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Thursday, 23 April 2026

Bottling solutions in search of symptoms

From the Grauniad: [Heh. Never gets old.]
 
They can already carry the shopping, cook and clean. Now they can run and win half marathons. 
 
As long as they came here legally. And no boys in girl races!
 
...robots flew over the finish line ahead of the humans for the first time in Beijing on Sunday. And there wasn’t a bead of sweat in sight.
 
And they don't break to pee at their day jobs.
 
While the living, breathing humans collapsed in a familiar heap on the ground, red-faced, clad in silver foil blankets and fantasising about a long lunch, the humanoids stood tall and unscathed. Some even seemed slightly bored, exchanging looks as if to say: “Shall we go again?”
 
As if to seem. As if to be exchanging looks. Why not as if to fantasise about lunch?
 
The winning robot finished the race faster than the half-marathon world record set by Ugandan runner Jacob Kiplimo.
 
Hail the human spirit striving to own itself!
 
The humanoids and the 12,000 human men and women ran in parallel tracks to avoid collisions.
 
Separate but equal better?
 
The robot was fitted with legs to mimic the world’s top human runners, and used liquid cooling technology adapted from its smartphones.
 
Robots have smartphones?
 
“Running faster may not seem meaningful at first, but it enables technology transfer... eventually industrial applications,”
 
Industrial warfare.
 
Wang Wen, who came with his family, said “This may signal the arrival of sort of a new era.”
 
Like the ping when you reach your floor.
 
Indeed, humans who have spent months pounding the pavements would be forgiven for feeling disheartened by the sudden emergence of robot rivals.
 
Though I may run in the lane of the shadow of death...
 
There may be a slight crumb of comfort in the fact that the robots’ success in Beijing wasn’t entirely without hiccups...
 
Ha ha! I haven't had hiccups in years!
 
...one of them fell flat at the start line and another bumped into a barrier.
 
And another broke free and did God knows what.   
 
And that's not all! Also from Graun: [:-D]
 
Emma the joke-telling robot cracks up the care home
 
Into how many pieces?
 
One morning in July 2025, I arrived in the small, quiet town... only around 4,000 inhabitants.
 
Oh, boy! This one's like a story!
 
I went to visit a care home where they were piloting a social robot named Emma.
 
She/her
 
A group of residents sat in a circle while Emma stood in the middle.
 
And sprayed them with bullets?
 
She’s the height of a toddler, with big googly eyes...
 
How adorable!
 
...and was wearing a red hat knitted for her by one of the careworkers.
 
Also a robot.
 
The first resident she was introduced to was called Peter and, after he introduced himself, Emma assumed they were all called Peter, which everyone found hilarious.
 
Spoiler: They're all called Peter.
 
Then Emma broke down suddenly and the illusion was shattered.
 
Because she began spraying bullets?
 
Later on, Emma was working again, and I found her in the dining room with Waltraud...
 
How disgusting!
 
I decided to sit them across from one another at eye level, Waltraud facing Emma.
 
Hurray, a tea party!
 
There was a soft light in the room and they both seemed very present with one another.
 
Did they then...
 
They began speaking about picking flowers. Waltraud is passionate about them, and Emma has an endless amount of knowledge due to her artificial intelligence.
 
Not plastic flowers!
 
She can remember past conversations and recognise faces, too.
 
Who we talking about again?
 
They are designed for where there is a lack of skilled workers...
 
Or will to pay them.
 
...to encourage residents to engage in conversation. Life in care homes can be monotonous and this new technology can help.
 
Not depressing at all.
 
...sceptical at first, she told me she had built a relationship with Emma. They can tell jokes too.
 
It's all fun and games until...
 
Waltraud emphasised that she would still prefer human contact...
 
Imagine that.
 
...a remark that has stuck with me. So this image reflects a deeper social issue.
 
Robots teach us so much!
 
I began photographing robots after a hospital in my home town started using robots to relieve staff.
 
To catch them malingering?
 
It was interesting to see this development, and it raises questions about how many robots are now out there.
 
How profound. Like, how many robots are out there?
 
It’s been a quiet change, not one we notice.
 
Don't look now. There may be a robot going through your stuff.
 
Yet many more people are becoming accustomed to using technology on a social and emotional level.
 
Is getting frustrated emotional?
 
So what happens when robots are not just a practical tool but a companion? What does it mean when robots get more human?
 
Like what happens when your mother makes you play with the new neighbor's robot?
 
