Oh, I'm a huge Elon Musk fan. HUGE! And I make no apology and have no qualms in saying that this brilliant fellow was (as is being) used of the Lord to help right this listing vessel of America.
But, this blog mainly has to do with the AI revolution in our midst. Mr Musk is a great advocate for this technology and, no doubt, advances can come quickly if the vast sum of human knowledge has an intuitive intellect mixed in.
And, of course, perfection has not yet arrived. And, of course, those with evil intent will find ways to make the Terminator movies not such a far stretch after all. But, my immediate concern is just how many gifted sorts will be replaced so easily. In particular, writers, artists, musicians and singers. Oh yes, we've seen and heard the wonderful result of AI on our Social Media feeds. And, although we were impressed at first, now a jaded pallor slowly attends our visage as we must ask ourselves, again and again and again, "Is this real, or just an AI lie?"
The blade, long, sharp, cold, and at my throat, caused my face to grimace and my muscles en masse to constrict. "I must resist," I muttered as I tepidly reached for the silk-like covering. "It's not time. I WON'T let it be time!"
FROM THE OTHER ROOM, "For goodness sakes, Leonard! Put away the Hawaiian shirt and shorts and put on your coveralls! It's freezing out there!"
-------
It's an annual struggle; transitioning to cold-weather fare. I do so like my airy Hawaiian shirts (with their convenient pockets) and the shorts that complete the ensemble. And although I do not live in a far northern clime, where autumn arrives like a sledgehammer, this midwestern region can have extremes of temperature, and today the thermometer visited the freezing point (hear the northerners chuckle).
I'm weakening. My Weather Bug app says a slight warming is coming, but I suspect Thanksgiving will find me showing less skin. Alas.
And have no fellowship with the unfruitful works of darkness,
but rather reprove them. (Ephesians 5:11)
Be not overcome with evil, but overcome evil with good.
(Romans 12:21)
The depths
(by R.P.Edwards)
The depths of evil
Must we know?
To see the cuts
To grasp the flow?
To fill our mind
With vile things
Of devil bites
And demon stings?...
"I like your Jesus pumpkin," said the black-robed youngster as he walked away.
It was Halloween past and the annual debate on the "devil's day" was in full swing. On the one hand were my sincere Christian brothers and sisters who knew full well of the vile "depths" that birthed the memorial. Some of these believed that even the benign deflection (trunk or treat?) was an error. Better to just huddle and focus on the Savior (which, of course, is a good thing).
And then there was the other side; those who pretty much ignored any spiritual significance and thought dress-up and a sugar high were perfectly fine.
Truth be told, I was in the former camp for a while, but now I use the diminishing day as an outreach of sorts. When my children were young I went with them to actually "meet" the neighbors (gasp). And now some treats with some Christian reminders seems appropriate. I'm sure the debate will continue.
Windows Moviemaker. A Microsoft program that was around for a few years. I suppose it's been replaced by better tools, but it was what I was used to and the video, Jesus Christ is Lord, was born there. It survived for quite a while (around 14 years) on YouTube before AI (I presume) found the fatal flaw: some rather graphic photos of some martyred Christians. Upon my reexamination, I have to agree with the pulling.
Pity. It took a long time to put together the many photos and sync them up with the audio portion. This too was no small feat; involving some recording equipment and participation that is no longer possible. AND, alas, my recordings of such are either out of reach or beyond ready reproduction. So, the audio above is a copy of a copy of a copy. Not bad, really, when you consider it was done on the phone with the appropriate apps.
So, here's to Community Standards. Perhaps the relaunch of the rather old song (every bit of 45 years) will inspire someone.
The poem continues...
...For the photos, unsettling
As they SHOULD be
But the truth remains
Though some can't see
PS With the advent of AI magic, I KNOW I could simply plug the crude recording into an AI digestor and out would come a wonderfully polished phony. I'm resisting this trend. Resisting.
(A roisterous cheer from the other 7 as they are quickly thrown to the heated grate.)
"A Weber grill; a classic, just like us."
