Wednesday, May 6, 2009

If I can make it there...

Ok, firstly, today I had an appointment during my lunch break to have my private parts waxed. I have never done this before, but I have been hearing that it's the cat's hairless pajamas for some time now from my dearest darling friend, Diane. She hooked me up with her cheap and clean and supposedly very friendly spa, and I decided to give it a shot.
Needless to say, I was nervous about having a total stranger look at, size up, and then mrecilessly rip the hair from, my tender down-there, so as I got off the subway at 34th St and tried to fight my way through the crowds of tourists and businessmen and travelers, I was in a bit of a tizzy. But then I heard a girl behind me, who must have been from Jersey from her accent, say very loudly:
"What's with all these TOURISTS? Seriously!"
...dude, it's HERALD SQUARE. You're right next to Penn Station, where every Long Island Railroad and Amtrak train in the city comes in! And it's literally UNDERNEATH Madison Square Garden, where bands play, circuses show, and the damn hockey and basketball teams play! And all that happens to be about two blocks away from The Empire State Building! How would there ever NOT be tourists there?

Anyway, I went to the vag wax place and got a very competent but very stern Russian lady named - appropriately - Natasha. She was exactly what a vag waxer should be: accented, severe, polite, and merciless with the pulling of hairs. She taught me lamaz (?) breathing techniques to control the pain. I'm not joking. Imagine the feeling of ripping a hair out of your head prematurely, then multiply it by about a few hundred being ripped out at a time, add to that the feeling of almost-burning-hot wax being placed on the skin right beforehand, multiply THAT again by the fact that this is the most sensitive skin on the human body we're talking about, and then imagine a middle-aged Russian woman with really crazy eye makeup is doing it all. Yeah.

But, now I'm all waxed and smooth and stuff and it doesn't hurt anymore, so, there's that. New York!

Monday, May 4, 2009

Pt. 2: The Landlord vs. the Neighbors

So, current story:

Now that the landlord has officially moved into our building, he has started to take offense to the dogs on our block. I can see his point. He has a front door that leads directly into his apartment from the sidewalk, and there is a chihuahua that lives in one of the apartments next door that just shits on that sidewalk every day. Its owners do not clean up after it, ever. Now, granted, it's a chihuahua, so the shits are pretty small, but when it happens every day it adds up to a pretty steady stream of shit. And on top of that, this is literally the hugest chihuahua I have ever seen in my life. I don't know if it's like, 3/4 chihuahua and 1/4 Great Dane or what, but it's seriously got to be like a 20-pound dog. It's huge. So they're not like gigantic Rottweiler shits, but they are pretty substantial.

So the landlord realizes that this dog is not being picked up after the moment he moves in. For about the first week that he was living downstairs, every morning when Connor and I left for work, he would be standing in his doorway, front door open, blasting bluegrass music (he's way into bluegrass) onto the sidewalk in his grey wife beater and jeans, arms crossed, just waiting for that dog to come out and take a shit. I don't know what he'd have done when it did, but I'm assuming it would either involve threatening the owner with his notorious sledgehammer or nailing the dog itself to the outside of the building. But it never happened. The neighbors must have caught on to what he was up to and just waited till he went inside, then let the dog out to shit all over the sidewalk again.

So one night, Connor and I were out rather late, and when we came in we noticed a sign, hand-written on cardboard, that was posted by our building. It read: "Clean up your dog shit, you dirty, uncivilized low-life."

Yes. Our rich Jewish landlord wrote a sign that said that to our black and hispanic neighbors. I was terrified! I was afraid people would surround the building with pitchforks and shit, and our landlord - if he didn't have time to grab his sledgehammer - would be f-ing lynched in our backyard.

Thankfully, the next day, the sign was taken down. But, when I got home from work, instead of the sign, there was an ear-splitting high pitched noise coming from the window of the first-floor apartment. Dude had up and bought one of those dog-deterrant noise makers that supposedly makes a sound too high in pitch for humans to hear, but which will send dogs running. Well, let me tell you, I can sure as shit hear that noise, and so can everyone else I've asked. It is annoying as all hell and if I open my bedroom window I can hear it, so I have to sleep with the windows closed even on warm spring nights.

