The Last Laugh

 

Life, it seems, is determined to have the last laugh. I read this morning about the Southland man who advertised his business on Facebook, using stick figures and a kindergarten style in order to prove that it wasn't AI-generated. He even drew the whole thing on the inside of a cereal packet because he didn't have any sheets of paper. His advert attracted so much interest that other people started giving it to AI and asking AI to make one for them. The Internet is now littered by AI-generated ads, seemingly drawn by a three-year-old, and the original poster is being accused of using AI.

Sigh.

It made me think about my own situation. My spelling is atroscious. It seems to be an affliction inherited from my Father, rather than any laziness on my part (that's my excuse, anyway). Nevertheless, technology has always provided a somewhat imperfect crutch to my linguistic shortcomings; an absolute necessity for someone whose career was built around an ability to write. But now, after a lifetime of correcting spelling mistakes, I am wondering if I need to leave a few scatered around, simply to show that my writing was not generated by an AI. 

But if I do that, won't the AI start including mistakes just to show that it's human?

Perhaps its not life; maybe it's AI that will have the last laugh.

Groundhog Day a.k.a. NZ Elections

 

Every three years, it happens, and here we are again: Groundhog Day.

With only minor changes, it's the same every time. Those hungry to get into the country's driving seat attempt to bribe people into voting for them with promises they probably won't keep; they paint their opponents as the devil incarnate; and consider outright lies as no more than a justified means to an end. It's the same every time; an episode of a predictable soap opera with dialogue that is less believable each time we hear it. And yet, those same politicians feign surprise and horror at the number of people who decide not to participate in this inane ritual.

What the rest of us witness every three years is a bunch of children arguing over who should drive the NZ bus. All of them claim to be the better driver, but no one will stop arguing long enough to talk about where the bus is supposed to be going. Those of us who are riding the NZ bus just want to see it traveling the expected direction. We don't want it driven off a cliff or into a ditch. We don't want half the passengers chucked off the bus simply because they don't have the fare, and we don't want to have to get out and push the bus because some pea-brain politician didn't think that filling the tank was important. It doesn't seem like a lot to ask.

And yet presumably it must be, because it is not what we get. The potential drivers are again arguing with each other about who is going to drive, while refusing to discuss the destination. The problem isn't about who drives; it's about where the bus is going, and each potential driver has a hidden agenda. One driver wants to go back to where times were 'better'; one wants to visit their rich relatives and jettison any undesirables on the way; another wants to go to the scrapyard and cut the bus into enough pieces so that everyone gets a fair share and can do what they like with their bit of the bus; yet another thinks the bus would make a fine home if only we took the wheels off and stood it up on some bricks. All the drivers have hidden agendas that they can't admit to, so they argue about who should drive and hope that it gets to be them so that they can attempt to take us where they want for the next three years.

Guys, THE DRIVERS ARE SUPPOSED TO SERVE THE PASSENGERS.

So, how about a grown-up discussion about where the passengers want to go, and then let us choose which driver(s) might best get us there? Is there even a driver who wants that discussion? Maybe there is, but most don't want a bar of it; some refuse to even travel on the bus unless they or one of their mates is driving. Quite frankly, if we keep electing these self-serving drivers, everything is going to continue to go downhill. Insanity, it is said, is to keep doing the same thing while expecting a different outcome.

It's time to ditch the insanity. Perhaps we could start by voting for a driver who wants what's best for everyone on the bus. Now, that would be a novel idea.

PS. Enrollments to vote close tonight. I just met someone on the street who was looking for where they could enroll. On a Sunday, the last day. Just get your papers in a post box. NOW.

Not AI

 

Reminding drivers to slow down when entering our garage?

Modern cars can be very smart; sometimes frustratingly so. Even if you appreciate the thought, being repeatedly told to "keep your eyes on the road" (when you are actually scanning for potential danger) can become a bit annoying. I call these systems "AS-AA" - Artificially Smart (AS) until they aren't; then they become AA (Actually Annoying). "AS-AA" should be said, "ASS-AHH!" - as if it were a martial arts call, yelled while delivering the coup de grace. You will be surprised how much this helps.

