Cover photo by Elliot Brown, used under Creative Commons license

“Be quiet Eugene, nobody’s listening to you.”

Welp, it seems like the Turing test might have finally been passed.

A supercomputer running a program simulating a 13-year-old boy named Eugene has passed the Turing Test at an event held at London’s Royal Society.

The Turing Test is based on 20th century mathematician and code-breaker Turing’s 1950 famous question and answer game, ‘Can Machines Think?’. The experiment investigates whether people can detect if they are talking to machines or humans. The event is particularly poignant as it took place on the 60th anniversary of Turing’s death, nearly six months after he was given a posthumous royal pardon.

If a computer is mistaken for a human more than 30% of the time during a series of five minute keyboard conversations it passes the test. No computer has ever achieved this, until now. Eugene managed to convince 33% of the human judges that it was human.

I, for one, welcome our new Skynetty overlords.

[UPDATE: but not really.]

.:.

Cover photo by Elliot Brown, used under Creative Commons license

 

Photo by Mike Lutz, used under Creative Commons license

Luckily for us, Ang Lee’s version was more exciting

I know Thanksgiving is them traditional time for, uh, giving thanks, but I’d just like to go on the record and say how glad we are, and how lucky we feel, that we never lost power because of the recent ice storm. Not on Christmas, not on boxing day, not on our anniversary…there was never even a flicker. We have friends and co-workers who went for days without power, and apparently there are still people in the dark six days later. There were a few brutally  cold days in there, so…once again: we feel lucky.

Really, the only immediate evidence we could see was the coating of ice covering our balcony and trees on our street.

.:.

Photo by Mike Lutz, used under Creative Commons license

“350 pounds of fun”

I’ve avoided writing about Toronto Mayor Rob Ford until now, in part because I’m ashamed and didn’t want to acknowledge it, in part because I assumed it would all end soon (“soon” never happened, obviously), and in part because there’s a disgusting abundance of material out there about him already. Not that I haven’t wanted to write about it, mind you; writing helps me make sense of senseless things, and I’ve been baffled since the day the man became mayor.

I won’t get into the long litany of offenses and outrages committed by His Worship (the standard honorific for the mayor of Toronto) — they’re listed here in a Google Doc. Well, up to November 20th, at least. Certainly mayors and other politicians have resigned for less: Montreal mayor Gérald Tremblay resigned amid corruption rumours. Anthony Weiner resigned from Congress because he got caught tweeting a picture of his clothed junk. And so on.

The immediate push-back from those who still support Ford (more on that later) ran along the lines of, “Who cares what he does in his spare time, he does a good job and tries hard and saves me money.” Forget the national, and international reputation of Toronto being dragged through the mud, so long as he’s saving the taxpayers money, right? So commentators began discrediting his most common talking points: that he has saved the city a billion dollars, that he’s a fiscal conservative, that he’ll stop needless city spending, and that he’s a blue-collar everyman. These, the biggest planks in his political platform, are bullshit. They always have been, but Ford’s supporters no longer had these narratives to fall back on.

And yet this dismantling of his more egregious lies hasn’t changed the minds of Ford Nation: as of three weeks ago his approval rating stood at 42%. This, again, was baffling to me. His behaviour as the city’s ambassador has been embarrassing (believe me, Ford was a prominent news story on CNN International, the BBC, and Al Jazeera while we traveled around southern Africa) and on top of that his actual job performance is a fabrication. How, then, to explain his base of support? It’s undeniable that Mayor Ford (and his brother Doug) are popular in their neighbourhood. Doug handing out $20 bills at a community housing complex doesn’t hurt, but that can’t account for such a large number. And even the most tinfoil-hatted can’t believe this is all a media conspiracy, and rally behind their guy: when the Star, Globe, Post, and Sun all agree that the mayor needs to step down, there’s no media spin left.

Equally wacky, in my opinion, is the theory that suburbanites will support anyone they see as sticking it to the downtown elite latte-sipping liberals. I don’t buy that. I don’t think those 42% are diabolical or scheming, or wish particular harm on everyone south of Bloor. In fact, I don’t think they give much thought to anyone outside their own household. And therein, I believe, lies the problem.

“We have somehow deluded ourselves into thinking that wealth is wisdom.”

