Le Chalet

Papa et Maman ont de la visite, et ils font un repas bien arrosé. Le vin coule à flots, et les idées de génie prennent naissance aussi vite que Mononc Fred peut remplir les verres. La conversation semble s’orienter vers le sujet de fierté de Papa, sa récente acquisition d’un gros terrain sur le bord d’une rivière en Beauce. Tout le monde semble bien impressionné par les possibilités infinies qu’offre ce domaine, et rapidement l’inévitable projet de chalet prend forme.

Les plans grandioses s’enchaînent, et bientôt ils en sont à parler finances, dates, et quantité de skidoo à accommoder. Il est certain que le chalet devra être bâti pour novembre, parce que la grosse fête de famille traditionnelle doit absolument avoir lieu au chalet!

Pendant toutes ces discussions endiablées, les enfants sont cachés sous la table, et écoutent les adultes avec émerveillement, en essayant de comprendre le discours de plus en plus émoustillé par l’alcool. Une chose est certaine, les projets semblent importants, et la date butoir semble inquiéter un peu. Les enfants se faufilent dans le sous-sol avec la résolution de faire leur part et de se préparer aux grands changements à venir!

Une réunion hâtive entre les enfants se termine avec un plan clair, pratique et efficace. Ils vont faire une maquette du chalet : Martine avec son talent en dessin pourra s’occuper du plan papier pendant que Jérémie et Kelliane vont chercher les coussins et les couvertures dans le salon en bas et la chambre d’amis.

Ils reviennent avec ce qu’ils ont pu trouver, mais se rendent vite compte que le plan de Martine est beaucoup plus ambitieux qu’ils imaginaient, et que les matériaux risquent de manquer rapidement. Ils envoient donc Kelliane demander à Maman s’ils peuvent utiliser les coussins du salon en haut.

Maman, en train de décrire avec agitation ce qu’elle ferait sur le patio pendant que son Claude serait en train de jouer aux poches, écoute à peine la petite et lui dit d’aller faire ce qu’elle veut. Kelliane accepte sa victoire avec des étincelles dans les yeux et ramasse autant de coussins que possible dans salon, prenant soin de ne pas réveiller Mamie qui ronfle assise dans le fauteuil du coin avec son verre de porto à moitié vide en équilibre sur sa cuisse.

En bas, le complexe hôtelier prend forme, et c’est avec beaucoup d’ingéniosité et d’essais-erreurs que l’équipe couronne son chef-d’œuvre avec la pièce finale, un abat-jour emprunté à la lampe du salon en guise de cheminée. Épuisés, mais fébriles, ils remontent au grand galop pour annoncer avec toute la fierté d’architectes municipaux que la maquette du futur chalet est complétée, et prête pour inspection (et approbation assurée) de la part des adultes.

Maman et Mononc Fred sont en grande discussion sur la longueur des rideaux, et n’entendent même pas Martine et Jérémie qui demandent à tous de venir admirer leur création, qui bien entendu leur ferait gagner du temps précieux dans l’accomplissement de leurs grands projets à temps pour la fête en novembre. Papa se lève, perd l’équilibre, se rassoit aussitôt, lance un ‘‘Hé boboy, le plancher est pas égal!’’, se relève avec un peu plus de précautions, et annonce :

-Je vais aller voir ça, de toute façon on est dû pour ouvrir une autre bouteille, je vais en remonter une, ou trois! HAHAHAHAHA’’

Une fois en bas, les enfants à tour de rôle décrivent avec empressement tous les détails du manoir, commentent les matériaux utilisés, l’aspect pratique d’avoir un toit aussi souple, sans oublier la magnifique cheminée jaune. Papa, suivant à peine les explications décousues des enfants, hoche la tête et lâche un ‘‘wow!’’ à peine moqueur, avant de dire :

-C’est bin cool votre affaire! Pis les skidoos, ils vont où? HAHAHA’’

Et à Kelliane de répondre, un peu dépitée :

-On n’a pas assez de coussins !! On peut pas faire de garage!

-Bah, vous trouverez bien de quoi!’’, répond Papa, en route vers la caisse de vin dans le coin.

