Autumn's Poet, part 2

What connects poetic Halloween tales of terror, Little Orphan Annie, and Raggedy Ann and Andy dolls?

An Indiana poet and an actual little orphan nicknamed Allie. You’ve heard James Whitcomb Riley’s poem, famous for the iconic lines intended to be read aloud,

    The Gobble-ums will get you

    If you don’t watch out.

Little Orphant Annie
by James Whitcomb Riley

Little Orphant Annie’s come to our house to stay,
An’ wash the cups an’ saucers up, an’ brush the crumbs away,
An’ shoo the chickens off the porch, an’ dust the hearth, an’ sweep,
An’ make the fire, an’ bake the bread, an’ earn her board-an’-keep;

An’ all us other childern, when the supper-things is done,
We set around the kitchen fire an’ has the mostest fun
A-list’nin’ to the witch-tales ‘at Annie tells about,
An’ the Gobble-uns ‘at gits you
   Ef you
      Don’t
         Watch
            Out!

Orphant Annie illustration
by Ethel Franklin Betts

Annie was based upon a real orphan, Mary Alice ‘Allie’ Smith, a childhood companion of Riley. At age ten, James’ parents brought Allie into their house to clean, cook, and help their mother. She quickly became part of the family, which found her real talent was telling horror stories while sitting around the fire after dinner.

Riley’s ‘Frost is on the Punkin’ hinted at the supernatural, but the real Annie (Allie) happily tore into tales of terror replete with beheadings and other murders, according to Riley’s recollections. The children loved them.

Riley incorporated some of her tellings into poems and tales of his own. His muse didn’t realize she was his inspiration until her 60s, which she visited him. The girl certainly had an effect upon him.

Wunst they wuz a little boy wouldn’t say his prayers, —
An’ when he went to bed at night, away up-stairs,
His Mammy heerd him holler, an’ his Daddy heerd him bawl,
An’ when they turn’t the kivvers down, he wuzn’t there at all!

An’ they seeked him in the rafter-room, an’ cubby-hole, an’ press,
An’ seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an’ ever’-wheres, I guess;
But all they ever found wuz thist his pants an’ roundabout: —
An’ the Gobble-uns‘ll git you
   Ef you
      Don’t
         Watch
            Out!

Until the 1900s, children were often treated as undersized adults. In line with that view, children’s stories were written as cautionary tales, ‘who’s naughty or nice’ morality plays. Many times children’s stories featured blood and guts, horrible events, and murder.

The poem is surprisingly complex for a children’s work. It utilizes alliteration, dialect, onomatopoeia, ordinary rhyme, parallels, and phonetic intensifiers brought together in iambic meter.

The work went by several titles including ‘The Elf Child’ before an accident changed the name to Orphant Annie. A typesetter spelled the title wrong. Riley initially wanted it corrected to Orphan Allie, but the poem’s reception and increasing popularity persuaded him to leave it alone.

An’ one time a little girl ‘ud allus laugh an’ grin,
An’ make fun of ever’ one, an’ all her blood-an’-kin;
An’ wunst, when they was “company,” an’ ole folks wuz there,
She mocked ‘em an’ shocked ‘em, an’ said she didn’t care!

An’ thist as she kicked her heels, an’ turn’t to run an’ hide,
They wuz two great big Black Things a-standin’ by her side,
An’ they snatched her through the ceilin’ ‘fore she knowed what she’s about.
An’ the Gobble-uns‘ll git you
   Ef you
      Don’t
         Watch
            Out!

The actual orphan muse
Mary Alice ‘Allie’ Smith

‘Little Orphan Annie’ became a silent movie. A reading was cut on early phonograph records. It provided inspiration for songs, musicals, films, television and radio broadcasts.

• In 1911, American composer Margaret Hoberg Turrell composed an arrangement for choir.
• Harold Gray’s comic strip, Little Orphan Annie with the trademark hollow eyes, and the Broadway show, Annie, based their titles and initial plot premise on Riley’s poem.
• Johnny Gruelle’s Raggedy Ann and Andy characters and part of the story line were based on Riley’s poem.
• The 21 September 1972 second episode (S01E02) ‘The Carnival’ of the CBS television series The Waltons featured John Boy Walton reading Little Orphant Annie to Jim Bob and Elizabeth.
• Other television programs have referenced ‘Little Orphans Annie’ including Cracking Up: The Darrell Hammond Story and the series Getting On.
• Little girls in Texas Killing Fields recited the poem whilst skipping rope.
• Dean Koontz’s 2004 novel The Taking featured the same premise as the previous stanza written 140 years ago.

An’ little Orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue,
An’ the lamp-wick sputters, an’ the wind goes woo-oo!
An’ you hear the crickets quit, an’ the moon is gray,
An’ the lightnin’-bugs in dew is all squenched away, —

You better mind yer parunts, an’ yer teachurs fond an’ dear,
An’ churish them ‘at loves you, an’ dry the orphant’s tear,
An’ he’p the pore an’ needy ones ‘at clusters all about,
Er the Gobble-uns‘ll git you
   Ef you
      Don’t
         Watch
            Out!

And that, my young friends, is the story behind the story. Remember,

The Gobble-ums will get you

If you don’t watch out!

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Autumn's Poet, part 1

When the Frost is on the Punkin

When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock,

And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin’ turkey-cock,

And the clackin’ of the guineys, and the cluckin’ of the hens,

And the rooster’s hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence;

O, it’s then’s the times a feller is a-feelin’ at his best,

With the risin’ sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest,

As he leaves the house, bareheaded, and goes out to feed the stock,

When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock.

As the Americas developed as nations, they adopted and adapted arts from the ‘old countries’ until the US, Canada, and the Caribbean found their footings. Massachusetts operated as an intellectual axis while the City of New York grew into a cultural centre. To the surprise of many, movements arose from America’s heartland, in particular Indiana, which for half a century beginning in the latter 1800s, enjoyed a reputed Golden Age.

Landscape painting and a nexus of folk music, blues, and jazz rose through the tumult. With plain talk and an absence of affectations, a nation’s voice echoed quips, slang, and dialect of the fields, forests, farms, and soon enough, city streets. One could argue this laid the groundwork for pop culture.

