C. Henry Martens's Blog, page 9
August 25, 2017
6 Steps to Choosing the Right Doctor
©2017 Kari Carlisle
Disclaimer: I am not a doctor. I don’t work in the medical field. I am just a regular person with some experience and some intelligence. Do not attempt to diagnose or treat yourself or anyone else without the proper credentials. Take the following advice as it resonates with you, and comment with your own additions and corrections.
The first thing you need to understand when looking for the right doctor for you is that your doctor is not going to cure you. Whatever may be ailing you, whether it’s a cold or cancer, you may receive treatment, you may get better, you may completely recover, but it won’t be because your doctor “cured” you. With very few exceptions, there is no magic pill that will fix whatever’s wrong with you.
The second thing you need to know is that wellness comes from a healthy lifestyle, not from the proper course of drugs or surgery. If you do not practice a healthy lifestyle, you will eventually need to resort to drugs and surgery for treatment, but you will never be “well.”
The third thing you need to know is that even if you practice a healthy lifestyle, you may still become ill. Environmental and genetic factors will play a role in your health. I know this sounds defeatist, but it doesn’t mean you should just give up and eat whatever you want and sit and watch TV all day. Precisely because of the environmental and genetic factors affecting your health, it’s critical to maintain a healthy lifestyle to give your body the best defense against illness you can.
Do you know someone who never seems to get sick, and do you know another who always seems to be sick? Your immune system can be weak or strong, depending on how well you care for yourself. Eating whole, natural, preferably organic foods, getting optimal sleep, exercising several times per week, taking probiotics and/or eating fermented foods, and managing your stress effectively are all excellent tools for maintaining a strong immune system.
Do you struggle with a healthy lifestyle? Don’t despair. It’s really hard to make those kinds of changes. I know – I was eating fast food just about every day, and it took a life-threatening car accident for me to open my eyes. I hope it doesn’t come to that for you. Just pick one healthy lifestyle change. Eliminate soda, or walk 20 minutes a day, or start taking those probiotics. They say it takes 21 days to make something a habit. Plan to reward yourself if you succeed in your goal for 21 days, and punish yourself if you don’t. Seriously, science has proven that negative consequences are more motivating than positive ones. But I digress…
Even the healthiest of us sometimes need to see a doctor. Or maybe you have a doctor that you’re not super happy with. Step one is to figure out what you are looking for in a doctor. Remember, they are just “practicing medicine” and cannot “cure” you. What they do have is years of education, training, and experience as well as the ability to diagnose illness, prescribe therapies and surgeries, and refer you to specialists.
Here are some of the qualities you may be looking for. Select the ones that resonate with you and prioritize them:Accepts my insuranceOffers payment plansLocated within X number of miles or on a public transport routeHas experience with a certain maladyFlexible appointment hoursCan be seen within X number of days (i.e. not booked out for weeks on end)Will spend as much time as I need and not rush me through my appointmentHas a caring bedside mannerHas state of the art medical equipmentWill treat me as an individual and not a numberWill take charge of my healthcare for meWill let me take charge of my own healthcareWill answer all my questions patiently and explain difficult concepts in detailWill explain all my options to meWill hold me accountable for my lifestyle choicesWill not judge me for my lifestyle choicesCan prescribe pharmaceuticalsCan perform surgeryCan recommend or provide natural remediesCan make musculoskeletal adjustmentsWill take me seriously and take a sincere interest in my health issuesNext step is to figure out what kind of doctor to see. You are probably most familiar with the M.D. which is a medical doctor. Most family doctors fall into this category. They have gone through a minimum number of years of education and training to earn this degree. There is also the D.O. which is a doctor of osteopathic medicine. The D.O. has a different philosophy of medicine from the M.D., seeing illness as being tied to the musculoskeletal system, but is every much a doctor as the M.D. in education and training.
For a particularly difficult to treat ailment or injury, a specialist may be the best option for you. Unless you are already familiar with the type of specialist you need, you may find it easier to get a referral from an M.D. or D.O. However, keep in mind that a given doctor may typically refer his/her patients to specialists who are their friends, located nearby, or without even knowing anything about them. You need to do your own investigating to ensure the specialist will meet your desired criteria in a doctor.
There are other doctors that focus on natural healing modalities. Chiropractors, naturopaths, homeopaths, and others go through a different kind of education and training from M.D.’s and D.O.’s. These may be able to help you with adopting a healthier lifestyle and provide natural remedies, but they typically are unable to diagnose certain ailments, prescribe pharmaceuticals, or perform surgeries.
Depending on your needs, you may choose to see multiple practitioners. For example, if you have had a back injury, you may see a neurosurgery specialist to receive surgical treatment, a physical therapist during recovery, a D.O. for ongoing musculoskeletal adjustments and prescriptions for pain relief and anti-inflammatory medications, and an acupuncturist for traditional Chinese energy therapy.
Next step is to ask around. Interview friends and family to find out what doctors they see and if any of their doctors seem to meet your most desired qualities. I say “seem to meet” because you really won’t know for sure until you meet the doctor for yourself. You can also sometimes find online reviews for doctors. These can be helpful, but take them with a grain of salt. Just like Amazon reviews, some may be fake, some may be overreactions, and some may be made by stupid or ignorant people. Sorry, but it’s true.
Once you’ve made an appointment, the next step is NOT showing up at your appointment. No, the next step is to PREPARE for your appointment, even if it’s an emergency and you’re sitting in the emergency room waiting to be seen. Whether you have 5 minutes or 5 days, write down all your symptoms, even if they are minor or you think they are unrelated. Also be prepared to provide detailed medical history including medications (over the counter, pharmaceutical, vitamins, natural remedies, etc.) and family history. Next, write down all your questions, leaving room on the paper for answers and more questions. It’s good to do some research online as long as you understand that YOU do not have the education, training, and experience to diagnose yourself. But doing some research will help you to formulate your questions for the doctor. Also, mentally prepare yourself. Doctor visits are stressful, no matter how minor the reason. Do what you need to relax and/or distract yourself. This could include deep breathing exercises, prayer, chamomile tea, Facebook, or crossword puzzles. Maybe even all of the above.
Next step is the actual appointment. Allow the doctor to take the lead. He/she will typically have questions for you and perform an exam. This is your opportunity to describe all your symptoms. You may be able to ask your questions along the way, too. If not, do not let the doctor leave the exam room before you’ve had a chance to ask all your questions. By the end of the appointment, the doctor may provide treatment, order tests, prescribe treatments, and/or recommend a specialist or other action on your part. Make sure you understand everything the doctor says. If you don’t understand something, press the doctor for additional information. And write everything down. You will forget things, and you can refer back to your notes later if you need to remember something. If you don’t agree with something the doctor says, don’t feel obligated to follow the doctor’s instructions. Get a second opinion. Get a third. It’s your body, your health, your decision. But also, your consequences.
Final step: evaluation. Go back to your prioritized list of qualities you want in your doctor. How did your doctor do? I’m guessing your doctor was less than perfect. That’s okay! No doctor is going to fit your criteria perfectly, but did he/she fit your needs for the most part? If there were areas lacking, are they an acceptable compromise? I know someone who travels out of state after having moved to see his doctor because the rapport they have is so good, it’s worth the time and expense to continue seeing him. Maybe you have a doctor with a terrible bedside manner, but they’re a genius when it comes to figuring out what’s wrong with you. Whatever you decide, it’s important for you to have a comfort level and high level of trust with your doctor, to be able to discuss the most delicate issues, and if not, it’s time to start the process over.
Another bit of advice: I hope you’ve learned by now that antibiotics are overprescribed, and as a result, we could soon be facing an antibiotic apocalypse. Antibiotics are (or used to be) effective against all kinds of bacteria. The common cold is caused by a virus. If you have a sore throat and stuffy nose, do not go to the doctor expecting a prescription for antibiotics. If your doctor gives you a prescription for antibiotics for a cold, do not fill it, and find another doctor. In fact, just stay home, get plenty of rest and fluids, and your immune system will fight off the cold within a few days. Because antibiotics have been overprescribed for so long (for humans and livestock), we are fighting bacteria that are no longer responding to any antibiotics.
I will end with a personal experience. Although I opt mainly for a healthy lifestyle and natural remedies for basic ailments, several years ago I developed (sorry, guys) severe cramping. It was going on for almost two years and was getting worse by the month. It was so severe, it was debilitating. I decided since I was 10 years overdue for a “well woman” exam, I made an appointment with a P.A. (physician’s assistant) that was nearby, i.e. I had no criteria other than location for choosing this doctor.
The only preparation I did for the appointment was to determine that I would tell her about the cramping and expect her make an attempt to diagnose the problem. Once diagnosed, I would decide how I wanted to proceed vis-à-vis treatment.
I went to the appointment, and she was just going to perform the exam without asking me any questions. I told her that before we started she should know that I was experiencing these debilitating cramps. She gave a blank look and proceeded with the exam. Upon completing the exam, she told me I’d have my pap results in a few days and was ready to send me on my way. I asked, what about my cramps? Another blank stare. I went on to explain that writhing on the floor screaming is not normal. Something is wrong, and I need to have it diagnosed. She asked, “Do you want an ultrasound?”
As much as I value being in charge of my own health, I found this doctor’s inability to know what might be wrong and how to diagnose the problem a sign of incompetence. Or maybe when I made the appointment and described my issue to the receptionist, a P.A. should not have been offered as an option. Really, I should have just done a better job of finding the right doctor for me.
All’s well that ends well. I did make an appointment for an ultrasound, but I missed it due to an unrelated emergency. Not long after that, I was talking to my dad about my symptoms (Hi, Dad! I know you're reading this!). He told me something I had never learned – that my mom, now passed, had suffered the same symptoms in her 20’s due to endometriosis. With a potential diagnosis for me, I hit the internet to learn all I could. I found out that conventional medical treatment for endometriosis is limited to surgery and hormone replacement therapy, neither of which I was willing to subject myself to. I opted to try a regimen of daily doses of chaste tree berry powder for natural hormone regulation. After three months, the symptoms started to subside. After six months, they were gone. I continue to take the powder daily, and I’ve been symptom-free for five years. No doctor required.
To be clear, I’m not against doctors. I have tremendous respect for what they know and do. Like any other profession, many are good, some are exceptional, and some should find another profession. It’s your job to find the right one(s) for you, and I hope I’ve given you some tools to help.
Click here to receive the Apocalypse Observer Newsletter in your inbox
www.readmota.com
To comment, scroll down and type in your comment. Under Comment As, you can select Anonymous or Name/URL (you don't need to enter a URL). Then hit Publish.
Disclaimer: I am not a doctor. I don’t work in the medical field. I am just a regular person with some experience and some intelligence. Do not attempt to diagnose or treat yourself or anyone else without the proper credentials. Take the following advice as it resonates with you, and comment with your own additions and corrections.
The first thing you need to understand when looking for the right doctor for you is that your doctor is not going to cure you. Whatever may be ailing you, whether it’s a cold or cancer, you may receive treatment, you may get better, you may completely recover, but it won’t be because your doctor “cured” you. With very few exceptions, there is no magic pill that will fix whatever’s wrong with you.
The second thing you need to know is that wellness comes from a healthy lifestyle, not from the proper course of drugs or surgery. If you do not practice a healthy lifestyle, you will eventually need to resort to drugs and surgery for treatment, but you will never be “well.”
The third thing you need to know is that even if you practice a healthy lifestyle, you may still become ill. Environmental and genetic factors will play a role in your health. I know this sounds defeatist, but it doesn’t mean you should just give up and eat whatever you want and sit and watch TV all day. Precisely because of the environmental and genetic factors affecting your health, it’s critical to maintain a healthy lifestyle to give your body the best defense against illness you can.
Do you know someone who never seems to get sick, and do you know another who always seems to be sick? Your immune system can be weak or strong, depending on how well you care for yourself. Eating whole, natural, preferably organic foods, getting optimal sleep, exercising several times per week, taking probiotics and/or eating fermented foods, and managing your stress effectively are all excellent tools for maintaining a strong immune system.
Do you struggle with a healthy lifestyle? Don’t despair. It’s really hard to make those kinds of changes. I know – I was eating fast food just about every day, and it took a life-threatening car accident for me to open my eyes. I hope it doesn’t come to that for you. Just pick one healthy lifestyle change. Eliminate soda, or walk 20 minutes a day, or start taking those probiotics. They say it takes 21 days to make something a habit. Plan to reward yourself if you succeed in your goal for 21 days, and punish yourself if you don’t. Seriously, science has proven that negative consequences are more motivating than positive ones. But I digress…
Even the healthiest of us sometimes need to see a doctor. Or maybe you have a doctor that you’re not super happy with. Step one is to figure out what you are looking for in a doctor. Remember, they are just “practicing medicine” and cannot “cure” you. What they do have is years of education, training, and experience as well as the ability to diagnose illness, prescribe therapies and surgeries, and refer you to specialists.
Here are some of the qualities you may be looking for. Select the ones that resonate with you and prioritize them:Accepts my insuranceOffers payment plansLocated within X number of miles or on a public transport routeHas experience with a certain maladyFlexible appointment hoursCan be seen within X number of days (i.e. not booked out for weeks on end)Will spend as much time as I need and not rush me through my appointmentHas a caring bedside mannerHas state of the art medical equipmentWill treat me as an individual and not a numberWill take charge of my healthcare for meWill let me take charge of my own healthcareWill answer all my questions patiently and explain difficult concepts in detailWill explain all my options to meWill hold me accountable for my lifestyle choicesWill not judge me for my lifestyle choicesCan prescribe pharmaceuticalsCan perform surgeryCan recommend or provide natural remediesCan make musculoskeletal adjustmentsWill take me seriously and take a sincere interest in my health issuesNext step is to figure out what kind of doctor to see. You are probably most familiar with the M.D. which is a medical doctor. Most family doctors fall into this category. They have gone through a minimum number of years of education and training to earn this degree. There is also the D.O. which is a doctor of osteopathic medicine. The D.O. has a different philosophy of medicine from the M.D., seeing illness as being tied to the musculoskeletal system, but is every much a doctor as the M.D. in education and training.
For a particularly difficult to treat ailment or injury, a specialist may be the best option for you. Unless you are already familiar with the type of specialist you need, you may find it easier to get a referral from an M.D. or D.O. However, keep in mind that a given doctor may typically refer his/her patients to specialists who are their friends, located nearby, or without even knowing anything about them. You need to do your own investigating to ensure the specialist will meet your desired criteria in a doctor.
There are other doctors that focus on natural healing modalities. Chiropractors, naturopaths, homeopaths, and others go through a different kind of education and training from M.D.’s and D.O.’s. These may be able to help you with adopting a healthier lifestyle and provide natural remedies, but they typically are unable to diagnose certain ailments, prescribe pharmaceuticals, or perform surgeries.
Depending on your needs, you may choose to see multiple practitioners. For example, if you have had a back injury, you may see a neurosurgery specialist to receive surgical treatment, a physical therapist during recovery, a D.O. for ongoing musculoskeletal adjustments and prescriptions for pain relief and anti-inflammatory medications, and an acupuncturist for traditional Chinese energy therapy.
Next step is to ask around. Interview friends and family to find out what doctors they see and if any of their doctors seem to meet your most desired qualities. I say “seem to meet” because you really won’t know for sure until you meet the doctor for yourself. You can also sometimes find online reviews for doctors. These can be helpful, but take them with a grain of salt. Just like Amazon reviews, some may be fake, some may be overreactions, and some may be made by stupid or ignorant people. Sorry, but it’s true.
Once you’ve made an appointment, the next step is NOT showing up at your appointment. No, the next step is to PREPARE for your appointment, even if it’s an emergency and you’re sitting in the emergency room waiting to be seen. Whether you have 5 minutes or 5 days, write down all your symptoms, even if they are minor or you think they are unrelated. Also be prepared to provide detailed medical history including medications (over the counter, pharmaceutical, vitamins, natural remedies, etc.) and family history. Next, write down all your questions, leaving room on the paper for answers and more questions. It’s good to do some research online as long as you understand that YOU do not have the education, training, and experience to diagnose yourself. But doing some research will help you to formulate your questions for the doctor. Also, mentally prepare yourself. Doctor visits are stressful, no matter how minor the reason. Do what you need to relax and/or distract yourself. This could include deep breathing exercises, prayer, chamomile tea, Facebook, or crossword puzzles. Maybe even all of the above.