The constant refrain from those who still support Ford is that they believe he will reduce, or has reduced, their taxes, in spite of all the evidence to the contrary. The reduction of burdensome taxes seems to be their primary concern. I can understand this, particularly for low-income families. But low-income families don’t account for that 42% who still support Ford (besides, anyone who’s paid attention knows Rob Ford’s tendency over the years has been to cut city services used by the working poor), so it’s not just low-income families. In fact, I have plenty of personal, anecdotal evidence of affluent acquaintances who support Ford solely because they want him to cut their taxes. They acknowledge that he is a buffoon, an embarrassment to the city, and an erstwhile racist and homophobe not reflective of the city’s values, but are willing to overlook all that for the possibility of paying less tax next year. I’m not alone in hearing this either.

Again, this baffled me. These are not idiots who’ve said these things to me, but rather educated and intelligent people. While I knew the basic premise of fiscal conservatism was to reign in government spending, I underestimated the degree to which a) fiscal conservatism has been oversimplified into “taxes are bad, full stop”, and b) people will overlook bad behaviour if a tax break is involved. I couldn’t articulate it until I read a piece in the Guardian last month in which Harry Leslie Smith summed it up perfectly:

“By far the worst error we have made as a people is to think ourselves as taxpayers first and citizens second.”

Suddenly, the lights came on. I got it now. I understood. It’s simplistic, to be sure, but no less reductive than this tax-break-or-else mentality. Some people have made this leap, this assumption, that the primary function of government, trumping all other functions, is to limit itself. This manifests as people referring to themselves as taxpayers, as if that’s all they are. I still believe the primary function of a government is to care for the citizens who elect it. Fiscal responsibility, just like household responsibility, is one of the ways in which it ensures and sustains that care…but not the only way.

I’m not sure this makes it easier to convince Ford Nation, but at least I understand the issue now. I think. Thanks, Mr. Smith.

Boston

For fuck’s sake.

Boston.

Source: AP Photo/The Boston Globe, John Tlumacki
Source: AP Photo/The Boston Globe, John Tlumacki

We just visited for the first time, not two months ago. It felt like Halifax, like home.

I was back two weeks after that for a conference, just a couple of blocks away from the explosion sites.

I’m scheduled to go again, a week from tomorrow.

I suspect we won’t know much about the “why?” until tomorrow. As for the “what now?” I’ll leave that to Patton Oswalt:

Boston. Fucking horrible.

I remember, when 9/11 went down, my reaction was, “Well, I’ve had it with humanity.”

But I was wrong. I don’t know what’s going to be revealed to be behind all of this mayhem. One human insect or a poisonous mass of broken sociopaths.

But here’s what I DO know. If it’s one person or a HUNDRED people, that number is not even a fraction of a fraction of a fraction of a percent of the population on this planet. You watch the videos of the carnage and there are people running TOWARDS the destruction to help out. (Thanks FAKE Gallery founder and owner Paul Kozlowski for pointing this out to me). This is a giant planet and we’re lucky to live on it but there are prices and penalties incurred for the daily miracle of existence. One of them is, every once in awhile, the wiring of a tiny sliver of the species gets snarled and they’re pointed towards darkness.

But the vast majority stands against that darkness and, like white blood cells attacking a virus, they dilute and weaken and eventually wash away the evil doers and, more importantly, the damage they wreak. This is beyond religion or creed or nation. We would not be here if humanity were inherently evil. We’d have eaten ourselves alive long ago.

So when you spot violence, or bigotry, or intolerance or fear or just garden-variety misogyny, hatred or ignorance, just look it in the eye and think, “The good outnumber you, and we always will.”

.:.

Photo by hahatango, used under Creative Commons license

Photo by kata rokkar, used under Creative Commons license

Multifarious

The best music I’ve bought lately, in no particular order:

  • Japandroids . Celebration Rock
  • Shearwater . Animal Joy
  • Sharon Van Etten . Tramp
  • Beth Jeans Houghton And The Hooves Of Destiny . Yours Truly, Cellophane Nose
  • Cannon Bros . Firecracker Cloudglow
  • Jack White . Blunderbuss
  • The Kills . Blood Pressures
  • Perfume Genius . Put Your Back N 2 It

OK, I may have fibbed just now. There was a tiny bit of order: the new Japandroids was at the top of that list because in sheer rawk-awesomeness it outshines the others on the list.