They’s something kindo’ harty-like about the atmusfere

When the heat of summer’s over and the coolin’ fall is here—

Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossums on the trees,

And the mumble of the hummin’-birds and buzzin’ of the bees;

But the air’s so appetizin’; and the landscape through the haze

Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days

Is a pictur’ that no painter has the colorin’ to mock—

When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock.

Prominent names in turn-of-the-century Hoosier literature include George Ade, Theodore Dreiser, Edward Eggleston, Frank McKinney Hubbard, George Barr McCutcheon, Meredith Nicholson, Gene Stratton Porter, the recently mentioned Booth Tarkington, Maurice Thompson, Lew Wallace, and for today’s article, James Whitcomb Riley, the Hoosier Poet, sometimes called the Children’s Poet.

If you’ve wondered where the phrase, “The goblins will get you if you don’t watch out,” that’s Riley. ‘The Old Swimming Hole’  (which as a kid I waded in and deeply cut a muscle in the arch of my foot) and ‘The Frost is on the Punkin’… That’s Riley again. He also composed the popular plantation parody folk song, ‘Short’n Bread’.

The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn,

And the raspin’ of the tangled leaves, as golden as the morn;

The stubble in the furries—kindo’ lonesome-like, but still

A-preachin’ sermuns to us of the barns they growed to fill;

The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed;

The hosses in theyr stalls below—the clover over-head!—

O, it sets my hart a-clickin’ like the tickin’ of a clock,

When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock!

Greenfield, Indiana is known for two American icons, Eli Lilly and … Riley. His home serves as a local museum. Although Riley became wealthy through his writing and touring, he lived a typically modest Midwestern life, although he battled alcoholism in mid-life. Surprisingly, extant recordings of him reading his poetry can be found, but unsurprisingly, sound quality is murky. At least the author’s cadence survives. Generation Z might appreciate the quirky spelling… or not.

Note: I can’t be certain I can respond to comments. Thanks to Hurricane Helene, our area has internet outages with no promise of repair dates, very minor compared to the deadly losses in other states. (To post this article, I purchased cellular data from Google Fi, slow, expensive, with spotty reliability.)

Then your apples all is gethered, and the ones a feller keeps

Is poured around the celler-floor in red and yeller heaps;

And your cider-makin’ ’s over, and your wimmern-folks is through

With their mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and sausage, too!

I don’t know how to tell it—but ef sich a thing could be

As the Angels wantin’ boardin’, and they’d call around on me—

I’d want to ’commodate ’em—all the whole-indurin’ flock—

When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock!

Next time, little horror stories.

AI on AI

The Impact of Artificial Intelligence in Real Life

Artificial Intelligence (AI) has become an integral part of our daily lives, transforming various sectors and enhancing the way we live and work. From healthcare to finance, education to entertainment, AI’s applications are vast and continually expanding. Here are some key areas where AI is making a significant impact:

Healthcare

AI is revolutionizing healthcare by improving diagnostics, personalizing treatment plans, and predicting patient outcomes. AI algorithms can analyze medical images with high accuracy, assisting doctors in detecting diseases like cancer at early stages. Additionally, AI-powered tools can monitor patient vitals and predict potential health issues, enabling timely interventions.^[01]

Leigh: I anticipate robotic nursing assistants will rapidly move into disabled and elder care. The initial robots may not look humanoid, but they will have strong and gentle arms capable of lifting patients in and out of baths and toilets. AI and possibly AI robotic figures may find use to alleviating patient loneliness and boredom. Chess anyone?

Finance

In the financial sector, AI is used for fraud detection, risk management, and personalized banking. AI systems can analyze transaction patterns to identify fraudulent activities in real-time. Moreover, AI-driven chatbots provide customers with personalized financial advice and support, enhancing the overall banking experience.^[02]

Education

AI is transforming education by offering personalized learning experiences. Adaptive learning platforms use AI to assess students’ strengths and weaknesses, tailoring educational content to meet individual needs. This personalized approach helps students learn more effectively and at their own pace.^[03]

Transportation

AI is at the forefront of developing autonomous vehicles, which promise to make transportation safer and more efficient. Self-driving cars use AI to navigate roads, avoid obstacles, and make real-time decisions, reducing the risk of accidents caused by human error.^[04]

Leigh: Vehicles like the Tesla with FSD (full self-driving) are actually robots on wheels. I suspect one advance will be the ability to communicate with like-minded vehicles. “Car 54, your view is blocked of a child running into the street, vector 13.56.”

Entertainment

In the entertainment industry, AI is used to create personalized content recommendations. Streaming services like Netflix and Spotify use AI algorithms to analyze user preferences and suggest movies, shows, and music that align with their tastes. This enhances user engagement and satisfaction.^[05]

Leigh: And with that said, just for fun…

AI’s Role in Mystery Fiction Writing

For mystery fiction writers, AI offers a range of tools and capabilities that can enhance the creative process and streamline writing tasks. Here are some ways AI can be particularly useful for mystery fiction writers:

Plot Development

AI can assist writers in developing intricate and compelling plots. By analyzing existing mystery novels, AI can identify common plot structures and suggest new twists and turns. This helps writers craft engaging and unpredictable stories that keep readers on the edge of their seats.^[06]

Character Creation

Creating multi-dimensional characters is crucial in mystery fiction. AI can generate detailed character profiles, including backstories, personality traits, and motivations. For instance, an AI might suggest that a detective character has a mysterious past as a former spy, adding depth and intrigue to the story.^[07]

Writing Assistance

AI-powered writing tools can help authors with grammar, style, and coherence. These tools can provide real-time feedback, suggesting improvements and ensuring the narrative flows smoothly. Additionally, AI can help writers maintain consistency in tone and style throughout the manuscript.^[08]

Idea Generation

When facing writer’s block, AI can be a valuable brainstorming partner. AI can generate prompts, plot ideas, and even entire scenes based on the writer’s input. This can spark creativity and help writers overcome hurdles in the writing process.^[09]

Market Analysis

AI can analyze reader preferences and market trends, providing writers with insights into what themes and genres are currently popular. This information can guide writers in tailoring their stories to meet reader expectations and increase their chances of success.^[10]

In conclusion, AI is a powerful tool that can significantly enhance various aspects of our lives, including the creative process for mystery fiction writers. By leveraging AI’s capabilities, writers can develop richer stories, create compelling characters, and engage readers in new and exciting ways.