Next step is the actual appointment. Allow the doctor to take the lead. He/she will typically have questions for you and perform an exam. This is your opportunity to describe all your symptoms. You may be able to ask your questions along the way, too. If not, do not let the doctor leave the exam room before you’ve had a chance to ask all your questions. By the end of the appointment, the doctor may provide treatment, order tests, prescribe treatments, and/or recommend a specialist or other action on your part. Make sure you understand everything the doctor says. If you don’t understand something, press the doctor for additional information. And write everything down. You will forget things, and you can refer back to your notes later if you need to remember something. If you don’t agree with something the doctor says, don’t feel obligated to follow the doctor’s instructions. Get a second opinion. Get a third. It’s your body, your health, your decision. But also, your consequences.
Final step: evaluation. Go back to your prioritized list of qualities you want in your doctor. How did your doctor do? I’m guessing your doctor was less than perfect. That’s okay! No doctor is going to fit your criteria perfectly, but did he/she fit your needs for the most part? If there were areas lacking, are they an acceptable compromise? I know someone who travels out of state after having moved to see his doctor because the rapport they have is so good, it’s worth the time and expense to continue seeing him. Maybe you have a doctor with a terrible bedside manner, but they’re a genius when it comes to figuring out what’s wrong with you. Whatever you decide, it’s important for you to have a comfort level and high level of trust with your doctor, to be able to discuss the most delicate issues, and if not, it’s time to start the process over.
Another bit of advice: I hope you’ve learned by now that antibiotics are overprescribed, and as a result, we could soon be facing an antibiotic apocalypse. Antibiotics are (or used to be) effective against all kinds of bacteria. The common cold is caused by a virus. If you have a sore throat and stuffy nose, do not go to the doctor expecting a prescription for antibiotics. If your doctor gives you a prescription for antibiotics for a cold, do not fill it, and find another doctor. In fact, just stay home, get plenty of rest and fluids, and your immune system will fight off the cold within a few days. Because antibiotics have been overprescribed for so long (for humans and livestock), we are fighting bacteria that are no longer responding to any antibiotics.
I will end with a personal experience. Although I opt mainly for a healthy lifestyle and natural remedies for basic ailments, several years ago I developed (sorry, guys) severe cramping. It was going on for almost two years and was getting worse by the month. It was so severe, it was debilitating. I decided since I was 10 years overdue for a “well woman” exam, I made an appointment with a P.A. (physician’s assistant) that was nearby, i.e. I had no criteria other than location for choosing this doctor.
The only preparation I did for the appointment was to determine that I would tell her about the cramping and expect her make an attempt to diagnose the problem. Once diagnosed, I would decide how I wanted to proceed vis-à-vis treatment.
I went to the appointment, and she was just going to perform the exam without asking me any questions. I told her that before we started she should know that I was experiencing these debilitating cramps. She gave a blank look and proceeded with the exam. Upon completing the exam, she told me I’d have my pap results in a few days and was ready to send me on my way. I asked, what about my cramps? Another blank stare. I went on to explain that writhing on the floor screaming is not normal. Something is wrong, and I need to have it diagnosed. She asked, “Do you want an ultrasound?”
As much as I value being in charge of my own health, I found this doctor’s inability to know what might be wrong and how to diagnose the problem a sign of incompetence. Or maybe when I made the appointment and described my issue to the receptionist, a P.A. should not have been offered as an option. Really, I should have just done a better job of finding the right doctor for me.
All’s well that ends well. I did make an appointment for an ultrasound, but I missed it due to an unrelated emergency. Not long after that, I was talking to my dad about my symptoms (Hi, Dad! I know you're reading this!). He told me something I had never learned – that my mom, now passed, had suffered the same symptoms in her 20’s due to endometriosis. With a potential diagnosis for me, I hit the internet to learn all I could. I found out that conventional medical treatment for endometriosis is limited to surgery and hormone replacement therapy, neither of which I was willing to subject myself to. I opted to try a regimen of daily doses of chaste tree berry powder for natural hormone regulation. After three months, the symptoms started to subside. After six months, they were gone. I continue to take the powder daily, and I’ve been symptom-free for five years. No doctor required.
To be clear, I’m not against doctors. I have tremendous respect for what they know and do. Like any other profession, many are good, some are exceptional, and some should find another profession. It’s your job to find the right one(s) for you, and I hope I’ve given you some tools to help.
Click here to receive the Apocalypse Observer Newsletter in your inbox
www.readmota.com
To comment, scroll down and type in your comment. Under Comment As, you can select Anonymous or Name/URL (you don't need to enter a URL). Then hit Publish.
August 18, 2017
Camping Etiquette
©2017 C. Henry Martens
I love camping. Don't you? The light through the trees, the clear water babbling through moss covered rocks, and hot dogs charred ever so slightly over a fire. What's not to like?
Well, a few things.
But let's try to define why we have the need for the great outdoors.
I think it goes deeper than any desire to “get away from it all.” I believe it is an ingrained comfort to be in the woods, or desert, or shore. Some long-absent, need-satisfying craving for green vegetation under our bare feet and for eye-pleasing distances. Something to fill a hole in us. Not a void... a dank, dirty, hole.
Some of us don't even miss the wild because we are so far removed by life. But once we are in it, beneath the living canopy over-laid by clouds and blue sky, and smelling the earth for what seems like forever... aaaahhhhhh!
When I go for walks in the wild, I breathe a little deeper. I also exist mindfully. I see things. I touch hoary rocks and ancient trees, and I imagine them to vibrate with the essence of existence.
A less poetic person, unused to what they are experiencing and so passing by the sensuality unnoticed... misses most of the encounter.
This is the earth as we experienced it in our deepest racial memories. Those forgotten spaces between our Cro-Magnon chromosomes. The places that ache for a simpler life gathering wild edibles and surviving our ignorance. And that thing we gladly gave away for the illusion of security and a remote control that eternally searches for something worthy of our interest.
So, we run to the woods, or more likely fill the monster truck up with high test fuel, boxed snack foods, and beer.
We find the most beautiful place we can find, and then we spend our entire weekend scattering trash, cutting live trees, and gunning the truck in untrammeled places to see the scars.
Well, I don't... but do you?
Considering what I see in every single campsite I walk past in the balmy evenings with my girlfriend, more people abuse the beauty they seek than don't.
Why is that? Why do people spend actual time looking for a pretty spot, and then destroy it? Is it one of those inconsistencies of human nature? Or is it just stupidity? Don't people notice?
So herein lies the crust of the biscuit. Some simple rules for camping, designed to help us all leave the best behind to be enjoyed later by... you.
1. Just because someone else does it, you don't have to. Human beings have a terribly insistent urge to copy others. It is almost like we get competitive, but I really think for most of us... we give up. We see the abuse, we understand it, and we get frustrated and angry and join in. What the HELL!!! HE did it, so why not ME? We give up. Not me, but “people,” right?
2. Pack out what you pack in. This was a mantra we used in our backpacking days. It works well for monster truck driving, multi-antennaed, air conditioned examples of excess. Failing hauling your trash out, use the dumpsters for cripe sake. And all those little tiny things that respectably clean people would never strew around their own home? They accumulate in campgrounds, too. Think about it.
3. Don't cut live wood. I prefer to bring my own, either scavenged from construction projects or taken legally from designated wood gathering sites. If you can't bring wood, and you're in a campground with surrounding trees, DON'T CUT the LIVE TREES. I don't know if you've noticed, but the US is experiencing a plague of dying forests. Walk a few feet from the campsite, and pick up some dead wood. Quit being stupid, and if it's because you're lazy... you probably need the exercise.
4. Keep your fire inside a designated area. Actually, this isn't much of a problem. What IS a problem is making a huge bonfire inside a ring of rocks six feet in diameter, all while winds are predicted and the fire danger signs are screaming, “EXTREME”!!! Did you know a ring of rocks is a fairly recent development? Most knowledgeable campers of years past used three rocks of equal height so they could place a cook pot on them and kept the fire low enough to use it for cooking. Another problem with fires is people cleaning them out. Ashes will kill a tree, so don't dump them at the base of something living. Also, if there is one pile of ashes already and you are too lazy to discard your ashes in the dumpster, don't make a second, or third, or fourth, or fifth, or.... pile. Capisce (pronounced ka-PEESH)?
5. Park your vehicles in designated areas. Not on the stump of the tree you just cut down or the picnic table that we all paid for with our taxes. The gravel is there for you to use, not the grass. And get a set of leveling jacks. They are easier to use than a shovel when leveling a trailer.
6. Wet garbage goes in the dumpster. Don't leave tainted meat wrapped in paper or plastic lying around. Worse, don't throw it into the woods. A particular gripe is bones. Bones can kill a dog not used to them. Especially cooked bones.
7. Treat the campsite like you wish the people before you would treat it. We police the area during our stay. It is amazing what we find. New fishing equipment, money, broken glass, plastic, (did I mention) sharp bones, and it all goes somewhere better than where we found it. It's called exercise.
These are the basics. The minimum. The things that only the most mentally deficient of us would deny.
If you will leave things nice, so will I. Kind of like a “pass it forward” thing, right? It will make you feel good.
Now I don't want to see any of you abusing the beauty you came to enjoy, right? I'll be watching, and I have my ways...
Click here to receive the Apocalypse Observer Newsletter in your inbox
www.readmota.com
To comment, scroll down and type in your comment. Under Comment As, you can select Anonymous or Name/URL (you don't need to enter a URL). Then hit Publish.
I love camping. Don't you? The light through the trees, the clear water babbling through moss covered rocks, and hot dogs charred ever so slightly over a fire. What's not to like?
Well, a few things.
But let's try to define why we have the need for the great outdoors.
I think it goes deeper than any desire to “get away from it all.” I believe it is an ingrained comfort to be in the woods, or desert, or shore. Some long-absent, need-satisfying craving for green vegetation under our bare feet and for eye-pleasing distances. Something to fill a hole in us. Not a void... a dank, dirty, hole.
Some of us don't even miss the wild because we are so far removed by life. But once we are in it, beneath the living canopy over-laid by clouds and blue sky, and smelling the earth for what seems like forever... aaaahhhhhh!
When I go for walks in the wild, I breathe a little deeper. I also exist mindfully. I see things. I touch hoary rocks and ancient trees, and I imagine them to vibrate with the essence of existence.
A less poetic person, unused to what they are experiencing and so passing by the sensuality unnoticed... misses most of the encounter.
This is the earth as we experienced it in our deepest racial memories. Those forgotten spaces between our Cro-Magnon chromosomes. The places that ache for a simpler life gathering wild edibles and surviving our ignorance. And that thing we gladly gave away for the illusion of security and a remote control that eternally searches for something worthy of our interest.
So, we run to the woods, or more likely fill the monster truck up with high test fuel, boxed snack foods, and beer.
We find the most beautiful place we can find, and then we spend our entire weekend scattering trash, cutting live trees, and gunning the truck in untrammeled places to see the scars.
Well, I don't... but do you?
Considering what I see in every single campsite I walk past in the balmy evenings with my girlfriend, more people abuse the beauty they seek than don't.
Why is that? Why do people spend actual time looking for a pretty spot, and then destroy it? Is it one of those inconsistencies of human nature? Or is it just stupidity? Don't people notice?
So herein lies the crust of the biscuit. Some simple rules for camping, designed to help us all leave the best behind to be enjoyed later by... you.
1. Just because someone else does it, you don't have to. Human beings have a terribly insistent urge to copy others. It is almost like we get competitive, but I really think for most of us... we give up. We see the abuse, we understand it, and we get frustrated and angry and join in. What the HELL!!! HE did it, so why not ME? We give up. Not me, but “people,” right?
2. Pack out what you pack in. This was a mantra we used in our backpacking days. It works well for monster truck driving, multi-antennaed, air conditioned examples of excess. Failing hauling your trash out, use the dumpsters for cripe sake. And all those little tiny things that respectably clean people would never strew around their own home? They accumulate in campgrounds, too. Think about it.
3. Don't cut live wood. I prefer to bring my own, either scavenged from construction projects or taken legally from designated wood gathering sites. If you can't bring wood, and you're in a campground with surrounding trees, DON'T CUT the LIVE TREES. I don't know if you've noticed, but the US is experiencing a plague of dying forests. Walk a few feet from the campsite, and pick up some dead wood. Quit being stupid, and if it's because you're lazy... you probably need the exercise.
4. Keep your fire inside a designated area. Actually, this isn't much of a problem. What IS a problem is making a huge bonfire inside a ring of rocks six feet in diameter, all while winds are predicted and the fire danger signs are screaming, “EXTREME”!!! Did you know a ring of rocks is a fairly recent development? Most knowledgeable campers of years past used three rocks of equal height so they could place a cook pot on them and kept the fire low enough to use it for cooking. Another problem with fires is people cleaning them out. Ashes will kill a tree, so don't dump them at the base of something living. Also, if there is one pile of ashes already and you are too lazy to discard your ashes in the dumpster, don't make a second, or third, or fourth, or fifth, or.... pile. Capisce (pronounced ka-PEESH)?
5. Park your vehicles in designated areas. Not on the stump of the tree you just cut down or the picnic table that we all paid for with our taxes. The gravel is there for you to use, not the grass. And get a set of leveling jacks. They are easier to use than a shovel when leveling a trailer.
6. Wet garbage goes in the dumpster. Don't leave tainted meat wrapped in paper or plastic lying around. Worse, don't throw it into the woods. A particular gripe is bones. Bones can kill a dog not used to them. Especially cooked bones.
7. Treat the campsite like you wish the people before you would treat it. We police the area during our stay. It is amazing what we find. New fishing equipment, money, broken glass, plastic, (did I mention) sharp bones, and it all goes somewhere better than where we found it. It's called exercise.
These are the basics. The minimum. The things that only the most mentally deficient of us would deny.
If you will leave things nice, so will I. Kind of like a “pass it forward” thing, right? It will make you feel good.
Now I don't want to see any of you abusing the beauty you came to enjoy, right? I'll be watching, and I have my ways...
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August 11, 2017
A Leaf on the Wind - What Does That Mean?
©2017 Kari Carlisle
Wash: I’m a leaf on the wind.Mal: What does that mean?
In a mildly humorous exchange during a tense moment in the movie, Serenity , Malcomb does not receive a response. Wash’s existential statement has been the source of much consideration for me.
Spoiler alert. If you haven’t seen Serenity, stop reading now. Stop everything, and binge watch the TV show, Firefly , and then watch Serenity . It will only take you a day. Okay, now you’re caught up. Come back and finish reading. Time to set the stage…
The Firefly-class spaceship, Serenity, piloted by Hoban “Wash” Washburne, is being overrun by reaver-infested ships. The reavers are bent on torturing, raping, and killing Serenity’s passengers, and not necessarily in that order. Serenity is getting hit, and Wash is struggling to retain control and escape the onslaught when he smiles and says, “I’m a leaf on the wind.” Captain Malcomb Reynolds rightfully asks, “What does that mean?” Perhaps only Firefly creator, Joss Whedon, knows.
The statement is at once descriptive and contradictory. When I picture a literal leaf on the wind, I see a big, red maple leaf, gently floating, side to side, as it eventually reaches the ground on a crisp October day. A little windier, and the leaf experiences more turbulence as it tumbles to the ground and continues on a horizontal path until hitting something solid enough to keep it anchored.
In Wash’s case, Serenity is wafting to and fro as he navigates the atmosphere of the world he’s attempting to land on, much like the turbulent leaf in my mind. But I think Wash’s statement is not meant to be literal. Unfortunately, Mal never has the opportunity to question Wash further on his meaning as the scene does not end well for Wash.
In a literal sense, a leaf on the wind is not in control. It’s at the mercy of the wind. A leaf does not steer itself in the direction it desires. Like Wash, we are all desperately trying to steer our lives on the paths we desire, are we not? Always trying to outrun pain, evil, sickness, misfortune… death. But these things always find us.
What can we learn from this? A leaf has no thought or care. Wash, with mindful intent, with all his skill, succeeded in bringing Serenity to a landing, rough as it was, and he did so with utter calm and a smile on his face. In the direst situation, Wash was telling himself, convincing himself, I believe, that he is merely a leaf on the wind, with no thought or care as to its destination.
As we face the difficulties life brings us, no matter how benign or dire, we have an opportunity to control how we face them. Are you the kind of person who tends to panic? Do you live in a state of constant stress? Denial maybe? Drama? You are not a leaf on the wind.