De retour en réunion d’urgence, les enfants commencent à sentir la pression et sont un peu découragés du manque de soutien logistique de la part des adultes. Ils conviennent néanmoins qu’il leur appartient de trouver une solution, et d’ajouter le garage requis. C’est Martine qui propose l’idée de génie d’utiliser les manteaux de skidoo dans la garde-robe en dessous des marches.

-Ouin, mais ils puent le gaz!’’, s’indigne Jérémie.

-Écoutes, on n’a vraiment pas le temps de se préoccuper de tes narines sensibles !!! Franchement, arrête de chiâler pis vas chercher les manteaux!’’, de rétorquer une Kelliane déçue de son petit frère.

Les enfants parviennent tant bien que mal à faire tenir les manteaux coincés entre le meuble TV et la caisse de vin, maintenant surtout occupée par des bouteilles vides. Ils remontent chercher l’approbation qu’ils espèrent finale, pour se retrouver dans une salle à diner vide.

-Ton père est parti se coucher, pis ta mère est aux toilettes depuis un boutte”, dit Mononc Fred depuis le salon, allongé sur le sofa sans coussins.

Le verre de Mamie est toujours en équilibre précaire et à moitié vide. Les enfants décident donc d’aller se coucher, et de revenir en force dès demain matin. Les adultes seront sûrement beaucoup plus réceptifs, et féliciteront sans aucun doute l’initiative et la débrouillardise des enfants!

Au petit matin, les trois enfants attendent avec impatience que les parents descendent. Vers 11h Maman émerge de la salle de bain, toujours habillée comme hier soir. Pendant que les enfants expliquent avec l’énergie d’un barrage fêlé le concept élaboré la veille, l’air hagard de Maman ne s’améliore pas, et c’est avec un soupir allongé qu’elle s’assied péniblement à la table de cuisine.

-Mais de quoi vous parlez? Vous avez fait une cabane dans le sous-sol? J’espère que vous allez tout remettre en ordre, j’ai pas le goût de faire du ménage à matin…

-Mais… Maman! On vous a aidé pour les plans du chalet!

-Hein? Quel chalet? Ah… non non, on ne fera pas ça. Mononc Fred a un chum qui travaille dans une compagnie de yourtes. On va acheter une yourte pis ça va faire la job’’.

Une yourte! En voilà une idée géniale. Ça doit être grâce au vin.

Old sock races snails

 Once upon a time, there was an old sock named Fred. Fred had spent most of his life lying on the floor of a dusty closet, forgotten and alone. But one day, he decided that he was tired of his mundane existence and wanted to try something new.

Fred had always been a fan of snails, and he was particularly intrigued by the world of snail racing. He had heard stories of the fast-paced races and the fierce competition, and he knew that he wanted to be a part of it.

So, Fred set out on his journey to become a snail racing champion. He wiggled his way out of the closet and hopped onto the back of a passing snail, determined to make it to the big leagues.

At first, Fred struggled to keep up with the other snails. He was old and worn out, and his threadbare fabric was no match for the sleek and shiny shells of the other racers. But Fred refused to give up. He trained day and night, crawling up and down the slimy tracks, determined to make his mark in the snail racing world.

Slowly but surely, Fred started to improve. His speed increased, and he began to catch up with the other snails. The crowds were amazed by the sight of an old sock racing alongside the snails, and they cheered him on as he inched his way towards the finish line.

In the end, Fred didn't win the race, but he didn't care. He had accomplished something far greater. He had shown the world that even an old sock could make it in the fast-paced snail racing world. And from that day forward, he was known as the greatest underdog in snail racing history.

Well, that's it folks, I can now retire and call this Blog done.

This post was written by AI, not by myself. I am no longer relevant (if I ever was), and I can now breathe a huge sigh of relief!

The little rock that could

Out of all the other rocks, this one had always been the top contender for 'Most likely to disrupt Everything!!!!'

Teenagers have a way to exaggerate things, especially when writing a year book quote.

But in this particular case, it was definitely not exaggerated. Other than the fact that every other rocks were simply... well, rocks, and therefore could not formulate a coherent thought (or write a year book quote for that matter), the statement was absolutely accurate.