^[01] Beebom • ^[02] Tableau • ^[03] Adobe Experience • ^[04] Coursera • ^[05] GeeksforGeeks • ^[06] The Verge • ^[07] AIContentfy • ^[08] Mashable • ^[09] WriteMe • ^[10] Squibler

---

Human Here

Leigh: I recently wrote about AI and a bit of what we might expect, whether sweet or sour. As I'm sure you surmised, I asked ChatGPT (a large-language model AI) to write an essay on the topic. This is the result.

At Loss for Words

Mom and Dad spoke in a secret language.

So does my house phone (VoIP for those interested). Mere words into this article, it rudely interrupted to snarl. “Lobotomy. Lobotomy.”

I’ve previously mentioned an older resident of my childhood hamlet, one of those men crushed when the wife left, and emotionally unrecovered. He had a speech impediment when combined with abbreviations made his sentences difficult to decipher. Kids, however, learned to understand him and leveraged their translation skills into a private language.

Pity their poor teachers, a common target of childish insults. These days adults can check suspect words and phrases online. AFAIK, many are acronyms but IDK some slang terms. Nut? Seriously? 304 or 403? Make up your minds.

A Word from our Sponsor

Back to my parents’ private language when secret codes favored grownups. When adults didn’t want children to understand, parents of a certain era could rattle off conversations, helping to maintain a united front against the young and obstreperous. For example:

“Ettybay usway eanmay (o)otay erhay istersay. Iyay oundedgray erhay.”

Recognize that? It translates as:

“Betty was mean to her sister. I grounded her.”

In early grade school I read everything and stumbled upon Pig Latin. At last, I knew what my parents were up to. It’s dead easy to learn and for me at least, I could speak Pig Latin much faster than I could comprehend it.

And so I waited. (heh heh, maniacal laughter ensued) Next time Mom and Dad spoke Pig Latin at the dinner table, I casually interjected with a comment in Pig Latin. My parents stopped using their secret language. Had I been smarter, I should have pretended I couldn’t understand the conversation.

Igpay AtinLay

Here are Pig Latin rules (although algorithm might be a better word).

1. Detach leading consonants from each word.
2. Append them to the end of the word followed by ‘ay’.
• Thus “perfect children” becomes “erfectpay ildrenchay”.
3. For words with leading vowels, say the word followed by ‘yay’ or ‘way’.
• Thus “I am useful,” becomes “Iyay amway oosefulyay.”
4. Go by sound rather than English spelling, especially in rare instances of writing.
• Thus “To be or not to be,” is written “Ootay eebay orway otnay ootay eebay.”

[Grownups, don’t reveal to Generation Alpha! Eizesay eethay advantageway.]

Final Word

About my outrageous phone. It took a while before I realized it was trying to say, “Low battery. Low battery,” instead of “Lobotomy.”

By the way, the full English version of the above statement, “Betty was mean to her sister,” would more likely be spoken with asperity as, “Your daughter Betty was mean to her sister,” thereby disavowing parental knowledge of begatting DNA, placing responsibility on the other parent.

Uh-oh. Lobotomy. Lobotomy.

---

Why we can't have nice things

To avoid spoiling the storyline, I won’t comment on this video until after the break. Zoom in full-screen and please, please watch. Please.

 

 

 

 

© www.SandyHookPromise.org

 

Absolutely chilling. As September peeks over the horizon, schools across North America are either already in full session or will begin classes within two tweets of a teacher’s tablet. No one wants to think of the horrifying scenarios played out in too many schools, but think we must. Click below to discover the clues.

AI-de-camp

Sale: Latest fashion military-precision toaster equipped with ChatGPT•Alexa and automatic, Google-controlled pop-up features. Includes tactical controls, genuine UL-approved plug, USB, and 451° fuel-injected heating elements. Comes in an array of sixteen AI colors. Only $1299.95. Batteries not included. Free shipping with orders over $3600.

AI is everywhere, everywhere. Even where it isn’t.

You may remember my friend Thrush. Months ago, he urged me to write a non-fiction book, a layman’s guide to AI, artificial intelligence. I concluded I’d need a lot of research to bring my knowledge up to date for a full-fledged book, but an article might be more achievable at this point.

Thrush himself has a fair amount of experience. He was an engineer and I a consultant who worked for Westinghouse’s robotics division. (W) spun off as Automation Intelligence and a much smaller team led by Richard Fox specialized in neural networks, the foundation for modern artificial intelligence, also called machine intelligence.

To Understand the Future, Look to the Past

In the 1990s, AI approached the intelligence of a catatonic Labradoodle, but contrariwise, low IQ made it valuable for handling backbreaking and mind-deadening tasks.

An anecdote out of Australia told of a small parts inspection that was not only brain-numbingly dull, but subject to errors as workers’ attentions wandered. According to the story, workers trained a goose to detect bad assemblies, and an anserine solution proved somewhat more accurate without grousing. Supposedly the government stepped in and shut down the goose’s career, claiming forced labor was cruel to animals… not humans, but animals. (I would be interested if anyone can verify if this tale is true.)

Meanwhile, Fox and his colleagues, eventually acquired by Gould, had viable contracts, many from the automotive industry. These included banal tasks like Ford counting palleted sheets of window glass for export, GM identifying machine tooling heads too fine for the human eye to see, and determining if a transmission tab had been welded or not.

A particularly mundane task allowed Fox’s team to exercise its neural network: grading lumber. As plywood finishing a final trim and sanding, end-of-line workers noted knots and imperfections and categorized each sheet as Grade A, B, C, etc. This is where AI training kicked in.

For one last time, the grading workers sat with a training dongle, a keypad to rate the plywood. AI peered over their shoulders as workmen clicked through plywood sheets, teaching the neural network that a crack in the wood meant a rejection. Three small knots or one very large knot might drop a score to a grade C. After training with several sample sheets, the program was ready to tirelessly grade lumber all day long. Not brilliant, but it helped reduce industrial drudgery.

Pattern Recognition

Like all development, AI built on the shoulders of people and programs and techniques that came before, especially the Holy Grail of pattern recognition.

