Tuesday, 7 March 2017
Morose Tuesday Thoughts
The Artificial Intelligence geeks are closing in on passing grades for the Turing Test. If I understand it correctly, they pass the test when an unsuspecting human can talk with a machine for longer than 15 minutes without realizing they are talking to a machine. Likewise, the Filthie Test lasts about 15 minutes too - and at least 50% of the women subjected to it fail it within the first 5 minutes. That's generally how long it takes me to realize that I am talking to an idiot. Another 25% will fail it in the remaining time allotment. 10% wills skate along the borderline of my patience and the only reason I listen to them is that they are capable of getting things right once in awhile. The rest - when they speak I shut my pie hole and listen. Most of 'em are smarter than I am and have had more respectable life experiences than I have. Hmpfff - most of 'em are older than I am too. I know, right? Who woulda thunk that a blogger that specializes in fart jokes and out house commentary - could be an intellectual snob? HAR HAR HAR!
Brig is one of those ladies. I didn't say anything in the comments, there are plenty of distinguished and respectable bloggers there to support her - there always is over there, I suppose. When I drop by I just listen to my moral and intellectual superiors do their thing. (I say that seriously, with respect). What a wonderful daughter: the old boy can lean on her as he braces for that last long journey and she stays positive and strong for him. Having your ashes spread over an old hunting camp? That is a farewell fit for a king! I love that picture of those kings in their glory days when the biggest care was having enough rabbits for the pot, and having enough shells for the rabbits. From where I sit, that old boy has lived well and he'll die well too. It doesn't get any better than that for us guys and no bones about it.
My daughter was a stupid and difficult child and today she's a stupid and difficult adult. My ashes will probly end up in a land fill or at the bottom of an outhouse somewhere (a fitting final resting place, given my sense of humour). Whatever - ashes are only ashes and when I go my soul goes to it's Maker and my heart to the winds. So it goes for all of us.
I sincerely believe that these difficult and painful journeys ultimately end well, and I wish Brig and her Pop all Godspeed.