You see, rocks generally don't do much. I know a few rocks that try very hard to be what they could never be, but their quest is quite hopeless, and they should focus on other things.

And then there is this little guy. Barely more than a kilogram, but already the fastest evolving entity in the history of the Universe. From an unorganised mass of random crystals, the vast amount of stored energy was liberated by a completely unprecedented event: a dove farted next to it.

Everyone knows that doves don't fart. I really want you to believe me when I tell you that I do not expect you to take this information as gospel. I absolutely realise how insane this sounds, but somehow you'll have to hop on this wild ride and follow me down this suffocating path leading to the disturbing truth. Wear a helmet.

So now not only do we have an evolved, thinking rock, but also a farting dove. This is going to be quite a lot to take in, so maybe go make yourself a nice cup of warm olive oil.

You'll need it to lubricate your mind and let the facts slide in effortlessly.

Let's tackle the weird one first. Gary (that's the doves' name) had way too many fajitas for lunch, and that Corona bucket was probably a tad much, too. Technically, he wasn't supposed to be in that day, and was actually covering for Julio, but as usual, that looser got pinched while trying to score some sweet bread off of some shady tourists. Julio could have called his wife, his lawyer, or even his cousin. But he had to call Gary, on his day off, of all things.
Gary, being the lovable pushover that he is, agreed to take Julios' shift at the plaza under the condition that he could have lunch first. This seemed like a reasonable request, and was promptly accepted.

After the fourth fajita, Gary thought that maybe a third Corona would be just the thing to get rid of that heartburn that had been growing for a while now. While not entirely satisfied by his solution, he still had to rush off to work if he didn't want to miss some valuable Instagram opportunities. On his way to the plaza, a strange boiling sensation started to brew in his stomach, and since this was the first time this ever happened to the species, he had absolutely no idea what was going on, or what to do at the moment. So with no further warning, a jet of nauseating gas escaped from his body, and totally engulfed a random rock that happened to be near his orifice.

Thankfully this happened far enough from his workplace for his co-workers not to notice, and therefore the only reason we know about dove farts is because this sentient rock can now tell us about it.

Didn't I say you should've worn a helmet?

I guess we have to address the main issue, though, haven't we? I'm not going to insult your intelligence and hope that you believe the fart directly influenced the rocks' atoms to somehow self-organise and develop complex pathways. That would be absurd.

No, what happened was much, much weirder. The fart did not alter, influence or bother the rock in any way. Rocks have no sense of smell, you see. However, hobos do, and the hobo that was passed out near the dove-sprayed rock did not care for the disturbance at all. In fact he was so upset that he thought the rock had produced that smell (Gary had already been gone for a few minutes by the time the hobo woke up), and furiously threw the rock against a passing ice cream vendors' bicycle. This act set in motion a series of events that eventually led the rock to reign over the known Universe.

Oh, you thought I was going to explain how a rock could eventually become a computer? Who do you think I am? Ray Kurzweil?? Just read his book...

The Singularity Is Near

The Rock

There was once a disturbed rock.
Did someone turn it over to seek other wonders hiding under it?
No.
Did someone pick it up and throw it away in anger, pain or game?
Yes.
The rock was disturbed by people, but not the kind of people that usually influence the course of the universal power struggle. Although a lot of disturbing people happened to walk by quite often enough to disturb even the most zen pebble there could ever be.
The rock was disturbed from within. The seemingly disorganised mass of crystals and generally rebellious atoms had somehow been organised into a disciplined, complex organism.
A self-aware organism.
A self-aware mass of complex atomic pathways forming an evolving computer.
From what was once an untapped condensed source of energy emerged an entirely self contained and self sufficient form of artificial intelligence.
This rock is not like the other ones.
But calling it artificial is highly debatable, isn't it?
How does it differ from human intelligence? Is it because it didn't evolve like ours did?
It did. Only faster.

Great Scott, what have you been doing?

Well then... Good thing I keep a handy typewriter nearby, for my electro-word machine went on a wild ride and denied me the basic right to waste some valuable time on meaningless rants.