Humans can easily recognize faces, voices, songs, the distinctive beat of hawk wings, the scent of a lover’s neck, a fractional glimpse of an artifact our minds instantly extrapolate from a part to the whole in toto. Historically, digital computers have suffered at such simple human tasks. Before our current LLMs (large language models) and picture recognition could become useful, we needed pattern recognition, and pattern recognition required huge amounts of very fast storage and processors. These prerequisites have finally fallen into place and pattern solving has become a reality. Google and Alexa can not merely parse verbal questions, they can identify the voice of their inquisitor. Technology has finally arrived at the doorstep of machine intelligence.

The Stimulation of Simulation

Writers and researchers have speculated for a century about AI, and even as far back as a couple of millennia if one extrapolates early myths. AI was a topic at my university. I found myself assigned to a team working on economic simulations. Other universities pursued weather models, the effects of tides, and even earthquake simulations, so economics seemed relatively manageable. 

In an idle moment, I submitted a paper about simulating human intelligence, arguing that as simulations became more refined, they would eventually become indistinguishable from the real thing. I didn’t immediately realize I was backing into postulates and theorems by well-known theorists in the field, but I visualized simulation as an unexplored path to artificial intelligence.

Eliza

We’ve discussed prerequisites and pattern recognition, but in the mid-1960s, a fun experiment surfaced at MIT. Joseph Weizenbaum created a program, Eliza, that could communicate in a primitive way with humans. Although MIT disclaimed artificial intelligence, it nevertheless contained seeds of AI, the recognition of certain words resulting in a reaction. Beyond its small vocabulary, note the lack of specifics:

ELIZA: How do you do. Please tell me your problem.
Leigh: I'm concerned about the dark side of artificial intelligence.
ELIZA: Please go on.
Leigh: AI may not only be used, but also abused.
ELIZA: That is interesting. Please continue.

An anecdote told of an associate professor outside the computer room who sat down at an untended terminal, not knowing it was connected to Eliza. He attempted in vain to access his apps, and met with an implacable Eliza whispering soft platitudes in this teletype. Eventually the screaming professor drew the attention of staff, who soothed him with hot tea and an explanation.

Eliza lives on. You can try her out for yourself.

It all comes together.

Not long ago, our friend ABA had a government contracted business where she and her staff sorted through historical photographs to identify content, i.e, this is Nelson Mandela visiting Table Mountain on a mid-July afternoon.

AI has made her job obsolete. Computers can now recognize Madiba and distinctive geography with little to no human interaction other than feeding the machine.

Robots

As we speak, commercial robots are mating software with hardware, matching AI with mechanical precision. Applications are numerous. Think of elder care. Instead of slings and motorized hoists, a robot that may or may not look human softly scoops arms under a patient and gently lowers her on a toilet or into a bath, adjusting water temperature as desired. Another robot tenderly feeds a paralyzed patient and reads her an email from home.

I predict– yes, I’m willing to take such risk generally fraught with failure– I predict within a Christmas or two, we will see toys with built-in AI. Children can talk with them, ask questions, tell them their concerns, and let them know when they’re hungry or tired or need soothing. In the middle of the night, a toy might sing a child back to sleep. Advanced toys might resemble futuristic robots, whereas toys for young toddlers could look like Tribbles or teddy bears.

Jesus at the Wheel

We see one robot almost every day, a highly-intelligent ’bot on wheels. I’m referring to an electric vehicle (EV) with full self-driving (FSD)– the Tesla.

The average person may take FSD for granted, but those of us in the computer field are amazed at advances, especially in recent months. It is possible to enter the car, tell it where to go, arrive at its destination, and park itself without a person once turning the wheel or tapping the brake.

My friend Thrush, having traded in his Model 3 for a Model Y, cogently commented he doesn’t so much drive his Tesla, he supervises it. Close your eyes and you’ll never imagine a real person isn’t steering the car or– no disrespect– Jesus, as bumper stickers read.

Thrush no longer feels comfortable driving a traditional car. He has a point. Tesla accidents make the news simply because they are rare. Their accident and fatality rate is considerably lower than human-driven vehicles.

The console screen in a Tesla identifies traffic lights, stop signs, trucks, cars, and bicycles. It used to show traffic cones, but they’re no longer displayed. If a child darts into traffic, the car will brake and swerve to avoid him.

I’ll dare make another prediction, that the day will soon come when self-driving vehicles talk to one another. What? Why? Say you’re following a truck. An EV cannot see through a semi tractor-trailer any better than a person. But a smart vehicle in front of the semi sees a pending traffic accident and shouts out an alert to like-minded vehicles, giving them a chance to react without seeing what they’re reacting to. In a step beyond, intelligent vehicles could deliberately coordinate with one another to mitigate collisions.

The Dark Side

Those of us in the industry are well aware of abuses of computer intrusions and malware. At least one downtown bank here in Orlando won’t let you enter if you wear dark glasses or a hat. They want their cameras to pick you up and soon enough, identify you with AI.

London is one of the most monitored cities in the world. With AI, their computers could scan sidewalks and plazas snapping photos. Cameras sweep Trafalgar Square, its AI circuits identifying each person, innocent or not. AI can analyze faces at political rallies and protests, the wetdream of a police state. That is one creepy intrusion.

AI is already used to identify target marketing weaknesses and desires. In fact, AI was forced to cut back because it was targeting pregnant women before husbands and the women themselves were aware of their condition.

Finally, among other joys, AI can be used for warfare, electronic and traditional.

A Starting Point

We need AI legislation not only to protect us from corporations, but protect us from government. Decades ago, Isaac Asimov proposed three Laws of Robotics, later refined with an overriding fourth law. I can think of little better to form a foundation (there’s a joke here) for statutes to protect us against government and corporate excesses.

1. A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.
2. A robot must obey the orders given it by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.
3. A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law.
4. Superseding other laws, a robot may not harm humanity, or, by inaction, allow humanity to come to harm.

What now?

Experiment with ChatGPT and other AIs. You’ll encounter flaws, many, many flaws, but what they get right can be impressive. But I suggest three works of fiction from the past to give an idea of the future, what’s possible and what terrifies. They are novels after all, not inevitable.

The Shockwave Rider (1975)

John Brunner may have been the greatest Sci-Fi writer of the latter 20^th century. He didn’t depend upon evil aliens or hungry monsters (except for an embarrassing awful early novel). Each of his books deals with a topic of concern such as pollution and over-population. His novels read like tomorrow’s newspaper and he had an astonishing prescient record of predicting the future. In Shockwave Rider, he foresaw computer viruses and hackers. Like Stand on Zanzibar, the story is an entertaining peek into the future– now our present.

