A Fascinating Wrinkle
A novel titled Call Me, I'll Hide the Body was the new hotness, with a bidding war for both the book and film rights. Millions of dollars involved.
Then it all collapsed because questions were raised about AI use.
The reason, though, is interesting: copyright.
Because something created with AI can't be copyrighted, it raises the question of whether something assisted by AI in the process can be copyrighted. Where do you draw the line? If 5% of the content was written by AI, can it be copyrighted? 20%? Who knows?
The problem is that no one wants to pay millions of dollars for rights to something that can't be copyrighted. It renders the IP somewhat useless.
It's a mess, and I don't know how it gets resolved. It will, eventually, but it's going to take time.
The author denies using AI, but the publisher dropped him anyway. What's odd, though, is that he should have been able to prove he wasn't using AI to write his book. It's a basic principle of sound file retention.
I have a Word document for every day I worked on the book. For five years. I do this because if I make a change I regret, I can go back and look at the original text before it was changed. So no one could ever claim I used AI, because I could show them everything from the first four hundred words of the first draft forward.
Thoughts
Eli 25.0 sent me this quote from an article on ethical research, which was partially presented as a series of questions. The last question was this:
Have you forgiven yourself in advance for the limitations in what you will achieve?
I never imagined a single sentence could be so profound.
This is something I've never been able to do. Ever. I'm sure some of you are the same way. Somehow, just reading it gave me an enormous sense of relief.
I wrote this on a post-it and it's under my monitor now, where I'll see it every day. I have one other quote next to it, from Carlos Alcaraz:
It's amazing to be able to fight for big things.
Those two sentences cover much ground.
A Satisfied Customer
I think my dentist is money laundering.
I'm not complaining, mind you. It's a genuine boon for customer service.
The first time I went, six months ago, I walked in and asked if I could make an appointment to get my teeth cleaned. The offices were only half a mile from our house, and I decided to walk in and take a look around before I committed.
For new customers, two cleanings and x-rays for $125. Outrageous.
The receptionist said, "We can see you right now." Seriously?
I sailed right in. The hygienist who cleaned my teeth was a brute, and the woman who polished my teeth had probably never done it before, but whatever.
I noticed this week that my Sara Boynton twelve-month calendar, on August 5, said "DENTIST." No explanation. No details.
Present me cursed past me and decided to walk in and ask if I had an appointment or if I was just reminding myself to make one.
"Tomorrow at 1:30," the receptionist said, and I thanked her and stopped at the door on my way out to put in my earbuds. "Or would you just like to go in now?" she asked.
I looked at her with a large WTF on my face.
"Since you're already here," she said, "and the hygienist is here today." I nodded dumbly and she said they'd be right with me.
I figured they were fitting me in and I'd wait for a while, which was fine. Nope. Thirty seconds later, I'm called back.
This time, the hygienist was quite good.
The dentist looked at my x-rays and said, "That baby tooth is hanging by a thread. It has to come out sometime."
I said, "That baby tooth graduated college before you were born. It can handle itself." He burst out laughing and we got alone fine.
There's no way this place could possibly be legit. Or more convenient.
Stigmata: Screwdriver Edition
Sure, you thought I was crazy.
And why not? I probably am. It doesn't mean I'm wrong, though.
Isolated from the other screwdrivers, resting comfortably on a paper towel, the purple screwdriver continues to spontaneously weep its purple tears.
What trauma could a screwdriver have? What dark secrets?
Only the screwdriver knows.
Friday Links!
Eli 25.0 has a birthday today!
Leading off this week, what an adventure: The Boys Who Ran Away to New York: How Two Dublin Kids Fooled the World in 1985.
This is an incredible, bizarre, tragic story: https://wThe mystery of why Sonia Exelby paid a man to kill her.
An even-handed article on what AI can and can't do in a specific use case: What happens when you put AI to work deciphering lost languages?
From the Texas Monthly archives, and it's terrifically witty: The Hog Chronicles.
Incredibly, it still lives: Nudists, peaceniks and freeloading travellers: the people keeping the Esperanto dream alive.
Strawberries have this problem, too: Gassed Up: Tomato ripening rooms reveal the growing costs of the produce industry’s massive consolidation.
From Wally, and some of these are fantastic: 10 Biggest Lord of the Rings LEGO Sets, Ranked by Piece Count. This next includes two famous science fiction authors and a toaster: The Brave Little Toaster. An interesting read: Who Were the Sea Peoples? Exploring references in Christopher Nolan’s The Odyssey.
From David G., and it will never get old: Lawyer Reacts to the Insane Waterpark That Killed 6 People.
From Chris M., and it's an excellent read: We used to be able to buy things in this country: Locking up toothpaste was a warning sign that our executive class was crazy.
Unspeakable
I will tell the tale.
A few weeks ago, C brought out a pile of screwdrivers. "Something leaked all over them," she said. She cleaned the screwdrivers and put them in a wire basket.
On Sunday, I went looking for a screwdriver.
The purple one, the one in the photograph, was the perfect size. I picked it up and recoiled because it was covered in some kind of oily liquid, and there were purple tears of something along its spines.
I checked the other screwdrivers. They were clean and dry.
Odd, I thought. I washed the purple screwdriver--thoroughly--and used it without incident. Afterwards, it went into the wire basket.
