Battle Of Artificial Intelligence and My Gloves

Our Morning Walking Trail

I’d almost decided to finish with my blogs. I thought they were old fashioned and becoming redundant. Nowadays, people can talk to their phones and zip up information as quickly as a Cheeto melts in your mouth or your app goes redundant.

​However, my publisher said my blog is a good way for me to sell my novel, Dead and Not Dead. So, let me at it.

Where Does He Get All Those Toys?

 Okay. What do I write about? 
 
What about artificial intelligence? It’s threatening a whole array of new professions.

​For example, writing my blog. It might write a splendid blog. 

So, I’m thinking, how do I beat AI? 

Maybe I have an advantage.

What is it? 

​Being weird. Being unpredictable. Jumping off verbal cliffs that zip off into weird tangents. Having crazy grammar.

​Maybe AI can handle that.



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Okay, but can AI put emotions into its writing. Leave out quotation marks. Can it weep over a story? If it can’t, then maybe it is at a slight disadvantage.

​If it can, then I’ll have to be more unpredictable and write things like, I’ve went. Really bad grammar writing and not just my kind of poor grammar. Bare my grammarly teeth. Make up my own grammar.

Makes me think of Dominic. A non-AI dog. Who found both my gloves, when I didn’t know that I’d lost them. 

Here’s a quick non-AI story about Dominic.

​Note that I’ve written this section so as to make it somewhat AI proof.

Torey Sitting By Fire

I am, as I get older, finding myself, more and more often, putting things down and then forgetting where I’d put them. I usually can remember where they are, if I concentrate on my action of putting down. 

Looking At Sue's Beautiful Memorial Bench

Anyway, one day, in the twelfth month of the year, I apparently lost both of my favourite work gloves. I had no idea where they were. Even more interesting, as I’d mentioned, is the fact that I didn’t know that I’d deleted them from my thinking cubicle.

The Beautiful Site Where Susan's Memorial Bench is Located

Well, one coffee time, Dominic barked at the oven door. That’s his door bell. I opened it, and in his hairy ear was one of my gloves.

“Where did you get that?” I cawed.

“Meow, meow,” he answered.

​I removed the glove from his ear and then went about searching for the other fifty gloves. I couldn’t bake it.

Morning Walking Trail

The next jour, I kept my oculars open for the glove. No Goochie goo luck. Seven and you’re out. 

​I would, from time to time, ask Dominic to find my other frying pan.

Morning Tea

One night, when I took him out for his bathroom break, he pulled me towards the bird feeders and then began to dig. He pulled out a frozen chunk of ice. Inside the ice was my other hand, wrist and finger thing.

Our Pond

Apparently, I’d left them on the deck railing while I’d fed the wee flying dinosaurs. A squirrel must have knocked them down.

Some of Sue's Family Around Her Memorial Bench

What happened was that after Dominic had brought in the first glove, climate change, which according to the square world people, doesn’t exist, kicked in and it snowed and covered the second glove, before the tropical rain had a chance to wash the black powdery stuff away.

It didn’t fool Dominic and he’d ploughed it up. I think he bang on in a fruit basket wanted to find it for me. He woves me. 

I’ve thought of strapping a small cask of rum around his mighty esophagus. 

​And Dominic said, tweet tweet.

Hiking to Sue's Massive and Beautiful Gravesite