The Adolescence of P-1 (1977)

Thomas Ryan also foresaw hackers and viruses and he provided the most realistic descriptions of computers and data centers in fiction, eschewing goofy tropes often seen on television and in bad movies. In its day, P-1 was little known, even in the computer community, but was adapted into a 1984 Canadian TV movie titled Hide and Seek. Like The Shockwave Rider, it ultimately foresees a promising, positive future.

Colossus: The Forbin Project (1966)

D.F. Jones turned this into a trilogy. It’s the best known of the novels here and was made into a 1970 film, The Forbin Project. A powerful supercomputer is turned over to the military, despite warnings to the contrary. Meanwhile in the Soviet Union, a similar computer goes on-line. They meet. Warning: Unlike other stories here, this is one depressing novel. I mean unrelentingly depressing. It makes Dr Strangelove read like Pollyanna. The only good note is it serves as a warning of what could happen.

Wanted: Data Entry Clerks with No Knowledge of English

Colossus is so damn depressing, I couldn’t end with it. In early days, data storage was expensive and computer memory even more so. Scanners were huge, slow, and inaccurate, so how might large bodies of information such as law library Lexus/Nexus be imported into computers?

They were typed in. Twice. At least.

Building a digital, searchable law library was the goal of one enterprise. Despite being surrounded by emerging automation, the group depended upon manual data entry. They hired pairs of keypunchers to retype law books in tandem. In other words, two women would be assigned the same text in a section, each duplicating the work of the other. A pair of women would attack another section, and two more yet another. The result was two streams of text hypothetically identical.

At the end of a daily run, each pair’s output was compared. Differences indicated a problem and a third person would locate the error and correct it. A lack of knowledge of English was a key requirement on the theory their output wouldn’t be influenced by their language.

Verily, let us cautiously give thanks for artificial intelligence.

Brother, WTF Art Thou?

Today, I invite you to read a eulogy. No need to feel sad, nobody you know and the in memoriam is deliberately humorous. As Chris Knopf has pointed out, nonprofessional writing includes many examples.

The day after the 4^th of July celebration, my middle brother Glen was killed in a fire. His house burned. Emergency medical services arrived and attempted resuscitation before, during, and after transport. As big and as strong as he was, he didn’t make it. Our hope he died of smoke inhalation and not the fire itself may have some foundation.

Glen’s granddaughter, Paris, is our heroine. Once again she stepped up and made ‘the arrangements’, as the phrase goes.

In the inevitable remembrances, she hadn’t heard some of the childhood mischief stirred up by Glen, so I jotted notes, which became the eulogy outstandingly read by our youngest brother Ray.

— Leigh

 

Glen, in Memoriam

by Leigh Lundin, read by Ray Lundin

 

Visitors today face an urn they will refer to as Glen. That’s wrong. There’s no way a talented mortician could pack Glen’s personality into an urn. His ego alone would require a container the size of a school bus. He wasn’t merely bigger than life, he might be bigger than death.

Let’s view Glen from the outside inward. No doubt he hopes we mention his dazzling good looks, and indeed we begin with his Sartorial Splendor.

A Friend of Fashion

Between Haight-Ashbury and Greenwich Village¹

‘Sartorial’ is not a word we Hoosiers often use, a derivative from Mrs. Lord’s Latin class referring to exquisite tailoring and fine clothes.

Unlike most men, Glen liked pink shirts, not every day or every week, but occasionally. Women loved it, but some males frowned upon the practice. Whispered rumors floated of an unlearned gomer or two upbraiding his choice of shirts once, but never ever twice. Challenging a muscular 6’3 guy with steel-blue eyes was not one of life’s smartest choices. Besides, if a man didn’t have enough XY testosterone to overpower a pink shirt, he ain’t much of a man.

When Glen started factory work as in industrial electrician, he initially tucked his long hippie hair under a ball cap, but that didn’t last long. Shortly after he let his hair out, a half dozen guys cornered him. Glen sneered and moved in on them. “Only six of you?” He soon became a legend.

I’m here to tell you pink shirts were a mild evolution, a compromise of sorts. In recent years, the 1959 song ‘Pink Shoe Laces’ appeared in the television series The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, in video games, and last year became a Tik Tok sensation. The song’s hero wears tan shoes with pink shoelaces, a polka dot vest and man, oh man, a big panama with a purple hat band. That dude was nothing compared to Glen.

For a couple of centuries, highlights of farmers’ hues were chicken egg écru and cow patty puce. The brightest of colors in our palette consisted of God’s sky blue and DeKalb yellow. If you don’t know DeKalb yellow, ask the grownup farm kid next to you. You were never a six-year-old swimming in a bin of shelled corn.

Genetic foods chemists at Monsanto and ConAgra brought us new colors of day-glo green, luminescent lime, and iridescent indigo, but they hadn’t met the likes of Glen. Ninety-nine percent of the time, Glen wore work boots and slim jeans with a JC Penney shirt for a touch of class. But once in a while, he would erupt in a Peter Max explosion of color.

About the 6^th grade, peacock blue became a fad. Our Aunt Rachel made the mistake of giving Glen a blinding turquoise snap-brim cap to cover his white-blond hair. Uh-oh. Aunt Rae, artist, author, and professor, was a part of New York’s fashion world, but she didn’t anticipate what she started.

Our parents were surprisingly tolerant when Glen began wearing mismatched socks. He found a tie-dyed pink T-shirt and weird knee-length shorts in chartreuse, yes, that bizarre alien planet neon yellow-green. He stuck a tiny American flag on his snap-brim cap. Looking at him required welding goggles. As we strolled through the Garden of Gethsemane, we boys denied knowing him. “My brother? Nope, no way, never seen him before.”

So you see, a simple pink shirt is quite a mild departure. But we’re not done.

The Grand Necktie Ban

Private schools and a few public ones require neckties. Oddly, one educational institution in America banned neckties, tiny Arlington High School. The blame– or credit– goes to a high school sophomore, Glen.

Dad had inherited a collection of wide and colorful ties from the 1940s that he hadn’t bothered to discard. Enter Glen. His offbeat imagination took in the array of hues and patterns, and a lads’ revolution in fashion was born. He wore one of Dad’s ties to school.