Today, I needed it again. I pulled it out of the wire basket and IT WAS FULL OF PURPLE TEARS again.
The other screwdrivers, once again, were clean and dry. I could draw only one conclusion: the purple screwdriver is weeping.
What unspeakable hell is this screwdriver enduring? Will it ever be free? Or will it weep unto eternity?
I for one, am not encouraged.
Project 56, Starting With a Random Note About Yesterday
I originally called the Skipper "Captain" in yesterday's post. I've lost all credibility.
We have dozens of sports records in our family, all held by myself or Eli 24.11. He's surpassed me in most things by now, but my running records, particularly for shorter distances, are holding.
Mostly because he hasn't tried to beat them, but still. I'll take what I can get.
Last week he announced Project 56, his very brief training period to beat my 440 record (57). That's not fast, for a track runner, but it's not a pushover, either.
Also, the project name. Every attempt to beat a record has to have a cool project name. It's essential.
He has a few advantages. One, he's wearing spikes and I wore regular running shoes (heavy ones back then, too). Two, he's on a synthetic surface while I was running on a red dirt track. Three, the fastest 800 meter runner in Oxford history is helping him train, and is going to pace him during his attempt.
He's become the ultimate "guy who knows a guy" (or girl) for every conceivable situation.
Plus he's running on the same track where Roger Bannister first broke four minutes in the mile. Not cinders anymore, of course, but the same physical location. Epic.
He messaged me last weekend and said he'd done a test at 300 meters in 41.8 seconds. That translates to a 400-meter (440 yards, or very close) time of anywhere from 56.7 to 58.4, depending on his ability to hold form for the last 100 meters.
In other words, it doesn't appear to be a route.
He still has 3+ weeks of speed training to do, so I may be cooked. But he promised to have video of the record, at least, so I can enjoy watching him run that fast.
It's a great feeling when you're running as fast as you can. Nothing like it.
A Three-Hour tour
I've been consumed by a fiendishly difficult exercise this morning: how to map the Beatles to the characters on Gilligan's Island.
I know. It's an intellectual powerhouse of a problem. I'm ambitious.
Paul is easy. He was always far more interested in the business end of music than the other three, so he's Mr. Howell.
John was considered the intellectual of the group, so he's the Professor.
Ringo is the easiest of all. Gilligan, clearly.
Then it gets sticky. Who's George?
The Skipper doesn't really fit. He was gruff but lovable, which isn't George's vibe. Ginger or Marianne? Nope.
George also had a wicked sense of humor (he was involved in The Rutles, This is Spinal Tap, Life of Brian, and Withnail and I, among others). It's impossible to reduce him to a stereotype (although the mystic probably comes closes).
I'm at an impasse, unless we use the Bob Denver Adjacency Factor to consider another series Bob Denver was in. The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis, to be exact, and Denver's character Maynard G. Krebs. Wikipedia says "Maynard plays the piano and bongos, collects tinfoil and petrified frogs..."
If any of the Beatles collected tinfoil and petrified frogs, it would definitely be George. And the character is musical. If you want to consider beatniks (like Krebs) philosophical or spiritual, there's another connection.
I think that's as close as I'm going to get, unless one of you has a better idea. Or do they map better to another series entirely?
The Cool Shit Vortex
There's an entire genre of videos on YouTube that should be be titled Cool Shit Happening in New York.
An example is
this guy, who straps an entire DJ setup to himself and wanders around the city doing incredible things (and if you want to see two unbelievable moments, check out the violin player at 3:01:00 and the singer at 3:20:00).
It's incredible.
The last half hour of that stream takes place at an entrance to Central Park, which I've walked past many times.
There are hundreds of other Cool Shit Happening in New York videos. Rappers, singers, subway musicians, all performing in Manhattan in places I walk past all the time.
I've lived here almost a year now and walked many, many miles in Manhattan. And, to be entirely clear, I HAVE NEVER SEEN ANY OF THIS COOL SHIT HAPPENING.
All of this must be happening in a parallel universe.
I exist in the THIS IS REASONABLY COOL BUT ALSO PLEASE CURB YOUR DOG MADAM universe, which is quite fun but doesn't have hip hop violinists and street DJs and nurses with Grammy level voices wandering the streets.
It does, however, have me.
The Music Spreadsheet
You may remember that I discussed creating a spreadsheet with the release dates for albums by the Beatles, Rolling Stones, and Beach Boys, and listening to them in chronological order with the same gap between them as occurred historically.
That's a mouthful. I think I need a nap.
This was going to be historically accurate, but not terribly fun because it was going to take 12 years to complete the listening (1963-1974 release dates).
Changing the format to have one month represent each year of releases works much better, and in only a year, Eli 24.11 and I will have listened to all releases by the three groups.
This is all to say that I'm happy to share the spreadsheet if any of you are interested. Just email me.
They Say It's Your Birthday
C's birthday, in this case.
She's like me in that she doesn't want a big fuss. I've tried.
For my birthday, though, all I wanted to do was go to the Jimmy John's in NYC I hadn't visited to see if I could find S-tier Dr. Pepper. We went to four, it took hours, and she didn't mind.
I remembered that and realized her birthday should be exactly what she wants, like she did for me.
A small bundle of flowers. One simple gift. A card. And we're walking to lunch soon.
Surprisingly compatible, her and I.
Have a good day and I'll see you tomorrow.