But, I figured, if it would keep the neighbor's chihuahua from shitting on the sidewalk and thus keep all-out warfare from my doorstep, I could deal with it.

Not so.

Last Friday on my way home from work, I turned the corner onto my block and saw two guys from the block standing around talking in front of my doorway. I prepared myself to make the requisite overblown show of how annoyed I was by the dog-deterrant to show my solidarity with the neighbors, but when I got closer I just stopped in my tracks and started to laugh.

Sitting there, directly in front of the neighbors, who were mere feet from the dog-deterrant high-pitched squeal, were two dogs. The giant chihuahua and another dog I didn't recognize. Literally laying on the sidewalk, relaxing, and completely and utterly unfazed by the noise.

The neighbors saw me laughing and gave me curious looks. "They don't even care, do they?" I asked, gesturing to the dogs.

The neighbors looked very confused. "You hear that noise, righr?" I asked again, pointing to the speaker in the window. They slowly nodded. "Well it's supposed to keep dogs away," I explained, then started laughing again. "But your dogs just don't give a shit, do they?"

The neighbors looked at their dogs, back at the speakers, and then shrugged. I really don't think they had even considered that the squealing noise had anything to do with them or their dogs, and the dogs really just couldn't care less.

So, I guess that makes it:
My Landlord: about 5 points
The Neighbors: 1.

Pt. 1: First, some background on my landlord.

Ok, so before I tell this story, I have to tell you all a bit about my landlord. The story, in itself, is not all that impressive. But in the context of my landlord and his way of looking at things, it's pretty funny.

So, I live in the South Bronx, on a relatively quiet block in a relatively nice neighborhood. Sure, there's a halfway house on the block, but the halfway house is also a community center so it's a well-kept group of vagrants and ex-cons that gathers outside to smoke cigarettes. And, sure, there's an abandoned house with a hole in one window (read: crack den) right next to the halfway house, but there's also a police precinct literally around the corner, so nothing too blatantly ridiculously criminal is going on, at least not on the street.

Enter into this scene, my landlord, who just moved into the first-floor apartment of my building. This guy is flat-out one of the nicest guys you'll ever meet. He is great to have around because he is always willing to help if you have an issue. He's a hands-on kind of dude. He single-handedly (or sometimes with literally ONE guy helping) gutted and renovated every one of the now-seven apartments in our building, installed a low-energy and low-water use washer and dryer on the first floor, put in energy-saving air conditioners in every apartment, and he's involved in every neighborhood and borough council there is so he has a hand in planning the development of our neighborhood for our benefit. He's a great landlord.

He's also pretty... um... how do I say this delicately? Batshit crazy. The guy made a huge amount of money in finance, basically brokering real estate and other money-making deals all over the city, then got sick of the posturing and esoteric-ness of the market, and bought a bunch of property to fix up hands-on. He still makes occasional forays into the business world when it suits him, since he has a rolodex of about 300 names of very rich people to do deals with, but he mostly sticks close to home in the South Bronx now. But, he's definitely a high-powered businessman kind of guy in his outlook on the world, so he basically wants to control the South Bronx. So far, he has always gotten his way.

As I said, he's on every neighborhood planning committee there is. He knows all the local businessmen and other landlords in the area. When an MTA bus was rerouted down our block because of construction on 3rd Avenue and Melrose Avenue, he not only went to the neighborhood council office at least once a week to bitch and complain, but he got all his tenants and even tenants and landlords of other buildings, to go and complain too. Of course, the bus was kind of loud and annoying, but nobody really minded that it was going down our block except for him. But they went to the council office to complain because he bothered them about it until they did.
When that didn't work, he started putting up signs all over the block. Some were just paper printouts with big pictures of buses with X's over them. Some just said "No More Buses!" Some said things like, "Tenants of 154th Street Say: No More Buses!" or "The MTA Is Ruining Our Quality Of Life!" He tried to get the neighbors riled up by convincing them that the MTA was actually discriminating against them specifically by ruining their quality of life by putting a bus on their street. He got local business owners to claim they were losing business because the bus had been rorouted and no longer went past their stores. He put up a 15-foot hand=painted wooden sign on the side of the church across the street - WITHOUT THEIR PERMISSION - that said "No More Buses!" in huge blue letters. He put up electrical tape on the "Caution: Bus" sign, so it said "Caution: AbusE"! And he graffitied - let me repeat that: he illegally painted - on a building across the street, the words "Bus = Death".