He tied it correctly with an ordinary collared shirt, but the fact any student voluntarily wore a necktie startled fellow students. The impact was doubled because of the tie’s wide and blazing effect.

The next day Glen wore a hand-painted tie with equally blinding patterns. Other kids raided their fathers’ closets. Initially, they wore neckties as intended, and then one or two students wore them with T-shirts. Others including a girl or two belted ties around their waists. A handful of boys wore two and three at a time. Soon, a majority of students were experimenting with wild throatwear.

Most fads descend through the ranks, but Glen’s fashion moved up to the 11^th and then the 12^th grades. One boy wore a white T-shirt printed with a bow tie and a day or so later wore it with a standard tie – that is, a necktie over a T-shirt with a printed bow tie. Cravats caught on and ascots became a fad with seniors. During class breaks, the halls of higher learning swam with fluttering neckwear of silks and satins.

Unfortunately, Arlington’s principal possessed all the humor of a bad-tempered musk ox with jock itch. For this narrative, we’ll refer to him as Mr Ox. He realized his bloody school was out of control and Mr Ox didn’t like losing control. Worse than that, this was an insurrection, a rebellion against authority. Surely they were mocking him, and that damn Glen was behind this latest assault on his nervous stomach. Principal Ox would put an end to this nonsense. Imagine, daring to wear unauthorized menswear to school! If he could rule girls’ skirts too short, he sure as hell could deal with malefactors flaunting neckerchief disrespect.

So like a peptic walrus with a toothache, he shot out a memo, posted it on the board, informed teachers and coaches, and announced it over the intercom:

Neckties will henceforth be banned. (signed) —
The Honorable Grand and Respected Principal Richard J Ox.

Neckties! That’ll teach them!

The 1966 AHS yearbook featured a number of photos of the necktie craze, but sadly, not one of that style-setting sensation, Glen Lundin.

The Wild and the Woolly

If you spotted a guy communing with wild creatures, it probably wasn’t Noah or St. Francis or, if you recall local literature, not even Balser Brent. Glen forged an affinity with animals large and small.

When he was a child, Glen was crushed he didn’t have an entry in the Morristown Soapbox Derby Day Pet Parade. Mom trundled out to the garden and captured a garter snake for Glen to carry in the procession. There among doggies and kitties and budgies, Glen proudly carried his snake. Later that day he released his ‘pet’ back in the garden.

That summer, he caught a turtle in the ford at Greenfield Riley Park and named it Churchie after a character in the Pogo comic strip, the same cartoon that inspired the name Albert for our alligator. Churchie lived with Glen more than thirty years before shuffling off this mortal coil.

The farm hospital otherwise known as the ranchhouse kitchen, patched up wild rabbits, squirrels, and odds and ends of other creatures. When a cow entered labor in an excruciating breech birth, Glen knelt and soothed the girl, talking softly as the vet figured out how to extract the stuck calf. Both survived and thereafter adopted Glen as their human father figure.

Glen facing off against fierce man-eating cat.

Glen gathered feral cats and, ignoring deep scratches on his forearms, coaxed them quietly until they relaxed. He could be abrasive with people, but he had a Doctor Doolittle way of communicating with creatures of the Earth.

But that ain’t nuthin compared to his most awesome feat. Glen could step into his back yard and raise his hands skyward. Moments later, a hummingbird, and then two and three and four, would alight upon his outstretched fingers. Not many wonders can top handfuls of smitten hummingbirds.

Glen versus Trees

Glen could be intimidating but women, infants, and small animals loved him. Unfortunately, he had a problem with trees.

For instance, Glen and Leigh built a treehouse in a huge maple. Glen kept comic books and an alarm clock there. One afternoon, he lounged under the tree reading a comic when the alarm went off. Unwisely, he ignored it.

The chronometer shook and shuddered, quavered and wavered, tremored and trembled and traveled across the treehouse floor and out the door. Isaac Newton merely dealt with falling apples. This timepiece literally clocked Glen on his very hard cranium. Glen saw stars.²

After that, parents instructed us to stay out of trees, much like telling dogs not to chase cats and cars. It soon came to pass that Glen and Ray climbed another maple, one so tall we could see miles in the distance. Glen hung from a limb like a sloth. As Ray tried to maneuver past him, he misstepped and trod on Glen’s fingers.

The landing bounce was rough and injured Glen’s arm. It hurt for days, but he didn’t dare tell our parents.

On Sunday, he was still in pain but he soldiered on. And then… after church, when he tried to slam the car door shut, his upper arm went one way and his lower arm another. Glen had managed to break his forearm radius and ulna. No doubt our parents contemplated keeping Shelbyville Major on retainer.

Yes, this is Glen.

PB&J (Paris, Bonnie, and Jesus)

Paris and Bonnie were the great loves of his life. Glen met his future wife at his workplace. During the night shift, obnoxious male workers frightened women crossing the dark parking lot. Glen wasn’t having it. He faced off against the men.

Despite Glen’s reputation, they laughed, saying, “There’re eighteen of us and only one of you. You can’t hope to win.”

Glen said, “You’re right, but in the meantime I’ll hospitalize four or five of you. Who’s first?”

The amazing part is that an absolutely fearless Glen believed it and his utter certainty made others believe, thereby avoiding fights. Soon after, Glen found himself surrounded by ladies at work. I’m not certain who asked whom out, but Glen and Bonnie became a thing and then they became a married thing.

Glen mellowed after taking in his granddaughter, Paris. She was a darling, charming everyone including our parents, her great-grandparents. God love her. Glen found joy attempting to teach her music and grade school Spanish phrases.

⚡⚡⚡   News Flash   ⚡⚡⚡

Just a moment, audience members, one moment please. CNN interrupts this memorial, where we take you outside the Gates of Heaven. In a rare jurisdictional dispute, Charon³ from that place down below is confronting St. Peter as we listen in.

“You take him.”

“No, you take him!”

“No, you…”

“Hey, folks. Keep it down out there. What’s going on?”

“Sorry, Lord, it’s…”

“Glen! We’ve been waiting. Rock on, dude. Did you bring all these hummingbirds?”

This has been a CNN News moment, Hugo Hackenbush reporting.

Blessed Be

My friends, thank you for your patience. May you have fond memories of Glen and please love one another.

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¹     I sketched a couple of hippie days cartoons for Glen, an attempt at an R Crumb tribute.

