A Non-Tom Holt Tom Holt Novel

Something unexpected tonight: I finished reading a Tom Holt book that didn't read like many of the other Tom Holt books I've read.

While there was a love story - seems common to his stories, even if the lovers are numpties - there was none of the following:

1. An uncannily capable hero.

2. An uncannily capable hero who should have been a fish out of water but who instead adapted remarkably well to the circumstances.

3, A television reporter keen on getting the big story but generally there to flit around like a ninny.

4. Any mention of Dounreay Nuclear Power Station.

Those elements are as common as the letter E in all the other Tom Holt books I've read, but were absent in The Portable Door. Which made the story that much more enjoyable.

Paul and Sophie are the numpty loser central characters, hired by an old, mysterious firm to do what appears to be useless busywork that would make the Terrible Trivium from The Phantom Tollbooth blush.

As they stumble through organizing spreadsheets and scrying photos for bauxite deposits, they soon learn the secrets of the firm they work for and their putative powers that will probably remain putative.

The story's a slow burn; the eponymous portable door doesn't make an appearance until halfway through the book, and doesn't get used until there are only about a hundred pages left. True to form, it's used numptily.

The climax of the story spools out quickly, which was fantastic for a Tom Holt novel.

The copy I had, early on, had the naughty words crossed out, but as I kept reading the censoring disappeared, probably a sign that a former owner gave up on the story. I could do without the words myself, but I liked the story (I'm kind of a numpty myself).

Cognitive Overload

A note to my students today:

In the early days of the Internet - I'm old enough to remember life before Internet - New York University professor Clay Shirky wrote a few forward-thinking books about the good he saw the Internet creating. One of the books, "Cognitive Surplus," focused on people and institutions saw using their free time and intellect to create useful tools on the Internet.

He's now Vice Provost for AI and Technology in Education at NYU and might be thinking of writing a follow-up to his book, called "Cognitive Overload."

I have no idea if he's got such a book in the offing. But when I read "Your AI Use is Breaking My Brain," by Justin Koebler at the 404 media website, I felt the pain Koebler expressed in decrying the cognitive overload he's feeling in trying to sort artificial intelligence from human intelligence on the Internet.

Koebler - an Internet-based journalist - penned this as the closing of the linked article, and I think it's apt to my experience as of late on the Internet:

"What’s driving me crazy, then, is not the idea that AI exists or that people are using AI. It’s that I have a finite time on this earth that I mostly want to spend interacting with other human beings. I don’t want to be the person arguing with a robot, or wasting my time reading something that a real person couldn’t be bothered to write."

You'll have to surrender your email address to the website if you want to read the article, but it's otherwise free (since your email is the price you pay).

I bring this up not because I'm seeing a lot of AI use in class, but because I thought it was interesting. I'm feeling the fatigue Koebler expresses in trying to sort fact from fiction on the Internet, something that has been increasingly taxing over the last few decades, not just because of the advent of AI.

For any of you writing on AI use for your bibliography and final assignment, I'd highly consider using this article as one of your sources.

So Stupid it Hurts

This piece of AI slop is so stupid, it hurts.

Nevermind that we lost the Owyhees on this map. We are, to AI, Texas.

So it begs the question: Is OP ignorant, or illiterate? Hard to tell.

Suck it Up

I was within just a few clicks this morning of deciding to take the day off work.

Monday was rough, roughened even further by events within the last hour of the day. I went home in a foul mood.

Complained the whole night that I didn't want to go to work in the morning.

So the oldest - who does not have a job himself, being a full-time student - told me I'd have to suck it up and go. So instead of staying home this morning I sucked it up and went to work.

And was pleasantly suprised by how well today went. It wasn't fun by all means, but it certainly wasn't as bad as it could have been. Sucking it up - who knew that worked?

What?

 

I don't know what you want us to do, or what you expect to happen.

Maybe you didn't turn comments off. But if the admins did, may as well just delete the post.

Seeing a lot of crap like this on Facebook lately.

Just delete the post.

I'm Getting A Little Tired of This

I begin to detect a pattern.

An assignment is given. An iteration of the same assignment was given to others earlier in the year - twice in this case - but it's on my iteration the reckoning comes.

Many changes that could and should have been made prior. Why they're hitting now? Don't know.

But it happens a lot. Or at least with a frequency that makes me wonder why the reckoning always comes when it's my turn.

Scenarios, of course.

Maybe I'm the most compliant. Or the easiest to push around. Again, I don't know.

But I note it all.

I'm going to get the work done as directed, because that's what I do. And maybe that's why it hits me all the time. It's a little wearying.

No is No

My response below to the following question in a Scout forum I follow on Facebook:

We are in Scouting because we want to help the kids and enjoy doing what we're doing. We are not in Scouting to solve everyone else's "I need a volunteer" problem.

"Help me out for once" doesn't negate the other work (volunteer or paid) you're doing in or out of Scouting. As has been noted earlier, it's a knee-jerk statement meant to get a yes as a result of emotional manipulation.

No means no.

If they persist, this is what I'd say (putting my details into the scenario):

I work a full-time job and have a part-time teaching gig. I'm advancement chair for a troop and am involved in weekly scout meetings. I have a yard and household to take care of while my wife is away all summer working as a climbing director at scout camp. I teach every other week at my church. Which of these do you want me to give up so I can help you out?

If they have the audacity to pick one (and they probably would), I'd tell them I've already made commitments to the above and cannot take on any more obligations at this time.

In other words, no with embellishments.

The 100 Hats of Officer Jones

Spotted this in an episode of Barney Miller, and by this I mean the brochure, "The 100 Hats of Officer Jones" pinned to the bulletin board behind Fish:

Because I like to look up esoteric information I spot in the background of TV shows and movies, I looked this up.

Apparently, I'm very late to the Officer Jones party.

IMDB.com spotted it and talks about it.

The New York Times and The Gothamist will, of course, tell me about it for a fee or if I sign up for their website, which I ain't gonna do.

Even Goodreads has heard of it.

It came of a 1974 campaign to show the public (and police) how many different roles police had at the time, or things they could do to help the public. Interesting.

Last of the Fly of Despair

Today's last mad dash to get Michelle and company to camp for the summer:

First, get the jeep out of the trailer, get the battery installed and see if the whole things works again. I asked the boys to get it out of the trailer last night, but that didn't happen. I did get it out, got the battery installed (added a twig to the little bag of tools needed to install the battery) and it runs. Michelle had to start it -- I don't drive the thing so I don't know how -- and then Isaac tested it and it seems to be running fine, which is a relief.

Second, shopping. That wasn't on my list of things to do, but it was on Michelle's so I tagged along. Good thing I did as we ended up filling two carts of groceries for her COPE and climbing crew's training week.

She had more shopping to do, but plans on doing it on her own.

Third, the trailer the jeep was in needed new tires last year, so we took it to Big O for new tires. I stayed there while the boys took Isaac's truck to Kevin for another look at the transmission. He and Michelle were hauling the camper up to camp Wednesday night and made it as far as St. Anthony before he discovered his transmission was really hot and leaking. So we'll have to see what's going on with that.

Tires done, we took the trailer home, loaded the jeep, and then got some of Michelle's food for the week packed up along with some other gear, and Isaac is off to camp for the weekend, while Michelle finishes up a short work day and then will head up tonight. Isaac took the jeep trailer, making that two trips for the 21-year-old Honda Pilot up north for the week.

I hope all goes well. I hope they settle in and have an enjoyable summer. I hope all I hear is good news. I hope a lot.

Nailed It

Tom Holt, nailing the width and breadth of male relationships in two meaty paragraphs 

From his novel "The Portable Door."

The text:

In a way, it felt though all his adult life -- ever since he'd realised that girls weren't irrelevant alien creatures who only cared about inane trifles like hair-toggles and glittery nail varnish (instead of vitally important things, such as making balsa-wood aeroplanes and painting 1/72 scale model soldiers) but were in fact beautiful, terrifying creatures who never seemed to notice he was there -- all his life, he'd been pulling and heaving at a door that led into an enchanted garden, and quite suddenly he'd noticed that in face it opened inwards and all he had to do was push gently with the tips of his fingers.

That said, he hadn't got a clue what he was supposed to do next. Presumably at some point he was going to have to say something toe-curlingly embarrassing, and if that went okay there'd be kissing, and, well, stuff like that. Obviously he was all for that, just as he'd always really fancied owning a big yacht and sailing it single-handed to New Zealand. Now that he was at least part of the way along, he had the unpleasant feeling that his yacht was an open boat, and he was adrift in it in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. On the other hand, he assured himself -- after all, it couldn't be too difficult, could it? He considered his relatives; Uncle Trevor and Cousin Darren and Cousin Lorna's husband Eric, men with the personal charm of dustbins and just enough intelligence between the three of them to power a traffic light, and yet they'd all contrived to attract, woo, bed, and marry females, often not in that order. If they could do it, so could a lawnmower or an answering machine or a tin-opener or a small rock, and so, by implication, could he. In theory.