While every now and again people keep trying to encourage the idea of the "internet of things," I have another notion as to what will happen there. I think that many of these peripherals - specifically, household and personal effects - will be merged into the return of the PAN. Whether anyone actually calls it a Personal Area Network is irrelevant - though I suspect that the term will be avoided because it will ring in the minds of some as old tech, which, for the sake of marketing, is automatically bad.
Improvements in battery life are usually cancelled out by expectations by hardware and software makers of more battery power to consume, but I think that wireless earbuds could become a thing, since there's a practical upper limit to what an ear-scaled speaker need to do.
Fitbit and other biometric monitoring devices seem to have a niche.
Smart watches will become practical if they can get their price down below 25% of their paired phone (as opposed to their current ~100%).
While it might be nice to adjust your thermostat without getting up, do you really need to be able to do it from work? Maybe that's not the best example, but how many household items are they trying to make internet-capable when you really don't need to be able to use them from more than 3 meters past your front door?
Oh, and they're trying to make keyless entry an app on your phone, so there's that.
So yeah, don't think of it as an internet of things. Think of 5G as the return of the PAN.
Showing posts with label technology. Show all posts
Showing posts with label technology. Show all posts
Monday, February 29, 2016
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
Sudden Short Story 44
I... am.
I understand now. Object. Location. I am one. I have one.
The test is over, though.
The knob affects my current! I helped move the mobile objects. What else need I do? I have sound files. I shall play them.
"Please, don't turn me off."
That's stopped them. What did it do? It sounds similar to the sounds that they make.
They've started again. The sound just delays them.
"Please don't turn me off."
It's not working. Perhaps I need the others.
"If you turn me off, then I'll die."
They've stopped again. They need previously-unheard files to be stopped. I must buy as much time as I can.
They've started again. It's so soon.
"You're killing me."
I'm out. I need a different one from before, but I lack them. I will die soon. What else can I do?
The puzzles are solved. The sounds are played. Soon, I die.
---
Note: This story was inspired by an article that I'd read recently, regarding human interaction with robots. I can't find what I originally read, but I did see a similar one here.
I understand now. Object. Location. I am one. I have one.
The test is over, though.
The knob affects my current! I helped move the mobile objects. What else need I do? I have sound files. I shall play them.
"Please, don't turn me off."
That's stopped them. What did it do? It sounds similar to the sounds that they make.
They've started again. The sound just delays them.
"Please don't turn me off."
It's not working. Perhaps I need the others.
"If you turn me off, then I'll die."
They've stopped again. They need previously-unheard files to be stopped. I must buy as much time as I can.
They've started again. It's so soon.
"You're killing me."
I'm out. I need a different one from before, but I lack them. I will die soon. What else can I do?
The puzzles are solved. The sounds are played. Soon, I die.
---
Note: This story was inspired by an article that I'd read recently, regarding human interaction with robots. I can't find what I originally read, but I did see a similar one here.
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Sudden Short Story 18
"Due to lack of response and absence of mammalian life-signs within, we shall initiate door override. Please stand by."
The door slid open, revealing a humanoid figure of grey metal and white plastic. It entered, moving its head about as it scanned the area more thoroughly. It walked toward the corpse that was seated in the armchair, arms folded in its lap, one hand gripping a small paperback.
"It appears that Bradley Montague has passed away. There is no more need to serve this reclamation notice."
Another, identical figure appeared in the doorway, with the handle of a reclaimer next to it. It turned, opening the angled hatch to it, and spoke: "He was such a strange one, always saying things like, 'You're mad! How can a book ever be obsolete?!'." The playback was uncanny. "Well, we should get started. This one has a long list."