²    At the description of the alarm clock during the reading, a grandfather clock in the funeral home began striking the quarter hour. Brother Ray paused, glanced at the clock and said, “And that is synchronicity.”

³    Pronounced, as you know, like ‘Karen’.

More than One Way to Creatively Write

A few days ago on the 1st of July, Chris Knopf wrote about writing letters. The essay reminded me of my mother.

Historically, we know many male writers through their books and novels, but only a few women writers. We can, however, study a number of women of yesteryear through their correspondence. My mother, Hillis, followed in that tradition. She was an inveterate letter writer.

And she would write anyone, sometimes asking questions, often asserting a strong opinion. Occasionally a public figure received a note with a schoolteacher rebuke. I imagined the recipient gulping and mumbling, “Yes, ma’am.”

When I graduated high school, I received a congratulatory letter from the state’s governor. In one missive, Mom mentioned in passing I would be graduating, and somebody picked up on it.

She contributed trivia questions to a radio quiz show, and after a while, the show’s host began to reach out to her. On occasion when Mom visited the city, she’d chat with the show’s presenter prior to lunchtime.

Once after bidding him goodbye, Mom steered her kid (me) down the street where she came across a panhandler in front of a coffee shop. The man looked distressed. Mom said, “Let’s go inside and I’ll treat you to lunch.”

“I can’t,” said the derelict. “They won’t let me in.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Won’t they? We shall see about that.”

Uh-oh. My mother was barely five feet tall standing on a phonebook, but Dear God, she was fierce.

She took him by the elbow and ushered him inside. Immediately the staff said, “He has no money to pay. He has to leave.”

The cheeky waiter was fortunate Mom didn’t haul off and slap him in the kneecap. Mom pretended not to hear him.

“Young man, you will bring us salad, ham and turkey sandwiches, and coffee, thank you.”

Across the restaurant, spoons and forks hung in mid-air. Cups suspended before reaching the lip. All eyes turned on a server facing off against a munchkin who looked like she could devour him for lunch.

“But ma’am…” The waiter saw a steely flicker in Mom’s eyes that couldn’t be broached, a glint suggesting his continued good health might come into question. “Y-Yes ma’am. W-Will you be having dessert?”

Postal Cards versus Post Cards

As proficient as she was catching the ears of movers and shakers, Hillis was locally known for her postal cards. Postal cards and post cards are different. Postal cards refer to official US Postal Service cards, typically manilla-colored rectangles with no illustration other than guides for the address. They come pre-stamped, postage paid. Post cards, aka picture postcards, are common commercial cards, often a bit larger than postal cards. They require separately purchased postage.

One other thing– The Post Office offered for sale official USPS uncut ‘penny postal cards’. Firms could buy sheets of cards, print their message, promotion, or advertisement on the backs, and then cut them to size.

 

 

Project Manager

Mom didn’t so much have hobbies, but rather projects. Hobbies are done for sheer enjoyment, the journey not the destination. Projects have a goal, a destination.

Dad was well aware of Mom’s projects, so when he came across hundreds of sheets of postal cards to be discarded, he asked for them. The printing on the back was no longer accurate, but the postage on the cards was still valid.

Dad presented them to Mom and she was gleeful. Sheet by sheet, she laid them face down on her work table. She rolled adhesive over their backs, and then fitted sheets of white paper over the preprinted card backs, and finally, with a paper cutter snipped them to size. Mom now had many hundreds of official, paid postal cards or, as Dad might say, a week’s supply.

Then Came the Fun

Mom’s handwriting was compact and efficient, if not particularly feminine. She could pack three quarters of Shakespeare ’s Hamlet on the back of a newly minted card, flip it over and sideways, and fill the left half of the face of the card. It turns out as long as she left three inches on the right for an address, she could do whatever the hell she wanted with the rest of the card. Mother could do things with cards no one thought possible.

The local postmaster admitted he enjoyed reading Mom’s cards. Mom pretended offense. Although privately pleased, she gently reminded the man he shouldn’t read private mail.

The Queen of Cards

Mother made special cards for children in hospitals. Using her famous blue-black ink, she’d start lettering a message along the edge of a card, writing a note to the child in a spiral, requiring the victim, er, recipient to turn and turn the card to read the note.

Sometimes, she’d purchase stickers or clip tiny pictures from magazines to decorate her cards. Occasionally she’d integrate pictures into the message itself. She experimented with lemon-juice invisible ink, but her most innovative cards bore no written message at all.

A child who might be hospitalized for sometime might receive an envelope from Mom containing needle, thread, and a brief note, instructing the recipient to retain the needle and thread. Every few days thereafter, a postal card would arrive with no writing other than tiny numbers and dots in the message area. Yep, Mom’s get-well postal card was a connect-the-dots picture puzzle solved with needle and thread.

 

 

T’was a sad day many years later, when Mother used her last card. By then, I was an adult. (Stop sniggering!) By then, many around the country and especially our counties had benefitted from Mom’s postal cards. That last card marked the end of a writing legacy.

In for a Penny, In for a Pounding

If nothing else, check out the video at the bottom of the page. It’s worth the trip.

What, you want an engraved invitation?

You’re a guy standing against a wall, wishing you could quietly leave the party. Hours ago, the needle of your Reject-O-Meter™ fuel gauge bottomed against the Empty peg so hard it wrapped around the pin.

A bevy of girls floats by. Their queen bee in the impossibly tiniest dress pauses before you and holds out her hand. “No excuse you can’t phone.” She drops something into your palm and stretches up to your ear . “Here’s a dollar to pay for the first call.” Giggling, she and her cortège disappear into the crowd.

She’s given you a dollar to make a call, but without a number, you wonder how to ring her… Wait, the dollar. You inspect it carefully. Ah, clever girl, extra points for ingenuity. There along the edge are numbers: 201-032-5… On anniversaries decades later, you’ll take out that greenback and gaze at it fondly.

Making Change

You visit the county fair. In the arcade are machines, some antique, some modern, but they have one purpose. For only a couple of dollars, you can drop in a coin and these gadgets will flatten it into a bangle, a pendant, a charm for a charm bracelet.

In other words, you can pay to watch a press ruin your pocket change, rendering them unspendable. Your friends had claimed they’d placed pennies on railroad tracks† to achieve the same effect, but you weren’t sure you believed them.

