00001011

the robot wades through
a bog of subroutines and
coded instructions.

| Tags || poem | robot |

00001010

milliseconds seem
like millenia in the
mind of a robot.

| Tags || robot | poem |

Sin

Isn't it a bit presumptuous of us to think that by our actions we have an effect on God's temperament? That by sinning we can evoke disappointment or even wrath? This would mean that we hold a power over God, and, therefore, that he is not omnipotent. Again, it seems a bit presumptuous of a fairly insignificant creature such as humans to believe they have power over the God that created the Universe and everything in it.

| Tags || God |

00001001

the creator dies.
his nameless creations is
left alone, waiting.

| Tags || poem | robot |

Ebooks

Recently, Sony came out with an ebook reader to very little fanfare. They seem to be targeting the device to the casual reader, but, because there seems to be no advantage to buying an expensive ebook reader over buying inexpensive paper books, that are just as portable and easy-to-read, this does not seem like a smart course of action. Only a librophile who reads volumes upon volumes would be tempted to buy this device. It would save him money in the long run because, even though the reader would be a costly initial expense, he would save money on the quantity of books he bought. (Theoretically the books would be cheaper; the publishers would be able to pass along the savings from not having to print, bind, and ship along to the consumer.) However, there seems to be another market (besides the librophiles) who would benefit from the Sony Reader: public schools and college students buying textbooks.

Public schools could save large amounts of money on ebooks, even if they had to supply all their students with ebook readers (which is a cost they could feasibly pass on to parents of students). Having to replace worn or outdated books gets expensive. And public schools order literally tons of books, so any small money-saving endeavor could save a school thousands over the course of a few years. School districts could save millions in the course of ten years.

College students could also greatly benefit from this device, if coupled with certain services. I've spent hundreds of dollars on textbooks from which I only read a few chapters. Many professors have little regard for how much textbooks cost, and instead focus on the information they provide. So, they end up mixing and matching several chapters from a textbook here and a couple essays from a textbook there to construct their lesson plan for the semester. So, I might end up spending $50 on a textbook that I only read a fifth of. If given the chance, I would rather only pay a fifth of the money for the fifth that book that contains the particular information the professor wants me to read for the class. Hell, I'd probably even pay more than that, just so I don't have to buy the whole book and waste money. This is something that ebooks could do.

Sony (or a textbook publishing house, or anybody else for that matter) could set up an iTunesesque service that would allow a user to download content from textbooks. The beauty is that this service could not only sell books as a whole (as in buying a whole CD from iTunes), but they could sell the book in chapters as well (like buying one song from an album). Of course, just like iTunes, the added-up cost of buying all the chapters of a book individually could equal more that just buying the book itself, so if a person did want the whole thing, they could get it at a cheaper price. But the individual chapter prices would be inflated, and people would still be willing to pay because it's cheaper for them in the long-run.

The only problem that I could see with this is that university bookstores would have a hissyfit because they wouldn't be able to buy back students' used books and then sell them back to them at inflated prices. But who cares; fuck the bookstores. They've been ripping off poor college kids like me for decades. I could care less.

| Tags || ebooks | Sony | college |

Dad Lost in Space

What was that show I used to watch? It was the one about the girl whose father was an astronaut lost in space. Somehow the girl had come to posses a glowing orb, a plastic ball with flashing lights inside, through which her father spoke to her. And listened. For some reason, no one was supposed to know that her father was still alive. So, his daughter was the only person the astronaut dad would talk to.

He never complained of running out of oxygen in the deep of space or the unbearable loneliness of some strange alien planet. He talked to his daughter, gave her advice, and listened to her problems. It was a ridiculous premise, of course. Who would ever want to have their father stripped of all his earthly, physical trappings and encased in a ball sitting by their bedside to converse and console only them?

Ridiculous. This was, of course, back when I was a young boy, before my own father was lost in space. I never found a glowing orb, or a way to communicate with him.

| Tags || father | tv |

00001000

a life for a life.
nothing can be gained without
something being lost.

| Tags || poem | robot |

00000111

untimely: the man
who infused metal and sparks
with new life falls dead

| Tags || poem |robot |

00000110

born into the world:
the robot is a cog in 
the cosmic machine.

| Tags || poem | robot |

00000101

the umbilical
cord is severed, leaving the
robot untethered.

| Tags || poem | robot |

Googleverse

If Robert X. Cringley's predictions are correct, Google may be poised to revolutionized the television advertising industry (and possibly take over the universe).

Cringley stops with Google used to give individually tailored advertising to tv watchers / consumers. But why stop there? Suppose that Google notices that you've been searching for "Three's Company" or "John Ritter and Joyce Dewitt". Instead of playing an infomercial or the local news, they could substitute in an episode of that zany seventies classic.