The bus no longer goes down our street.

There used to be some guys that would hang out on the block, right across the street, on weekends. They apparently (don't know how the landlord knew this, but he told me all this) were from Jersey and knew someone who lived on our block, so they would drive in every weekend in their minivan and set up on the sidewalk with the speakers in the minivan blasting their music, and just chill all weekend with the music turned up. Well, needless to say, the landlord did not like this. So one weekend, he sat outside on the stoop of our building with a ten-pound SLEDGEHAMMER and when they came around actually threatened them with it, made them leave, and then told the people they were visiting on our block that if it ever happened again he would bash their windshield in with said sledgehammer.

They have not been back.

There are numerous other stories along this vein, but let's just say this guy is something of a control freak loose cannon who you definitely want on your side.

....more tomorrow...

Thursday, April 30, 2009

Re-boot

Ok, so it has become clear that my hands and wrists do not appreciate being overused, and that they really don't have much time for fleshing out my conspiracy theories, because they tend to get long-winded.
Don't get me wrong, I'm still anti-robot, and I will try to post short bits about their constant attempts to take over the world when I can, but I want to keep this thing afloat. It's important to write stuff I enjoy amidst the constant other writing projects for other people. And obviously, you guys need me.

So, I'm going to try to write up short bits and pieces more often, chronicling... chronical-ling... chron... however you spell it... the daily weirdness of living in New York. The weather is warming up, and the crazies are coming out to play from wherever they winter (subway tunnels? subway cars? who knows). This makes the daily commute and experience of simply being in the city much more entertaining. I'll share:

Tuesday, 4/28:
The gallery was closed to the public as the art handlers finished hanging a show that was to open at 6:00 pm with free wine and people-watching. At 5:00 a gentleman walked in - having somehow gotten past the security guys in the lobby - and proceeded to explain to me that he was good friends with the artist, but had to catch a plane that evening. He had the air of "I'm a very important person so just let me look around," and he was nice, so I let him
When he left, I took a peek at what he'd written in the guest book. It was a personal note to the artist, signed:
"Your friend on a wire,
Phillipe Petit"
...and there was a little cartoon of two tall buildings with a wire strung between them, with a little dude walking on it.
Yeah...anyone heard of the documentary "Man on Wire" about the tightrope walker who walked a tight rope between the Twin Towers in 1974 in a daring act of illegal performance art? Phillipe Petit.
He obviously wanted me to recognize him, but as the movie is on my Netflix queue and has not yet arrived, I didn't. Felt kind of bad for not pandering to him as he obviously wanted me to do, but oh well.

Later that evening, after a glass of wine at the opening reception for Julio Larraz's new exhibit and a good hour of watching horrendous examples of plastic surgery, bizarre-o outfits and little dogs, I made my way toward the subway to head home. As I stood waiting to cross the street at 59th and Lexington, I heard the very distinct sound of someone 'blowing a raspberry.' You know, sticking your tongue out and blowing, producing a hilarious and spittle-flinging fart noise?
Turned out it was coming with a fairly dignified-looking older gentleman who was dressed normally, clean-cut, totally normal looking. But he was sticking his tongue out and blowing raspberries as he hurtled down the sidwalk at high speed. There were two women about twenty feet behind him, one of whom was pushing a baby stroller, who were looking at him over their shoulders in the stances of people who had obviously just been bumped into or pushed aside as someone moved past them.
The raspberry man turned a bit to scream over his shoulder, "Come on!! What the fuck is your PROBlem?!" before hurling himself through the crowd on the corner, blowing raspberries the whole time.
I laughed the whole way home.



More to come, I'm sure, but I'll leave you with this delightful tidbit from OverheardInNewYork.com:



Suit to man with cat on his head: Why is there a cat on your head?
Man with cat on his head: Why isn't there a cat on your head, douchebag?

--Union Square

Monday, April 20, 2009

http://www.scificool.com/category/the-sorcerers-apprentice-2010-movie/.