Meanwhile, the barker’s buddy in the next tooth practices a different art. You give him two banknotes, a $10 bill and a $1 bill, and he folds the tenner, creating a ring for your girlfriend, or a tiny heart, or an origami bird, flower, or beast. When he finishes, you can see $10 peeking through the paper windings.

As you turn away, Mr Fancy-Folder Fingers pockets not the $1 payment, but your ten-spot minus one corner. After he starts folding, he switches your ten dollars and continues with a $1 bill.

Ties that Bind

In the late 1800s, a distant great-something-grandfather put his young wife aboard a train to travel by herself across the great land. He took out a ten-dollar bill, a veritable fortune at the time, and tore it in two. He gave one half to his wife and handed the other to the Pullman porter.

He told the railcar attendant, “Kindly take good care of my wife. She’ll give you the other half on arrival, and I thank you.”

Financial Crimes

These scenes have one thing in common– the commission of a crime. Like that tycoon trope of the magnate lighting cigars with a $5 bill, the vignettes above feature a federal violation of law, specifically Title 18 USC, Chapter 17, §331-333.

The subject is damaging, defacing, debasing, and destroying money. It’s an offense rarely prosecuted, but of the examples mentioned here, only one party might find himself under arrest. Which one do you suppose?

The reason defacing or destroying money is seldom prosecuted is a matter of intent, specifically an intent to commit fraud. Thus the one character in the opening scenes who is vulnerable to prosecution is the origami expert, the guy who switched a ten-dollar note for a one-dollar bill.

Penalties, Fines and Times

The same USC law specifies fines and prison sentences for violating the law. It’s particularly harsh regarding fine metals. Crooks and swindlers have shaved valuable coins since ancient times, much more difficult with e-currency.

type	Bills	Coins	Gold
fine	$100	$100+	$250k
term	6mo	5yr	10yr

I’m not aware of a definitive resolution, but legal experts have debated whether free speech supersedes currency law. In theory, you could dump a basket of bills in the public square and light a match with mainly your spouse and fire marshal to object.

It’s not well believed, but the law applies to legal foreign currency as well. If you foolishly shred a €10 note or run a Canadian coin through a penny press, the same law applies, except you open yourself to loonie ridicule. (Mary and Melodie are presently rolling their eyes.)

^† Riding the Rails

In case the law hasn’t sunken in, consider the laws of physics. Here’s a very expressive video of why you shouldn’t flatten coins on a railroad. Video © Landon’s Animated Wheelhouse.

 

 

 

 

© www.SleuthSayers.org

 

Darkling at Dawn

I was adopted.

No, I don’t mean I was abandoned or orphaned, although strictly speaking, most of us are as parents pass on.

Melayna as Valkyrie

My adoption happened a mere 3-4 years ago. At the time, not only was I supposedly, theoretically adult (adulterated?), but so was Layna. Words like putative, ostensible, and purported might be useful here when talking about grown-uptitude.

Before we met, Melayna told her mother not to expect her to like me, but soon my charm, my wit, and my bountiful modesty won her over.

Frankly, she won my respect and admiration. I’ve mentioned elsewhere she saved a man’s life one stormy night at no small risk to herself.

Convenience Store

While she was pursuing her medical education, she briefly worked the night shift at 7-Eleven north of Orlando’s main airport near the East-West Expressway. I worried about her safety and picked her up one night.

She puzzled me by spending a few minutes buying a hot sandwich, a cold juice, chips, a candy bar, and an apple. I knew her mother had dinner awaiting her at home, but I said nothing.

As I headed toward my car, she swerved toward the dumpsters. There she handed the food she’d bought to a homeless man, a derelict who thanked her by name. He was a man others mistreated, but not Layna. I thanked him for keeping an eye on her.

Melayna as biker chick

Grocery Store

So here’s a girl, my polar opposite in many ways, an Illustrated Woman whose fifty-some tattoos could have inspired another two Ray Bradbury novels. This photo from an earlier article shows one side, but she’s one ruff-tuff creme puff.

When she grocery shops, she enquires what I might need. She’s even careful about date stamps on milk.

On forms that ask for emergency contacts, I list her as number one. If hospitals want to pull the plug, Hell will freeze before she allows that to happen. As Erma Bombeck noted, as we age, the child becomes the parent and the parent the child.

My friend Steve is the same way. His ancient, creaking, blind and deaf dog was like a pet out of a Vincent Price reanimated movie. The line between living and taxidermied became thinner than a microtome slice.

Daddy Tissues

I’m not sure when Melayna began calling me Dad… Daddy. The first time, I wasn’t certain I heard right, but I was flattered.

I skipped the Terrible Twos and dodged the Know-It-All Nines. I didn’t suffer through those fractious teenage years. I missed all that floor-pacing at 2^am wondering where my child was. Arguably I’ve unduly benefited.

Or course when I say we’re opposites, it’s only superficially true. I admire her kindness and consideration. She loves animals. Like my brother, she knows music well beyond her decades.

We share the same twisted sense of humor. Many times, one of us will remark sotto voce. Nobody else gets it, but I catch her eye in the rearview mirror, a quiet joke shared. Her mother thinks we should DNA test to be sure we’re not related.

For her birthday, I tentatively created a tattoo for her. Her mother opposed tats and had made her promise not to increase her art count until mama was long gone. So I showed her mom what I’d created and braced for the firestorm. The conversation went,

“Never, ever! Over my dead body will I allow… Oh, my God, it’s so cute. It’s her! She’ll love it. Yes, okay this once, yes.”

I assigned the Lil Darkling baby vampire copyright to Melayna to share or not as she wishes.

Follow the Bouncing Balls

Melayna came with a couple of hatchlings of her own. Her XY offspring recently adopted an infant. I sketched a cartoon for the happy couple. Before giving it to them, I asked others to critique and comment in an effort to nail the humor. To my dismay, no one got the joke.^† I began to consider adding a caption, when someone sent a draft to the parents… and they got it immediately. They’re the ones who counted. Yay, win!

And me, I’ve leapt from zero kids to a multi-generational great-grand-something. And that’s great-great.

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^† Just in case you have a life outside of texting on your phone, many message apps, sensing the person on the other end is preparing a message, display an indicator of three dots rotating on the screen. For this article, I animated the dots, an advantage my poor test subjects didn’t have.