artificial intelligence is artificial

Some people are afraid of artificial intelligence; I am not one of them. If a book or art is made by a human, it will not be perfect, but it will have human-imagination.

 

According to my wife, if I would converse with an artificial intelligence unit for more than 5 minutes, there is a good chance it would request transition surgery – probably to a micro-wave or can-opener.   

 

Yes, I often sit and think for hours about random, illogical, capricious topics that are unnatural and odd. And I don’t even know what capricious means.   

 

‘A chatbot or chatterbot is a software application used to conduct an online chat conversation via text or text-to-speech, in lieu of providing direct contact with a live human agent’. 

Below are 6 definitions of ‘Artificial’ by Dictionary.com

made by human skill; produced by humans (opposed to natural):

imitation; simulated; sham:

lacking naturalness or spontaneity; forced; contrived; feigned:

full of affectation; affected; stilted:

made without regard to the particular needs of a situation, person, etc.; imposed arbitrarily; unnatural:

Biology. based on arbitrary, superficial characteristics rather than natural, organic relationships:

And there in lies the problem with words having multiple definitions for artificial intelligence to decipher. It will always have to decide which definition is correct for the question or problem that is presented to it.

I wonder what would happen if you told an artificial intelligence unit that there is no exact definition for Love, because Love means something different to every human. 

How long would AI ponder over - What would bears be without bees?

 

Ears.

 

LOL!!! 

 

Be a Purple Cow and marvel at the wonder that is life. 

-jk-

Mysterious Santa and the Christmas Miracle

Nickel Novel

Title: The Mailman

By: James Kafka

 

A Rock & Rye whiskey bottle jutted out from the pocket of the man dressed like Santa Claus, though he didn’t look anything like a traditional Santa Claus; to thin, to short, to feeble – and he was wearing sunglasses. He certainly wasn't jolly either and frequently coughed. 

He sat on a large, red throne, making him look even smaller, as he waited for the next child to sit on his lap – which was me. The pathetic looking Santa looked more like my Uncle Joe when he came to visit – dazed and slurring every word.

Santa glanced at me briefly, then motioned with a wave of his hand for me to come forward. Instantly, a cold shiver went up and down my spine. I walked towards him. He coughed. The smell of his breath was vile. In a croaky and cheerless voice, he said and asked, “Merrrry Christmas, kid. What’s your name?”

Whatcha want kid?

I told him, Carrie, and reluctantly sat on his lap. Being up close to him, I noticed an old scar on his forehead that stretched beneath his dark glasses. My eyes were rudely fixated on it when he asked, "Whatcha want, kid - for Christmas." 

I hesitated for a moment, and then in one breath, I quickly and at length, systematically, like an auctioneer, rambled off the thirty things I wanted. 

He half-heartedly chuckled and replied, “Sure kid, no problem.”

I jumped off his lap and scampered back to my mother. But that scar, that scar, I thought shaking my head. It jostled a frightful memory – something that happened two years ago.

Suddenly, I remembered. The mailman! The brave mailman, who saved me. It happened when I was walking home from school, on the road near the dried-up creek bed, the place my mother told me to avoid.

From the dense tree line, a wolf came running towards me. I was so overwhelmed with fear, my legs wouldn't move. I did the only thing my fear allowed - I screamed! 

Lucky for me, at that very moment, the mailman was driving down the road and saw what was happening. He smartly drove in between me and the wolf and jumped out, waving his arms and yelling at the wolf. Then, I heard the mailman bellow an agonizing cry of pain. I couldn't see what had happened and could only assume the worst. 

I managed to regain my legs and ran as fast as I could. After going a short distance, I looked back and saw the wolf running away. The mailman was hunched over, but thankfully still alive. I should have gone back and thanked him; I regretted that I didn't. At the time, I thought I'd surely see him again someday - I never did, until now. 

I was certain Santa Claus was the mailman who saved me, and now was my chance to finally thank him. I turned around and ran back. I wrapped my arms around him and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank You, Mailman - I mean, Santa Claus!” I joyously said.

He raised his arm and from around his neck, pulled over his head a leather string. Attached to it was a large claw. "I took care of that pesky wolf. Merry Christmas, kid." as he and handed to me.

Then with a half-smile, he responded, “Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays a courier from the swift completion of their appointed rounds . . . not even a wolf.”

-jk-

Be thankful for every moment, because it might be your last.