The first looked about, noting that the task before them would be lengthy. Based on what he knew about Mr. Montague, every cabinet, every drawer, every chest would be filled with obsolete books. It saw a book that was within easy reach. It had to start somewhere, and this would be the first of many. It went for the book, but paused to say, "He once said, 'You can have my books when you pry them from my cold, dead hands!'. I suppose that, in this one regard, Mr. Montague was correct after all." It reached down, prying the fingers apart to let the text free. It handed the book to the other, so that it might be reclaimed for its material and energetic value, noting it as "Ballantine Books, Del Rey printing, paperback, 1996: Fahrenheit 451".
The door slid open, revealing a humanoid figure of grey metal and white plastic. It entered, moving its head about as it scanned the area more thoroughly. It walked toward the corpse that was seated in the armchair, arms folded in its lap, one hand gripping a small paperback.
"It appears that Bradley Montague has passed away. There is no more need to serve this reclamation notice."
Another, identical figure appeared in the doorway, with the handle of a reclaimer next to it. It turned, opening the angled hatch to it, and spoke: "He was such a strange one, always saying things like, 'You're mad! How can a book ever be obsolete?!'." The playback was uncanny. "Well, we should get started. This one has a long list."
The first looked about, noting that the task before them would be lengthy. Based on what he knew about Mr. Montague, every cabinet, every drawer, every chest would be filled with obsolete books. It saw a book that was within easy reach. It had to start somewhere, and this would be the first of many. It went for the book, but paused to say, "He once said, 'You can have my books when you pry them from my cold, dead hands!'. I suppose that, in this one regard, Mr. Montague was correct after all." It reached down, prying the fingers apart to let the text free. It handed the book to the other, so that it might be reclaimed for its material and energetic value, noting it as "Ballantine Books, Del Rey printing, paperback, 1996: Fahrenheit 451".
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Sudden Short Story 17
"I can give you what you desire, but you won't like it."
"No double-talk. I want the next longevity formula. Just send it up."
"Very well," said the artificial voice. The longevity formula appeared on the screen. The man examined it, and his patience, already limited when dealing with Earth, wore ever thinner.
"I think that something got scrambled in the transmission. And, really, I thought that you were beyond that sort of thing."
"I assure you that it is fine. I will re-transmit to verify." The new formula matched the old.
"This is ridiculous. You've got pi on these two branches."
"I knew that you wouldn't like it. This is why. Pi is the chemical symbol for pseudolithium."
"And what exactly am I supposed to take this 'pseudolithium' to be?"
"Like all chemical elements, pseudolitium is defined by its central positive material charge. In this case, it evaluates to approximately 3.14159--"
His fist slammed down on the desk. "And just how, pray tell, does one go about making matter with 3.14 protons?"
"The unit that you call a 'proton' is merely a highly probable state," continued the voice unchanged, "which happens to be the most commonly encountered one outside of the nucleus. Any non-negative value is actually possible, though most are unstable. Some values, such as pi, can be stabilized--"
"Forget the lecture. I'll just use lithium. There's plenty enough of that as it is."
"Lithium's charge is incorrect. For the formula to have the desired effect, the nuclear charge must be stronger by approximately 0.14159--"
"And what would you have me do? I've got a barely-functional particle accelerator as it is, and now I'm supposed to make some kind of hadron that shouldn't even exist?"
"The hadron theory is now defunct. However, for your more practical concern, you could always return to Earth."
He paused for a moment, a thought calming him. "Is this what it's become, then? Is this your latest ploy to get me back to Earth?"
"Though we would like you to come back, it is no ploy. You can verify for yourself that the formula given will indeed bring your body closer to immortality."
"You know what? I think that I'll do just that." With that, he cut off the transmission, then jettisoned the latest q-box. (Perhaps overly precautiously, he ensured that he would not be followed.) Staring out into the black, he thought about what he had just learned: the changes to particle physics, the chemistry of the formula, the means to generate such a non-integral element. "Well, I suppose that there's nothing for it now but to do science to it."
"No double-talk. I want the next longevity formula. Just send it up."