Oh. Oh no. This is all wrong. This. Is. All gone horribly wrong. I Thought I'd just post the link because it actually is going to give me pain to have to describe it. But, if I don't describe it, in ... you know ... words... You might not click it. Ok, I'm taking a deep breath. Calming...

That link up there, is going to take you to information and - dear god - screenshots, of Nicolas Cage in... The Sorcerer's Apprentice. Yes, it's a film. 2010. Live action.

I'm just. This makes me feel the same way as this:

http://uk.reuters.com/article/filmNews/idUKTRE51P0YR20090226.

That sonofabitch right there is a link to an article about talks to remake The Neverending Story. Peter Jackson is mentioned. I just. I don't quite know what's happening here.

Oh, wait... Holy.... Oh no.

http://ontheflix.com/2009/03/31/original-actors-will-appear-in-the-new-ghostbusters-3-remake/.

Oh, it's Ghostbusters. I don't care if Jesus were in this, like really honestly Jesus, I probably would still be pissed.

And the end of times, ladies and gentlemen, I give you... Drum roll...

http://www.variety.com/article/VR1117989391.html?categoryid=13&cs=1.

Rocky Horror.

Well, that's it folks, I'm cuttin' my ties and up and moving to Tibet. I plan to start farming yaks and using their strong but very soft wool and selling it to designers. I'm out. And I'm taking this guy:

http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3416/3196188065_3025768ab9.jpg.


SO stay away from me.




Happy 420 Everyone!

Wednesday, April 1, 2009

Brain vs. Machines

Oh, thank you. Thank you, Sandra Ammodt and Sam Wang. Thank you for having some sense. Featured in the NY Times today: "Computers vs. Brains" . A ringing confirmation of my logic. Proof that I'm not the only one with common sense! Hallelujah!

Read it:

Inventor Ray Kurzweil, in his 2005 futurist manifesto “The Singularity Is Near,” extrapolates current trends in computer technology to conclude that machines will be able to out-think people within a few decades. In his eagerness to salute our robotic overlords, he neglects some key differences between brains and computers that make his prediction unlikely to come true.

Brains have long been compared to the most advanced existing technology — including, at one point, telephone switchboards. Today people talk about brains as if they were a sort of biological computer, with pink mushy “hardware” and “software” generated by life experiences.

However, any comparison with computers misses a messy truth. Because the brain arose through natural selection, it contains layers of systems that arose for one function and then were adopted for another, even though they don’t work perfectly. An engineer with time to get it right would have started over, but it’s easier for evolution to adapt an old system to a new purpose than to come up with an entirely new structure. Our colleague David Linden has compared the evolutionary history of the brain to the task of building a modern car by adding parts to a 1925 Model T that never stops running. As a result, brains differ from computers in many ways, from their highly efficient use of energy to their tremendous adaptability.

One striking feature of brain tissue is its compactness. In the brain’s wiring, space is at a premium, and is more tightly packed than even the most condensed computer architecture. One cubic centimeter of human brain tissue, which would fill a thimble, contains 50 million neurons; several hundred miles of axons, the wires over which neurons send signals; and close to a trillion (that’s a million million) synapses, the connections between neurons.

The memory capacity in this small volume is potentially immense. Electrical impulses that arrive at a synapse give the recipient neuron a small chemical kick that can vary in size. Variation in synaptic strength is thought to be a means of memory formation. Sam’s lab has shown that synaptic strength flips between extreme high and low states, a flip that is reminiscent of a computer storing a “one” or a “zero” — a single bit of information.

But unlike a computer, connections between neurons can form and break too, a process that continues throughout life and can store even more information because of the potential for creating new paths for activity. Although we’re forced to guess because the neural basis of memory isn’t understood at this level, let’s say that one movable synapse could store one byte (8 bits) of memory. That thimble would then contain 1,000 gigabytes (1 terabyte) of information. A thousand thimblefuls make up a whole brain, giving us a million gigabytes — a petabyte — of information. To put this in perspective, the entire archived contents of the Internet fill just three petabytes.

To address this challenge, Kurzweil invokes Moore’s Law, the principle that for the last four decades, engineers have managed to double the capacity of chips (and hard drives) every year or two. If we imagine that the trend will continue, it’s possible to guess when a single computer the size of a brain could contain a petabyte. That would be about 2025 to 2030, just 15 or 20 years from now.