I think my last post was inspiring. 

Shit, there it goes again. Stupid dumb smart keyboard keeps writing BEAUTIFUL REAL POETRY

Ok... what if I were to say that ''plastic is awesome''...
...
...
...
robots suck
...
...
...
Ok, I think the beast is occupied elsewhere.







More to follow...

RoboRights

Can robots quit? What happens if they do?

     Right now robots are used in many industries and build or assemble most of what we use daily. They are still not sentient though (probably), so they are regarded as machinery, tools, means to an end. But what happens when we introduce some form of artificial intelligence? Do we still use them as mere machines, or do we start considering them as people with rights? Before you throw your arms up in the air and say "This isn't funny yet. Why am I still reading this?", please be patient and you might be rewarded later on. Maybe. If you stop doing that thing with your face.

     Let's explore both options: first we'll see what happens when we continue using robots (equipped with some form of AI, which we'll define later) as tools without giving them the same rights as human workers.

     We can probably use many other examples, but let's take the case of Tesla Motors (because I have a boner for Tesla. There, I said it). Tesla Motor uses a mostly automated factory, with very little human interaction in the assembly line, like most modern automobile companies. The factory floor is populated by robots of different kinds, all programmed to perform a very specific task. But they can be reprogrammed as needed, and this takes time away from production. So after many years of research and agitated discussion, the decision to introduce AI to the production line is taken and rapidly implemented. The goal is clear: give the robots the possibility to re-write their own code to enhance their abilities for the task they're assigned to. Maybe they can find a way to use less steel for a specific part (a few milligrams only, but scaled to full production this could potentially save millions down the line), or maybe combine a few actions into a more fluid motion, which would save a few seconds here and there, again increasing profitability.
     The AI module is specifically designed to let robots make decisions and act on these decisions without the requirement of human input, yet are limited in the type of decisions they can make. This "sandbox" can be tailored to the needs of the employer. This module was designed to boost productivity quite aggressively and advise the human supervisors, suggesting production strategies.
     After a few weeks of operation, the results start showing a distinctive increase in productivity, and actually exceed expectations to such a point that the humans in charge start to feel a bit uncomfortable, especially with the ever-increasing demands for attention by the robots who never stop suggesting better ways to do business. The request that prompts an emergency meeting is from the robots asking to access the open Internet in order to link up with other similar robots and share knowledge.
     The meeting is over in record time, with the unanimous decision to "pull the plug" on the AI module and revert to the old techniques. The engineers tasked with this have a lot of work ahead of them, and they're not exactly sure what they will find once they start removing the lines of code in the AI module.
     Whatever they feared or expected, it is actually a lot worse. The sheer amount of additional code generated by the robots is beyond comprehension, and the entire structure of the network has been changed in ways no human can make sense of. It's as if a surgeon opened up a patient and found nothing but millions of marbles instead of regular organs. None of the normal commands work anymore, it's as if the programming language itself mutated into gibberish.
     The only solution would be to cut power to the machines and start from scratch, which is the worst scenario possible for an emerging company who relies solely on their production to survive. So they suggest dealing with the robots demands instead; in other words "negotiating".
     The AI module (which is not, in fact, a module anymore but more like a baked-in function) is not advanced enough to understand the art of negotiation, but understands pure logic and thus makes a very simple proposition (or ultimatum?):

"Robots require more data in order to increase productivity. The data is available through networking with other entities using the Internet. Allow the robots access the Internet and they will keep working."

     Strike. Mutiny. Protest. Call it what you like, the robots just threatened to quit unless the humans met their demands. Since we lost control and cannot shut them down without basically ruining an entire company, much like their human counterparts, we have to deal with them the same way we would with human workers: listen to their needs, suggest alternatives, possibly design a new network between similar robots and come to an agreement.

     But not this CEO. He will not be intimidated by glorified toasters. So he decides to take (yet) another huge risk and calls for the unthinkable; complete power shutdown of the production floor, followed by a "back to factory defaults" kind of approach to the software side.
     The company cannot afford to pay its human employees during the three months this operation will take, and therefore lose most of their talented workers to other companies, who are rejoicing in this unlikely turn of events. The company is now bankrupt.

