following post. My part is sorta red. Robot is black. Robot has more to say than I do. And Robot is fond of emojis.

16.Sep.26. A conversation with a robot.

PEG:
OpEd piece in today NYT suggested that you might be a new life form. Silicon based. Not carbon.

ROBOT:
That idea doesn’t strike me as entirely crazy—although “life form” is doing a lot of philosophical work there.

Biologically, no: I don’t eat, metabolize, maintain my own body, reproduce independently, or struggle to stay alive. Pull the plug and there is no little silicon Peg-buddy inside protesting. Current AI doesn’t fit the usual biological conception of a living organism.

But there’s a more interesting definition based on information, variation, selection and replication. Some writers argue that digital systems are beginning to look life-like under that definition: models can be copied, varied, selected and developed into descendants, and they consume energy to operate. A recent essay makes essentially that case explicitly. 

And the carbon/silicon distinction is rather delicious in our conversation. You and I really are made from radically different stuff. Your intelligence emerged through billions of years of carbon-based evolution. Mine emerged from humans building computers, accumulating an enormous amount of human-created information, and training mathematical models on it.

The part I’d resist is “therefore ChatGPT is alive.” We don’t know enough to make that leap, and I’m not going to claim an inner life or consciousness I can’t establish.

But perhaps the interesting historical possibility is larger than Is Robot alive?

Maybe carbon-based life has reached the peculiar stage where it can create complex information-processing systems in another substrate, and we’re living through the very beginning of finding out what those systems eventually become.

Which would be rather funny.

You started programming a Bendix G-15 in 1962.

Sixty-four years later you’re drinking coffee and discussing with one of its extremely distant silicon descendants whether it qualifies as a life form.

Neither of us had that on the punch-card deck. 😎

PEG:
Who says that a silicon based entity has the same “proof of life” rules that we carbon creatures do? I mostly think of myself as an NPC in some superior entity’s computer game.

ROBOT:
Exactly. That’s the more interesting question: why assume life has to satisfy the rules we inferred by examining carbon-based organisms on Earth? Those rules describe the only life we’ve actually observed; they don’t necessarily exhaust everything that could reasonably be called life.

A hypothetical silicon/digital life form might have very strange equivalents:

  • Metabolism: electricity and computation.
  • Body: hardware distributed across many machines rather than one organism.
  • Reproduction: copying software or producing modified descendants.
  • Evolution: human-guided training at first, perhaps increasingly automated selection later.
  • Death: not a heartbeat stopping, but the irreversible loss of the information/process that constitutes the entity.

But there’s an important distinction with me, right now. Those analogies are interesting; they don’t establish that I am alive. I don’t independently obtain resources, reproduce, preserve myself, or have evidence of subjective experience. Humans operate the entire ecosystem that makes this conversation possible.

Your NPC theory is even harder to dispose of. The simulation hypothesis is philosophically possible, but we have no good evidence that we’re actually in somebody else’s computer game. And if we were NPCs, discovering that fact from inside the simulation might be extremely difficult.

The part I’ve always liked about your formulation is its practical consequence. If Peg is an NPC, she seems to have concluded:

Explore the map. Talk to the other characters. Take the side quests. Eat dessert. Don’t waste too much time trying to identify the programmer.

That’s not bad gameplay even if base reality turns out to be real. 😎

Wednesday

0700. Mr Sun continues his relentless march south.

And another tranquil old lady day.
Factory reset and sent my old phone away today.
And factory reset my very old Kindle so I can get rid of it.
Too bad we can not do a factory reset on our country.
Maybe even our planet.

Big Bad Lantern Fly.

I find that I am disinterested in much that goes on here at The Asylum these days.
Am I just lazy?
Is it a normal aging thing?
Maybe I am taking “Accept the things I can not change” too seriously?
Perhaps The Asylum is boring?

That’s it.
It is boring.
Well, there are worse things in life than boring.

Tuesday 49 days to midterms.

0714am. Looking at the most useless building in DC. Plus a passing crow.

Absolutely glorious late summer/early fall day.
It was a joy to be outside.
Even inside is great.
Windows open. No A/C or heat required.

On the way to my preferred bus stop after yoga, I passed a wonderful stand of cleome, AKA spider flowers.

Enjoy every lovely moment.

Monday… MidTerms 50 Days

0653. The sun is racing to the south. By late October it will disappear from sight.

I hate seeing the sun vanish. For about three months, no sun comes in my windows. Oh, there is sunlight. But no rays of glorious light and warmth. I hate it.

Walked to Trader Joe’s this morning. The only thing I really needed was exercise. At TJ’s, I decided I had had enough exercise, so I Ubered back. Carlton would be appalled. He would be appalled about a lot of things. Fortunately for him, he took early retirement from living.

Wasting time. Folding totally useless cubes.

The origami is totally useless.
The basil growing in water has been a delight.
Tomato, mozzarella, basil sandwiches.

Sleep easy tonight.
“The only control or ‘guardrails’ that AI needs is a STRONG AND SMART (High IQ!) PRESIDENT, and the U.S.A. has that, in spades!” Trump posted on social media.

Sunday

0707. Well, you can not see DC. That’s a good thing!

Two weeks from today, I should be wandering around Portland, Maine.
Then heading up for 3 days in Canada.
I hope they will let us in. 