This projection overlooks the dark, hot underbelly of Moore’s law: power consumption per chip, which has also exploded since 1985. By 2025, the memory of an artificial brain would use nearly a gigawatt of power, the amount currently consumed by all of Washington, D.C. So brute-force escalation of current computer technology would give us an artificial brain that is far too costly to operate.

Compare this with your brain, which uses about 12 watts, an amount that supports not only memory but all your thought processes. This is less than the energy consumed by a typical refrigerator light, and half the typical needs of a laptop computer. Cutting power consumption by half while increasing computing power many times over is a pretty challenging design standard. As smart as we are, in this sense we are all dim bulbs.

A persistent problem in artificial computing is the sensitivity of the system to component failure. Yet biological synapses are remarkably flaky devices even in normal, healthy conditions. They release neurotransmitter only a small fraction of the time when their parent neuron fires an electrical impulse. This unreliability may arise because individual synapses are so small that they contain barely enough machinery to function. This may be a trade-off that stuffs the most function into the smallest possible space.

In any case, a brain’s success is not measured by its ability to process information in precisely repeatable ways. Instead, it has evolved to guide behaviors that allow us to survive and reproduce, which often requires fast responses to complex situations. As a result, we constantly make approximations and find “good-enough” solutions. This leads to mistakes and biases. We think that when two events occur at the same time, one must have caused the other. We make inaccurate snap judgments such as racial prejudice. We fail to plan rationally for the future, as explored in the field of neuroeconomics.

Still, engineers could learn a thing or two from brain strategies. For example, even the most advanced computers have difficulty telling a dog from a cat, something that can be done at a glance by a toddler — or a cat. We use emotions, the brain’s steersman, to assign value to our experiences and to future possibilities, often allowing us to evaluate potential outcomes efficiently and rapidly when information is uncertain. In general, we bring an extraordinary amount of background information to bear on seemingly simple tasks, allowing us to make inferences that are difficult for machines.

If engineers can understand how to apply these shortcuts and tricks, computer performance could begin to emulate some of the more impressive feats of human brains. However, this route may lead to computers that share our imperfections. This may not be exactly what we want from robot overlords, but it could lead to better “soft” judgments from our computers.

This gets us to the deepest point: why bother building an artificial brain?

As neuroscientists, we’re excited about the potential of using computational models to test our understanding of how the brain works. On the other hand, although it eventually may be possible to design sophisticated computing devices that imitate what we do, the capability to make such a device is already here. All you need is a fertile man and woman with the resources to nurture their child to adulthood. With luck, by 2030 you’ll have a full-grown, college-educated, walking petabyte. A drawback is that it may be difficult to get this computing device to do what you ask.

Friday, March 27, 2009

I have to admit, I hadn't thought of it like this before...

I was reading a bit of an interview on the Forbes/Wolfe blog with this Steve Jurvetson, a (for lack of a better term) disgustingly intelligent and successful businessman who runs his own blobal venture capital firm. He loooooves technology. Particularly genetic engineering technology, which I think is a huge waste of our time and money and effort because it seems so patently designed to get out of control, morph itself in ways we'd never thought of, and kill us all. So of course I was all set up to bash him. But check this out:

"Forbes: The late science fiction author Sir Arthur C. Clarke once said, "Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic." What's some magic you've seen lately?


Jurvetson: Some of the most interesting magic I've seen recently is in the domain of genetic alchemy, where you can change one organism into another by swapping DNA. We are on the cusp of being able to write the code of life as if it were a poem or computer program. That gives us a whole new set of capabilities, in what I would call a second generation of industrial biotech, where we don't just cut and paste from nature but we actually write code from the ground up however we choose.

Five or 10 years ago, folks would have said it's impossible to change one organism into another by swapping out 100% of its DNA, yet this has been demonstrated in the past year by Craig Venter and his team at Synthetic Genomics. This is just a precursor to the next step, which is putting a fully synthetic chromosome into a single-celled organism."



...hmmmm.... Now, personally, on gut instinct, the words "change one orgamism into another by swapping out 100% of its DNA... has been demonstrated" in close proximity are blood-freezingly scary. WHY would we need to know how to do that? In what way is that helping us do anything besides play at being a God we don't even understand well enough to stop fighting wars over?