Are you a problem-solver? Do you relish the challenges life brings you? When things don’t go your way, do you pick yourself up by your bootstraps and go in a new direction? You, my friend, are a leaf on the wind. Go ahead, say it…. “I’m a leaf on the wind.” Now, go buy yourself a toy dinosaur. Every day, look at it, and say, “I’m a leaf on the wind.”
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Wash: I’m a leaf on the wind.Mal: What does that mean?
In a mildly humorous exchange during a tense moment in the movie, Serenity , Malcomb does not receive a response. Wash’s existential statement has been the source of much consideration for me.
Spoiler alert. If you haven’t seen Serenity, stop reading now. Stop everything, and binge watch the TV show, Firefly , and then watch Serenity . It will only take you a day. Okay, now you’re caught up. Come back and finish reading. Time to set the stage…
The Firefly-class spaceship, Serenity, piloted by Hoban “Wash” Washburne, is being overrun by reaver-infested ships. The reavers are bent on torturing, raping, and killing Serenity’s passengers, and not necessarily in that order. Serenity is getting hit, and Wash is struggling to retain control and escape the onslaught when he smiles and says, “I’m a leaf on the wind.” Captain Malcomb Reynolds rightfully asks, “What does that mean?” Perhaps only Firefly creator, Joss Whedon, knows.
The statement is at once descriptive and contradictory. When I picture a literal leaf on the wind, I see a big, red maple leaf, gently floating, side to side, as it eventually reaches the ground on a crisp October day. A little windier, and the leaf experiences more turbulence as it tumbles to the ground and continues on a horizontal path until hitting something solid enough to keep it anchored.
In Wash’s case, Serenity is wafting to and fro as he navigates the atmosphere of the world he’s attempting to land on, much like the turbulent leaf in my mind. But I think Wash’s statement is not meant to be literal. Unfortunately, Mal never has the opportunity to question Wash further on his meaning as the scene does not end well for Wash.
In a literal sense, a leaf on the wind is not in control. It’s at the mercy of the wind. A leaf does not steer itself in the direction it desires. Like Wash, we are all desperately trying to steer our lives on the paths we desire, are we not? Always trying to outrun pain, evil, sickness, misfortune… death. But these things always find us.
What can we learn from this? A leaf has no thought or care. Wash, with mindful intent, with all his skill, succeeded in bringing Serenity to a landing, rough as it was, and he did so with utter calm and a smile on his face. In the direst situation, Wash was telling himself, convincing himself, I believe, that he is merely a leaf on the wind, with no thought or care as to its destination.
As we face the difficulties life brings us, no matter how benign or dire, we have an opportunity to control how we face them. Are you the kind of person who tends to panic? Do you live in a state of constant stress? Denial maybe? Drama? You are not a leaf on the wind.
Are you a problem-solver? Do you relish the challenges life brings you? When things don’t go your way, do you pick yourself up by your bootstraps and go in a new direction? You, my friend, are a leaf on the wind. Go ahead, say it…. “I’m a leaf on the wind.” Now, go buy yourself a toy dinosaur. Every day, look at it, and say, “I’m a leaf on the wind.”
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To comment, scroll down and type in your comment. Under Comment As, you can select Anonymous or Name/URL (you don't need to enter a URL). Then hit Publish.
August 4, 2017
Is Machine-Invented Language Dangerous?
©2017 C. Henry Martens
Are humans intelligent enough to recognize when Artificial Intelligence is dangerous?
This is a thought that has only come recently to me. The thoughts that preceded led up to this idea, like building any good perception does. I guess I always assumed that anything dangerous would be obvious. But now I'm not so sure.
I've heard the statements respected people have made. Stephen Hawking, Elon Musk, and Bill Gates have weighed in, expressing concern. They're pretty smart... right? Recently I read a statement attributed to Mark Zuckerberg, and in it, he claimed to be less troubled. Most of the people working with AI seem fascinated with machine intelligence, possibly to the point that they are influenced by bias. I don't find many with the courage to speak against the majority.
But there are good questions to be asked, and even better concerns to be discovered. I'm reminded of the Donald Rumsfeld quote:
“There are known knowns. These are things we know. There are known unknowns. That is to say, there are things we know we don't know. But there are also unknown unknowns. These are things we don't know we don't know.”
I think this vision, this cognizance of knowing we don't know, will become increasingly important in dealing with Artificial Thinking. Trying to avoid any conclusions, I'll run a few ideas past you in my concerns with two robots that have been perceived to invent their own language.
First off... DID they? Did they really invent a new language? I read some of the transcripts of the exchange between the two artificial minds, known as Bob and Alice, and I don't see a language. How do we determine that the English words they used repetitively and in unusual ways constitute a language? I don't see it.
The bots in question, being under the control of Facebook and instructed to use English words, were also tasked with negotiating a best “deal” which would lead to a reward. Over the course of time, they learned to avoid unrewarding deals. Then, as I understand it from the articles I have read, they began to speak in English words strung together in meaningless (to English speaking humans) phrases.
How does this equate with being a language? Did this “language” result in a “best deal”? Was one of the robots rewarded? If there was no resulting deal or reward, then how do we know there was a language? Was information communicated? Actually, my thoughts in this regard evolved from prior ideas.
My first idea was... what was the motivation that prompted two artificial minds to develop a language? And that idea led to wondering why an artificial mind would be motivated at all. Does programming result in desire to perform? To do a job well? Can motivation evolve? Does a programmed desire always remain the same in a brain that is able to learn?
I'm assuming the humans involved intended to supply motivation, right? What motivates an electrical appliance with no feelings or sensations? Is the motivation entirely synthetic? Is motivation something that we want in a robot? If so, how strong should that motivation be? Are there degrees of motivation we humans might come to see as too much?
This idea of a synthetic mind being motivated led me to make a list. I see these things as potentially problematic in constructing a true general A.I.
Ability to learn.Ability to be motivated.Ability to place value.Ability to extrapolate.A consequence that results in universal agreement.
It seems the first on my list is universally accepted as a given. That an ability to learn is a necessity in a true Artificial Intelligence. Otherwise, what's the point? If a mind can't learn, how can it be intelligent?
The second never occurred to me in quite these terms before learning of the invented language. I mean, I never considered “programming” to be motivation. Now I'm wondering, especially if that motivation can change.
If a robot learns to place value, who is to say what they will prioritize? I believe we humans anthropomorphize our creations. That might mean we assume a robot will prioritize like we do, morally and ethically. How likely is that? The placing of value could be a terribly beneficial attribute, or a terribly dangerous ability. I suggest caution, especially if value can be changed by acquiring new information.
If new information can change learning, motivation, and value, then it seems extrapolation is a given. But the ability to extrapolate -well- is based in understanding reality. Are we to expect artificials will have the same values as humans? Perhaps we will learn something from them if they extrapolate better than us, getting better results. But perhaps really well done extrapolation will result in events that we humans will consider harsh, or even immoral.
Will A.I. result in universal agreement between synthetic minds? One of the strengths in human beings is that we DON'T always agree. We test our conclusions against each other's, sometimes failing dramatically or succeeding spectacularly... but largely advancing at a relatively steady pace. Sometimes gaining ground too fast can be problematic. Especially if we are wrong.
I worry that human beings are biased to engage the next big thing without understanding the unintended consequences. The human race takes chances that make anyone knowing how to use a risk matrix cringe. There was a theory that the first atom bomb being detonated could burn off the entire atmosphere of the earth, yet we pushed the button anyway. There have been similar concerns with the large particle colliders we are presently using. We humans decided the learning involved justified the risk, even though the risk could mean the end of all learning.
Another thing that should concern us all is the unintended and unforeseen social consequences of Artificial Intelligence. So many people assume a seamless transition to a future of robots doing anything and everything to benefit humankind. Possibly a more dangerous assumption than any physical threat intelligent mechanical devices could pose.
So what do we think of this invented language that we never expected? The mode of understanding that two robots created in their effort to complete an assigned task? Is it benign? Or sinister? Was the language an effort to be more efficient? Did it succeed? Or was it an effort to obfuscate so humans were unable to understand what concerned the synthetic minds? To keep us from understanding something -they- don't want us to know.
The known unknowns keep piling up. I'm sure you realize that the unknown unknowns are piling up as well.
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To comment, scroll down and type in your comment. Under Comment As, you can select Anonymous or Name/URL (you don't need to enter a URL). Then hit Publish.
Are humans intelligent enough to recognize when Artificial Intelligence is dangerous?
This is a thought that has only come recently to me. The thoughts that preceded led up to this idea, like building any good perception does. I guess I always assumed that anything dangerous would be obvious. But now I'm not so sure.
I've heard the statements respected people have made. Stephen Hawking, Elon Musk, and Bill Gates have weighed in, expressing concern. They're pretty smart... right? Recently I read a statement attributed to Mark Zuckerberg, and in it, he claimed to be less troubled. Most of the people working with AI seem fascinated with machine intelligence, possibly to the point that they are influenced by bias. I don't find many with the courage to speak against the majority.
But there are good questions to be asked, and even better concerns to be discovered. I'm reminded of the Donald Rumsfeld quote:
“There are known knowns. These are things we know. There are known unknowns. That is to say, there are things we know we don't know. But there are also unknown unknowns. These are things we don't know we don't know.”
I think this vision, this cognizance of knowing we don't know, will become increasingly important in dealing with Artificial Thinking. Trying to avoid any conclusions, I'll run a few ideas past you in my concerns with two robots that have been perceived to invent their own language.
First off... DID they? Did they really invent a new language? I read some of the transcripts of the exchange between the two artificial minds, known as Bob and Alice, and I don't see a language. How do we determine that the English words they used repetitively and in unusual ways constitute a language? I don't see it.
The bots in question, being under the control of Facebook and instructed to use English words, were also tasked with negotiating a best “deal” which would lead to a reward. Over the course of time, they learned to avoid unrewarding deals. Then, as I understand it from the articles I have read, they began to speak in English words strung together in meaningless (to English speaking humans) phrases.
How does this equate with being a language? Did this “language” result in a “best deal”? Was one of the robots rewarded? If there was no resulting deal or reward, then how do we know there was a language? Was information communicated? Actually, my thoughts in this regard evolved from prior ideas.
My first idea was... what was the motivation that prompted two artificial minds to develop a language? And that idea led to wondering why an artificial mind would be motivated at all. Does programming result in desire to perform? To do a job well? Can motivation evolve? Does a programmed desire always remain the same in a brain that is able to learn?
I'm assuming the humans involved intended to supply motivation, right? What motivates an electrical appliance with no feelings or sensations? Is the motivation entirely synthetic? Is motivation something that we want in a robot? If so, how strong should that motivation be? Are there degrees of motivation we humans might come to see as too much?
This idea of a synthetic mind being motivated led me to make a list. I see these things as potentially problematic in constructing a true general A.I.
Ability to learn.Ability to be motivated.Ability to place value.Ability to extrapolate.A consequence that results in universal agreement.
It seems the first on my list is universally accepted as a given. That an ability to learn is a necessity in a true Artificial Intelligence. Otherwise, what's the point? If a mind can't learn, how can it be intelligent?
The second never occurred to me in quite these terms before learning of the invented language. I mean, I never considered “programming” to be motivation. Now I'm wondering, especially if that motivation can change.
If a robot learns to place value, who is to say what they will prioritize? I believe we humans anthropomorphize our creations. That might mean we assume a robot will prioritize like we do, morally and ethically. How likely is that? The placing of value could be a terribly beneficial attribute, or a terribly dangerous ability. I suggest caution, especially if value can be changed by acquiring new information.
If new information can change learning, motivation, and value, then it seems extrapolation is a given. But the ability to extrapolate -well- is based in understanding reality. Are we to expect artificials will have the same values as humans? Perhaps we will learn something from them if they extrapolate better than us, getting better results. But perhaps really well done extrapolation will result in events that we humans will consider harsh, or even immoral.
Will A.I. result in universal agreement between synthetic minds? One of the strengths in human beings is that we DON'T always agree. We test our conclusions against each other's, sometimes failing dramatically or succeeding spectacularly... but largely advancing at a relatively steady pace. Sometimes gaining ground too fast can be problematic. Especially if we are wrong.
I worry that human beings are biased to engage the next big thing without understanding the unintended consequences. The human race takes chances that make anyone knowing how to use a risk matrix cringe. There was a theory that the first atom bomb being detonated could burn off the entire atmosphere of the earth, yet we pushed the button anyway. There have been similar concerns with the large particle colliders we are presently using. We humans decided the learning involved justified the risk, even though the risk could mean the end of all learning.
Another thing that should concern us all is the unintended and unforeseen social consequences of Artificial Intelligence. So many people assume a seamless transition to a future of robots doing anything and everything to benefit humankind. Possibly a more dangerous assumption than any physical threat intelligent mechanical devices could pose.
So what do we think of this invented language that we never expected? The mode of understanding that two robots created in their effort to complete an assigned task? Is it benign? Or sinister? Was the language an effort to be more efficient? Did it succeed? Or was it an effort to obfuscate so humans were unable to understand what concerned the synthetic minds? To keep us from understanding something -they- don't want us to know.
The known unknowns keep piling up. I'm sure you realize that the unknown unknowns are piling up as well.
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July 28, 2017
Short Story: The Newest Generation, Part Two
©2017 C. Henry Martens
Read Part One Here
Part Two
One thing the government is afraid of is exposure. They utilize a lot of energy trying to hide things in plain sight so that no one gets suspicious. Using this logic, the peculiar children of Central Valley were required to live in the homes they were born into. So far, none of the families had moved. Perhaps some of the reasoning was because they were so centralized in one location and therefore already convenient for study.
Still in contact with Jody, Arnie asked if there was a way to meet Addie and the child she had borne.
“I've discussed this with my sister,” Jody conceded, “and we haven't been able to figure out a way. We're taking a chance as it is, even communicating with each other under the radar. Considering the security involved, it's surprising we haven't been discovered.”
Knowing Jody had developed a system for messaging her sister clandestinely, Arnie didn't ask particulars. He didn't want to know.
The professor pressed Jody for information, asking about Addie's routine. A chink in the armor appeared, and the two conspirators decided to make use of it. They designed a way to get a small window of access, one that would limit the chances of Jody's sister being exposed.
Addie and her offspring made two trips a week to a centralized medical facility. She was allowed to drive the two year old from their home to the building, followed by security in a government vehicle. Security was not allowed to associate with either Addie or the infant. The plan went off without a hitch. Two grad students with questionable theses, caught in the act of plagiarism, were recruited to drive vehicles. They boxed in the security team at a blind corner with a believable fender bender, delaying them. Addie accelerated ahead and stopped at the next intersection even though the light was green, picking up Arnie. He exited the vehicle at the next corner with blood samples and pictures. Addie arrived to her appointment within the allotted time frame, and no one in the government car was the wiser.
§
The descriptions of the unhuman child did not prepare Arnie for what he experienced. Seeing was believing. The child was not human, but it was beautiful. More petite in size and features than a human baby, it barely had a nose. Overly large eyes tracked the professor during their short encounter, obviously intelligent. Still, the first impression was of a small primate. Fine hair covered the child's body except for its face.
Later that evening, Jody and Arnie consulted by cell phone regarding the information they had gleaned.
“Well, Addie says she's seen them all. Even the Kansas kids were flown in to be evaluated in the Cali facility. They all look alike, even the ones with the black parents.”
The professor paused and then expressed, “That's two of the Kansas couples, right? That's interesting. Apparently the genes affected are dominant to human coloration. Perhaps they even replace those genes. So, all of the kids have the same patterns, too. Going from a uniform coloration to a natural appearing pattern suggests devolution, but I had the strong impression the kid was highly intelligent.”
“No reason to think otherwise,” Jody commented, “since the older children are vocalizing words. They just seem delayed.”
“We can't assume delay,” mused Arnie. “After all, humans are vastly more delayed than other primates. In fact, delay may mean more highly evolved.”
Changing the subject, Jody brought up a newly discovered piece of information. “So have you been able to find the mother that lost her baby? I really would like to talk to her. She's got to be a wealth of information.”
“Yeah, I agree. And no, no luck finding her. Once she stopped getting paid, she seemed to vanish.”
Arnie considered the single mother's disappearance suspicious, but he was trying to maintain his objectivity until he had better information. There were enough conspiracy theories floating around in their investigation, to say nothing of the wild fancies that imagination inspired.