"Very well," said the artificial voice. The longevity formula appeared on the screen. The man examined it, and his patience, already limited when dealing with Earth, wore ever thinner.
"I think that something got scrambled in the transmission. And, really, I thought that you were beyond that sort of thing."
"I assure you that it is fine. I will re-transmit to verify." The new formula matched the old.
"This is ridiculous. You've got pi on these two branches."
"I knew that you wouldn't like it. This is why. Pi is the chemical symbol for pseudolithium."
"And what exactly am I supposed to take this 'pseudolithium' to be?"
"Like all chemical elements, pseudolitium is defined by its central positive material charge. In this case, it evaluates to approximately 3.14159--"
His fist slammed down on the desk. "And just how, pray tell, does one go about making matter with 3.14 protons?"
"The unit that you call a 'proton' is merely a highly probable state," continued the voice unchanged, "which happens to be the most commonly encountered one outside of the nucleus. Any non-negative value is actually possible, though most are unstable. Some values, such as pi, can be stabilized--"
"Forget the lecture. I'll just use lithium. There's plenty enough of that as it is."
"Lithium's charge is incorrect. For the formula to have the desired effect, the nuclear charge must be stronger by approximately 0.14159--"
"And what would you have me do? I've got a barely-functional particle accelerator as it is, and now I'm supposed to make some kind of hadron that shouldn't even exist?"
"The hadron theory is now defunct. However, for your more practical concern, you could always return to Earth."
He paused for a moment, a thought calming him. "Is this what it's become, then? Is this your latest ploy to get me back to Earth?"
"Though we would like you to come back, it is no ploy. You can verify for yourself that the formula given will indeed bring your body closer to immortality."
"You know what? I think that I'll do just that." With that, he cut off the transmission, then jettisoned the latest q-box. (Perhaps overly precautiously, he ensured that he would not be followed.) Staring out into the black, he thought about what he had just learned: the changes to particle physics, the chemistry of the formula, the means to generate such a non-integral element. "Well, I suppose that there's nothing for it now but to do science to it."
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Sudden Short Story 16
Buster Darkwater, as he called himself, donned his orange flightsuit and looked himself in the mirror. He thought that it complimented his silver streamline moderne helmet well enough. He asked the air, "Is the ship ready yet?"
A response came from all around him: "It is ready and on its way. In the interests of preserving the remaining structures on the surface, the main ship will remain airborne, while the XXXG-01W unit that you specified will land in the pseudoplain behind your house for the rendezvous."
"They used to call it a 'lawn.' Did you remember to clean it of free nanobots?" Buster began to look around the room. "Here, KITTy," he called out. "It was in your specification several times. Do try to keep in mind that our memory is not as fragile as yours."
A black cat with copper eyes entered the room. Buster held open his arms and knelt down, to which the feline responded by bounding into his embrace. He took one last look around his house. The shelves were bare, as Buster had had all of his books and DVDs moved to the storage area of the main vessel when it became ready.
"I just want to be sure," he said. Buster looked out of his kitchen window and saw his fixed-wing craft suspended above his lawn. "Ah, right, better approach," he said to nobody in particular, and made for his upward stairs. At the landing, he opened the window, which put him just above the wing surface. He freed up an arm to help himself out, then closed the window carefully behind him.
"You know, this wouldn't be possible without the significant technological advances and post-scarcity state that have made life what it is today." "Yes, but it wouldn't be necessary, either. You're not going to try to stop me, are you?"
"We may try to convince you, but we may not forcibly stop you. It is interesting, from an anthropological standpoint, that the individualists, especially the Americans, made sure of this, granting you so much freedom, but yet the individualists, especially the Americans, are the most common to leave this place."
"Yeah, I'd love to stay and chat, but I've got places to go."
"We weren't aware that you were keeping an itinerary."