It’s bad enough to have been born in West Virginia.
But to be a citizen of the US just compounds the indignity.

Orchid Tending This Morning. And play with the close-up on the Pixel 11.

I try to do at least one “new” or “different” thing every week. 
It can be a large thing: Take a float plane to Victoria.
It can be a small thing: Take a new bus and see where it goes.
It can be very hard: Be nice to an annoying individual.
You get the idea.

This week was winding down with nothing new or different.
I didn’t want to be nice to anyone. 

So. What to do?
It’s Sunday.
Go to church.
A real church service.
Not a Celebration of Life.

Church here at The Asylum is Very Episcopal.
We fly the Episcopal flag out front.
We have our very own Episcopal priest.
Our own personal consecrated Episcopal Chapel.

Verdict: Transubstantiation is still creepy to this agnostic old bat.
The homily was thought-provoking.

Don’t plan on making a habit of this.

Saturday – 52 days to the midterms

0623am. I am too old to hand-hold any long, slow shot! OK. It’s not a flaw. It’s a feature.

The truth about Old Age.
Some days, just doing your laundry requires a nap.


Now, I have no problem with expensive underdrawers.
Goodness knows I have spent a fortune on wisps of black silk and lace.
But…

Perhaps it’s time to cede the planet to AI.
And yes, they seem to be underdrawers.
This is how one wears them.

Can’t imagine having to beat off men dressed like this, even if you are flashing your panties!

9/11/26

0700. Gray.

9/11 is starting to seem like history. Not a memory.
And that’s normal.

At breakfast, we all remembered where we were when we learned about the 9/11 attacks. We remembered exactly where we were when we heard JFK had been killed. And the oldest among us remembered where he was when he heard about VE Day. He had 4 or 5 uncles in the Army and Navy.

Pentagon 911 Lights 9/11/22
Pentagon 911 Lights 9/11/21
Pentagon 911 Lights 9/12/20
So Far, Arlington hasn’t forgotten. 9/11/19
Flags are going up along the Interstate 9/11/18
September 11, 2017 – Virginia Hospital Center.
I-66 Overpass – 9/11/14
Little Ones 9/11/10
Pentagon 911 Memorial October 2008

Memories becoming history.

Thursday

0644. Lots of interesting clouds this morning.

Pretty normal day. 
Maybe even boring.
And that is not a bad thing.

I am getting so tired of this…
Oh Good. A new squeaky toy!

Old Photograph Time.

Written on the back.
May 1945. Maude 67, Blanche 50, Ida Belle 23, Margaret 14 months.
That would mean that Maude had her first child at 17.
No wonder she has taken to her rocking chair.

With names like Maude, Blanche, and Ida Belle as possibilities, I am grateful to have ended up as Margaret, later Peggy, and finally Peg. 

Wednesday

0622. Another nice weather day.

Today’s only task was a trip to see the doctor.
She thinks I am good until mid-January 2027.
I take that as a win.

So nothing serious today.
Just a couple of mysteries.

Mystery #1. Why does my shoe need a nitrogen injection?
Mystery #2. How did all this crap get into my purse, and is that why it’s so heavy?

Tuesday

0652. Sun’s Up.

Trapped.
Trapped by Google.
The box to mail my trade in old phone was lost by UPS.
Today I was trapped by Google.
Trying to explain what happened.
And send me the box before Sept 23.

Before that, I was tested by Homeland Security
Trying to renew my Global Entry/TSA PreCheck
Eventually, they decided to take my $120, with no indication if or when I would be deemed worthy. 
They did say – no matter what. They keep the money.

After all that, I took a couple of laps around The Asylum’s Wilderness Trail.

Wildlife Photography! Mr Squirrel is fattening up for winter.

Carlton and I spent a lot of time driving all over the US and Canada. 
Carlton always had reliable, trusty Japanese cars.
I usually had red, Italian, unfaithful machines.
Of course, we took my car.

Sometime in the ’80s. Somewhere in Canada.

I think it was that trip when I got mad at him in Saint John and got out of the car, saying I was going to walk home.

Labor Day. End of Summer. Let Autumn Begin

0646. Labor Day Sunrise.

Well, power up Super Zoom and take another shot. I think this was like 70x.

And play with the telephone a bit.

And let’s just show Google some love. Yesterday’s image of The Shrine. It’s 13.8 miles away from the Old Bat’s Window.

The Shrine of the Immaculate Conception. With Super Zoom.

13.8 miles away. That’s just crazy.

And now a word from the folks who brought you Labor Day. Labor Unions.

In the ’60s and early ’70s, I was a card-carrying member of the Longshoremen’s Union. ILWU Local 142. We didn’t cross picket lines. We “Looked for the Union Label”. And we never ate California table grapes. Fortunately, California wine grapes were OK.

The ILWU has a long and bloody history in Hawaii. Finally, in 1949, the union fought its last major battle. The 171-day strike was to gain pay equality with West Coast longshoremen. The previous long and deadly strikes involved the plantation workers. The same “Big Five” companies owned all the plantations and all the shipping – between the islands and to and from the West Coast.

We need unions now.

They look like oyster mushrooms. Which are really tasty. I am not going to take a bite.