"Keep your eyes on the road".
"ASS-AHH!" 
(Slapping the steering wheel with your hand at the same time may also help).

One useful thing, though, is automatic speed limit detection. Our car is reasonably good at detecting speed limit changes and providing a warning when we exceed that limit by a margin. Except... in our small retirement village, there is a 5km speed limit, signalled by a custom private sign, which the car recognises correctly when we enter the village. This is good; we don't want to race through the village. BUT there is no exit sign to signal the return to 50km/hr when we leave the village. The consequence is that we then drive around town with the car beeping because it is exceeding 5km/hr in what is actually a 50km/hr zone. "ASS-AHH!"

After a month of living with this annoyance, we printed our own speed limit sign to hang on the back wall of the garage. The car recognises the sign when parking and is ready for the in-town speed when it goes out next time. Problem solved. Mostly.

The first Photograph

 

Well, I am at least 99% sure that this must be the first photograph I ever took. The year was 1952, the place was Perth, Scotland. My Mother and I had gone on holiday to see Dad, who was in Scotland doing survey work for the Ordnance Survey. That's them outside their tent - my tent was on the left.

I am pretty sure that I must have been the photographer, because there were only the three of us there, and the height at which the camera was being held seems to be that of a young child. Mum is looking proud, Father somewhat anxious about the camera. Clearly, I had yet to learn about taking pictures without things growing out of people's heads! This, though, must have been the start of a life-long affair with cameras.

Now, seventy-four years later, I carry two memories of that trip: The first was lying in bed at night and listening to the night train whistling in the distance as it went south to London. The second was playing in the tent with the new, yellow, Dinky-toy bulldozer that I got for my fourth birthday. It's surprising which memories stay and which fade; there is a photograph of me with "Bovril" the heifer, but I have no memory of the encounter, nor of actually taking this picture of Mum and Dad.

This picture is, of course, a digital reproduction of a physical photograph, from an actual album. I know that because I and my memories are part of the provenance for the image. I wonder, though, in a world where AI can reproduce an image from any era, with any subject, what value one can now place on any digital image, or even a print from a digital image, as being a representation of reality? It's all too easy today to create any digital 'reality' you like.  Perhaps I should take much greater care of my analogue negatives; one day a strip of Ilford XP2 may be the only proof of truth.

Real Photo Postcards - an early Instagram

As a life-long photographer, I am ashamed to say that I had never heard of "Real Photo PostCards" (RPPCs). RPPCs, it turns out, were the original 'Instagram'. Perhaps a little less "Insta" but filling exactly the same social purpose, a century before Instagram invaded our phones and eyeballs. RPPC pictures were of your life; the words, short descriptions and wishes for a friend or relative. Your personal 'feed' was probably an old shoe-box.

A sales brochure for the "3A Folding Brownie"

 

 It was 1903 when Kodak brought out the "3A Folding Brownie". It used a 122 format film that produced up to ten postcard-sized negatives (3.25" x 5.5") on a cartridge. These negatives could be contact printed onto postcard-sized photographic paper with a pre-printed postcard-style backing. Write your message, address the card and post. 

 

In those days, there were strict requirements for postcards; they had to be a certain size and, initially, the reverse side could only contain an address but, in 1902, UK regulations changed and the reverse was split in two, permitting both the address and a short message on the back.
The "Real Photo" part of their title was intended to differentiate these photo postcards from commercially mass-printed postcards. RPPCs were (almost) unique and very personal. So ubiquitous was this style of postcard that many were never sent through the post, but were simply printed and kept as personal photographs with annotations on the back. 

This one, from 1924, was probably sent as part of a larger 'care package' to a father working away from home.

Clearly, some commercial photographers offered RPPC prints as part of their portrait service. The following, 1919, example is one of two copies of the same picture, but with different reverse sides:

 

For the modern observer, there's something deeply evocative about the tactile connection represented by these cards. The "Real Photo Postcard" aesthetic isn't just about the chemistry of the print; it's about the weight of a message intended for a specific set of eyes. It’s a reminder that while our tools have evolved from silver salts to digital pixels, the core human urge to say Here I am, and I wanted you to see this, remains exactly the same.

So, there you have it; Real Photo Postcards - the early 1900s "Instagram".