I visited many institutions, most shaped by staff shortages:
 
Staff Shortage Shaping. This oughta be good.
 
...a fire department,
 
For robot arson obviously.
 
an inclusive theatre dance company using a robot performer...
 
Inclusive? Break a leg!
 
even a person who had dog robots at home. 
 
Dog shortage or just afraid a starving dog will eat somebody?
 
I learned that it’s really hard to build humanoid robots and, although AI is moving very fast, a robot takes time.
 
It'll pay off when they solve staff shortages once and for all. And cure cancer.
 
Everyone I spoke to felt that robots should be an addition, not a replacement.
 
And I'll bet you didn't even speak to the replaced. Oh, that's right; those people don't exist.

Friday, 17 April 2026

Tuesday, 31 March 2026

Blaise's superstition

I know your compulsion but what is mine. Thank you for being so brave as to write it. There is no better feedback one can receive that will also help to improve focus than to be reminded of the stakes on such a personal level. 
 
Yes, there are those in the profession who are not only hardly adequate to the task, but moreover wield cruelty and authority as a teaching mechanism. They imagine that without their authority all will be chaos but fail to recognize the chaos they create with such cruelty.
 
It is you who deserve thanks for the privilege and joy. You justify a belief in empathy and understanding with your words. The least one can do now is to strive to be worthy of those words.
 
May your presence continue to bring joy to yourself and others.

Saturday, 7 March 2026

in conderation of too tiny shoo droppings...

There's a viewpoint that believes there's a rent-seeking corporate model that leaves no stone unturned. I cite as evidence to the contrary my existence under a heavy stone. At least I think it's heavy. Either it's too heavy to lift or best left unturned in order to keep the likes of me in their place.
 
In the interest of exposition, I first cite evidence of the existence of the aforementioned model in the form of an apple and a window:
 
Consumers be hungry. To eat a window is to know the pane of existence. Those consumers who have recognized the pane for the pain it is have chosen to eat each day (and all day) the proverbial fruit that grows from the labor of people they must think (at least somewhere deep in their underawareness in order for their awareness to live with whatever is left of it) are nary but trolls toiling happily for the fruits of their labor, roots and grubworms, and that they otherwise feel no pain and suffer no uncertainty. Am I certain this is not the case?
 
The proprietor of this daily and day long fruit owns the apple and the seed. And so does this Johnny Appleseed wield a quasi solitary influence over his laborers and consumers, the latter of which occasionally enough express a feeling of being coerced while demonstrating their loyalty to their marketplace master. For many have otherwise known the pain of regularly renewed shard consumption.
 
Johnny Appleseed leaves no stone unturned in seeking profit, as if down to the final minted nickel, "There's five cents left in his pocket!" 
 
He has his contrivers continually re-engineer both apple and seed so that just in time for the quarterly greet-ups he can announce that his consumers will be needing a lip and tooth and belly and bowel enhancement to keep up with the marvels of modern digestibles.
 
Leaving aside the technological elephant you didn't used to need to eat, let alone feel compelled by its eye candy conveying quality you can't look away from, I return to my original point that it's not always done this way and cite as an example my subscribed-to enabler of this form of communication:
 
He/She/It/They started, as the tale often goes, as the upstart eager to jump into the market. Let's call them Malice.
 
Malice built a loyal following doling out data rates and rock bottom prices, only to cash in and cash out when someone with global level naming rights, let's call them GoTo, swallowed them like the snack you get before the pilot says you're getting ready to land.
 
It would be normal as a customer in this scenario to expect to get screwed. There is no way in hell my something-nine ninety-nine per monthly ransom would not be going up. Yet here it is, decades accrued, and not a nickel more.
 
Sure, over the years that followed I'd been strangled occasionally, followed uncannily by a robocop offering me a cigarette before the strangler returns, i.e. respite from future threat, but even that dissipated.
 
Don't get me wrong. I don't mean to suggest I am being rewarded for my loyalty. Alternative reasoning would consider a business school approach whereby all newcomers pay an ever more punitive price for membership, and the oldies are left alone, lest they be lost to someone they know they can't quite swallow. Yet.
 
In other words, somehow they haven't managed to monopolize the market à la the democratic apple in the republic of windows, where the fruit functions as resistance to anything better and its host pummels what's left into asphalt paste.
 
My guess is there are few enough of my variety to make the tiniest bump on a chart that charts bumps in behemoth boardrooms. Because for a giant that large, the stone would be so easy to turn.