The conversation continued, winding down as fatigue dulled thoughts and sleep beckoned. They covered a lot of ground until then. Much of the conversation centered on finding the mechanism for the sudden genetic anomaly. So far the only factor in common seemed to be a rural environment. Arnie and Jody agreed that they would have expected mutation in an urban setting. The last thoughts of each were similar before they drifted off. Where was the missing mother, why did her child die, and the always nagging question... were there others?
§
While Saknussen and Jody made every attempt to keep their investigation clandestine, and they were fairly successful using amateurs that knew nothing about the big picture, it was inevitable they would fail. After the secret program directors in charge found out their cover was blown, their first impulse was to squash the unauthorized interest. Unusually, the head honcho, Doctor Foster Iekido, was an out-of-the-box thinker. He conducted his own investigation and was intrigued by the ramifications of Saknussen's field of study and his unusual ideas. He vaguely remembered the professor being mentioned as the government HR department churned through employment possibilities for the “Alien Child” program. Since it looked like the dangers to the program could be easily contained, and close scrutiny could be maintained while Iekido harvested anything Saknussen found, he decided to feed the professor and his associate some information under their radar. Perhaps a new set of eyes might find something worthwhile.
§
“Professor... I found something. There's a rumor of an older child. Nothing I can confirm, but I just had to call you.”
“Good timing, Jody... because I just got some new information. The woman we've been searching for is living with her sister in northwest Arkansas. A little town called Decatur. Three hundred miles, more or less. How do you feel about a road trip? We can talk about your lead on the way. If the info pans out, it's even more exciting than mine. Maybe the missing mother will know something about an older child. After all, she was one of the first.”
“I've got classes until Thursday. Can we leave Friday morning?”
“I'll pick you up at your rooming house. Seven too early?”
§
After waiting for Sandy Shultz to wake up, and again for her to shower, and now to clear her head from last night's drunk with strong coffee, Arnie and Jody were beginning to unravel. The two had arrived at the decrepit older house before Sandy's sister had left her house for work, just missing her husband's semi pulling out on a long run. The sister listened unenthusiastically but let them in, warning the two that if they wanted anything from Sandy they better let her wake up on her own.
Inhaling a vape, the woman that might have answers sat on the sagging couch with a thud. She didn't bother looking at her visitors, instead rifling through magazines and searching the cushions for the remote control. Jody, anticipating, had hidden it with Arnie's approval.
“We need some help, Sandy,” began the professor.
Sandy looked up, but remained silent.
“We know about your child,” explained Jody in a low voice.
No response.
“Don't you want to know what's going on?” The professor decided to change tactics. Perhaps the loss of a child would need answers, and they could give her something. Even if it was only speculation.
“Naw, I got no interest. The thing died, an' they stopped my payments. There ain't nuthin' more to say.”
The loss of a child seemed to have little interest with Sandy, and her attitude seemed unlikely to produce any information of use.
“Addie says 'Hi,' Sandy,” tried Jody. “She asked us to find out what happened to you, that you just up and disappeared, and she was worried about you.”
This news seemed to wake Sandy up. She considered it, seeming to be making an effort to focus.
“I liked Addie. She was as scared as I was,” responded the disheveled woman, “an’ she was sorry my thing wasn't right.”
She laughed, sounding desperate.
“Right... as though any of them were right.”
Arnie decided to take the plunge. He expected Sandy to shut down quickly, and if they didn’t get some information soon, she would probably never give them anything.
“Why did your baby die, Sandy? What was wrong?”
At first, it seemed they had gone too far, but suddenly...
“They said it was the alcohol. Fetal alcohol syndrome. They said even a human baby woulda had problems. They blamed me for drinking.” Sandy looked stricken, but she continued. “Hell, I didn't even know I was preggy. I didn't know until it was six months along. I knew somethin' was wrong as soon as I figured out I was preggers. I had two kids already, kids I gave up. I woulda give this one up, too, but they wouldn't let me.” She hesitated. “It was a cute little shit. I gotta admit that. But it was never right.”
The two travelers were encouraged. They'd never expected so much, and they dove in with more questions. Sandy opened up. The more she spoke, the more she wanted to speak.
Although alcoholism made Sandy appear ignorant, she was cannily aware of what went on in the facility inspecting her product of birth. Sometimes, she seemed confused in relating her time there, but for the most part she recalled a lot and related it willingly. She also knew about an older child. She had met him. She even remembered his name and his parent’s names. They lived in Kansas City. The parents worked for a company the professor and Jody recognized. A company famous for genetic manipulation.
For Professor Saknussen the cosmic tumblers began to fall into place.
§
Driving back, the Professor of Evolutionary Genetics explained his new understanding to the young grad student with the vested interest. They would have to interview the older child's parents and get samples to confirm Arnie's theory, but everything pointed to a direct fit with his ideas about sudden evolution. He never imagined the human race would be the species providing the example proving species could evolve dramatically without missing links, but it was ever more clear that he should have suspected.
§
A year later there were thirty-two more unhuman children for a total of forty-four. The rate of birth was increasing, and it was becoming problematic keeping the program under wraps.
Soon after the interview between Professor Saknussen and the twelve year old unhuman's parents, he and Jody were “invited” to the secret facility Jody's sister continued to visit regularly. Doctor Foster Iekido greeted them warmly, thanking them for assisting in the clandestine investigations without their knowledge. They were properly shocked and somewhat perturbed on finding they were under surveillance without knowing. Doctor Iekido already knew everything contained on Professor Saknussen's computer and quoted much of his conversation with Jody during their cell phone discussions. But he wanted to speak to the expert geneticist in person to extend an invitation to join the program. Jody was offered a job as well.
§
Arnie agonized over his personal journal. He wrote,
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Read Part One Here
Part Two
One thing the government is afraid of is exposure. They utilize a lot of energy trying to hide things in plain sight so that no one gets suspicious. Using this logic, the peculiar children of Central Valley were required to live in the homes they were born into. So far, none of the families had moved. Perhaps some of the reasoning was because they were so centralized in one location and therefore already convenient for study.
Still in contact with Jody, Arnie asked if there was a way to meet Addie and the child she had borne.
“I've discussed this with my sister,” Jody conceded, “and we haven't been able to figure out a way. We're taking a chance as it is, even communicating with each other under the radar. Considering the security involved, it's surprising we haven't been discovered.”
Knowing Jody had developed a system for messaging her sister clandestinely, Arnie didn't ask particulars. He didn't want to know.
The professor pressed Jody for information, asking about Addie's routine. A chink in the armor appeared, and the two conspirators decided to make use of it. They designed a way to get a small window of access, one that would limit the chances of Jody's sister being exposed.
Addie and her offspring made two trips a week to a centralized medical facility. She was allowed to drive the two year old from their home to the building, followed by security in a government vehicle. Security was not allowed to associate with either Addie or the infant. The plan went off without a hitch. Two grad students with questionable theses, caught in the act of plagiarism, were recruited to drive vehicles. They boxed in the security team at a blind corner with a believable fender bender, delaying them. Addie accelerated ahead and stopped at the next intersection even though the light was green, picking up Arnie. He exited the vehicle at the next corner with blood samples and pictures. Addie arrived to her appointment within the allotted time frame, and no one in the government car was the wiser.
§
The descriptions of the unhuman child did not prepare Arnie for what he experienced. Seeing was believing. The child was not human, but it was beautiful. More petite in size and features than a human baby, it barely had a nose. Overly large eyes tracked the professor during their short encounter, obviously intelligent. Still, the first impression was of a small primate. Fine hair covered the child's body except for its face.
Later that evening, Jody and Arnie consulted by cell phone regarding the information they had gleaned.
“Well, Addie says she's seen them all. Even the Kansas kids were flown in to be evaluated in the Cali facility. They all look alike, even the ones with the black parents.”
The professor paused and then expressed, “That's two of the Kansas couples, right? That's interesting. Apparently the genes affected are dominant to human coloration. Perhaps they even replace those genes. So, all of the kids have the same patterns, too. Going from a uniform coloration to a natural appearing pattern suggests devolution, but I had the strong impression the kid was highly intelligent.”
“No reason to think otherwise,” Jody commented, “since the older children are vocalizing words. They just seem delayed.”
“We can't assume delay,” mused Arnie. “After all, humans are vastly more delayed than other primates. In fact, delay may mean more highly evolved.”
Changing the subject, Jody brought up a newly discovered piece of information. “So have you been able to find the mother that lost her baby? I really would like to talk to her. She's got to be a wealth of information.”
“Yeah, I agree. And no, no luck finding her. Once she stopped getting paid, she seemed to vanish.”
Arnie considered the single mother's disappearance suspicious, but he was trying to maintain his objectivity until he had better information. There were enough conspiracy theories floating around in their investigation, to say nothing of the wild fancies that imagination inspired.
The conversation continued, winding down as fatigue dulled thoughts and sleep beckoned. They covered a lot of ground until then. Much of the conversation centered on finding the mechanism for the sudden genetic anomaly. So far the only factor in common seemed to be a rural environment. Arnie and Jody agreed that they would have expected mutation in an urban setting. The last thoughts of each were similar before they drifted off. Where was the missing mother, why did her child die, and the always nagging question... were there others?
§
While Saknussen and Jody made every attempt to keep their investigation clandestine, and they were fairly successful using amateurs that knew nothing about the big picture, it was inevitable they would fail. After the secret program directors in charge found out their cover was blown, their first impulse was to squash the unauthorized interest. Unusually, the head honcho, Doctor Foster Iekido, was an out-of-the-box thinker. He conducted his own investigation and was intrigued by the ramifications of Saknussen's field of study and his unusual ideas. He vaguely remembered the professor being mentioned as the government HR department churned through employment possibilities for the “Alien Child” program. Since it looked like the dangers to the program could be easily contained, and close scrutiny could be maintained while Iekido harvested anything Saknussen found, he decided to feed the professor and his associate some information under their radar. Perhaps a new set of eyes might find something worthwhile.
§
“Professor... I found something. There's a rumor of an older child. Nothing I can confirm, but I just had to call you.”
“Good timing, Jody... because I just got some new information. The woman we've been searching for is living with her sister in northwest Arkansas. A little town called Decatur. Three hundred miles, more or less. How do you feel about a road trip? We can talk about your lead on the way. If the info pans out, it's even more exciting than mine. Maybe the missing mother will know something about an older child. After all, she was one of the first.”
“I've got classes until Thursday. Can we leave Friday morning?”
“I'll pick you up at your rooming house. Seven too early?”
§
After waiting for Sandy Shultz to wake up, and again for her to shower, and now to clear her head from last night's drunk with strong coffee, Arnie and Jody were beginning to unravel. The two had arrived at the decrepit older house before Sandy's sister had left her house for work, just missing her husband's semi pulling out on a long run. The sister listened unenthusiastically but let them in, warning the two that if they wanted anything from Sandy they better let her wake up on her own.
Inhaling a vape, the woman that might have answers sat on the sagging couch with a thud. She didn't bother looking at her visitors, instead rifling through magazines and searching the cushions for the remote control. Jody, anticipating, had hidden it with Arnie's approval.
“We need some help, Sandy,” began the professor.
Sandy looked up, but remained silent.
“We know about your child,” explained Jody in a low voice.
No response.
“Don't you want to know what's going on?” The professor decided to change tactics. Perhaps the loss of a child would need answers, and they could give her something. Even if it was only speculation.
“Naw, I got no interest. The thing died, an' they stopped my payments. There ain't nuthin' more to say.”
The loss of a child seemed to have little interest with Sandy, and her attitude seemed unlikely to produce any information of use.
“Addie says 'Hi,' Sandy,” tried Jody. “She asked us to find out what happened to you, that you just up and disappeared, and she was worried about you.”
This news seemed to wake Sandy up. She considered it, seeming to be making an effort to focus.
“I liked Addie. She was as scared as I was,” responded the disheveled woman, “an’ she was sorry my thing wasn't right.”
She laughed, sounding desperate.
“Right... as though any of them were right.”
Arnie decided to take the plunge. He expected Sandy to shut down quickly, and if they didn’t get some information soon, she would probably never give them anything.
“Why did your baby die, Sandy? What was wrong?”
At first, it seemed they had gone too far, but suddenly...
“They said it was the alcohol. Fetal alcohol syndrome. They said even a human baby woulda had problems. They blamed me for drinking.” Sandy looked stricken, but she continued. “Hell, I didn't even know I was preggy. I didn't know until it was six months along. I knew somethin' was wrong as soon as I figured out I was preggers. I had two kids already, kids I gave up. I woulda give this one up, too, but they wouldn't let me.” She hesitated. “It was a cute little shit. I gotta admit that. But it was never right.”
The two travelers were encouraged. They'd never expected so much, and they dove in with more questions. Sandy opened up. The more she spoke, the more she wanted to speak.
Although alcoholism made Sandy appear ignorant, she was cannily aware of what went on in the facility inspecting her product of birth. Sometimes, she seemed confused in relating her time there, but for the most part she recalled a lot and related it willingly. She also knew about an older child. She had met him. She even remembered his name and his parent’s names. They lived in Kansas City. The parents worked for a company the professor and Jody recognized. A company famous for genetic manipulation.
For Professor Saknussen the cosmic tumblers began to fall into place.
§
Driving back, the Professor of Evolutionary Genetics explained his new understanding to the young grad student with the vested interest. They would have to interview the older child's parents and get samples to confirm Arnie's theory, but everything pointed to a direct fit with his ideas about sudden evolution. He never imagined the human race would be the species providing the example proving species could evolve dramatically without missing links, but it was ever more clear that he should have suspected.
§
A year later there were thirty-two more unhuman children for a total of forty-four. The rate of birth was increasing, and it was becoming problematic keeping the program under wraps.
Soon after the interview between Professor Saknussen and the twelve year old unhuman's parents, he and Jody were “invited” to the secret facility Jody's sister continued to visit regularly. Doctor Foster Iekido greeted them warmly, thanking them for assisting in the clandestine investigations without their knowledge. They were properly shocked and somewhat perturbed on finding they were under surveillance without knowing. Doctor Iekido already knew everything contained on Professor Saknussen's computer and quoted much of his conversation with Jody during their cell phone discussions. But he wanted to speak to the expert geneticist in person to extend an invitation to join the program. Jody was offered a job as well.
§
Arnie agonized over his personal journal. He wrote,
"The numbers project greater frequency of the new species being born than human births within twenty years at current rates. Although many people have panicked, trying to suggest everything from euthanizing all new species children to finding a vaccine (not a chance). They just don't understand, there is no going back. The children continue to amaze me. They are kinder than us, and they work better together. Not that they can't be aggressive, because I've witnessed them in action. They seem to understand the world better, reality at least. They have no delusions as far as I can see. I'm not sure they will be technological. They understand, but have little interest except when it benefits everyone. It seems so much of our technologies don't really benefit us, and they have shown us by example. I consider, over all, they are superior to us. I suspect the GMO cascade that created them, farm families taking the brunt through increased exposure, will diminish after humans become a minority. One thing... my theory is proven, but I have no legacy. There will be no human legacy that matters to the newest generation."
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July 21, 2017
Short Story: The Newest Generation, Part One
©2017 C. Henry Martens
Arriving minutes early, Professor Arnie Saknussen peered from behind the back stage curtains. As expected, his audience would be scant. In a two hundred seat hall, he counted nine people.
Fighting his entire life for respect, saddled with a name that both inspired his youthful interest in science and diminished first impressions when introduced to colleagues, the thoroughly credentialed professor sighed deeply. He was never going to get used to disappointment, but he was getting used to the expectation of disappointment.
As a boy, Arnie idolized his namesake, the fictional explorer and scientist that courageously fought for his beliefs, ultimately putting his life on the line to prove what his contemporaries considered outlandish ideas. Perhaps that was why he, himself, was so willing to think outside accepted theory. Certainly, his early years had been easier, before he voiced the offbeat theories. He had once fought through his name to be considered something of a prodigy. Now? Not so much.
Entering the stage, approaching the podium, Professor Saknussen approved of the suggestion the lighting tech had made, to leave lights low and natural throughout the auditorium. With a large crowd the speaker should be illuminated, but with this small number of spectators, the pomp and ceremony would seem pretentious. This lighting made the venue more intimate and him more humble.
“Good morning, everyone,” Arnie began. “I will be presenting a controversial idea today, a proposition not well accepted presently by the establishment in the sciences concerning evolution and genetics. I hope to open your minds to an alternative possibility, to provide something for you to think about.”
A late entry as soon as he began speaking marched toward the front rows and chose a seat close to the stage. The young woman sat unceremoniously and plopped her armful of books and her sweater in the seat beside her. Then she pulled out a cell phone and Arnie wondered if she was ignoring his lecture or recording it.
“The gist of the idea is that evolution can manifest as a sudden and, until now unrecognized, glaring change in morphology within a single generation. In other words, that slow change over time is not the only way that species adapt to change. That a species can become something unrecognizable, more or less, as the offspring of its parent species.”
The science educator paused to let his words sink in. One thing about the small numbers of onlookers, he could more readily gauge how much of the audience was interested and paying attention. The girl in front had placed her device carefully in her sweater, facing the stage, and was now paying attention. The rest less so, a shared smirk on the face of two sitting together.
The talk progressed, Arnie presenting a slide show along with the logic of his speculations. He covered the evolution of Equus ferus caballus, the domesticated horse, and including the endangered Przewalski's horse, the only remaining truly wild species of horse. There were better examples, but the professor found people identified best with something they felt an affinity for. Lemurs weren't it.
There were as many gaps in the evolutionary record from Eohippus to the current derby winner as there were in the record leading to Homo sapiens. Arnie's contention was that those gaps were sudden and not the result of missing information.
By the time his lecture wound down, he was sitting on the lip of the stage, having detached the microphone from its stand to be carried as he wandered. Even though he would have preferred a large crowd, he liked the opportunity to connect in a less formal way.
“Questions?”
Most of the participants were already in the act of leaving. The two smirkers leaned forward, though, and began to pick his lecture apart using the current and most popular arguments of the times.
“With all of the millions of species on the planet,” one opined, “why don't we see new species suddenly replacing old species?”
“Well, let's remember that we have only been entertaining the idea of evolutionary change for less than two centuries, and in the beginning century, we had no idea of the mechanism, DNA, involved. That is less than the blink of an eye in evolutionary terms. And as I said in my talk, ‘sudden’ may mean millennia or a single generation. I would also point out that there are often new species found in areas that have been considered thoroughly explored. And they are most often found to be related to existing species.”
The questions and answers devolved as they so often did into a debate, weighing the new thinking against the old and becoming more technical as more was said. Soon the conversation swayed toward how specific alleles were triggered by different proteins and how changing chromosomes could affect diseases like diabetes and lactose intolerance.
The two young men walked away more respectful than they began but to no one’s surprise, unconvinced.
Turning away from the discussion, Arnie almost bumped into the young woman who had lingered. She had remained quiet and unobtrusive and out of the professor's line of sight.
“I'm sorry, Professor Saknussen, but I hope you have time for the questions I came to ask.”
Arnie was tired. Not so much from the travel, the lecture, or the discussion following... but from the frustration of the battle waged against entrenched thinking. He was tempted to blow off this late comer to the party, but something about her words and the way she couched them made him pause. Perhaps, just maybe, she would have something worthwhile. And besides, Arnie had nothing but a rather run-of-the-mill hotel room beckoning his interest.
Sighing, the evolutionary geneticist sat down in one of the theater seats as he invited her first query.
“What are you looking for?” asked the girl. “What could prove your theories?”
Of the many questions asked in entertaining any new idea, this was one that always sparked the imagination. There was no single answer, and although the lecture was meant to impart the answer through extrapolation, Arnie was often surprised that people often needed clarity. He made a mental note to evaluate and create a more obvious way for people to understand the point.
“Well, the very best scenario would be a recorded birth inside an enclosed space with a known species delivering an unknown species.” He mused thoughtfully, always enjoying the sudden epiphanies that came with speculation. “Of course, there are variations of that which would be hard to deny. Finding a known species nursing an unknown infant animal would qualify. Especially if the known species was a large animal. Finding an elephant or a giraffe nursing something clearly not an elephant or giraffe... and unknown... would qualify, wouldn't it?”
The girl looked thoughtful.
“So it would have to be a wild animal? Or could it be a domestic animal?”
Considering, Arnie stated the objections he would anticipate using domestic livestock.
“The problem with domesticated animals is that we are already using so much genetic manipulation to fashion them as we like. Between the miniature versions of cattle, horses, dogs... and the unnatural color variations we breed into animals using primitive techniques. And that's saying nothing about cloning, gene manipulation, sequencing, CRISPR, and even more radical science sticking its fingers into the pool, there isn't much chance of a sudden change in a domesticated species being accepted as legitimate. The change has to not only be legitimate, but it has to appear legitimate... to skeptics, including the ignorant media and general public. Even so, there's going to be hell to pay convincing enough legitimate, educated people that the manifestation is real.”
“You speak as though you're expecting something to happen soon.”
“Of course. I thought I made that obvious. It's happening now. We just haven't been looking for it. We aren't noticing what's in front of our eyes because we are thinking in terms of what we've already accepted. It will take a brick to the head to wake us up.”
Once more, the young woman looked unusually thoughtful.
“I think I know where the brick is.”
§
Having to be convinced himself, Arnie harbored healthy skepticism. After introductions, Jody Carlson presented information that the professor had heard about but hadn't recognized as pertinent. The national news only reported what they were told.
“I've been told to keep this information quiet,” whispered the young college student in a low voice, “but not by my family. I asked their approval after we spoke last night, and desperate people will reach for possibilities to explain what the authorities want to keep quiet. But my family is tired of waiting.”
She seemed serious, and Arnie would give her the benefit of the doubt until proven otherwise. They were meeting on the quad of the local university after Jody enticed the professional interest of the geneticist, alluding to the clandestine nature of a news item that hadn't been fully accurate, after his lecture the day before. Now they were sitting on a comfortable bench in a public place, away from interrupting noise and other intrusions. The day was cool in the shade of large trees, and soon the conversation became interesting.
Continuing, the young grad student began to unfold what she knew.
“I have a nephew. One that I was expecting a little over two years ago. But when the due date passed without an announcement, I started to worry. My older sister, Addie, is close to me, very close since my mother died, and I knew there had to be something wrong. I assumed the worst, perhaps a stillbirth. My family isn't one to shy away from deformity or intellectual disability, so I assumed death was the only thing that would keep Addie silent. But I was wrong. She's been instructed by the powers-that-be to keep her mouth shut. And they made her quit her job, permanently, and have subsidized her income since the birth. All so she could stay home and be a full-time mother.”
Considering the business Arnie was in, his reason for being in this college town, and the few clues from the prior conversation, the professor anticipated the next point made.
“The reason my sister is required by the government to be a stay-at-home mom, against her wishes, is because my nephew isn't human.”
§
Between classes that Jody was unwilling to miss, Arnie's obligations which he juggled to accommodate his interest, and intense speculation that seemed at times wild imagination, the next three days passed quickly.
The girl had a story. It seemed plausible. But Arnie could not afford to be wrong. His reputation was already besmirched within his community by his support of unusual ideas.
Finding the old clips from each news service, reported as a new medical syndrome creating a type of birth defect, he reviewed each several times. Within the small discrepancies, there was room for suspicion.
There was a claimed cluster of birth defects in the Central Valley of California. No numbers were given, but the implication was that several children with a similar anomaly had been born. In Arnie's mind, the news was geared to obscure specifics while inviting people in the medical professions, specifically obstetrics, to report odd deformities.
Digging deeper, in ways only a professor of sciences would have available... in other words using his aids and grad students to come up with ways to network over social media and some discrete hacking, he gathered information he wasn't supposed to know. Bits and pieces, a lot of useless information, but some that confirmed and expanded on Jody's tale.
So far, it seemed there were eight women confirmed on the government payroll after giving birth in Central Valley... and three in Kansas. They all lived on farms. Arnie considered that interesting.
§
One of the basic tenets of Arnie's theory was that environmental factors would have to change drastically to force drastic evolutionary change. If you want a large land animal to lose its ability to walk, you flood where it lives. If you do it harshly but so there are survivors, those survivors better develop fins quickly.
Thinking hard, gathering information, Arnie couldn't see the environmental factor that would change human beings into something else. The necessary piece was missing. His first thought had been obvious, something within the industrial revolution. But everything that the industrial revolution had wrought seemed too temporary. Although coal, exhaust fumes, and boxed food seemed likely, they just hadn't been around long enough or weren't deadly enough. The human genome was living with these things and wasn't showing signs of change. Arnie had run the numbers already using volunteers within his department, and nothing was adding up to human alleles having unusual proteins triggering them in odd ways.
It was time to meet Jody's nephew...
Watch for Part Two of 'The Newest Generation' next week...
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Arriving minutes early, Professor Arnie Saknussen peered from behind the back stage curtains. As expected, his audience would be scant. In a two hundred seat hall, he counted nine people.
Fighting his entire life for respect, saddled with a name that both inspired his youthful interest in science and diminished first impressions when introduced to colleagues, the thoroughly credentialed professor sighed deeply. He was never going to get used to disappointment, but he was getting used to the expectation of disappointment.
As a boy, Arnie idolized his namesake, the fictional explorer and scientist that courageously fought for his beliefs, ultimately putting his life on the line to prove what his contemporaries considered outlandish ideas. Perhaps that was why he, himself, was so willing to think outside accepted theory. Certainly, his early years had been easier, before he voiced the offbeat theories. He had once fought through his name to be considered something of a prodigy. Now? Not so much.
Entering the stage, approaching the podium, Professor Saknussen approved of the suggestion the lighting tech had made, to leave lights low and natural throughout the auditorium. With a large crowd the speaker should be illuminated, but with this small number of spectators, the pomp and ceremony would seem pretentious. This lighting made the venue more intimate and him more humble.
“Good morning, everyone,” Arnie began. “I will be presenting a controversial idea today, a proposition not well accepted presently by the establishment in the sciences concerning evolution and genetics. I hope to open your minds to an alternative possibility, to provide something for you to think about.”
A late entry as soon as he began speaking marched toward the front rows and chose a seat close to the stage. The young woman sat unceremoniously and plopped her armful of books and her sweater in the seat beside her. Then she pulled out a cell phone and Arnie wondered if she was ignoring his lecture or recording it.
“The gist of the idea is that evolution can manifest as a sudden and, until now unrecognized, glaring change in morphology within a single generation. In other words, that slow change over time is not the only way that species adapt to change. That a species can become something unrecognizable, more or less, as the offspring of its parent species.”
The science educator paused to let his words sink in. One thing about the small numbers of onlookers, he could more readily gauge how much of the audience was interested and paying attention. The girl in front had placed her device carefully in her sweater, facing the stage, and was now paying attention. The rest less so, a shared smirk on the face of two sitting together.
The talk progressed, Arnie presenting a slide show along with the logic of his speculations. He covered the evolution of Equus ferus caballus, the domesticated horse, and including the endangered Przewalski's horse, the only remaining truly wild species of horse. There were better examples, but the professor found people identified best with something they felt an affinity for. Lemurs weren't it.
There were as many gaps in the evolutionary record from Eohippus to the current derby winner as there were in the record leading to Homo sapiens. Arnie's contention was that those gaps were sudden and not the result of missing information.
By the time his lecture wound down, he was sitting on the lip of the stage, having detached the microphone from its stand to be carried as he wandered. Even though he would have preferred a large crowd, he liked the opportunity to connect in a less formal way.
“Questions?”
Most of the participants were already in the act of leaving. The two smirkers leaned forward, though, and began to pick his lecture apart using the current and most popular arguments of the times.
“With all of the millions of species on the planet,” one opined, “why don't we see new species suddenly replacing old species?”
“Well, let's remember that we have only been entertaining the idea of evolutionary change for less than two centuries, and in the beginning century, we had no idea of the mechanism, DNA, involved. That is less than the blink of an eye in evolutionary terms. And as I said in my talk, ‘sudden’ may mean millennia or a single generation. I would also point out that there are often new species found in areas that have been considered thoroughly explored. And they are most often found to be related to existing species.”
The questions and answers devolved as they so often did into a debate, weighing the new thinking against the old and becoming more technical as more was said. Soon the conversation swayed toward how specific alleles were triggered by different proteins and how changing chromosomes could affect diseases like diabetes and lactose intolerance.
The two young men walked away more respectful than they began but to no one’s surprise, unconvinced.
Turning away from the discussion, Arnie almost bumped into the young woman who had lingered. She had remained quiet and unobtrusive and out of the professor's line of sight.
“I'm sorry, Professor Saknussen, but I hope you have time for the questions I came to ask.”
Arnie was tired. Not so much from the travel, the lecture, or the discussion following... but from the frustration of the battle waged against entrenched thinking. He was tempted to blow off this late comer to the party, but something about her words and the way she couched them made him pause. Perhaps, just maybe, she would have something worthwhile. And besides, Arnie had nothing but a rather run-of-the-mill hotel room beckoning his interest.
Sighing, the evolutionary geneticist sat down in one of the theater seats as he invited her first query.
“What are you looking for?” asked the girl. “What could prove your theories?”
Of the many questions asked in entertaining any new idea, this was one that always sparked the imagination. There was no single answer, and although the lecture was meant to impart the answer through extrapolation, Arnie was often surprised that people often needed clarity. He made a mental note to evaluate and create a more obvious way for people to understand the point.
“Well, the very best scenario would be a recorded birth inside an enclosed space with a known species delivering an unknown species.” He mused thoughtfully, always enjoying the sudden epiphanies that came with speculation. “Of course, there are variations of that which would be hard to deny. Finding a known species nursing an unknown infant animal would qualify. Especially if the known species was a large animal. Finding an elephant or a giraffe nursing something clearly not an elephant or giraffe... and unknown... would qualify, wouldn't it?”
The girl looked thoughtful.
“So it would have to be a wild animal? Or could it be a domestic animal?”
Considering, Arnie stated the objections he would anticipate using domestic livestock.
“The problem with domesticated animals is that we are already using so much genetic manipulation to fashion them as we like. Between the miniature versions of cattle, horses, dogs... and the unnatural color variations we breed into animals using primitive techniques. And that's saying nothing about cloning, gene manipulation, sequencing, CRISPR, and even more radical science sticking its fingers into the pool, there isn't much chance of a sudden change in a domesticated species being accepted as legitimate. The change has to not only be legitimate, but it has to appear legitimate... to skeptics, including the ignorant media and general public. Even so, there's going to be hell to pay convincing enough legitimate, educated people that the manifestation is real.”
“You speak as though you're expecting something to happen soon.”
“Of course. I thought I made that obvious. It's happening now. We just haven't been looking for it. We aren't noticing what's in front of our eyes because we are thinking in terms of what we've already accepted. It will take a brick to the head to wake us up.”
Once more, the young woman looked unusually thoughtful.
“I think I know where the brick is.”
§
Having to be convinced himself, Arnie harbored healthy skepticism. After introductions, Jody Carlson presented information that the professor had heard about but hadn't recognized as pertinent. The national news only reported what they were told.
“I've been told to keep this information quiet,” whispered the young college student in a low voice, “but not by my family. I asked their approval after we spoke last night, and desperate people will reach for possibilities to explain what the authorities want to keep quiet. But my family is tired of waiting.”
She seemed serious, and Arnie would give her the benefit of the doubt until proven otherwise. They were meeting on the quad of the local university after Jody enticed the professional interest of the geneticist, alluding to the clandestine nature of a news item that hadn't been fully accurate, after his lecture the day before. Now they were sitting on a comfortable bench in a public place, away from interrupting noise and other intrusions. The day was cool in the shade of large trees, and soon the conversation became interesting.
Continuing, the young grad student began to unfold what she knew.
“I have a nephew. One that I was expecting a little over two years ago. But when the due date passed without an announcement, I started to worry. My older sister, Addie, is close to me, very close since my mother died, and I knew there had to be something wrong. I assumed the worst, perhaps a stillbirth. My family isn't one to shy away from deformity or intellectual disability, so I assumed death was the only thing that would keep Addie silent. But I was wrong. She's been instructed by the powers-that-be to keep her mouth shut. And they made her quit her job, permanently, and have subsidized her income since the birth. All so she could stay home and be a full-time mother.”
Considering the business Arnie was in, his reason for being in this college town, and the few clues from the prior conversation, the professor anticipated the next point made.
“The reason my sister is required by the government to be a stay-at-home mom, against her wishes, is because my nephew isn't human.”
§
Between classes that Jody was unwilling to miss, Arnie's obligations which he juggled to accommodate his interest, and intense speculation that seemed at times wild imagination, the next three days passed quickly.