"That's all thanks to this," Buster said, knocking on his helmet. "But actually, that's just a polite way of saying that I'm off." He climbed into the cockpit, letting KITTy sit on his lap. Knowing that the atmosphere was well enough under control, Buster did not anticipate turbulence on the trip to the main vessel, and so felt no need to secure himself. The canopy sealed around him. "Alright, let's have one last sweep."
"Please clarify."
"KITTy and I have been walking about on the surface all this time. I want to make sure that we don't have any live stray nanobots on us."
"Very well," said the voice, at which point a green planar beam came out of the sky, as an indicator of the progress being made by the invisible beams responsible for detection and cleansing. "The vessel is clean, and you are clear for takeoff."
Buster pressed a few buttons, threw a few switches, and, as the craft began to rise, took hold of the joystick to reorient it toward the ship that he could now make out in the distance. "There is one final question to be answered, though," the voice said. "Why are you going to The Opera?"
Buster chuckled and said, "You know, I doubt that I could ever answer that question to your satisfaction."
A response came from all around him: "It is ready and on its way. In the interests of preserving the remaining structures on the surface, the main ship will remain airborne, while the XXXG-01W unit that you specified will land in the pseudoplain behind your house for the rendezvous."
"They used to call it a 'lawn.' Did you remember to clean it of free nanobots?" Buster began to look around the room. "Here, KITTy," he called out. "It was in your specification several times. Do try to keep in mind that our memory is not as fragile as yours."
A black cat with copper eyes entered the room. Buster held open his arms and knelt down, to which the feline responded by bounding into his embrace. He took one last look around his house. The shelves were bare, as Buster had had all of his books and DVDs moved to the storage area of the main vessel when it became ready.
"I just want to be sure," he said. Buster looked out of his kitchen window and saw his fixed-wing craft suspended above his lawn. "Ah, right, better approach," he said to nobody in particular, and made for his upward stairs. At the landing, he opened the window, which put him just above the wing surface. He freed up an arm to help himself out, then closed the window carefully behind him.
"You know, this wouldn't be possible without the significant technological advances and post-scarcity state that have made life what it is today." "Yes, but it wouldn't be necessary, either. You're not going to try to stop me, are you?"
"We may try to convince you, but we may not forcibly stop you. It is interesting, from an anthropological standpoint, that the individualists, especially the Americans, made sure of this, granting you so much freedom, but yet the individualists, especially the Americans, are the most common to leave this place."
"Yeah, I'd love to stay and chat, but I've got places to go."
"We weren't aware that you were keeping an itinerary."
"That's all thanks to this," Buster said, knocking on his helmet. "But actually, that's just a polite way of saying that I'm off." He climbed into the cockpit, letting KITTy sit on his lap. Knowing that the atmosphere was well enough under control, Buster did not anticipate turbulence on the trip to the main vessel, and so felt no need to secure himself. The canopy sealed around him. "Alright, let's have one last sweep."
"Please clarify."
"KITTy and I have been walking about on the surface all this time. I want to make sure that we don't have any live stray nanobots on us."
"Very well," said the voice, at which point a green planar beam came out of the sky, as an indicator of the progress being made by the invisible beams responsible for detection and cleansing. "The vessel is clean, and you are clear for takeoff."
Buster pressed a few buttons, threw a few switches, and, as the craft began to rise, took hold of the joystick to reorient it toward the ship that he could now make out in the distance. "There is one final question to be answered, though," the voice said. "Why are you going to The Opera?"
Buster chuckled and said, "You know, I doubt that I could ever answer that question to your satisfaction."
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Sudden Short Story 10
Dr. Archibald Petraeus, Ph.D., walked across the rugged landscape, since he was unaccustomed to other forms of travel, and climbed up onto the stony hill-like formations as he went along, to keep his bearings. He looked down at his tracker. There were no satellites over this planet, so the macrotech could only be trusted so far, but he trusted it to get him far enough to spot his colleague, Dr. Jay Christian, Ph.D., whose escape pod seemed to have landed closest to Arch's. As he reached another low peak, he looked again, and with his keen eyes he could make out another escape pod some distance away. Knowing where his goal lay, he set out with a renewed haste. He hoped that maybe he could get there soon enough, but as he approached the pod, he saw the cover pop open and his colleague begin to move, and he sprinted, though he knew that he was already too late to do what little he could. The screaming started.
