AI in the Eye of the Beholder

It is the modern day equivalent to the debate about evolution or creation, Whether the earth is flat or round, or Marxism versus capitalism. Artificial Intelligence is the topic of discussion among us professional writers. 

I did an AI search on itself through Microsoft Copilot. The positives and the negatives are pointed out to me, and I agree that in many aspects of our lives, Artificial Intelligence does make our lives easier.  

Efficiency and Automation: 

AI excels at automating repetitive tasks, reducing human error, and improving productivity across industries like manufacturing, logistics, and finance. [sciencenewstoday.org] 

It enables 24/7 operations without fatigue, which is invaluable for sectors requiring continuous monitoring. [geeksforgeeks.org] 

Healthcare Revolution: 

AI-driven diagnostics can detect diseases earlier and more accurately than traditional methods. 

Machine learning accelerates drug discovery, cutting costs and timelines dramatically. [sciencenewstoday.org] 

Personalization and Customer Experience: 

AI powers recommendation engines, virtual assistants, and chatbots, creating tailored experiences for users. [geeksforgeeks.org] 

Risk Reduction 

In hazardous environments (mining, space exploration), AI systems perform dangerous tasks, reducing risks to human workers. [geeksforgeeks.org] 

I then asked about negative aspects of AI. Aside from Hollywood and dystopian prophesies to come, Artificial intelligence does pose real world issue that include: 

Job Displacement: 

Automation threatens millions of jobs in manufacturing, customer service, and transportation. The World Economic Forum predicts 85 million jobs could be displaced by 2025. [analyticsinsight.net] 

Ethical and Privacy Concerns 

AI systems can perpetuate bias if trained on skewed data, leading to unfair outcomes in hiring, lending, and law enforcement. [britannica.com] 

Data privacy risks increase as AI requires massive datasets for training. [profession…arvard.edu] 

Lack of Transparency and Accountability 

Many AI models operate as “black boxes,” making it hard to explain decisions in critical areas like healthcare or criminal justice. [sciencenewstoday.org]] 

The reason I don’t see as much wrong as my writer friends, who fear AI written books that are published without gatekeepers to censure these threats from occurring, is that I use AI exclusively as a research engine; an extension of Bing or Google. 

Perhaps they aren’t seeing this benefit, or they are so blinded in fear of AI taking over their livelihoods that they refuse to see AI as a benefit. I heard the discussions in my writers’ groups. They look for all kinds of excuses, vilifying Artificial intelligence in the same light as conservatives did to communists during the height of the Red scare. 

Me? I’ll continue doing my research taking whatever advantages come my way to write the best thought provoking stories that are factual, relevant, and entertaining. I just find the whole debate of AI interesting. 

Happy Birthday

It’s Tommy, Master Jerry’s cat. He’s been acting strangely this past couple days telling me it’s my birthday. I’m not sure what that is but he gave me a toy mouse with this wonderful smelling substance that makes me feel so good.  

I don’t feel any different than I did when he brought me here to this wonderful place where I can hunt mice and birds all I want, eat kibbles along with tuna and anything else I can find, and be extremely feisty with him and the bird he calls Elsa.  

The only downside is those dogs that live next door. They are harmless enough, but I’m not comfortable with those creatures. They smell awful, look scary, and are trying to annoy me. I stand on my hunches, my fur raised and I hiss at them, but they never appear bothered by what I’m certain should intimidate them. They just grin at me as if saying, “nice try!” 

I’m sure this birthday thing is short-lived but maybe next year, he’ll get me another wonderful smelling mouse that makes me feel oh so good. Now it’s time to go outside and harass those dogs. 

It’s That Time of Year Again

Yes, tis the season for unending Christmas carols played over and over again. At first I don’t mind. I’m even heard singing along with a couple of songs. But, by the end of December I am sick of endless versions of “White Christmas,” “I’ll be Home for Christmas,” “Jingle Bells,” and “Rudolph the Red nosed Rein Deer.” 

I do have my favorites of course, though with the exception of one or two, are spiritual in nature and spirit, such as “Oh Holy Night,” “Silent Night,” and Handel’s “Messiah.” They are songs that truly are timeless and truly makes me proud to be a Christian. 

“My favorite is “Little Drummer Boy.” Ever since I was a little boy and saw that animated Christmas show of the same name. I choked up and cried upon hearing that song with the choral group singing and the little boy drumming to honor baby Jesus. It hits my heart every time because how the lyrics ring that “I’m a poor boy too,” seems to include everyone not born with a silver spoon. 

I still get emotional hearing that song played on the radio or whatever it is that is streaming into our casino. I prefer songs that tug at my heart strings rather than letting it snow or dreaming of a white Christmas, or a dancing snowman with a stove top hat. Those songs I tire of rather quickly. They don’t really describe the true meaning of Christmas. 

Songs like “Let it Snow” and “Jingle Bells,” don’t even have anything to do with Christmas but the winter season, which is three or four months long. Why even bother playing these songs at this time of year?  