The girl had a story. It seemed plausible. But Arnie could not afford to be wrong. His reputation was already besmirched within his community by his support of unusual ideas.
Finding the old clips from each news service, reported as a new medical syndrome creating a type of birth defect, he reviewed each several times. Within the small discrepancies, there was room for suspicion.
There was a claimed cluster of birth defects in the Central Valley of California. No numbers were given, but the implication was that several children with a similar anomaly had been born. In Arnie's mind, the news was geared to obscure specifics while inviting people in the medical professions, specifically obstetrics, to report odd deformities.
Digging deeper, in ways only a professor of sciences would have available... in other words using his aids and grad students to come up with ways to network over social media and some discrete hacking, he gathered information he wasn't supposed to know. Bits and pieces, a lot of useless information, but some that confirmed and expanded on Jody's tale.
So far, it seemed there were eight women confirmed on the government payroll after giving birth in Central Valley... and three in Kansas. They all lived on farms. Arnie considered that interesting.
§
One of the basic tenets of Arnie's theory was that environmental factors would have to change drastically to force drastic evolutionary change. If you want a large land animal to lose its ability to walk, you flood where it lives. If you do it harshly but so there are survivors, those survivors better develop fins quickly.
Thinking hard, gathering information, Arnie couldn't see the environmental factor that would change human beings into something else. The necessary piece was missing. His first thought had been obvious, something within the industrial revolution. But everything that the industrial revolution had wrought seemed too temporary. Although coal, exhaust fumes, and boxed food seemed likely, they just hadn't been around long enough or weren't deadly enough. The human genome was living with these things and wasn't showing signs of change. Arnie had run the numbers already using volunteers within his department, and nothing was adding up to human alleles having unusual proteins triggering them in odd ways.
It was time to meet Jody's nephew...
Watch for Part Two of 'The Newest Generation' next week...
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July 14, 2017
Apocalypse Poetry Slam
©2017 Kari Carlisle
You don’t need to know anything about poetry or even like poetry to write a decent poem. A poem doesn’t even need to rhyme. I’ve written little poetry in my lifetime and managed to write these fun poems while sitting in a mind-numbingly boring city council meeting…
Zika, Ebola, black plague, or flu,When humanity ends, so will you.
The young man peered into the sky,Knowing the meteor impact was nigh.Though it marked the total end of life,He smiled to think, the end of all strife.
The sun flares.Power is lost.Man reverts.
It looked at me.Nearly stilled my heart.The AI judged.
The last hive hung silent.Bees alive no longer.
Ode to a Tent:Oh, nylon tent, you are light and airy.You provide shelter yet still easy to carry.We’ll travel by day, finding food to eat.Inside you at night, I’ll raise my feet.All life on Earth may come to an end.The rest of my days in you I will spend.
Now you try! I’ll get you started…
There was an old zombie named Kari…
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You don’t need to know anything about poetry or even like poetry to write a decent poem. A poem doesn’t even need to rhyme. I’ve written little poetry in my lifetime and managed to write these fun poems while sitting in a mind-numbingly boring city council meeting…
Zika, Ebola, black plague, or flu,When humanity ends, so will you.
The young man peered into the sky,Knowing the meteor impact was nigh.Though it marked the total end of life,He smiled to think, the end of all strife.
The sun flares.Power is lost.Man reverts.
It looked at me.Nearly stilled my heart.The AI judged.
The last hive hung silent.Bees alive no longer.
Ode to a Tent:Oh, nylon tent, you are light and airy.You provide shelter yet still easy to carry.We’ll travel by day, finding food to eat.Inside you at night, I’ll raise my feet.All life on Earth may come to an end.The rest of my days in you I will spend.
Now you try! I’ll get you started…
There was an old zombie named Kari…
Click here to receive the Apocalypse Observer Newsletter in your inbox
www.readmota.com
To comment, scroll down and type in your comment. Under Comment As, you can select Anonymous or Name/URL (you don't need to enter a URL). Then hit Publish.
July 7, 2017
Short Story: Death of the Nannybots
©2017 C. Henry Martens
The eggs are perfect, as usual, and the rest of breakfast just as good. For some reason Little Drue seems fascinated with the preparation, watching the housebot as it prepares the meal and serves it. She even asks questions. What an unusual child.
I don't know why Drue attached to me. Perhaps because I am her biological parent, but that is such an antiquated idea. I know no other child that chooses to live with a parent. They all seem satisfied with their nannybots, which is the way it must be intended. Truth be told, I don't know much about what is intended and never really thought about it before Little Drue showed up. She has awakened curiosity in me. Recently I have asked some questions, too.
There really is no reason to ask. Why should we? Our symbiobots supply our minds with anything we desire, anticipating as our interests flow and change. We don't have to think about anything except appreciating what is supplied. The same for our physical needs. Many people choose to be fed through tubes, choosing to avoid the trouble of chewing. Liquid diets are becoming the norm. I must admit, the artificial flavors are enticing. Little Drue prevented my own choice of becoming creche-bound. I decided to adventure by allowing a personal contact, and as time progressed, I am glad I did. We have an unusual life for the times, but it is somehow richer.
“I want to learn to swim today.”
Surprised, I look down to see Drue looking up at me. She no longer clutches my pant leg, now that she is eight. I miss that, but my symbiobot has provided a tutorial on age-specific behaviors, so I understand.
“I'm sorry, Little, but what is swim?”
I am already accessing my bot and receiving information. My immediate impulse is horror. I mean, to enter water until your head submerges and there is no air to breathe? But after the dire warnings and the images of drowning victims, the bot finally gets to less stressful images. Some look like the people were having fun. I am terrified.
“Please, oh puleeze. There's a special bot built just for teaching me, and a, um, that thing...” Drue's eyes light up, “a pool. That's what they call it, a swim-ing pool... real close.”
I think about the first time Little Drue made an unusual request. The ancient bike had to be found and reconditioned, a builderbot making new tires to replace the rotten ones. And the instructobot had made what seemed a life-threatening mistake into an enjoyable success. The infobot had made it seem that injuries were almost certain and that a lot of time and tears would be involved, but the long dormant instructobot knew some tricks, and Drue was riding within twenty minutes. She still uses the little bike, although we are looking for a larger one. I had promised her I would learn to ride if a large bike could be found, but to my relief, in two years nothing has turned up. I thank the recyclebots silently every time I think about it.
“I suppose we could look at the... pool.” I hoped it would be unusable from disuse or the instructobot obsolete and recycled. “We can decide after we see it. Just don't get your hopes up.”
Drue smiles at me. That unnerving smile that seems to suggest she knows something I don't.
§
The hulking bot shadowing Little Drue seems to be having a difficult time keeping up. Its massive treaded feet plod thickly along, always a fraction of a stride behind my precious Little.
I have come to realize that small children always have an impenetrable reason for everything they want, and Drue convinced me that she could walk the half mile to the pool. She said it would be fun, and tried to convince me that I should walk, too, but I saw no reason to be that extreme. My Segchair follows behind so I can study Drue in the outdoor environment.
The spires of habitat towers rise to touch the sky. Each houses fifty thousand people in individual identical spaces. A good half are creche-bound, and recently the info-news announced that the bound would be allotted less space as they never leave their capsule. The politicobots made the decision based on best use of resources. No one objects, least of all the bound, so new towers will house triple the numbers of people.
I see a window and wonder at it. Drue had insisted on a window. I rather enjoy it, so now we have two. Some other person in that tower we are passing must have a reason for one.
Somewhere beyond the slender habitats, there are factory farms, no humans in residence. The bots supply everything efficiently with no interference.
Little Drue is swinging her arms and spinning around occasionally. By now I know it is normal behavior for a child at play. The arms swinging seems to go along with something called “skipping.” Somehow Drue finds things to investigate as she progresses through the sterile jungle of empty corridors between buildings.
Surging ahead suddenly, Drue screams in excitement.
“Here it is. Here it is. See the sign? I almost missed it. It's so faded that I can barely read it.”
The bot stops as though to look. I know it doesn't need to, and it would have directed Drue back if she had passed the entrance.
Although the entrance is weed free and in good repair, there is an air of neglect in the facade. Perhaps it is the light layer of undisturbed dust leading to the door. Now that I notice, I realize our entire journey has been through such a layer of accumulated dust, unmarked by any travel. I will have to complain to the proper bot-authority.
Soon, Little Drue is running around a large room with a giant hole in the center. She screams to hear her echoes as they reverberate from the hard walls. I find it disturbing, as her voice amplifies. I would leave immediately, but Drue found the line of instructobots. She marches up and down the line, her hands clasped behind her like a character in an old military vid as they inspect their troops.
Coming to a decision, Drue announces, “I want this one. It looks like a real person.”
The bot did, indeed, look human. Somehow it had escaped the recycler, I suppose because I hadn't seen one of this model for decades. There had been no reason to disguise bots to appear human for years. But another thought occurred, too, that someone learning to swim might prefer a comforting human-like bot instead of one of the mechanical types. After all, learning to swim would probably be stressful.
“I like that one, too,” I said, agreeing as I admired the form and countenance of the synthetic. The workmanship was impressive, with the device appearing to be a thirtyish woman, red-haired and slightly voluptuous, in some kind of green, two-piece clothing. The clothing seemed quite scant.
I reach out and chuck the synthetic under the chin, and it wakes up immediately.
“Hello,” her voice seems at once husky and soothing, “You may call me Solyndra if you like, and please tell me your own names.”
Drue giggles. She isn't used to conversing with mechanicals that appear so human. My Little introduces herself, omitting the Little, and then introduces me.
“It is my pleasure to meet you, Drue,” the bot focuses her eyes on me, “and also you, Pac. Please, tell me what I can do for you.”
Somehow both Drue and I easily forget that we are conversing with a bot. The effect of the synthetic captivates us and within a few sentences, we feel that we are in the presence of a real person.
Solyndra laughs and questions and makes suggestions and provides explanations. She explains that the hole in the room will fill with water as we speak, and immediately water bubbles from the bottom. With skill and compassion, the bot reinforces Drue's confidence and allays her fears about learning to swim, and I am caught up as well. I decide to challenge myself and try to enter the water, too.
“All we need is proper swimming attire,” states Solyndra, “and then after we get in the shallow end of the pool, I will demonstrate how wonderful swimming can be.”
A room adjacent the echoing chamber takes our measurements and produces a bright pink, skin tight bathing suit for Drue, complete with a ruffle around her hips. My swimming clothes are more staid, a dark blue baggy set of “swim trunks” that made my legs look very pale and skinny.
§ The lesson went well, and I consider the past hours as Little Drue and I ride a carbot toward home. Both of us had enjoyed the experience and now know how to stay afloat and dog paddle. Solyndra promised us that with very few lessons we would be able to do more, becoming competent swimmers who could cross the entire pool and even dive below the surface to touch the bottom. I had my doubts, especially about myself, but could see Drue would learn quickly. She seemed naturally comfortable in the water now that she had her first experience behind her. We joke and laugh on the way home, relating to each other our fears and how silly we had been.
I sleep a dreamless sleep, exhausted from the unusual activity, but anticipating the morrow.
§
Strange, the housebot hasn't opened the window covering to let in the morning light. Even the muscle ache awakening me hasn't kept me from noticing. The bright beyond the drape seems to force its way in regardless, and I wonder what the hell is going on.
I hear Little in the common room, banging on something.
I notice my symbiobot, implanted behind my ear, remains dead. I have no way to access the time or the morning news or order my breakfast. Again, what the hell?
My feet slip into my slippers as they touch the floor. At least something seems normal. But I am going to have to get the bot to prescribe a pain killer for my muscles. The swimming had been more strenuous than I had thought.
The door opens, and Drue peers in.
“I can't get the cereal cupboard open,” she whispers as though afraid to raise her voice, “and the bot won't wake up. It just sits there like it's turned off.”
A power outage, and the tower must have run out of backup. The bot probably sat down to charge and ran out of battery. But they are supposed to be good for several days, so something isn't adding up. I try my symbiobot continuously, feeling the loss, again with no luck.
“I'm hungry, Pac,” complains Little, “and I can't get the cupboard doors open.”
I get up. “Okay, okay. There has to be a way to open them.”
Entering the common room, I notice the housebot sitting in its alcove, motionless. The cupboard resists as I pry at it with my fingers.
“I don't know, Little... it doesn't want to open.”
We sit starring at each other. What else can we do? The bot isn't going to help.
Finally, Drue brightens. “I know.”
She runs to her toy chest and roots around. Proudly she holds up a long skinny object. She shoves the thing toward me with a look of expectation on her face.
“Here... it's a tool that the bot used. He was gonna throw it in the recycler. Can you use it?”
I look at it doubtfully, not having any idea how to use a tool. Tools are for bots.
Drue isn't going to let me off easy, though.
“Look, just stick the end into the crack,” she demonstrated, “and push hard on the other end.”
§
The cereal is okay, but I'm not used to it because the bot always cooks something for me. After I force the door on the cooler, the milk helps. Nothing helps my skinned knuckles, though, and I am hoping the power will come back up so I can get a pain killer.
Bored, we decide to go outside. Thankfully, the door is unlocked. I figure it is a safety procedure when the power goes off. I'd always thought locked doors were odd anyway, as there was no reason to lock them. I remember researching it and discovering that locks were a holdover from the wild days when people would take things because there were shortages and sometimes people would even attack other people without locked doors.
I have never used the door to the stairs, and it takes some effort to understand how to use them. I am very happy to be close to the bottom of our tower. I might have given up if we had been further up.
There are a couple of people walking around outside, and one is watching from a doorway. Very odd. We hadn't seen anyone yesterday and hadn't expected to, and now there are three people besides us in the corridor.
Running up to the closest, a man in morning slippers just as I have, Little Drue startles him.
“I'm hungry,” he says quietly. “What should I do?”
“I can show you,” Drue offers, “if you want to come with us.”
“I haven't been outside before.” The man looks lost but follows Drue back as she returns to me.
I don't know if it is a good idea to invite this guy to hang around, but as he looks about without any apparent focus, it seems he is probably harmless.
The girl in the building entrance cringes away as Drue approaches her. Her eyes get very wide, and she runs back inside and disappears, panicked.
We wander toward the woman some distance from us. She is in the direction of the swimming pool, and it has occurred to me that I might check there to see if the building has power.
By the time we get to the woman, she is finishing a good cry. Her eyes are red and puffy, and she wipes her nose with her sleeve.
“My bot is dead,” she moans, “and my symbiobot, too. I don't know what time it is, and I'm missing my shows.”
I stay silent as Drue invites her to accompany us. I'm not sure about anything, so why not?
“Oh, I can't leave,” the woman seems horrified. “I might get lost. How would I know where to go or how to get back? No, no, I'll just stay here.”
The man following us looks uncomfortable. The thought of getting lost seems to awaken him to the possibility. Without a word, he withers and begins to shuffle away in the direction we had come.
I look up and suddenly realize that there are fifty thousand people in each of these buildings, and I am surrounded by buildings. There are all these people waiting for the power to come on, for their bots to wake up, and they have no idea what to do.
The building with the pool looms ahead, and we hurry in to see if it has power. We are disappointed. The Solyndra bot slumps in her charging alcove, just like all of the other synthetics, her charm completely absent in what had been a vivacious and thoroughly engaging creature. There is nothing left.
§
I have become much less round and have learned to run and carry and break. None of us would have survived without Little Drue. Somehow, she had paid attention to the housebot enough to learn several things. Cooking for one. She also had paid attention to what was being cooked. Fortunately, the group had an old woman in the early years, someone who understood seeds and plants. We all learn from each other now.
I had no idea that big creatures existed on the farms. The bots had used them for making milk and protein. They were starving when we found them, but after we released them from their enclosures, they did better than we did. We learn from watching them and thank them every time we kill to eat.
We had gathered those people we could. Those that would leave the towers. Many would not, and they starved. Many of us died that first winter when we experienced a natural winter. The great engines that controlled the weather had died along with everything else. Sometimes accidents happen, and sometimes people just seem to die for no reason. The numbers of our group seem to be stabilizing, some years losing more than are born and sometimes our numbers growing.
My daughter, Little Drue, has two of her own children now. And my two surviving wives have gifted me with three who have made it to the age of acceptance. The children learn faster than those of us raised by bots. Sometimes I wonder about that. There must be a reason.