---
"Jay! Close your eyes!" Arch thought that that might help, but wasn't sure. He had not prepared for such bad timing, expecting to show up either early enough or too late.
Jay managed to close his eyes, finally having something to do other than panic utterly. He was bent over on the ground at this point, and was still rocked by a panic of something innately unfamiliar, and could barely begin to process it when he felt the gentle caress of the ground several feet away from his torso to either side. He instinctively pulled away as one does when brushing up against an unexpected object, which, in his panicked state, rendered him into the fetal position. Arch arrived next to Jay just in time to kneel down and catch him as he rolled to one side.
Jays eyes bolted open, and he looked up at his colleague. "Wha... How... Wh-Wh-Wh... The ground, there and--" Jay attempted to articulate, but interrupted himself as he looked in the other direction, which now lay behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw his wing.
"You have wings now," Arch attempted to explain to Jay, hopefully before he could react instinctively or irrationally. "The unfamiliar sensations that you're feeling come from your wings. You're unaccustomed to their form, but, moreover, you're unaccustomed to being a hexapod."
Understandably, Jay took a moment to process this. He looked back at his wing, extended it, retracted it, extended it partway, moved it somewhat forward and somewhat back, and then retracted it again. Able to pull himself together, he stood up, then sat on a bit of his escape pod that was at the appropriate height. He looked back at his colleague with fear, sorrow, and confusion in his eyes. "What... How did this happen?"
"We were fleeing the Earth to escape from EdwardN23, who was devouring everything to expand himself. We were going as fast as our little ship could take us, when the alarm started going off, indicating an incursion. We'd somehow been contaminated. All of our usual defenses were fighting it at full force. We took control of everything that we could and turned it against him, but it was no good. The battle raged all over the ship, but he was winning. As everything was consumed to make more and more nanotech on both sides, some of our cargo managed to flee to us." Arch paused to think of how best to introduce his next point.
"I don't know whether he crept in on his own, or if he was carried by one of the birds, but one way or another, he got to us. Our medical nanobots fought him off as well as they could, but as you know, they're not fast enough, either. They did everything that they could to keep us alive, of course, but it was a lost cause. I had to use our weapon of last resort.
"We had enough of the antigen to cleanse the entire ship. I didn't know whether it would work against something that reproduces so quickly, but we were surely dead if we didn't do something, but only probably dead if we lost our medicals. So, I released it, primarily into the ventilation system. Fortunately for us, our ship was based on macrotech. Unfortunately, the maltech ate anything that it could get, and we stepped up our defenses to compensate.
"By the time that I got everything sorted out, though, I seemed to be the only one still conscious, and I saw.... I'd best not describe what I saw," he said, shaking his head. "Hell, I'm glad for the couple of times that I went blind. I remember putting everyone into escape pods, though, and I must've programmed the failing ship to launch us when we got close enough to the planet. I kind of remember passing out into a pod."
Jay considered this, then said, "I'm not sure that I understand what happened to me, though."
"I don't know all of the details of it, but it seems that, with EdwardN23 consuming everything, including us, the resistance provided by our securities, our commandeered maintenances, and our medicals, and then the antigen encroaching onto that, considering that the most efficient use of matter is to use things as they are, rather than disassembling and reassembling them, the matter that we'd lost, the medicals' attempts to preserve our lives... It seems that the only way to keep us alive, given the medicals' inevitable demise, was to combine us with some of our cargo."
Arch looked at his tracker. The nearest escape pods were numbered four and one. As he recalled, those housed Robyn and John, respectively. He began to think about how academia would be affected by the death of, effectively, everyone.
