Wednesday, December 25, 2024

Reading 2024 . . .

Dear you,

Christmas night, 2024. The day here, in Seagrove Beach, Florida, has been lovely, warmish, peaceful, clear. The local smooth jazz radio channel provided a soundtrack for this holiday. The selections aired surprised me, not typical in sound, tone, or interpretation.  Imagine a Dave Brubeck version of "Away in a Manger"; that I did not actually hear, but you get my point. Interesting, arousing, uplifting. I did my holiday thing atypically too in terms of food choices and activities. I fried up corned beef hash for brunch, sided it with a huge chunk of cranberry sauce. For supper, I enjoyed perfect albacore tuna with crunchy lettuce on toast. Ice cream with chocolate sauce await for later. Now? I feel rushed, like time is ticking, these precious hours, precious days. So much to say about the passing year. So much to testify to, like George Plimpton doing participatory journalism. Ah, yes, Plimpton. My actual/physical experience the past year has been informed by the whispers (or screams) of writers like him .  They are in my head. Here are the voices in my head from 2024:

Michael Cunningham - Day

Jonathan Franzen - The Discomfort Zone and Crossroads

Kristi Coulter - Exit Interview

Bruce Schneier - A Hacker's Mind

Ashley Poson - The Seven Year Slip

Adam Grant - Hidden Potential

Stacey D'Erasmo - The Complicities and The Sky Below

Brian Klaas -Fluke

Anna Quindlen - Lots of Candles, Plenty of Cake

Rowan Beaird - The Divorcees

Laurie Frankel - Family, Family

Tracy K. Smith - Ordinary Light 

Richard Todd - The Thing Itself

Cheryl Stray - Tiny Beautiful Things

Pressfield - The War of Art

Catherine Newman - Sandwich

Amanda Montell - The Age of Magical Overthinking

Dan Morain - Kamala's Way

Bill Maher - What This Comedian Said Will Shock You

Zadie Smith - Intimations

Elin Hilderbrand - Swan Song, Golden Girl, and Hotel Nantucket

Kristen Miller - Lula Dean's Little Library of Banned Books

Ann Patchett - Tom Lake, Run, Commonwealth, and These Precious Days

Joan Didion - Let Me Tell You What I Mean

George Plimpton - The Man in the Flying Armchair & Other Excursions & Observations

What do think about that collection? Do you see, do you intuit, some kind of overarching theme or message? Are those choices, gratefully pulled from my local library shelves, motivated by particular questions or hungers? Some titles are explicit in terms of why they called me (tiny beautiful things, run, a story of Kamala), but others? Who knows. I know that I enjoyed them all and was/am "stretched" by what these authors put on pages.

As 2025 approaches and our nation is tilting somewhere uncertain, I am concerned about access to the things I read in 2024.  Will public libraries be deleted, deemed as unnecessary expenses? Will contemplative works that examine the darker side of our nature be purged, forbidden?  Will our new "library" shelves only feature books about selling real estate, cryptocurrency brilliance, and fairy tales about the good old white/faux-Christian days? I cannot imagine that is possible or even probable. However, being the "participatory journalist" I am here in zip code 32459, it occurs to me it could be possible, probable.

What say I to that, what say you?  Easy answer: hell no. The lights (in our minds, our spirits) will not go out in 2025.

They (see the listed authors, among many others) have said too much, said too many truths with efficiency and artistry, to be erased or silenced in terms of legacy/influence. 

2024 ends. 2025 begins. What is my point? Please, support your local libraries, your academic institutions, your journalists, your neighbor who chalks poetry on your shared driveway, whatever. Support the voicing of experience and dreaming.

#Resist

Love,

Joyce 

Tuesday, December 10, 2024

AI and Brain Rot!

 Dear you,

Oxford Dictionary declared brain rot to be the word of the year. Bingo. All around us, we hear pointless chatter on social media sites like Meta/Facebook (still proud to say I never joined that sad gang), and deal with the increasing power of AI and its shadowy creators, those who choose what we can access, know, and even imagine.

Ah, the reductionist wisdom of AI, notably via a general Google search. Insert this:  the world is at war and I am watching football.  The machine, AI Overview, responds: "If the world is at war and you are watching football, it would be considered a stark contrast, implying a sense of detachment or denial from the serious reality of the situation, as if you are choosing to actively ignore the ongoing conflict and prioritize a seemingly trivial activity like watching a game."

Good lord, these AI responses are idiotic. Of course this is a "stark contrast" and of course the games contrasted to bloody warfare are even less than trivial.  But the machine misses the point.  For example, now, somewhere in Gaza or Ukraine or Syria, a mother is making a sock puppet "sing" to her troubled child.  It is a game. It is a moment of lightness meant to not merely distract but to lift the spirit of the sad child. This mother knows joy is necessary; it can save us; it can give us a spark of energy needed to carry on, to face the next barrage. And, in softer (much softer) conditions here, in my world, I watch the powerful play of athletes and am lifted, enjoying the joy of play.  This helps me prepare for and face the next cognitive-dissonance inducing event. 

Hear the above?  Only authentic intelligence (or whatever it is I possess), not artificial intelligence, can process that thought and offer that interpretation, that flesh and blood understanding. We who know this, who already see the idiocy of many forms of revered AI, might be judged as neo-luddites.  Hell no. We choose to use technology, it is useful, but we never, ever, want technology to use us.

Local note of applicability:  At this past weekend's condo owner's meeting, a typical angry white man commented that my request for a de-encryption box for my Smart TV made me a "dinosaur".  Hilarious.  We are paying for basic cable, why not have access to it?  Stream away and pay even more money? Now that is foolish.  We should be resilient, able to access legacy news, CSPAN, PBS, and those aforementioned sporting events, even when the (OMG!) wifi goes down. It is also notable that this same critic whined about how when our internet failed his door/ring camera went out and his renters couldn't stream TV. Imagine that. He and his unfortunate guests face a sort of extinction I won't.  I have access to wifi via a secondary mode, basic cable TV will often be up when wifi is down, and I can tune into the joy of radio, NPR or smooth jazz, or even drop in this thing called a CD (compact disc for those who forgot) and hear that spark of joy only music brings.

I am "social distancing" and expanding my communication/information access options to avoid catching brain rot. Oh, and yes, do not forget that precious thing called the public library. So many avenues still available, so many ways to make sure the powerful play goes on.

Resilience!  My word of this year, and the next, and the next . . .

Love,

Joyce