The bots still sit in the towers. They have never awakened. While some would have them come to life and return us to our days of ease, I have come to believe we are better suited to the effort it takes in a natural world.
Yesterday someone came up with the idea that we could use written symbols like the old symbiobots did to communicate ideas and even learning. With practice, we should be able to draw them. I like the idea. We can pass on our great discoveries to our children's children... and beyond.
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The eggs are perfect, as usual, and the rest of breakfast just as good. For some reason Little Drue seems fascinated with the preparation, watching the housebot as it prepares the meal and serves it. She even asks questions. What an unusual child.
I don't know why Drue attached to me. Perhaps because I am her biological parent, but that is such an antiquated idea. I know no other child that chooses to live with a parent. They all seem satisfied with their nannybots, which is the way it must be intended. Truth be told, I don't know much about what is intended and never really thought about it before Little Drue showed up. She has awakened curiosity in me. Recently I have asked some questions, too.
There really is no reason to ask. Why should we? Our symbiobots supply our minds with anything we desire, anticipating as our interests flow and change. We don't have to think about anything except appreciating what is supplied. The same for our physical needs. Many people choose to be fed through tubes, choosing to avoid the trouble of chewing. Liquid diets are becoming the norm. I must admit, the artificial flavors are enticing. Little Drue prevented my own choice of becoming creche-bound. I decided to adventure by allowing a personal contact, and as time progressed, I am glad I did. We have an unusual life for the times, but it is somehow richer.
“I want to learn to swim today.”
Surprised, I look down to see Drue looking up at me. She no longer clutches my pant leg, now that she is eight. I miss that, but my symbiobot has provided a tutorial on age-specific behaviors, so I understand.
“I'm sorry, Little, but what is swim?”
I am already accessing my bot and receiving information. My immediate impulse is horror. I mean, to enter water until your head submerges and there is no air to breathe? But after the dire warnings and the images of drowning victims, the bot finally gets to less stressful images. Some look like the people were having fun. I am terrified.
“Please, oh puleeze. There's a special bot built just for teaching me, and a, um, that thing...” Drue's eyes light up, “a pool. That's what they call it, a swim-ing pool... real close.”
I think about the first time Little Drue made an unusual request. The ancient bike had to be found and reconditioned, a builderbot making new tires to replace the rotten ones. And the instructobot had made what seemed a life-threatening mistake into an enjoyable success. The infobot had made it seem that injuries were almost certain and that a lot of time and tears would be involved, but the long dormant instructobot knew some tricks, and Drue was riding within twenty minutes. She still uses the little bike, although we are looking for a larger one. I had promised her I would learn to ride if a large bike could be found, but to my relief, in two years nothing has turned up. I thank the recyclebots silently every time I think about it.
“I suppose we could look at the... pool.” I hoped it would be unusable from disuse or the instructobot obsolete and recycled. “We can decide after we see it. Just don't get your hopes up.”
Drue smiles at me. That unnerving smile that seems to suggest she knows something I don't.
§
The hulking bot shadowing Little Drue seems to be having a difficult time keeping up. Its massive treaded feet plod thickly along, always a fraction of a stride behind my precious Little.
I have come to realize that small children always have an impenetrable reason for everything they want, and Drue convinced me that she could walk the half mile to the pool. She said it would be fun, and tried to convince me that I should walk, too, but I saw no reason to be that extreme. My Segchair follows behind so I can study Drue in the outdoor environment.
The spires of habitat towers rise to touch the sky. Each houses fifty thousand people in individual identical spaces. A good half are creche-bound, and recently the info-news announced that the bound would be allotted less space as they never leave their capsule. The politicobots made the decision based on best use of resources. No one objects, least of all the bound, so new towers will house triple the numbers of people.
I see a window and wonder at it. Drue had insisted on a window. I rather enjoy it, so now we have two. Some other person in that tower we are passing must have a reason for one.
Somewhere beyond the slender habitats, there are factory farms, no humans in residence. The bots supply everything efficiently with no interference.
Little Drue is swinging her arms and spinning around occasionally. By now I know it is normal behavior for a child at play. The arms swinging seems to go along with something called “skipping.” Somehow Drue finds things to investigate as she progresses through the sterile jungle of empty corridors between buildings.
Surging ahead suddenly, Drue screams in excitement.
“Here it is. Here it is. See the sign? I almost missed it. It's so faded that I can barely read it.”
The bot stops as though to look. I know it doesn't need to, and it would have directed Drue back if she had passed the entrance.
Although the entrance is weed free and in good repair, there is an air of neglect in the facade. Perhaps it is the light layer of undisturbed dust leading to the door. Now that I notice, I realize our entire journey has been through such a layer of accumulated dust, unmarked by any travel. I will have to complain to the proper bot-authority.
Soon, Little Drue is running around a large room with a giant hole in the center. She screams to hear her echoes as they reverberate from the hard walls. I find it disturbing, as her voice amplifies. I would leave immediately, but Drue found the line of instructobots. She marches up and down the line, her hands clasped behind her like a character in an old military vid as they inspect their troops.
Coming to a decision, Drue announces, “I want this one. It looks like a real person.”
The bot did, indeed, look human. Somehow it had escaped the recycler, I suppose because I hadn't seen one of this model for decades. There had been no reason to disguise bots to appear human for years. But another thought occurred, too, that someone learning to swim might prefer a comforting human-like bot instead of one of the mechanical types. After all, learning to swim would probably be stressful.
“I like that one, too,” I said, agreeing as I admired the form and countenance of the synthetic. The workmanship was impressive, with the device appearing to be a thirtyish woman, red-haired and slightly voluptuous, in some kind of green, two-piece clothing. The clothing seemed quite scant.
I reach out and chuck the synthetic under the chin, and it wakes up immediately.
“Hello,” her voice seems at once husky and soothing, “You may call me Solyndra if you like, and please tell me your own names.”
Drue giggles. She isn't used to conversing with mechanicals that appear so human. My Little introduces herself, omitting the Little, and then introduces me.
“It is my pleasure to meet you, Drue,” the bot focuses her eyes on me, “and also you, Pac. Please, tell me what I can do for you.”
Somehow both Drue and I easily forget that we are conversing with a bot. The effect of the synthetic captivates us and within a few sentences, we feel that we are in the presence of a real person.
Solyndra laughs and questions and makes suggestions and provides explanations. She explains that the hole in the room will fill with water as we speak, and immediately water bubbles from the bottom. With skill and compassion, the bot reinforces Drue's confidence and allays her fears about learning to swim, and I am caught up as well. I decide to challenge myself and try to enter the water, too.
“All we need is proper swimming attire,” states Solyndra, “and then after we get in the shallow end of the pool, I will demonstrate how wonderful swimming can be.”
A room adjacent the echoing chamber takes our measurements and produces a bright pink, skin tight bathing suit for Drue, complete with a ruffle around her hips. My swimming clothes are more staid, a dark blue baggy set of “swim trunks” that made my legs look very pale and skinny.
§ The lesson went well, and I consider the past hours as Little Drue and I ride a carbot toward home. Both of us had enjoyed the experience and now know how to stay afloat and dog paddle. Solyndra promised us that with very few lessons we would be able to do more, becoming competent swimmers who could cross the entire pool and even dive below the surface to touch the bottom. I had my doubts, especially about myself, but could see Drue would learn quickly. She seemed naturally comfortable in the water now that she had her first experience behind her. We joke and laugh on the way home, relating to each other our fears and how silly we had been.
I sleep a dreamless sleep, exhausted from the unusual activity, but anticipating the morrow.
§
Strange, the housebot hasn't opened the window covering to let in the morning light. Even the muscle ache awakening me hasn't kept me from noticing. The bright beyond the drape seems to force its way in regardless, and I wonder what the hell is going on.
I hear Little in the common room, banging on something.
I notice my symbiobot, implanted behind my ear, remains dead. I have no way to access the time or the morning news or order my breakfast. Again, what the hell?
My feet slip into my slippers as they touch the floor. At least something seems normal. But I am going to have to get the bot to prescribe a pain killer for my muscles. The swimming had been more strenuous than I had thought.
The door opens, and Drue peers in.
“I can't get the cereal cupboard open,” she whispers as though afraid to raise her voice, “and the bot won't wake up. It just sits there like it's turned off.”
A power outage, and the tower must have run out of backup. The bot probably sat down to charge and ran out of battery. But they are supposed to be good for several days, so something isn't adding up. I try my symbiobot continuously, feeling the loss, again with no luck.
“I'm hungry, Pac,” complains Little, “and I can't get the cupboard doors open.”
I get up. “Okay, okay. There has to be a way to open them.”
Entering the common room, I notice the housebot sitting in its alcove, motionless. The cupboard resists as I pry at it with my fingers.
“I don't know, Little... it doesn't want to open.”
We sit starring at each other. What else can we do? The bot isn't going to help.
Finally, Drue brightens. “I know.”
She runs to her toy chest and roots around. Proudly she holds up a long skinny object. She shoves the thing toward me with a look of expectation on her face.
“Here... it's a tool that the bot used. He was gonna throw it in the recycler. Can you use it?”
I look at it doubtfully, not having any idea how to use a tool. Tools are for bots.
Drue isn't going to let me off easy, though.
“Look, just stick the end into the crack,” she demonstrated, “and push hard on the other end.”
§
The cereal is okay, but I'm not used to it because the bot always cooks something for me. After I force the door on the cooler, the milk helps. Nothing helps my skinned knuckles, though, and I am hoping the power will come back up so I can get a pain killer.
Bored, we decide to go outside. Thankfully, the door is unlocked. I figure it is a safety procedure when the power goes off. I'd always thought locked doors were odd anyway, as there was no reason to lock them. I remember researching it and discovering that locks were a holdover from the wild days when people would take things because there were shortages and sometimes people would even attack other people without locked doors.
I have never used the door to the stairs, and it takes some effort to understand how to use them. I am very happy to be close to the bottom of our tower. I might have given up if we had been further up.
There are a couple of people walking around outside, and one is watching from a doorway. Very odd. We hadn't seen anyone yesterday and hadn't expected to, and now there are three people besides us in the corridor.
Running up to the closest, a man in morning slippers just as I have, Little Drue startles him.
“I'm hungry,” he says quietly. “What should I do?”
“I can show you,” Drue offers, “if you want to come with us.”
“I haven't been outside before.” The man looks lost but follows Drue back as she returns to me.
I don't know if it is a good idea to invite this guy to hang around, but as he looks about without any apparent focus, it seems he is probably harmless.
The girl in the building entrance cringes away as Drue approaches her. Her eyes get very wide, and she runs back inside and disappears, panicked.
We wander toward the woman some distance from us. She is in the direction of the swimming pool, and it has occurred to me that I might check there to see if the building has power.
By the time we get to the woman, she is finishing a good cry. Her eyes are red and puffy, and she wipes her nose with her sleeve.
“My bot is dead,” she moans, “and my symbiobot, too. I don't know what time it is, and I'm missing my shows.”
I stay silent as Drue invites her to accompany us. I'm not sure about anything, so why not?
“Oh, I can't leave,” the woman seems horrified. “I might get lost. How would I know where to go or how to get back? No, no, I'll just stay here.”
The man following us looks uncomfortable. The thought of getting lost seems to awaken him to the possibility. Without a word, he withers and begins to shuffle away in the direction we had come.
I look up and suddenly realize that there are fifty thousand people in each of these buildings, and I am surrounded by buildings. There are all these people waiting for the power to come on, for their bots to wake up, and they have no idea what to do.
The building with the pool looms ahead, and we hurry in to see if it has power. We are disappointed. The Solyndra bot slumps in her charging alcove, just like all of the other synthetics, her charm completely absent in what had been a vivacious and thoroughly engaging creature. There is nothing left.
§
I have become much less round and have learned to run and carry and break. None of us would have survived without Little Drue. Somehow, she had paid attention to the housebot enough to learn several things. Cooking for one. She also had paid attention to what was being cooked. Fortunately, the group had an old woman in the early years, someone who understood seeds and plants. We all learn from each other now.
I had no idea that big creatures existed on the farms. The bots had used them for making milk and protein. They were starving when we found them, but after we released them from their enclosures, they did better than we did. We learn from watching them and thank them every time we kill to eat.
We had gathered those people we could. Those that would leave the towers. Many would not, and they starved. Many of us died that first winter when we experienced a natural winter. The great engines that controlled the weather had died along with everything else. Sometimes accidents happen, and sometimes people just seem to die for no reason. The numbers of our group seem to be stabilizing, some years losing more than are born and sometimes our numbers growing.
My daughter, Little Drue, has two of her own children now. And my two surviving wives have gifted me with three who have made it to the age of acceptance. The children learn faster than those of us raised by bots. Sometimes I wonder about that. There must be a reason.
The bots still sit in the towers. They have never awakened. While some would have them come to life and return us to our days of ease, I have come to believe we are better suited to the effort it takes in a natural world.
Yesterday someone came up with the idea that we could use written symbols like the old symbiobots did to communicate ideas and even learning. With practice, we should be able to draw them. I like the idea. We can pass on our great discoveries to our children's children... and beyond.
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June 30, 2017
The Future of Work
©2017 C. Henry Martens
One of the benefits of writing science fiction is entertaining ideas. In order to feed ideas, I have to research and cultivate and extrapolate... and sometimes what I conclude scares the hell out of me. Not necessarily because of an imminent and impending danger, but because of the blinders both government and the public-in-general wear.
We all wear blinders, right? I mean, whether we can't see that the dog is a pain in the ass or that our sweet baby has grown into a manipulative brat or that supporting an ideology isn't going to solve anything, we all turn our heads away and continue living as though everything will come out all right. We all do it.
What is wrong with that is so often we could have avoided a lot of pain and expense if we had just removed the rose-colored glasses... early.
We're doing it again. This is your early warning system alarm going off. Hear it?
We just had a president elected, running largely on a platform of bringing jobs back. Just what does that mean? Do you think that coal mines and drilling for oil will suddenly increase in a world of solar power and growing numbers of electric cars and public transport? Does it mean that these new industries will hire enough people to make up for the workers displaced by outdated and diminishing technologies? Are you thinking that somewhere in China or Mexico or Pakistan there is a guy that just hung up a going-out-of-business sign on a factory, and all those jobs are suddenly going to be flooding back to the United States? And what about all those degrees coming out of those hallowed halls of higher learning? They'll all get good paying jobs, right?
Please... get a grip.
Truth is, we are living the last days of a gilded age. Unless significant realities get recognized and attended to, the proverbial chit will soon hit the fan. What do I mean?
The majority of children born today may not ever have a job. At least not as we presently perceive employment. The statistics bear me out. Manufacturing will almost exclusively be done by machines in the very near future. Even those cheap little kids in Indonesia will soon be replaced by mechanical devices that will build a better product for less money. The economic realities insist on mass production going to robotics.
This is where you start to defend your own ideas about what the reality is. About how in this coming age of enlightenment and ease, people will be freed to pursue their desires, educating themselves and being released from the burden of physical labor to pursue their dreams.
Sure, that will happen. About as likely as your kid growing up to be the next sports phenom or reality star.
Or maybe you think that lifting the burdens of work will allow everyone to paint and dance and play music? Well, sure... as long as they have enough to eat, right?
Who is gonna pay for all this leisure time we are all going to enjoy? Where do you get the money to purchase all these products robots are going to make? Where does food come from if no one is buying your paintings, or everyone is dancing, or music is free? Do the robot owners just give their products away?
I recently saw a demonstration where a robot cooked a gourmet meal. I'd like to know what human chef will be able to compete with a mechanical kitchen helper that can place a hundred thousand perfect dishes on the table? You think music and art are safe?
I suppose engineers will always be employed, right? Not so sure about that. Fruit pickers? Probably not. Geriatric nurses? Perhaps, but surgeons not so much. It seems the only field sure to grow is shuffling papers in our over-regulated “paperless” society.
Remember how computers were supposed to cut down on the use of paper? The laws of unintended consequences made a farce of that. And those same laws will run rampant in the job market of the future.
Artificial Intelligence, some use the term “singularity” for the ultimate manifestation of it, is just around the corner... or not. Giant strides have been made, yet the promising advances often reveal the goalposts have receded. But with each advance, the capabilities of synthetic human labor replacements grows. Those advancements become part of the next generation of machines, those that are replacing us.
The conundrum that always stumps me is how people will make money. I just don't get how a population of privileged, highly advanced, intelligent citizens will feed, clothe, and entertain themselves if they aren't employed and getting a pay check.