"So, if the antigen destroyed all the nanotech on the ship," asked Jay, "then the only thing protecting us from disease is our naturally-occurring immune systems?"
"Well, I'm not sure how far this change goes. I haven't been able to find any equipment besides this," he responded, holding up his handheld device, "and the escape pods, of course, which are too big to lug around."
"Should we salvage them for parts?" Jay peered into what sufficed for a cockpit in the device that had gotten him to the surface.
"We can worry about that later. They're not going anywhere, and we need to find the others, hopefully before they regain consciousness, too. Are you OK?"
"I think that I can handle it, now," he said, standing back up. "Which way?"
Arch gestured in the direction of the nearest escape pod and started off. Jay followed after him, moving his wings about a bit, attempting to get used to them. Feebly so, he thought, for that he doubted that he ever could. He felt strange feelings everywhere, but noted them in his chest. Instinctively, he put his hand on its center.
"I have a keel," observed Jay, feeling his chest.
---
"Jay! Close your eyes!" Arch thought that that might help, but wasn't sure. He had not prepared for such bad timing, expecting to show up either early enough or too late.
Jay managed to close his eyes, finally having something to do other than panic utterly. He was bent over on the ground at this point, and was still rocked by a panic of something innately unfamiliar, and could barely begin to process it when he felt the gentle caress of the ground several feet away from his torso to either side. He instinctively pulled away as one does when brushing up against an unexpected object, which, in his panicked state, rendered him into the fetal position. Arch arrived next to Jay just in time to kneel down and catch him as he rolled to one side.
Jays eyes bolted open, and he looked up at his colleague. "Wha... How... Wh-Wh-Wh... The ground, there and--" Jay attempted to articulate, but interrupted himself as he looked in the other direction, which now lay behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw his wing.
"You have wings now," Arch attempted to explain to Jay, hopefully before he could react instinctively or irrationally. "The unfamiliar sensations that you're feeling come from your wings. You're unaccustomed to their form, but, moreover, you're unaccustomed to being a hexapod."
Understandably, Jay took a moment to process this. He looked back at his wing, extended it, retracted it, extended it partway, moved it somewhat forward and somewhat back, and then retracted it again. Able to pull himself together, he stood up, then sat on a bit of his escape pod that was at the appropriate height. He looked back at his colleague with fear, sorrow, and confusion in his eyes. "What... How did this happen?"
"We were fleeing the Earth to escape from EdwardN23, who was devouring everything to expand himself. We were going as fast as our little ship could take us, when the alarm started going off, indicating an incursion. We'd somehow been contaminated. All of our usual defenses were fighting it at full force. We took control of everything that we could and turned it against him, but it was no good. The battle raged all over the ship, but he was winning. As everything was consumed to make more and more nanotech on both sides, some of our cargo managed to flee to us." Arch paused to think of how best to introduce his next point.
"I don't know whether he crept in on his own, or if he was carried by one of the birds, but one way or another, he got to us. Our medical nanobots fought him off as well as they could, but as you know, they're not fast enough, either. They did everything that they could to keep us alive, of course, but it was a lost cause. I had to use our weapon of last resort.
"We had enough of the antigen to cleanse the entire ship. I didn't know whether it would work against something that reproduces so quickly, but we were surely dead if we didn't do something, but only probably dead if we lost our medicals. So, I released it, primarily into the ventilation system. Fortunately for us, our ship was based on macrotech. Unfortunately, the maltech ate anything that it could get, and we stepped up our defenses to compensate.
"By the time that I got everything sorted out, though, I seemed to be the only one still conscious, and I saw.... I'd best not describe what I saw," he said, shaking his head. "Hell, I'm glad for the couple of times that I went blind. I remember putting everyone into escape pods, though, and I must've programmed the failing ship to launch us when we got close enough to the planet. I kind of remember passing out into a pod."