Anyway, with the exception of my favorites, I’ll have to suffer through this season of endless noise where I work. Oh, did I mention one of our local radio stations plays Christmas music 24/7? Joy. 

Why I’m Thankful

Last year it was about Bob and his moment. As you all know, I’m a recovering alcoholic. I celebrated twenty three years of sobriety on November 21st. That was the day I drank my last alcoholic beverage, smoked or took any drugs.  

I’m thankful to be alive to live and be at peace with myself. The stroke I suffered in 2002 was a wake-up call I don’t want repeating. It’s what eventually inspired me to get back into writing, hoping that maybe one day I would be financially secure. 

In the meantime, I adjusted and overcame. I relearned to do my writing one handed and not my naturally born dominant hand. I used to be left handed before my stroke, now I do most everything right handed.  

I found love with a woman that I later married. Unfortunately, it didn’t work out for us, but if nothing else she pointed me in the right direction, morally and spiritually. I met her children and am thankful for that too. 

I live and survived my lowest point. In recovery counselors will tell the alcoholics and addicts that grace their presence that there are three choices we all make: death, jail, prison or psychological institutions, or recovery.  

There is no middle ground. That was my first mistake after my first stint in county jail. I had this belief in immortality, and was proved wrong in 2002, almost dead wrong. 

I’ll always be in recovery. I can’t ever fall off the wagon unless I make that choice to just go and die. But, why would I do something when life and living life is so much more meaningful and fulfilling? My moral compass is pointed in the right direction now. My beliefs in who I am and what I stand for are solid as a concrete pedestal. My passion for my friends and family are unwavering. 

I’m thankful for everything under the sun, the moon and the universe and thank God I’m alive to write this to my loyal readers. 

It’s A Gas

I filled my tank today at the local self-service station near the casino that I work at. As I filled the tank I noticed warning signs telling us morons how to safely fill a fuel can. 

On my car there are similar instructions and was amazed that what my car instructed was in complete and total opposition to how this precaution on fuel islands. On my car it clearly shows that I am supposed to leave the fuel can inside the car’s trunk, a filling hose connected to the filler cap is supposed to connect to the portable fuel tank, and then you can begin filling said can. 

On the caution sign this fuel island the exact opposite ids expected. They want the filling can taken out from the vehicle, set upon the filling island, and then begin filling said can. 

My concern is how could these instructions be so contrary? I mean, who is right here? And, who made up these instructions? 

I know that back when I was a teenager, I always filled gas cans on the fuel island. It seemed to make sense to all of us. There were even films in drivers’ ed about the dangers fueling gas cans in trunks of car trunks. The fumes would cause an explosion from any nearby spark. Plus the islands were grounded, whereas cars were not. 

Later on, after cellphones became a thing, we couldn’t fill our cars while using a mobile phone. The fear was the same, whether founded or bunk is anyone’s guess.  

So, my question remains who made this rule up and why is this so contrary to one and not the other? Safety warnings should be consistent and universal. One can’t contradict the other especially regarding a dangerous gas like petroleum. 

In the future I will fill my portable cans the way I was taught, on the fuel islands and not inside my new car that I admire too much to risk losing by something as careless as gassing cans in the trunk. 

11-11-11

The eleventh hours of the eleventh day of the eleventh month Private Doug Clark wasted away in an endless trench on the Western Front; a wasteland of craters, mud and tree trunks splintered by bombs and howitzer shells.  He shivered in damp and cold air.  His coat that everyone assured him would keep him warm, was wet and useless.  There was word of a truce about to begin, but the general would have none of it.  He wanted to carry the fight to the city of Berlin. 

Doug didn’t immerse himself in the politics of generals and such; his concern was warmth and survival.  He heard of a flare that would signal the truce to commence, but didn’t remember what the color of that flare was.  When the platoon sergeant, a kindly looking older man with a gray mustache and fat, jovial face, told them moments ago, a mortar landed and exploded.  The blast muted whatever he said in regards to the flare’s color. 

I’m too cold to care at this point, Doug the doughboy stated miserably to himself.  The color could be the colors of the rainbow for all I care.  He had a four day growth of beard on his nineteen year old face.  It made him look more manly, he thought.  At least back home in Philly I won’t be called kid anymore, when I get back.  He wasn’t a big man, but he wasn’t small either.  I’m just an average guy trying to do the right thing, he kept convincing himself. 

It was quiet now, only an occasional cannon shot could be heard from behind them.  Then they could hear the low pitch whistle as the shell flew past them and then the ear-piercing explosion over there on the other side of the line. 

This place was a beautiful forest, the Ardennes, before the war, seemingly an eternity ago.  Now, Doug only saw a muddy zone of absolute devastation wherever he looked. 