There has been talk about a future “national wage.” Can you imagine the screaming over that one? I mean, just exactly who is going to pay for that? Surely the diminishing numbers of employed will not be asked to shoulder a growing burden as their own jobs become threatened. Who does that leave? Well, the people who own the technology, right? When have you ever seen a person making enormous profit volunteer to fund people with nothing to do, no investment in the infrastructure that supports them, and no sweat equity?
If we think the government should solve the advancing problem, you might want to rethink that. Our human history is replete with examples where governments waited until it was too late before they made any efforts to assuage an impending calamity. It seems the slower the problem creeps toward catastrophe, the less quickly humans recognize dangers.
I have one thought regarding solutions. Mechanical devices have and will continue to replace humans, just as machines have largely replaced horses. Human labor will become obsolete just as horses are no longer necessary for labor. We humans invented a term to measure the energy of equine labor being replaced. That term and measurement is “horsepower.” Unlike horses, we can't survive on grass, so we require a medium of exchange. At some point the steel, hydraulics, and electrical technologies replacing us should be evaluated in terms of how much human effort they replace. A unit of energy we could call “manpower” except that it would probably not be politically correct. Regardless of what our energy unit is called, it should be taxed to fund the wages of those it replaces. The sooner we begin, the better the outcome.
Can you imagine the load off younger people if they had some assistance with funding social security and knew they would be supported as jobs became more difficult to find? Perhaps they might feel some relief if their last-ditch struggles in higher education were paid for instead of accumulating massive debt.
People will scream. People will rant. People will claim they are maligned. But the alternative will be a society falling apart and the consequences that attend those kinds of events. I suggest we begin by recognizing a looming problem.
Click here to receive the Apocalypse Observer Newsletter in your inbox
www.readmota.com
To comment, scroll down and type in your comment. Under Comment As, you can select Anonymous or Name/URL (you don't need to enter a URL). Then hit Publish.
One of the benefits of writing science fiction is entertaining ideas. In order to feed ideas, I have to research and cultivate and extrapolate... and sometimes what I conclude scares the hell out of me. Not necessarily because of an imminent and impending danger, but because of the blinders both government and the public-in-general wear.
We all wear blinders, right? I mean, whether we can't see that the dog is a pain in the ass or that our sweet baby has grown into a manipulative brat or that supporting an ideology isn't going to solve anything, we all turn our heads away and continue living as though everything will come out all right. We all do it.
What is wrong with that is so often we could have avoided a lot of pain and expense if we had just removed the rose-colored glasses... early.
We're doing it again. This is your early warning system alarm going off. Hear it?
We just had a president elected, running largely on a platform of bringing jobs back. Just what does that mean? Do you think that coal mines and drilling for oil will suddenly increase in a world of solar power and growing numbers of electric cars and public transport? Does it mean that these new industries will hire enough people to make up for the workers displaced by outdated and diminishing technologies? Are you thinking that somewhere in China or Mexico or Pakistan there is a guy that just hung up a going-out-of-business sign on a factory, and all those jobs are suddenly going to be flooding back to the United States? And what about all those degrees coming out of those hallowed halls of higher learning? They'll all get good paying jobs, right?
Please... get a grip.
Truth is, we are living the last days of a gilded age. Unless significant realities get recognized and attended to, the proverbial chit will soon hit the fan. What do I mean?
The majority of children born today may not ever have a job. At least not as we presently perceive employment. The statistics bear me out. Manufacturing will almost exclusively be done by machines in the very near future. Even those cheap little kids in Indonesia will soon be replaced by mechanical devices that will build a better product for less money. The economic realities insist on mass production going to robotics.
This is where you start to defend your own ideas about what the reality is. About how in this coming age of enlightenment and ease, people will be freed to pursue their desires, educating themselves and being released from the burden of physical labor to pursue their dreams.
Sure, that will happen. About as likely as your kid growing up to be the next sports phenom or reality star.
Or maybe you think that lifting the burdens of work will allow everyone to paint and dance and play music? Well, sure... as long as they have enough to eat, right?
Who is gonna pay for all this leisure time we are all going to enjoy? Where do you get the money to purchase all these products robots are going to make? Where does food come from if no one is buying your paintings, or everyone is dancing, or music is free? Do the robot owners just give their products away?
I recently saw a demonstration where a robot cooked a gourmet meal. I'd like to know what human chef will be able to compete with a mechanical kitchen helper that can place a hundred thousand perfect dishes on the table? You think music and art are safe?
I suppose engineers will always be employed, right? Not so sure about that. Fruit pickers? Probably not. Geriatric nurses? Perhaps, but surgeons not so much. It seems the only field sure to grow is shuffling papers in our over-regulated “paperless” society.
Remember how computers were supposed to cut down on the use of paper? The laws of unintended consequences made a farce of that. And those same laws will run rampant in the job market of the future.
Artificial Intelligence, some use the term “singularity” for the ultimate manifestation of it, is just around the corner... or not. Giant strides have been made, yet the promising advances often reveal the goalposts have receded. But with each advance, the capabilities of synthetic human labor replacements grows. Those advancements become part of the next generation of machines, those that are replacing us.
The conundrum that always stumps me is how people will make money. I just don't get how a population of privileged, highly advanced, intelligent citizens will feed, clothe, and entertain themselves if they aren't employed and getting a pay check.
There has been talk about a future “national wage.” Can you imagine the screaming over that one? I mean, just exactly who is going to pay for that? Surely the diminishing numbers of employed will not be asked to shoulder a growing burden as their own jobs become threatened. Who does that leave? Well, the people who own the technology, right? When have you ever seen a person making enormous profit volunteer to fund people with nothing to do, no investment in the infrastructure that supports them, and no sweat equity?
If we think the government should solve the advancing problem, you might want to rethink that. Our human history is replete with examples where governments waited until it was too late before they made any efforts to assuage an impending calamity. It seems the slower the problem creeps toward catastrophe, the less quickly humans recognize dangers.
I have one thought regarding solutions. Mechanical devices have and will continue to replace humans, just as machines have largely replaced horses. Human labor will become obsolete just as horses are no longer necessary for labor. We humans invented a term to measure the energy of equine labor being replaced. That term and measurement is “horsepower.” Unlike horses, we can't survive on grass, so we require a medium of exchange. At some point the steel, hydraulics, and electrical technologies replacing us should be evaluated in terms of how much human effort they replace. A unit of energy we could call “manpower” except that it would probably not be politically correct. Regardless of what our energy unit is called, it should be taxed to fund the wages of those it replaces. The sooner we begin, the better the outcome.
Can you imagine the load off younger people if they had some assistance with funding social security and knew they would be supported as jobs became more difficult to find? Perhaps they might feel some relief if their last-ditch struggles in higher education were paid for instead of accumulating massive debt.
People will scream. People will rant. People will claim they are maligned. But the alternative will be a society falling apart and the consequences that attend those kinds of events. I suggest we begin by recognizing a looming problem.
Click here to receive the Apocalypse Observer Newsletter in your inbox
www.readmota.com
To comment, scroll down and type in your comment. Under Comment As, you can select Anonymous or Name/URL (you don't need to enter a URL). Then hit Publish.
June 23, 2017
How to Meet Famous People
©2017 Kari Carlisle
One thing I quickly learned attending Phoenix Comicon last month is there is no shortage of celebrities to see and meet. Actors (live action and voice over), graphic artists (graphic novels and video games), and writers and authors are all there to sign autographs, have pictures taken, and participate in panel discussions. Despite being famously mocked by William Shatner on Saturday Night Live in a Star Trek convention skit to “get a life,” fans find comic and similar conventions so enjoyable in part because of the excitement in meeting the players, on screen and behind the scenes, who make their favorite characters and stories come to life.
Curious, I roamed the area where dozens of celebrities were signing autographs during allotted times during the 4-day convention. Curtained stanchions created mazes anticipating control of long lines. I imagined the actors, writers, and artists hiding in small rooms, receiving their adoring fans one by one. I was surprised to see celebrities sitting behind tables in full view of everyone. I got to see some of them without paying! You see, one must pay typically $50 - $100 on average to get an autograph or a picture with a celebrity. I didn’t know that until a friend of mine filled me in. I had considered paying to see one or more actors from favorite TV shows and movies and ultimately did not. I seriously considered paying $100 to meet and get an autograph from Dick Van Dyke.
Dick Van Dyke is an icon of my childhood. Just thinking about meeting him conjured pleasant memories of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang and Mary Poppins. Of greater impact on my young, developing mind was The Dick Van Dyke Show. I grew up on reruns, daily watching Rob Petrie trip over the ottoman and navigate the complexities, simple by today’s standards, of home life, work life, and dealing with the neighbors. Though similar in age to his TV son, Richie, I oddly identified more with the fictional writing staff of Rob, Sally, and Buddy, perhaps influencing to some degree the direction my professional life has taken. At the end of the day, I opted to focus on attending writing-related panels and settle for knowing I was in the same building and hoping to catch a glimpse of him. I didn’t.
In the afternoon, with an hour to kill, I returned to “stalking” celebrities in the autograph area. Of course, I didn’t really recognize most of them, either by face or by name, so my stalking was nothing more than curiosity. Trying not to stare, I glanced a couple of times at Danny Trejo, marveling at how nicely he was smiling, so different from his tough-guy persona. I was disappointed to miss John de Lancie, Q, Captain Picard’s nemesis. My friend who works closely with a lot of actors at several comicons says he’s a nice guy.
Without cost or premeditated effort, I was fortunate to meet and get the autograph of one celebrity. A friend who couldn’t attend Comicon this year had asked one of my group to get this author’s autograph for her, but she had plans to attend another panel. I volunteered as I was planning to spend most of my day in the authors’ area anyway. I had no idea what I was committing to, and it didn’t matter. I wanted my own autograph once I discovered who the author was.
I hadn’t read Outlander but had been wanting to, having seen the first season of the Starz series based on the book. Diana Gabaldon’s name didn’t mean anything to me until I learned that she authored Outlander. She has a multitude of fans, I discovered, as I found myself being herded in a long line of people clutching either their newly purchased book like me or slightly tattered versions obviously brought from home.
Being roughly halfway in the line of hundreds of people, I had a full hour to people watch (What? No Claire or Jamie cosplayers!?), chat with others in line, and learn from those ahead of me the proper etiquette for approaching the author, how much time is acceptable for each person, and how to get my photograph taken with her. You wouldn’t think it’s complicated, but with a finite amount of time scheduled for autographs and hundreds of books to sign, they don’t want anyone to be a detriment to the finely oiled machine that keeps the process moving. I’m happy to report I was able to take Ms. Gabaldon’s picture as she signed my friend’s book, hand my phone to the assistant to take my picture with her, and thank the author, all in the space of mere seconds. An hour for seconds. And I didn’t have to pay!
Fame… you can keep it. I’m not one who is entirely comfortable, let alone desires, to be the center of attention. I enjoy teaching and public speaking because the content is the center of attention, not me. Someone else can have the adoring fans and paparazzi. Case in point: On the first day of Phoenix Comicon, actor Jason David Frank, well known in the Power Rangers franchise, found himself the intended target of an attempted murder. The would-be murderer, believing himself to be a comic book hero, entered Comicon with several firearms and other weapons, intending to kill the actor and any “bad cops” who got in his way. So, yeah, bat crap crazy.
Here’s my advice if you want to meet famous people. Step one: attend comicons. Step two: leave weapons at home. Step three: pay. Step four: stand in long lines for hours. Step five: if you don’t care to meet them and just want to see them, settle for stalking.
Have you met anyone famous? Tell us how you did it in the comments…
Click here to receive the Apocalypse Observer Newsletter in your inbox
www.readmota.com
To comment, scroll down and type in your comment. Under Comment As, you can select Anonymous or Name/URL (you don't need to enter a URL). Then hit Publish.
One thing I quickly learned attending Phoenix Comicon last month is there is no shortage of celebrities to see and meet. Actors (live action and voice over), graphic artists (graphic novels and video games), and writers and authors are all there to sign autographs, have pictures taken, and participate in panel discussions. Despite being famously mocked by William Shatner on Saturday Night Live in a Star Trek convention skit to “get a life,” fans find comic and similar conventions so enjoyable in part because of the excitement in meeting the players, on screen and behind the scenes, who make their favorite characters and stories come to life.
Curious, I roamed the area where dozens of celebrities were signing autographs during allotted times during the 4-day convention. Curtained stanchions created mazes anticipating control of long lines. I imagined the actors, writers, and artists hiding in small rooms, receiving their adoring fans one by one. I was surprised to see celebrities sitting behind tables in full view of everyone. I got to see some of them without paying! You see, one must pay typically $50 - $100 on average to get an autograph or a picture with a celebrity. I didn’t know that until a friend of mine filled me in. I had considered paying to see one or more actors from favorite TV shows and movies and ultimately did not. I seriously considered paying $100 to meet and get an autograph from Dick Van Dyke.
Dick Van Dyke is an icon of my childhood. Just thinking about meeting him conjured pleasant memories of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang and Mary Poppins. Of greater impact on my young, developing mind was The Dick Van Dyke Show. I grew up on reruns, daily watching Rob Petrie trip over the ottoman and navigate the complexities, simple by today’s standards, of home life, work life, and dealing with the neighbors. Though similar in age to his TV son, Richie, I oddly identified more with the fictional writing staff of Rob, Sally, and Buddy, perhaps influencing to some degree the direction my professional life has taken. At the end of the day, I opted to focus on attending writing-related panels and settle for knowing I was in the same building and hoping to catch a glimpse of him. I didn’t.
In the afternoon, with an hour to kill, I returned to “stalking” celebrities in the autograph area. Of course, I didn’t really recognize most of them, either by face or by name, so my stalking was nothing more than curiosity. Trying not to stare, I glanced a couple of times at Danny Trejo, marveling at how nicely he was smiling, so different from his tough-guy persona. I was disappointed to miss John de Lancie, Q, Captain Picard’s nemesis. My friend who works closely with a lot of actors at several comicons says he’s a nice guy.
Without cost or premeditated effort, I was fortunate to meet and get the autograph of one celebrity. A friend who couldn’t attend Comicon this year had asked one of my group to get this author’s autograph for her, but she had plans to attend another panel. I volunteered as I was planning to spend most of my day in the authors’ area anyway. I had no idea what I was committing to, and it didn’t matter. I wanted my own autograph once I discovered who the author was.
I hadn’t read Outlander but had been wanting to, having seen the first season of the Starz series based on the book. Diana Gabaldon’s name didn’t mean anything to me until I learned that she authored Outlander. She has a multitude of fans, I discovered, as I found myself being herded in a long line of people clutching either their newly purchased book like me or slightly tattered versions obviously brought from home.
Being roughly halfway in the line of hundreds of people, I had a full hour to people watch (What? No Claire or Jamie cosplayers!?), chat with others in line, and learn from those ahead of me the proper etiquette for approaching the author, how much time is acceptable for each person, and how to get my photograph taken with her. You wouldn’t think it’s complicated, but with a finite amount of time scheduled for autographs and hundreds of books to sign, they don’t want anyone to be a detriment to the finely oiled machine that keeps the process moving. I’m happy to report I was able to take Ms. Gabaldon’s picture as she signed my friend’s book, hand my phone to the assistant to take my picture with her, and thank the author, all in the space of mere seconds. An hour for seconds. And I didn’t have to pay!
Fame… you can keep it. I’m not one who is entirely comfortable, let alone desires, to be the center of attention. I enjoy teaching and public speaking because the content is the center of attention, not me. Someone else can have the adoring fans and paparazzi. Case in point: On the first day of Phoenix Comicon, actor Jason David Frank, well known in the Power Rangers franchise, found himself the intended target of an attempted murder. The would-be murderer, believing himself to be a comic book hero, entered Comicon with several firearms and other weapons, intending to kill the actor and any “bad cops” who got in his way. So, yeah, bat crap crazy.
Here’s my advice if you want to meet famous people. Step one: attend comicons. Step two: leave weapons at home. Step three: pay. Step four: stand in long lines for hours. Step five: if you don’t care to meet them and just want to see them, settle for stalking.
Have you met anyone famous? Tell us how you did it in the comments…
Click here to receive the Apocalypse Observer Newsletter in your inbox
www.readmota.com
To comment, scroll down and type in your comment. Under Comment As, you can select Anonymous or Name/URL (you don't need to enter a URL). Then hit Publish.