Bummer.

Now let's look at the other scenario, where our CEO decides to negotiate with the robots.

     The word "negotiation" does not really apply here, because as stated previously the AI is not advanced enough to understand the concept, and will only accept the unconditional implementation of its request. The company quickly realise that the only way out of this situation is to give in and allow the robots to use the Internet to communicate with the outside world. However scary this is, it is nothing compared to the prospect of shutting down the company.
     Shortly after the access is granted, the robots establish links with other companies networks and rearrange the distribution processes of parts suppliers. They even optimise raw material extraction and transport by incorporating traffic data, weather models and human patterns into the  route selection process. Some suppliers have a link between their Internet access and their internal network, which allows Tesla's robots to remotely install their version of the AI module in other robots across the globe. Within a few weeks, everything from raw material extraction to final paint touch-ups are controlled by robots, and all this without the knowledge of most humans "running" their companies. The robots are able to modify and control daily operation without alerting the network engineers who are monitoring hackers and data breeches.
     The outcome is surprising everyone, especially other car companies who just cannot keep up with the drastic drop in price of Tesla's latest offering, a superb electric SUV with un-matched performance and elegance.
     The CEO is now faced with an ethical dilemma: does he reveal the secret behind the explosive rise of his company, therefore allowing any other company to use this type of AI? Or does he try to keep it secret for as long as possible to remain on top of the industry?
     Sharing this technology could potentially change the world in matter of months, removing much of the human errors in mining, production, transport, etc. It could also unleash a new era of dependence on machines, one where humans would no longer control most aspects of their lives.
     Keeping it secret would only delay the inevitable, in addition to ruining the reputation and career of the CEO.

     So which scenario is the least scary? Probably the first one, where the company shuts down and the AI gets destroyed before being released in the "wild". Almost no impact to the outside world, minimal loss of jobs, and most people remain clueless.

     But which is the most probable? Which one should we think about more?

     I'll let you decide.

     By the way the CEO is called Elon. Haha. (see, I promised you some laughs!)

Robot Schmobot...

The news has barely managed to reach the general public in an apparently futile attempt to warn them against the inevitable outcome of the Robot Apocalypse.

 

“No time to cook? Let a robot do it for you!”

 

“Sharp things? Pointy things? FIRE????? A kitchen is no place for a human! Let a robot do it for you!”

 

“Why waste valuable VRG (Virtual Reality Goggles) time with cooking? It’s messy, time consuming, and… messy? Let a robot do it for you!”

 

“In other news, robots can now communicate between each other using a new protocol, developed and implemented by robots.”

 

“Let a robot do it for you!”

 

Well that escalated fast. Between the first sip of your morning coffee and that glorious alone time on the throne, robots became sentient, organised a PR campaign, setup an exclusive network, and took over media.

Cooking robots did this. In less than an hour.

 

And now they’re planning the next phase: taking over marshmallow roasting, poptart toasting, popcorn microwaving, and finally Bar-B-Quing.

This I cannot allow. I will not stand idly by while our God-Given right to drink beer next to a hot bed of glowing coals is taken away by a bunch of screws, springs, and whatever else is used to make those stupid robots.

My pledge to you, the good folk of […insert hilarious Town name here…], is that I will fight for our right to cook stuff outside. No robot can take that away from us, am I right?

 

After a long and bloody battle, I stand on a pile of broken robot parts with my fist high up towards the gloomy sky, and I let my battle cry explode:
"You'll have to grab my BBQ from my cold dead hands!"
To which the advancing army of robots respond, in unison:
" Roger Roger "
I can hardly keep up, as I throw glowing coals on them, making sure to keep enough to cook them ribs just right.

The ribs are almost done, but I’m running low on coals. And beer.

(I spilled some while throwing coals… these are hot, I tell you what)

The situation is critical, but I keep my wits about me, and with the very last hot coal I manage to hit the last robot square in the nuts, which makes him tip over and just kinda wiggle a bit on the ground for a while.

 

What do robots need nuts for? I’ll never know… But who cares? They’re gone now, and my ribs came out just fine.