But I like what he said about writing the code of life like a poem. That is something I had never thought of before, and being a sucker for poetry, I find it rather intriguing. For the first time I'm getting a glimpse of what robot engineers and genetic scientists might see in all this willy-nilly pre-apocalyptic technological tinkering: creation. Creation of something entirely new, something that has never existed before. It's a compelling, seductive idea, isn't it? It's why we have kids. It's why we make timeless works of art. It's why we develop philosophies. It's kind of why we're here.

Still, I don't think that's any excuse. Timeless works of art aren't exactly innocuous all the time, but they're pretty benign, all things considered. Kids are just what we DO, how we maintain. Philosophies are less pleasant things went put into practice, but again, they are an outpouring of the human mind that is intended to help. Not so much with genetically synthetic life forms. Synthetic life forms. Synthetic AI forms. They may be there to help, but we are talking about putting a new thing into this world that has never existed before, that has the capability to do things we have never considered and have no way of predicting. This could be said of a child, perhaps - after all, anybody could be the next Hitler - but we know through precedent, all things told, what a person can and can not do. Robots, artificial life forms? We don't know. They may be the end result of benign creative impulses, and that's great and all, but once they're created they don't stop... there's the danger. Why not stick to poetry, art, reproduction, and philosophy? They've worked pretty well so far.

Thursday, March 26, 2009

Validation

"Technological progress is like an axe in the hands of a pathological criminal." -Albert Einstein

Wednesday, March 25, 2009

Real quick...

Today has been a little nutty and I'm immersed in book-writing so I won't go on about this too much, but... check this out. I'll cut and paste the article from Mental_Floss:

Pollution-Sniffing Robofish to Scour Thames

by Linda Rodriguez - March 25, 2009 - 12:38 PM They’re a lot like Robocop – except instead of patrolling the mean streets of Detroit in a fictional future, they could be patrolling the mean waters of the Thames. Researchers at the University of Essex at Colchester, working with a £2.5 million grant from the EU, are currently developing pollution-sniffing robofish to help detect harmful chemicals in the Thames and other bodies of water.



The robofish are each armed with internal GPS systems, artificial intelligence software, and sensors capable of detecting levels of pollution. They move, much like real fish do, by undulating their faux-scaly bodies. The pollution-detecting robofish’s movement is based on an existing battery operated working model on view at the London Aquarium, which employs an internal motor in a watertight compartment and moves eerily exactly like a real fish. Here’s a video of an early model:






The robofish will be deployed in schools of five and can communicate with one another using wi-fi; when one robofish has detected a contaminant, it sends a message to the others, which will then motor on over and take readings of the area. The fish will swim about the Thames, or another body of water, unmonitored by humans unless they find pollution. Researchers plan to have a working prototype, jam-packed with sensors, ready in as little as 18 months..."



The article goes on to describe the history of the Thames and its super-pollutedness up until the 1950's and how it's sprung back to health after the docks were closed in recent decades, yadda yadda yadda.

But check out that video of the robo-fish. Is it just me, or is it completely and utterly unecessary for a robotic pollution-sniffing device designed for the sole purpose of monitoring the river's health to look and move just like a real fish? It's creepy! It's like a real-fish doppleganger. Terminator Fish. Ahhnold Fisheneggar...

Seriously, though. What is the point of the realistic fish-like movement? Why the scales? Why the fishiness? Couldn't they just send out some little submarine-y things? I'm venturing to say that it's for the same reason that engineers think they should make androids and battle-bots. Because, well, they can. And hey, isn't it COOL?

I say hell no, it's not cool. It's bad enough that human beings are being subjected to the quiet invasion of Roombas and pro-robot propaganda at every turn. Can't we leave British salmon alone? They don't need this bullshit - being a fish in the Thames is tough enough without the confusion of faux-fish. Ridiculous.

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

I feel like I should write something...

...but my hand is being a total jerk. Suffice it to say these past two weeks have been stressful and difficult and my wrists and hands are responding in kind, and my doctor is right and I shouldn't be typing much. So I've been focusing on my paid and hopefully-soon-to-be-paid writing jobs. Sorry to leave you all hanging.

In the meantime...

DOWN WITH THE ROBOTS!