.:.

Austerity pushers and vaccination kooks are giving kids in Washington State whooping cough. Or something. Warning: contains the eye-meltingly great line, “I hope there’s a hot place in Dumbass Hell for Jenny McCarthy.”

.:.

Recent movies we’ve watched:

  • Here’s how to tell when Air Canada’s in-flight entertainment has run out of movies I’m willing to watch: I watch Contraband (imdb | rotten tomatoes). It was rubbish.
  • The Guard (imdb | rotten tomatoes) was superb. Fun, and funny. It didn’t disguise the fact that it was a standard cop movie trope (big crimes in small towns, kooky townspeople, fish out of water big shot from the FBI, etc.) and it took me a few minutes to understand anything anyone said, but once it got going Brendan Gleeson was terrific and people like Don Cheadle and Liam Cunningham filled in the rest nicely.
  • Triangle (imdb | rotten tomatoes) came out of nowhere. I don’t remember where I heard about it, but it sat on my hard drive for more than two years before we finally watched it. And it was pretty good…a decent little thriller that worked just fine as long as you didn’t think too hard about the sequencing (and sequencing, and sequencing) of events.

.:.

I’ve been sending this article to just about every extrovert I know. Specifically the ones who think introversion is something they think they can help people “get over” by forcing them into social situations. Which is to say, all of them.

.:.

OK, so…the Eaton Centre shooting yesterday. Brutal. Tragic, obviously. Stupid.Worrying, sure, due to the premeditated gun violence carried out by multiple attackers on someone who is probably, at least according to early signals given by the police, directly or indirectly linked to a gang…worrying in the same way the Jane Creba shooting was. But not scary. Not to me, at least.

We know the questions will come about whether we’re worried about living five minutes away from the Eaton Centre (well, ten minutes from the end of the mall where this happened), but honestly it doesn’t feel that close. To be honest, I don’t even consider the Eaton Centre to be part of Toronto. It’s like this weird suburban amusement park wedged between the tackiest corridor of Yonge and ugliest stretch of Bay, in which no non-teenager valuing their sanity would set foot for more than a few moments, and into which no actual Torontonian would walk of their own volition. So that underground food court where the shooting took place seems to me like a far-flung, unknown corner of the city.

As it happened, Nellie and I walked through the mall (straight through, actually…there’s a shortcut from Yonge to the Mercatto abutting Trinity Square) about five hours before the shooting. Had we chosen to eat dinner there instead of a late lunch we would have been there for the shots (albeit two levels up) and would have rushed out with the rest. But even knowing that, there’s no feeling of fear due to proximity. It happened somewhere else.

.:.

Featured image by kata rokkar, used under Creative Commons license

Photo by Eric.Parker, used under Creative Commons license

If the mayor and the tanning lady got together they could make a pumpkin

Every once in a while a whole bunch of news stories congregate to vex me greatly. That happened today when I caught up on some feeds. I think it was the bronze woman that tipped things over the edge.

  • I’m just kidding, it was Rob Ford. The man’s not a good mayor. The man’s not even a competent mayor. The man’s a sideshow. He’s a goddamn Jerry Springer episode. Welcome to Toronto, Canada’s largest city and one trying to earn consideration as an alpha city, where Chris fucking Farley is the mayor. (CTV)
  • I’m ashamed that I’m a member of the same race that came up with the word breastaurant. Not to mention the concept. (Macleans)
  • This woman…why would…surely she must know…I mean, she’s fully orange. I just…I can’t even. (CBC)
  • Quebec university students, just zip it. Your average tuition is half that of students in the neighbouring (and perennially economically depressed) Atlantic provinces, and yet you’re still throwing a giant provincial hissy fit about a planned five-year increase to bring tuition in line with the rest of the country. I don’t expect you to be happy about paying more, but I’d expect that you’d admit that you’ve gotten a sweet deal for a long, long time and that it’s unreasonable to expect it to continue. (Canadian Press)
  • I’ve been in and around enough vendor selections (not of anything resembling an order of fighter jets, admittedly) to know that if the purchaser can’t explain their criteria for selecting a certain product, it’s because they a) didn’t have any, or b) don’t want to admit what they were. (Macleans)

.:.