30 MINUTES LATER
"When's he coming back? We need to be turned!"
"I can't stand it anymore! Ayeee!"
"What an inhuman monster. It's not right. It's not right (gasp)."
A WORD FROM THE EXECUTIONER
No excuses. I got distracted. Ballpark Franks are a regular feature of the family gathering. There's one grandchild in particular who craves them, BUT, on this day the coals had already done heavy lifting with pork steaks and chicken and, as the embers were light in emissions I quickly threw the dogs atop. BUT, I forgot them for oh so long. AND, even the tinyest flame can burn deeply and the dogs who once boasted, "They plump when you cook them," did NOT plump; they ruptured terribly into carbonous canyons. Alas.
Moderate temperatures, sun-soaked weekends, Summer fading fast and Autumn in the wings; yes, it's time for the annual Yard Sale, or as some call it, "Garage sale."
A few days back I was leisurely tooling (an archaic term for driving) along and I came across, within a few blocks travel, a plethora of the front yard gatherings where unwanted "stuff" (be it nice or no) was being offered for pennies (remember them?) so that said items would simply be removed from storage and/or sight. Deals can be had. Two of my minor purchases were a nice battery-powered wall clock and a delightful oil cruet (carafe). Each cost two-bits (25 cents). Worth so much more before, but now woefully unwanted and valued as such.
The two photos above were taken by yours truly in July of 2018. I was allowed attendance because a vacation day was employed so that I could have two troublesome teeth (what was left of them) extracted. After the pulling I paused a bit and then spat out the bloody gauze and went to the rally. My placement was not ideal. Pictured is the then (and current) CEO of US Steel (albeit now owned by Nippon Steel of Japan), David Burritt, and President Donald J. Trump. The tariffs on foreign steel had helped immensely (how soon we forget) and the venerable steel mill in Granite City, Illinois, sprang to life after a lengthy slumber. Joy ensued as workers were called back to an occupation that alleviated the gnawing pain of lack and the community also sighed as investment benefited all in the region.
Now fast forward to 2025. President Trump has implemented steel tariffs once again and the industry will benefit (now, as then). However, for some reason the little mill that could; the ONLY steel mill that Trump 45 chose to visit in his first term, has been deemed obsolete and unwanted. And oh, there are, of course, word salad explanations as to why the facility must die, but methinks the real reason is that we're not a good fit. We don't go with the drapes or the new Armoire and the once valuable is deemed so much less.
And that's fine. We're a capitalistic economy, after all. But might I make a suggestion? Rather than the slow, excruciating demise of the place and people you no longer want or need; why not drag the "ugly" out to the driveway. Put up a sign: Yard Sale. Make an offer.
For surely there may be a buyer that sees beauty where you see none. And, since "vindictive" is not your motivation, perhaps someone else might want to invest and produce a little something that certainly won't threaten the international giant but will be a blessing to a thankful few.
Something to think about.
The poem continues...
...The difference is vision
The seeing unseen
From stagnant to stellar
From asleep to a dream.
Here's a little music that might touch the hidden place
"Come to Anna's boys, there's coffee on the stove"
There's a pretty waitress waiting there
She's waiting just for you
A cup of coffee
Piece of pie
And a smile when you're through...
In a bit of a nostalgic mood.
As with many (perhaps most) the essence of the "bean" is a regular part of my day. The house rule growing up was no coffee till you were sixteen (A "rule" ignored with my own brood. "Here's your sippy cup, son. Half milk, half coffee, and lots of sugar.")
Anyway, it became the beverage of choice in my sailor days because it was the only non-agua drink that they would refill for free; and I mean by "they," the wonderful waitresses at Anna Miller's in Aiea, Hawaii (on Oahu). Excellent coffee and hours of conversation; and perhaps some pie when funds allowed.
I hope to return one day.
The poem (lyrics) continue...
...Anna Miller's
Home away from home
Anna Miller's
There's no more need to roam
So, when you're feeling down and out
And need a place to go
"Come to Anna's boys, there's coffee on the stove."
The simple, and somewhat corny (but heartfelt song) Thus:
