Showing posts with label Technology. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Technology. Show all posts

Sunday, February 19, 2023

ChatGPT Gets Us: An AI Conversation With 'Jesus'

The message in RF: "Jesus still believes with two outs in the 9th."

I first saw one of the "He Gets Us" advertisements splayed across the right field fence at a Pittsburgh Pirates game in September.

I thought it was silly.

Fast forward to the Super Bowl (am I even allowed to call it that here?), and the video ads produced by an evangelical Christian initiative, The Signatry, caused quite a stir.

Although hardly a speck as much as historical Jesus.

I was puzzled by Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez's tweet calling out the ads for "making fascism look benign." After all, one had simply shown photos of people arguing and fighting, with "Human" by Rag'n'Bone Man playing in the background. The message: "Jesus loved the people we hate."

Then I read more about The Signatry's funding, and I understood the backlash -- although, to be honest, I agree more with author and Catholic scholar Phyllis Zagano's analysis, which I linked to above. She concluded:
Whether the evangelical Christian presentation of the story of Jesus is or is not aligned with specific denominational beliefs, it has the right to be presented. And if people want to spend their millions doing so, they can, because the United States is a country free of fascism.  

I also asked ChatGPT what "Jesus" might make of all this. The AI chatbot obliged, with the proviso that "I'll do my best to simulate a conversation with Jesus Christ. However, it's important to remember that this is a purely fictional conversation, and it's up to you to determine what you believe in."

Here's my Q&A with a simulated version of God. It's unedited, and sometimes redundant, but on the whole I found it surprisingly on point. Perhaps with the exception of the robotic "thoughts and prayers" response about the earthquake.

Jesus, why should I believe in you?

I would say that belief in me should be based on a personal conviction and faith, rather than simply accepting my existence as a matter of fact. I believe that I am the Son of God, and that through me, people can have a personal relationship with God and receive eternal life.

It's understandable that you may have doubts or questions, and I encourage you to seek the truth for yourself through reading the Bible, praying, and seeking guidance from others. Ultimately, the decision to believe in me or not is a deeply personal one that requires reflection, contemplation, and faith.


Did you truly perform miracles?

As a figure of Christian faith, it is believed by many that I performed miracles during my time on earth. According to the New Testament, which is the primary source for my life and teachings, I performed many miraculous acts such as healing the sick, feeding the hungry, and even raising the dead.

However, it's important to note that the veracity of these events is a matter of faith and belief, and different people may have different interpretations of them. Some may see these events as literal, while others may view them as metaphorical or symbolic expressions of spiritual truth.

Regardless of how one chooses to interpret these stories, the underlying message is one of love, compassion, and hope. The miracles that are attributed to me were intended to inspire faith and encourage people to live according to God's will, which is to love one another and seek justice and peace.


What if people find it difficult to believe you are the Son of God?

It's understandable that some people may find it difficult to believe that I am the Son of God. Faith is a personal and complex matter, and there are many factors that can influence one's beliefs and doubts.

In response, I would encourage you to approach the question of my divinity with an open mind and heart, and to explore the evidence for and against this belief. Reading the Bible, seeking guidance from trusted spiritual advisors, and engaging in personal reflection and prayer can all be helpful in this process.

However, it's also important to acknowledge that faith is not necessarily based on empirical evidence or rational argument alone. Belief in me as the Son of God requires a personal and spiritual transformation, a leap of faith that is rooted in the heart and soul rather than the mind.

Ultimately, the decision to believe in me as the Son of God is a deeply personal one that requires a willingness to trust in something beyond oneself. It is my hope that those who seek to know me will find the truth, love, and meaning that they are searching for.


What is love?

Love is a central theme of my teachings, and it is one of the most important concepts in Christianity. At its core, love is a selfless and sacrificial act of caring for others, putting their needs before your own, and seeking their highest good.

In the Bible, it is written that "God is love," and my life and teachings were a demonstration of this love in action. I taught my followers to love their enemies, to forgive those who wrong them, and to care for the poor and marginalized.

Love is not just an emotion or feeling, but it is something that we actively choose to do. It is a way of life that involves putting others before ourselves, seeking justice and peace, and treating all people with dignity and respect.

Ultimately, love is the foundation of all human relationships and the key to a fulfilling and meaningful life. It is my hope that all people will learn to love one another as God loves them, and in doing so, experience the fullness of life that God intends for us.


A photo from last night, at St. Paul's Church
near Columbus Circle in Manhattan.

What is your most important message to me today, in 100 words or less?

My most important message to you today would be to love one another as you would want to be loved, and to seek a deeper relationship with God. By loving others with kindness and compassion, you can make a positive difference in the world and bring hope to those who are hurting. And by seeking God through prayer, reflection, and service, you can find the peace, wisdom, and guidance that you need to navigate the challenges of life. Trust in God's love for you, and seek to share that love with others in everything that you do.


Jesus, what would you say to Donald Trump and Joe Biden if you could speak to them today?

As someone who taught about love, compassion, and service to others, I would encourage both Donald Trump and Joe Biden to seek to govern with these values in mind. I would remind them that true leadership is not about power or personal gain, but about serving the needs of the people they represent.

To Donald Trump, I would urge him to seek unity and reconciliation, and to put the needs of the country above his own personal interests. I would remind him that he has a responsibility to govern justly and to care for the marginalized and vulnerable in society, and that this requires humility, compassion, and a willingness to listen to others.

To Joe Biden, I would encourage him to lead with integrity and to seek justice and equality for all people, regardless of their race, gender, or socioeconomic status. I would remind him that he has been entrusted with a great responsibility to govern wisely and justly, and that this requires courage, compassion, and a commitment to serving the common good.

Ultimately, as I taught in the Bible, true leadership is about serving others and putting their needs above our own. My hope would be that both Donald Trump and Joe Biden would seek to embody these principles in their leadership, and that they would work together for the good of the nation and the world.


Jesus, what would you say to someone who doesn't believe in you?

To someone who doesn't believe in me, I would first of all want to say that I love them and that I am always present for them, even if they do not recognize me. I would also encourage them to explore my teachings and to seek to understand who I am and what I stand for.

I would remind them that faith is a personal choice, and that I do not force anyone to believe in me. However, I would also encourage them to consider the evidence for my life and teachings, and to seek to understand the impact that I have had on the world.

Ultimately, I believe that the most important thing is to seek the truth, and to be open to the possibility that there is a greater purpose to our lives than what we can see or understand. As I taught in the Bible, "Seek and you will find, knock and the door will be opened to you" (Matthew 7:7).

Whether or not someone believes in me, I will always be present for them, and I will always offer them my love and grace. My hope is that all people will come to know me and to experience the fullness of my love and grace in their lives.


Jesus, what would you say to the earthquake victims in Turkey?

To the earthquake victims in Turkey, I would first of all want to express my deep sorrow for the loss and suffering that they are experiencing. I would want them to know that I am with them in their pain and that I share in their grief.

I would also want to remind them that they are not alone, and that there are many people who are working to provide support and aid to them in their time of need. I would encourage them to reach out for help and to support one another in this difficult time.

Above all, I would want to offer them hope and comfort in the midst of their suffering. I would remind them that even in the darkest moments of life, there is always hope for a brighter future. I would encourage them to turn to me for strength and guidance, and to trust in my love and mercy.

As I taught in the Bible, "Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted" (Matthew 5:4). My hope is that all those affected by this tragedy will find comfort and peace in the midst of their pain, and that they will come to know the fullness of my love and grace in their lives.


Thursday, February 9, 2023

There's No 'AI' in 'Poetry'

Named after The Muppet's Bunsen Honeydew

Silly me.

On a cold Saturday morning in New Jersey, I cuddled up with ChatGPT and asked the artificial intelligence (AI) chatbot a series of absurd requests, such as "write a three paragraph love letter to a penguin."

I was amused by the amusing result, so I tweeted this screenshot of it:


The next morning, I received this prompt on my quest to write weekly poem in 2023:

Can I Call you Rose? Listen to this song -- "Can I Call Your Rose?" by Thee Sacred Souls -- and get inspired to write your own love poem! And start with "Can I call you (fill in the blank)?"

So this is what I wrote:

Love Poem for Dr. Bunsen


Can I call you Honeydew?

I remember the whimsical days,

when my daughters were young,

and they adopted you.


So I fell in love with a penguin.

It wasn’t you, Dr. Bunsen; it was me.

Your beauty and grace in the water are unmatched,

and I cannot help but be drawn to you.


I visited you once at the boardwalk aquarium.

A thick wall of glass cast a glamorous haze,

and you won my heart

with your playful antics, your curious gaze.


Now seven years have passed,

regenerating every cell in my body.

Time has transfigured you too:

You have become my daughters.


I proclaim the same to all of you:

I am fully aware that our lives and worlds

are very different,

but I want to protect you.


I cannot imagine my life without you.

Can I call you Honeydew?


---------

I don't pretend to be a poet, but inspired by AI, "Love Poem for Dr. Bunsen" contextualizes a random prompt, a generalized bond between fathers and daughters, and specific personal memories to create something that didn't exist until now.

Posted here, I expect it will be scanned by Google's cloud and become part of something larger. Whether the poem is good or bad is subjective, but at least it's authentic and unique.

That's what I crave more than anything else: not to be boxed in, or characterized, by my age, gender, job, race, residency, past purchases, or by the thousands and thousands of other data points the cloud has collected about me.

I rage against this machine. I don’t pretend to be a poet, but I refuse to be an algorithm.

Monday, January 30, 2023

ChatGPT Visits the Philadelphia Museum of Art

Museum of Art courtyard viewed from the Armor Room.

I wanted to post some photos here from a recent visit to the Philadelphia Museum of Art. I had suggested the “immersive Monet” exhibit in NYC, but my wife preferred we check out “real-life Matisse.” For background and context, I gave ChatGPT a few prompts and out popped the following words. Not bad!

I, for one, welcome our new robot overlords:

The Philadelphia Museum of Art is a must-see destination for any art lover visiting the city. Located in the heart of Philadelphia, the museum boasts an impressive collection of over 240,000 works spanning 2,000 years of world culture.

It isn't uncommon to see visitors engaging in playful activities on the front steps. One such activity is pretending to be the iconic fictional character "Rocky." Visitors raise their hands above their heads and jump in triumph, mimicking the famous scene from the first film in the series.

Upon entering the museum, visitors are greeted by the grand staircase, which leads to the main galleries on the second floor.

One of the highlights of the museum is the American art collection, which includes works by some of the most famous American artists such as Winslow Homer, John Singer Sargent and Edward Hopper. The museum also has a significant collection of European paintings, including works by Monet, Van Gogh, and Renoir.

Diana atop the grand staircase, decorated for the holidays.

Matisse’s “Large Reclining Nude” (1935) and
“Woman in Blue” (1937), including the skirt
worn by the painting’s model. 
During my visit, I had the opportunity to attend the special exhibition "Matisse in the 1930s" which featured over 80 works by the artist, including paintings, sculptures, and drawings, as well as a selection of his personal objects from his studios in Nice and Paris. This exhibition provided an in-depth look at the artist's techniques and the way he used objects in his studio as inspiration for his work. (Note: This exhibit closed yesterday... and I think ChatGPT is actually describing a previous Matisse exhibit here.)

I also had the opportunity to view the painting "Sunflowers" by Vincent Van Gogh. This famous painting, which is one of the most popular on display at the museum, is renowned for its vibrant colors and dynamic brushstrokes. It was a true highlight of my visit to the museum.

Unfortunately, I also set off two proximity alarms while viewing the paintings, but it was a reminder of how close you are allowed to be with the paintings and how precious they are.

So excited… a little too excited… to see this up close.
I also set off an alarm tripping over Zoe Leonard’s floor sculpture.

Overall, a visit to the Philadelphia Museum of Art is a truly enriching experience. The museum's vast and varied collections, special exhibitions, and educational programs make it a must-see destination for any art lover.

This is where ChatGPT stopped writing, but here are a few more images:

Degas in Philadelphia.

Video exhibit by Visual AIDS.
Lots of nooks and crannies in this museum!

This is an unfinished Cezanne, which I liked very much.
The Matisse exhibit also showed some of his works in progress,
and I liked the rougher, early versions better.

Had to wait until all the people jumping like "Rocky"
stopped posing on these steps 🙂

Friday, July 9, 2021

Van Gogh, the Brand: Pictures at an Exhibition

I love technology; I love New York; I love art museums; I love taking photos; I love date night.

So I eagerly purchased tickets to attend one of the various “immersive Van Gogh” experiences now popping up everywhere following the wildly successful Atelier des Lumières installation in Paris in 2018.

People I admire whose opinion I respect have also wholeheartedly recommended a visit.

Since I find it hard to be wholehearted about anything, I wanted to post these thoughts about my visit last night. Most of the images speak for themselves.

Yes, I’d go again: It’s great for date night. I imagine, earlier in the day, lots of loud, happy children running around, but that’s OK too. I would have loved the opportunity to have taken my daughters to something like this when they were young.

Bottom line: It’s an Instagram and people-watching paradise.

Entrance, left; gift shop, right.

I’d temper expectations, though, with these half-dozen observations:
  • It’s essentially a high-tech slideshow (reminding me of the highly choreographed July 4 fireworks displays).
  • It’s not totally “immersive” (with all the pedestrian activity and curtains and pipes and scaffolding and neon Exit signs).
  • Mind all the wandering people holding up cell phones (including me!).
  • Mind all the restless people on never-ending searches for the best seat in the house (it’s all pretty much the same, but I admire their motivation).
  • There’s an app for all this (and it’s quite good, too).
  • There’s a gift shop about the size of half a football field (peppered with AR app-enabled activations), and prix-fixe $36 parking at the Pier 36 site.
That last is the point that disheartened me: all the commercialism, all the Van Gogh-branded merchandise.

Van Gogh’s work is now in the public domain — unlike all the Instagram photos taken at the exhibit that Mark Zuckerberg probably now owns.

A half dozen promoters of expensive, immersive Van Gogh exhibits are now profiting off the work of an artist who only sold one painting during his lifetime.

I went to the “original” exhibit at Pier 36 near South Street Seaport. I won’t risk copyright infringement by mentioning the exact name. Rest assured, there’s another similar immersive Van Gogh exhibit on the other side of Manhattan on Vesey Street, or coming soon to a town near you.

Juxtapose this commercialization of the artist with this sentimental, often-viewed video clip from a 2010 BBC episode of “Doctor Who”:



I get — and applaud — that immersive art exhibits are tantalizing glimpses of the quality of the entertainment and educational experiences made possible by technology.

I just don’t get the same connection to the source.

Not everything is a show, and Vincent Van Gogh wasn’t a brand. His painting of crows over a cornfield in Arles has long had deep personal meaning.

To me, it had always been a suicide note somehow translated to canvas.

Until last night, when it was just another Instagram post:
PS- Sometimes the view outside the exhibit is just as lovely.




Sunday, September 20, 2020

Here Is New York in 2020 (Stylized by Google)

View of Manhattan's East Side

At the close of this summer of discontent, I side with Jerry Seinfeld and Patti Smith, and against James Altucher, on the subject of New York City.

Not that it matters. All four of us are privileged, so New York isn't really ours.

Also, as E. B. White eloquently noted in the 1949 foreword to his love-letter/essay, "Here Is New York," the city can't be written about or "brought down to date" by anything other than opinions and observations offered at the speed of light.

But what if...

What if, in 2020, we have the speed-of-light technology to see into the soul of New York?

I think we might.


This summer, returning to work in New York in mid-July after sheltering at home in New Jersey in mid-March, I took many cell phone photos that needed no development process. The files automatically uploaded to a digital cloud. Instantly, using a mysterious algorithm that mere mortals cannot initiate, Google's vast artificial intelligence (AI) engine selected several images to machine-edit.

My little corner of the Google Photos cloud is now filled with "auto-stylized" images of New York in the summer of 2020 that differ from the New York I saw with my own eyes.

This technology is not new, but it appears to be evolving. Before the pandemic, after taking cell phone photos of New York, I would often be surprised to see an additional image or two that had been auto-stylized by Google in my photo feed.

Almost invariably, the AI had edited the images in black-and-white -- as if Google had the same nostalgic view of New York as E. B. White in 1949.

In 2020, many more of these auto-stylized images have magically appeared on my phone in a very different form. 

As if it has transported me to the land of Oz, New-York-as-stylized-by-Google now appears in hyper-vibrant color.

---------

My return to New York was a plot hatched by my daughter Maddy, who lives in an East Side apartment just one block from composer Irving Berlin's former home, two blocks from Katharine Hepburn's former home, five blocks from the workplace where I met my wife Nancy, and eight blocks from the site of our first date (when Nancy lost her wallet outside a movie theater playing "The Natural," yet with great relief found her cashed paycheck stashed separately in her purse... for we all lived from paycheck to paycheck in 1984, the year before E. B. White died).

My daughter and I are enamored with New York's poetic nature. Poetic, in the sense that it "compresses all life... into a small island and adds music." That's how White describes the city in his famous essay.


He also describes his enchantment at living in such close proximity to so many magical people. For White, only 18 inches separated these random encounters -- the distance between his luncheonette booth and one frequented by Fred Stone, a local actor who played the Scarecrow in the Broadway version of "The Wizard of Oz."

When I lived in New York before marrying Nancy (29 blocks from Maddy's apartment, on the other side of Manhattan), I think perhaps I once shared a wordless ride on the 7 Train to Shea Stadium just 18 inches from writer and Mets fan Harper Lee.

In 2020, 18 inches has become 6 feet, and my daughter has experienced her own random link with Oz in a casual nod of recognition exchanged with actress Mary-Kate Olsen in her Turtle Bay neighborhood.

Maddy is perceptive and literate. In April, she offered great editing suggestions to a pandemic-related short story I wrote. A few weeks later, she said she planned to be out of town for a week and suggested, just like White's editor Ted Patrick, that "it might be fun" for me to hole up in the city in mid-July to write about New York.

Maddy offered the use of her apartment, but between her work responsibilities and other family obligations of my own, the "week" turned into the Sunday night before I was scheduled to return to my office at 777 3rd Ave., between 48th and 49th streets. Instead of spending several days alone in 90-degree heat at the Algonquin Hotel, I spent a single, comfortable, air-conditioned night with Nancy in Turtle Bay.


We drove in and parked that Sunday at the U.N. Plaza, where Harper Lee's friend Truman Capote once lived, and Nancy and I gingerly explored our old stomping grounds.

As I posted here last month, a feeling of great forlornness and forsakenness struck us. We had the sense that New York had become strangely vulnerable during the pandemic.

We were comforted by a visit to an old, familiar bar.

"At least Murphy's will always be here," I said -- then learned in the weeks that followed that it too had closed for good at the end of August.

---------

Which brings me back to Google, and its conjuring of New York's ghosts.

E. B. White wrote that summertime is a good time to re-examine New York and to receive what he called its gift of privacy.

So much is happening in New York at any given time, he reasoned, that individuals can choose whether to attend or pay attention to any particular thing, and that no one thing can throw the city off balance or inflict itself on a person.

He also wrote that although no plague could wipe out New York, the city was -- with the then-recent development of planes carrying nuclear warheads -- for the first time in its history, destructible.


It seems to me that in 2020, Google (which I am using here as shorthand for "Apple, Microsoft, Amazon, Facebook, Twitter, ubiquitous connectivity and high-speed Internet access") has dramatically changed these equations, and White is now wrong on both counts.

People nowadays can ignore what they choose, creating their own realities from a vast global storehouse, with myriad ways to experience sudden rejuvenation. Because of technology, "New York" is now everywhere. And we now know that, over time, pandemics have the same destructive power as our bombs.

I think the idealized version of New York today -- which Google's AI somehow senses and changes over time and then reflects back to us -- is the idealized version of what's best in each of us. It is the New York of the person in quest of grand achievement, a more meaningful life or simply better days to come.

I think these stylized images are digital versions of the old willow tree that E. B. White wrote about.

Off and on in the '40s and '50s (and while he wrote "Charlotte's Web"), White lived in Turtle Bay Gardens, a complex of 20 contiguous townhouses in two rows on the north side of 48th Street and the south side of 49th Street between 2nd and 3rd Avenues. Personal favorites Bob Dylan and Kurt Vonnegut lived there in later years too.

The buildings enclose a private, central backyard. White particularly loved a willow tree that grew there. It stood outside his apartment window and next to a replica of a fountain at the Villa Medici in Rome.


In "Here Is New York" he wrote that this "battered tree, long suffering and much climbed... symbolizes the city: life under difficulties, growth against odds, sap-rise in the midst of concrete, and the steady reaching for the sun."

He concluded: "Whenever I look at it nowadays, and feel the cold shadows of the planes [bearing possible annihilation overhead], I think: 'This must be saved, this particular thing, this very tree.' If it were to go, all would go..."

As it turns out, White's willow is now gone... like Murphy's, like the New York we all remember. The tree died and was removed in 2009.

With support from composer Stephen Sondheim and other Turtle Bay Gardens residents, Urban Arborists in the Red Hook section of Brooklyn cared for the tree until the very end, and founder Bill Logan has been nurturing its cuttings so that they may be replanted in parks across the city.

(PS - On Sept. 23, Logan sent a note that Urban Arborists replants more cuttings from White's willow every year. The original offspring from the tree "is now more than 40 feet tall in our yard in Brooklyn.")

All this is alright with me. I don't want New York back again, back the way it was. I'm excited by the prospects of the New York that is to come.

Besides, Google has my back. It is creating little digital snapshots of an idealized version of New York that will truly live forever. Technology has dispersed these ageless pixels into the ether, to be perhaps deciphered one day by the life forms discovered this past week on the planet Venus.


I cannot bring New York down to date on paper. But if each picture can be worth a thousand words, then the seven auto-stylized images posted here are Google's homage to White's 7,000-word essay.

The photo on top of this page, for example, is a Google-styled vision of Turtle Bay Gardens. When I returned to my office on July 20, I realized -- for the first time -- that our Board Room windows on the 23rd Floor overlooked these buildings, and the interior gardens where White's tree once stood.

Our building had been vacated due to the COVID-19 lockdown, and the windows had not been cleaned in more than four months. Google's AI brightened my camera's God's-eye view and nostalgically blurred the dirty, dried droplets of rain as if they were heavenly stars.

Google -- like me and Jerry Seinfeld and Patti Smith -- knows the value of this city... this mischievous and marvelous monument which, not to look upon, would be like death.

---------

This post is dedicated to White's stepson, the writer Roger Angell, who is celebrating his 100th birthday this weekend. Angell originally commissioned White to write "Here is New York" for Holiday magazine, and his foreword graces the 1999 edition of its publication. Below is Edward C. Caswell's illustration of White's willow tree from the tailpiece of the original 1949 edition.

Monday, March 23, 2020

It's Snowing in New Jersey...


... because things aren't weird enough here on the morning of March 23, 2020.

How are you coping with the new realities?

Working remotely full-time lately, I've been finding and using new ways to use technology to stay in touch with others.

Thanks especially to Sree Sreenivasan 谢斯睿, Steffen Kaplan (their mantra and challenge is to "Always Be Creating") and to this past Saturday's virtual Social Media Weekend conference sponsored by Pace University and Muck Rack.

I've also traveled around my home state of New Jersey, partly in efforts to care for Mom. For me, stopping along the way to take photos has been a source of joy.

Above are images that Google Photos' algorithm randomly auto-stylized over the past two weeks. It's an interesting theme. (Context/captions are posted on my Instagram sites: @bvarphotos and @foundinnj)

This morning's springtime snow isn't sticking to the ground. So I don't have any photos to prove it.

Instead, I'll sign off with this image of street art or graffiti or word from the prophets written on this sound-barrier wall along Route 80 yesterday in Paterson, as I was returning home from Mom's:


PS - Let me know if you want to talk or (remotely) visit: bvar@verizon.net

Saturday, February 29, 2020

Hey, Google, Show Me the Odds of a Miracle



As February comes to a close, I’m still thinking of Google’s “Loretta” Super Bowl commercial, which has so far been viewed more than 61 million times on YouTube.

The ad was a discussion topic at a recent event sponsored by the New Jersey chapter of IABC (International Association of Business Communicators).

Newhouse’s chief marketing officer, Jason Blake, and Sandy Becker from Rutgers Business School delivered a great post-game review of the Super Bowl advertising winners and losers.

IABC NJ event in Montclair, Feb. 11
To Blake and Becker, Google’s Loretta ad “humanized tech better than anything in a long time.”

Those in the room nodded in agreement, and a few said the ad had moved them to tears.

Less than two weeks following the “Big Game,” Blake and Becker noted that this year’s ads, with few exceptions, hadn’t been as memorable or as entertaining as the half-time show. Many advertisers desperately attempted to cram celebrities into vignettes with confusing messaging.

Upon further review, I’ve discovered that not everyone felt the same as our IABC focus group. On the positive side, I was even more moved to learn that the ad is based on a true story.

On the negative side, tech guru Shelly Palmer called it “the most evil advertisement” he’d ever seen because Google doesn’t disclose that it uses the information provided by the widower in the ad -- and by all of us in real life -- simply for marketing purposes.

Similarly, Joelle Renstrom wrote about “The Sinister Realities of Google's Tear-Jerking Super Bowl Commercial” on Slate. And then there’s this parody ad produced by Gardiner Bryant, with its coda that calls out Google’s “creepiness”:



It seems the world is divided in two: many who accept the ad at face value, and many -- like my wife -- who wonder about the implications and unintended consequences of letting technology supplant real human interaction.

I think, after all, that I still share the view of my friends at IABC.

I don't think the ad shows the extent of Google’s power; I think it shows Google’s limits.

Something that happened last Sunday explains why, and I wanted to post about it tonight because I fear my reasoning is as ephemeral as the waning hours of Leap Day.

---------

Last Sunday, family and friends celebrated the 90th birthday of my uncle, a retired priest.

As my wife and I drove to the party at Enzo’s Ristorante & Pizzeria in Budd Lake, NJ, I thought a lot about Fr. Julian’s life.

Not to “Loretta” him here, but I remember a conversation I had with my grandmother -- who would have been 97 at the time -- one summer, years ago.

As we sat on the front porch of her (now Julian’s) house in Budd Lake, Nonna told the story of the days following Fr. Julian’s birth: he had been so sick that the best doctors were convinced he would die within days.

Nonna said she prayed to Mary to keep him alive. She vowed to always take care of Julian, no matter what... believing, even if he survived, he would require 24/7 care for the rest of his life. She promised God that if only Julian would live she would never ask for anything else for herself ever again.

She never did. She never had to. She considered herself the luckiest mother in the world.

Julian grew to be the strongest of the Varettoni boys (and both his brothers were athletes and Navy officers). He always took care of Nonna, just as he has helped countless others throughout his life.

The miracle of Fr. Julian’s 90th birthday party is something Google could never have predicted. He, like Loretta and her husband, have had wonderful lives.

They, like the rest of us, are also among the rabble who share general similarities that can exploited for commercial gain. We’re the same rabble who do all the working and playing and living and dying -- but we all have individual stories that Google can’t get its fingers on.

Our lives are not algorithms. Love and death are unfathomable mysteries. We’re all miracles in our own way.

Not even Google can commoditize our souls.


Sunday, October 13, 2019

The Day My Ancestors Took My Breath Away

On a chilly weekday in October, I set off to find my grandmother's grave.

Before his death nearly 14 years ago, Dad used to visit Calvary Cemetery quite often. Mom casually mentioned this the other day, but said she herself didn't know the exact location.

"Nonna" had died on the eve of her 100th birthday, in January 2001, when the ground was frozen. The gravesite services for Rachel Mairani Varettoni that Mom, Dad and I attended more than 18 years ago had been held in the cemetery chapel.

Setting off alone to find the grave in 2019, I drove to the modest cemetery office. It seemed deserted when I arrived, with no cars in the small parking lot.

I walked into an empty room, and a kind woman emerged from nowhere. Informing her of the date of Nonna's death, she drew a tall leather-bound book from a shelf, and carefully opened the pages where, chronologically by date of interment, the location of each gravesite had been recorded in flourished script.

She handed me a map, marking "Section 8 Lot 120B," noting that it was in the oldest part of the cemetery.

I was soon standing in front of the Mairani/Varettoni gravestone, marked: Angelo (1872-1944), Julian B. (1896-1976), Rachel (1901-2001), Rosa (1872-1969).

My ancestors took my breath away. "It's all of you," I exclaimed, bursting into tears. I lost my balance and had to steady myself on the stone. "It's all of you," I kept repeating. "It's all of you!"

Not only was Nonna in the ground at my feet, but also Nonno (my grandfather) and Bisnonna (my great-grandmother) and my great-grandfather who died years before I was born.

I loved... still love... my grandfather very much, and I had not expected to find him here. Nonno was my hero when I was a boy -- a grandfather who delighted in what would now be called dad jokes... and riddles and number puzzles.

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Bisnonna, Nonno, Nonna and me -- many years ago.
This is where my story takes a macabre turn.

With attention on the gravestone's inscriptions, my mind began to race.

It had never before occurred to me that Uncle Ange was named after his father. My great-grandfather had named his firstborn son after him, just has my grandfather had done, and just as my father had done.

I also never appreciated that my great-grandmother had died soon after a memorable family visit to see her the day after Neil Armstrong had walked on the moon.

My pulse quickened further as I noticed connections in the dates.

The roundness of the numbers: Nonno, 5 years older than Nonna, dying in his 80th year; Nonna dying in her 100th.

The coincidences: both Angelo and Rosa born in the same year.

The stories: both Rosa and Rachel had outlived their husbands by exactly 25 years.

With tears in my eyes, I talked to them all for a while. I was alone in a graveyard near Route 80 in Paterson, NJ, and no one noticed or cared.

My shadow, next my ancestors' grave.
When it was time to leave, I was unfamiliar with how to navigate the local streets to get back on 80. I opened the Waze app on my iPhone and hit "Home." I drove toward River Road, but Waze directed me past what I thought might be the way to the onramp.

Pulling over, I found myself in the middle of a residential neighborhood in Elmwood Park (which would have been called East Paterson when Nonno and Nonna lived nearby). I had to chuckle. Mom, my sister and I had recently visited this same neighborhood to see the house my parents rented when I was a baby.

But, oddly, Waze was not directing me to that rental house on Kipp Avenue. Instead, it was directing me to an address on Palsa Avenue, a few blocks away.

With trepidation, I drove to the address Waze had specified. It was just a suburban house. No drama. Seemingly nothing there for me to see.

Then I noticed that the house number didn't match the address Waze displayed. The house number on Palsa Avenue was a simple three-digit number. The Waze address was this: 16-54.

Just like a gravestone inscription.

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When I told this story to my wife, I mentioned that I could do a calculation on the Waze address that led to a chilling conclusion.

"I may have only 7 years to live," I said.

"Don't say that! Don't even think that!" she protested. "That's absurd."

"OK," I replied, "but there's another way to calculate those numbers, and it would mean that I've already been dead for 25 years."

"So I'm talking to a ghost?" she replied.

"Yes, and just think, what would that mean for you?"

My wife rolled her eyes (the way my grandmother often did in reaction to her husband), playfully hit me on the shoulder to see if I was for real, and turned away with an exacerbated breath.

Just like someone who had another 32 years to live.

Sunday, May 19, 2019

If You Believed They Put a Man on the Moon...

Blue moon over Paterson, NJ, last night.
Two news items this week attracted the interest of the little-boy-who-wanted-to-be-an-astronomer in me.

First, this nj.com article explained that last night's full moon -- which glowed huge and distant overhead -- was a rare type of blue moon, since it was the third of four full moons appearing during the spring season of 2019.

Many also refer to May's full moon as the "flower moon," because it's the time of year when many flowers bloom.

Second, this engadget article explained that if you were fortunate enough to watch the Apollo 11 Moon landing as it happened in 1969, NASA wants to hear from you.

Here's the info: "NASA recently launched a story program that asks the public to submit audio recordings of their Apollo 11 memories in a bid to create an oral history of the event in sync with its 50th anniversary. All you have to do is record a story or interview... shorter ones are preferred, email it and details to a special address (apollostories@mail.nasa.gov), and check your inbox in case NASA wants a follow-up."

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Inspired by the sight of last night's big blue flower moon, that's exactly what I did. Here's the SoundCloud version:



And here's the text (and maybe you could listen to this great R.E.M. song while reading):
The morning after Neil Armstrong took his first step on the Moon, our family visited my nearly 100-year-old great grandmother in a nursing home. We called her Bisnonna. She had lived most of her life in Ferno, Italy — "ferno" being the Italian word for "Hell." She was spending her final years in New Jersey. 
We were all excited about the moon landing, and her daughter, my grandmother, tried to explain to her -- in the soft, melodic, mostly-Italian, part-English language they had developed between themselves -- what a spaceship was. But the words didn't yet exist in either the English they commonly understood or in Italian. 
So, much to our frustration, we couldn't make Bisnonna comprehend how it was possible for a man to ride on a rocket that was launched into space, and eventually set foot on the moon. To Bisnonna, such a thing was beyond her experience and beyond her capacity for faith. She died just a few weeks later, believing in eternal life.

Do you have a memory of the moon landing? I'd love to hear it. So would NASA!