Luckily there were wonderful things buried in my news feeds too, like how marvelously Norway is responding to a monster like Anders Breivik, or this campaign poster for Prince Joffrey, or the tweets and blogs of Umair Haque, or this fantastic folk-y/bluegrass-y cover of one of my favourite Arcade Fire songs, or these pictures of Grand Teton National Park in Wyoming, or this short film featuring Bill Murray.

Whew. Hope restored.

.:.

Photo by Eric.Parker, used under Creative Commons license

"Don't let them tell you it can't be done."

We arrived home yesterday to news that Jack Layton, leader of the official opposition, long time head of the NDP and even longer Toronto city councilor, had lost his fight with cancer and passed away. Only today, when I had a few minutes to stop and consider the news, and see the impromptu memorials scrawled across Toronto walls, did I really absorb what had happened. Canada had lost its most charismatic politician, and one of its few true leaders.

There’s no point in getting too deep into his life and legacy; others have done that better than I could hope to. I’ll simply highlight a perfect example of what the man was about: the closing paragraph of the letter Layton wrote just two days before his death, when he knew he was out of time. At a time when selfish or defeated thoughts would have been poisoning the minds of even the best of us, Jack Layton chose to inspire rather than lament.

“My friends, love is better than anger. Hope is better than fear. Optimism is better than despair. So let us be loving, hopeful and optimistic. And we’ll change the world.”

We’ll miss you, Jack. I’ll miss you.

Not almost. Home.

Almost exactly one year ago I wrote what was the latest in a number of blog posts about the West Memphis Three. I’ve been following their case for nine years, ever since I read Mara Leveritt‘s book Devil’s Knot. I’ve watched the documentaries. I’ve followed the blogs. I own the t-shirt. I’ve felt personally, if of course distantly, frustrated by what seemed so obviously like a miscarriage of justice. I would get upset when I thought about it. But it drifted to the back of mind and hung out there like a curiosity, not a crusade. For years.

Then this morning, while sifting through tweets from last night on my phone, I saw this retweet from TIFF co-director Cameron Bailey:

@eug eugene hernandez
More on breaking West Memphis 3 story from Arkansas. Will PARADISE LOST subjects be freed tomorrow?? Incredible story: http://ow.ly/679w2

I started to get excited but had to stop myself. It felt like another false signal, like all the others before it…the new DNA evidence, the witnesses changing their stories, the emerging alternative suspects. But then more and more links showed up in my twitter stream. Then there was a hearing called with all sorts of clues…families in attendance, gag orders issues, the WM3 being moved along with all their possessions, and so on. I spent an hour at work, trying to simultaneously write a document, answer emails and watch the live feed outside the Jonesboro courthouse where the hearings were held. Twitter was exploding with news and speculation, as were the newscasters, so much noise and news and then John Mark Byers outside the courthouse like a mad giant ranting about Terry Hobbs, and then…this.

@wm3org WM3.org
Free!

Incredible. Unbelievable. Unfathomable, if I tried for a minute to imagine what they were feeling.

I watched the press conference where they all tried to process the fact that they were out, and free, and now staring down hundreds of cameras. All they wanted to do was go home and hug their families and sleep for a day and drink a beer and eat a Whopper or something, so the presser didn’t last long. No one cared but the reporters. The people who cared about the story wanted to see them walk out of the building. Most of the details about what had happened were already out anyway. Thousands of people who woke up never having heard of an Alford plea had learned the mechanics of how the deal was struck, and knew the technical admission of guilt wasn’t worth shit. But it was so, so moving to watch, just for those few minutes.

It tore my heart out to see Jessie Miskelley sitting there, looking lost. Maybe he didn’t understand what was happening, or was just having trouble believing it was real. Maybe it was all too overwhelming. Jason Baldwin kept rubbing Miskelley’s head, like a little brother, to say it was okay. And it broke my heart to see that, and wonder whether he’ll ever recover. Then Damien Echols thanked Jason, who didn’t want to take the deal but did anyway so Damien could get off of death row, and they hugged. And everyone lost it. Including me, a little. I don’t know these guys, but I felt anger at their plight, and at that exact second I guess I felt relief and satisfaction and, I think…joy.

And if I felt like that, a guy thousands of miles away, who’s never met them, never been in jail, never even been to Arkansas…if I felt all that, I couldn’t even comprehend what it must have been like for them and for their families.

Joy.

Free. The West Memphis Three. Free.