Or suppose that Google could actually receive data about the shows you're watching (via Nielsen Ratings technology), then they wouldn't just have to use data from searches you've made. They could collect information on the shows you watch consistently, the shows you catch every now-and-then, which episodes of a series you've watched (and missed), the channels you stay on, the channels you flip by, and the channels that you don't watch at all. Then, whenever you complain about there being "nothing good on tv," you could switch to a Google channel (a la Google Video) and watch reruns of your favorite shows, catch up on episodes you've missed, or watch similarly themed shows or shows with the same actors / writers / producers.

Of course all of this is a trip through my imagination and based soley on speculation. Most of it would be probably much harder and costly to execute than I think. But all of it is possible, if not plausible.

| Tags || Google | television |

Slashdotting for Dummies

Is it just me or are 75% of the people who post comments on Slashdot giant tools? Most of the comments are about as informative and insightful as posts on the Myspace forums.

| Tags || Slashdot | Myspace | blog |

00000100

whirring motors are
sustained by the power core’s
deep undulations.

| Tags || poem | robot |

00000011

servos twitch, lenses
focus, sensors gasp for a
vision of the world.

| Tags || poem | robot |

00000010

resistors resist
the temptation to transist.
circuits coil and close.

| Tags || poem | robot |

00000001

the bios kindles --
a butterfly unfolds its
wings for the first time.

| Tags || poem | robot |

00000000

the main switch is thrown. 
electrons surge through wire veins.
existence begins.

| Tags || poem | robot |

Byte Me

Because I've been reading Isaac Asimov's I, Robot, and because I've been listening to one of my favorite songs, and because of this blog post, I have started to write a series of poems (haikus to be exact) about a robot.

Yes, that is as stupid as it sounds. I've written a poem about a robot before, and it seems to fit the theme of some of the haikus I'm working on, but collectively, this series of poems is more like a narrative about the life of a robot. But don't worry, I'm not taking this whole thing too seriously.

Really, I'm just having fun writing them, and I need something to keep me busy while I'm at work. So, be prepared for the barrage of bad poetry that will ensue.

| Tags || poetry | robots |

Scott Erke

I believe it was my junior year when Scott Erke died. He killed himself. He skipped school one day and sat in his closed garage with his car running for so long that he asphyxiated, inhaling fatal amounts of carbon monoxide. Rumor has it that he turned the car off right before he died, leading some to believe that he tried to stop his slow suicide, but that it was already too late. I think he was just being courteous.

I don't know why I took Scott's death so hard. I barely knew him. I had only talked to him a few times. Actually, he didn't talk much at all, just listened and grinned out of the corner of his mouth. We had mutual friends, but never hung out with them at the same time. Both of our little sisters were best friends, but we had little else in common.

I suppose I reacted less to his death and more to the way people talked about him after he died. People pretended to care so much more about him now that he was gone, when, if they had showed even a fraction of that caring to him when he was living, he might still be alive.

I remember seeing Scott's sister, Kara, and my sister talking and crying shortly after the news got around town. They were both crying. Then Kara inhaled deeply and wiped her eyes, repeating a mantra, "I'm not going to cry. I'm not going to cry." That's when I felt most sorry for her. I remember other people crying, too, other people who probably didn't know him very well and just wanted to cry about something. I remember my sister talking about them with disdain and saying that they didn't deserve to cry.

I wrote a letter the day after Scott died. It wasn't to anyone; it was just a letter to vent my feelings. I wrote in the letter how I felt bad for his family. I wrote that I hated the phrases "cry for help" and "warning signs." I wrote that I knew what feeling all alone was like. I wrote that I wished I had gotten to know him better. I wrote that I was angry that those closest to him didn't somehow see it coming; they must have suspected something! I wrote that I was angry that suicide was the only way Scott could feel safe.

I wish I still had this letter to read now. I don't remember all of what it said. The only thing that I remember verbatim is how it started, "I killed Scott Erke," and how it ended, "We all killed Scott Erke." I cried after I wrote it, even though I didn't deserve to.

Grandma Mimi

I remember walking into the dining room with some toy in hand and seeing my mother sitting alone at the dining table, head bowed between her hands. I can't remember if she was crying, but I knew that she was upset. I circumnavigated the table and sat on the floor next to her chair. I began to absently play with my toy, hoping that she would comfort me. I don't know why I thought the upset one should be the one to comfort the content one. Perhaps I empathized with her emotion. Or perhaps I was just too inexperienced with the comforting process to realize that it could be transmitted both ways, from parent to child and from child to parent. Nevertheless, I knew something was wrong and I did not want to leave until it was resolved.

"What's wrong?" I looked up and asked my mother.

She didn't look at me. I remember she took a long pause (or what seems like a long pause to a four-year-old) before answering, "My mother is dead." I didn't know what that meant.

I only remember the funeral and the reception in (probably inaccurate) snippets. I don't remember whether the event with my mother in the dining room took place before or after it, though. I do remember wearing a suit or at least a tie. I remember staring at a mounted deer head. I remember a lot of adults talking to each other, and no one paying attention to me. I remember asking to look inside the casket several times, each time being told "no."

For some reason, I don't ever remember being sad.