There was no flare that shot up though, instead a whistle sounded that ordered everyone to pull themselves from the trenches and attack their trench 500 yards away.  A no-mans land of barbwire and mines, machine gun nests and pillboxes that had seen its share of conflict since America went over here back in 1917.  What is going on, Doug asked himself as he followed the orders of the platoon sergeant and platoon leader, screaming at them at the top of their lungs.   They ran through the wire, all shredded from the last cannonade that erupted moments ago.  They pushed them to their trench and Doug could see the scared faces of the German soldiers someone hastily tried to create a makeshift white flag from a towel, or something.  They all seemed more puzzled by this than anything, as if the general wanted that last 500 yards for himself.  The Kaiser’s Krieger threw down their Gewehr 98 rifles to the ground and raised their hands in the sign of surrender. 

Doug reached them at the same time as the platoon sergeant and began ordering them in German who was in charge.  A corporal pointed at an officer who also dropped his personal weapon and his sword to the ground and raised his hands.  The platoon sergeant held his Browning BAR level to the Captain and asked him in German, “Are you prepared to surrender at this time?” 

“I will only talk to your commander,” he replied with contempt to the NCO. 

“LT, he will only talk to your kind,” the Sergeant pointed out with sarcasm in his voice. 

The lieutenant came up to the German captain and said, “I don’t speak German.” 

The officer looked at both men in confusion and frustration as he realized he had no choice as to whom he talked to and stated to the platoon sergeant, “Yes, my men are prepared to surrender.” 

Doug guarded a group of German privates who spoke quietly among themselves and asked him a question in German.  Doug, being from Philadelphia, recognized some of the words, but had a hard time figuring out what he asked.  “I’m sorry, my German isn’t that good,” he replied in a halting German that all laughed at. 

Finally, another German soldier in the group asked in English, “Now that you have successfully invaded our land, what do you plan to do with us?  The war is over, American.” 

“Sir, is that true?” he asked his platoon leader, a clean cut butter bar from West Point.  

“I supposed it might be true,” he stated as a green flare shot up into the sky and a loud whoop of joy erupted from everyone up and down the front. 

I’M BROKEN

Back in my younger days when I was a functionally dysfunctional alcoholic, going to my outpatient treatment to avoid jail time at the court’s discretion, our counselor always asked us how we were. 

Each and everyone of us always told that counselor, “we’re okay.” Or, actually, “I’m okay. It was of course a lie that I’m sure that counselor probably knew all too well. The truth for all of us would have meant jail time and having to start this program all over again.  

It was a joke because none of us believed we had a problem. We had our friends sign our forms that we attended AA meetings, mostly at our favorite watering holes. I’m sure now isn’t any different. We get arrested opt for deferred prosecution and go through the two year program gambling that no one would notice. 

I got away with it the first time around. The last time, not so much when I was arrested in 97 for DUI and told everyone I was being framed by the cops, went to court and a jury found me guilty. I spent a month in jail, and still I didn’t really learn my lesson. If I had to actually go to another counseling, which the judge did order me to perform along with AA meetings, I’m sure I would have told everyone that I was okay, lying about how sober I was and enjoying my life immensely. 

The stroke I suffered in 2002 was the wakeup call I needed to put my entire life into clearer focus. I wasn’t okay. I was broken and it took a young man wearing a hoodie at the casino I work at that had that message clearly inscribed boldly on that sweatshirt to see for myself how far I’ve come since that first day I went to my first counseling session over thirty years ago. 

Latest Release Live

My loyal readers, my new publisher, Prominent Edge Books, just released my latest edition of A Man’s Passion. 

It’s available through Amazon, though the marketing agent assured me the book will be distributed worldwide. 

Please, please, buy and read this newer and improved version of A Man’s Passion, and let me know how you like it. 

Thanks to all of you who enjoyed reading my stories and hopefully this latest effort will be successful too. 

Stupid is as Stupid Does

I don’t know about you, my loyal readers, but doesn’t it seem a bit asinine that we see all these recent robberies at jewelry stores? 

After all, I’m amazed that these owners are even allowed to display high end jewels in glass display cases. 

The latest, the brazen attempt in Paris, France at the Louvre Museum this past weekend. The time has finally come to be smarter than the thieves who commit these crimes. 

I’m one of those few liberal leaning democrats that believes in upholding laws that protects property. I’m also a firm believer in lower insurance rates. I don’t believe jewelry owners or insurance companies benefit with the present policy of displaying precious gems to the public to admire and ogle over. 

I’m afraid those days have past. We have a new generation of thieves and outlaws who use every advantage at their disposal to rob these stores of thousands, if not millions of dollars in product. These advantages include using computer generated AI to create scenarios on the best strategies and tactics to break and get out quickly and in their cases profitably. 

What I propose is so simple, I’m amazed no one else including the insurance industry hasn’t made this happen. Why not display costume jewelry in these display cases? The actual jewels would be stored in a confidential location, and the customer and jeweler would be the only ones privy to where this would be. 

Another option is doing Amazon-like ordering over the internet, though many customers do appreciate the one-on-one personal intimacy of going to a jewelry store. All I know is how expensive everything has gotten lately including property insurance. I’m certain these high-end smashes and grabbed robberies have much to do with that. It’s time for a commonsense approach here.