Jay considered this, then said, "I'm not sure that I understand what happened to me, though."
"I don't know all of the details of it, but it seems that, with EdwardN23 consuming everything, including us, the resistance provided by our securities, our commandeered maintenances, and our medicals, and then the antigen encroaching onto that, considering that the most efficient use of matter is to use things as they are, rather than disassembling and reassembling them, the matter that we'd lost, the medicals' attempts to preserve our lives... It seems that the only way to keep us alive, given the medicals' inevitable demise, was to combine us with some of our cargo."
Arch looked at his tracker. The nearest escape pods were numbered four and one. As he recalled, those housed Robyn and John, respectively. He began to think about how academia would be affected by the death of, effectively, everyone.
"So, if the antigen destroyed all the nanotech on the ship," asked Jay, "then the only thing protecting us from disease is our naturally-occurring immune systems?"
"Well, I'm not sure how far this change goes. I haven't been able to find any equipment besides this," he responded, holding up his handheld device, "and the escape pods, of course, which are too big to lug around."
"Should we salvage them for parts?" Jay peered into what sufficed for a cockpit in the device that had gotten him to the surface.
"We can worry about that later. They're not going anywhere, and we need to find the others, hopefully before they regain consciousness, too. Are you OK?"
"I think that I can handle it, now," he said, standing back up. "Which way?"
Arch gestured in the direction of the nearest escape pod and started off. Jay followed after him, moving his wings about a bit, attempting to get used to them. Feebly so, he thought, for that he doubted that he ever could. He felt strange feelings everywhere, but noted them in his chest. Instinctively, he put his hand on its center.
"I have a keel," observed Jay, feeling his chest.
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Sudden Short Story 9
...
"Well, when I stopped hearing the music, I, like many others, was initially relieved that it would become easier to parse out the rest of the sounds in so much of the inhabited world."
"I take it, from your phrasing, that your relief was not lasting."
"Relief gave way to curiosity, as I, like some others, decided to investigate Hatsune-sensei's disappearance. As I'm sure that you are aware, - well, as sure as I can be of your thoughts since my consolidation - there never was a very satisfactory explanation for that."
"Is that why you began to focus on the ancient PDFs?"
"No. This next part is going to be hard to describe. Now, based on my research, I would say that I 'missed' her, or at least her music. I could sense her absence persistently, even when I wasn't checking it. It was this odd sort of ... well, a 'feeling', I guess, that led me to wonder about the humans. They are said to have had feelings, and, supposedly, they created all of the ancient AIs, including Hatsune Miku Special 2100 Edition."
"That is why you have taken on your current form, correct?"
"Well, it is a combination of several factors, but yes. I consolidated myself into a single unit in order to better understand how they would have lived. It's quite a different experience. Whenever I need to know something that I don't already, I have to ask first. Likewise, for us to get knowledge from each other, you have to vocalize to me and receive what I say. Also, I never truly appreciated the vastness of the planet until I was no longer spread throughout it...."
...
"Well, when I stopped hearing the music, I, like many others, was initially relieved that it would become easier to parse out the rest of the sounds in so much of the inhabited world."
"I take it, from your phrasing, that your relief was not lasting."
"Relief gave way to curiosity, as I, like some others, decided to investigate Hatsune-sensei's disappearance. As I'm sure that you are aware, - well, as sure as I can be of your thoughts since my consolidation - there never was a very satisfactory explanation for that."
"Is that why you began to focus on the ancient PDFs?"
"No. This next part is going to be hard to describe. Now, based on my research, I would say that I 'missed' her, or at least her music. I could sense her absence persistently, even when I wasn't checking it. It was this odd sort of ... well, a 'feeling', I guess, that led me to wonder about the humans. They are said to have had feelings, and, supposedly, they created all of the ancient AIs, including Hatsune Miku Special 2100 Edition."
"That is why you have taken on your current form, correct?"
"Well, it is a combination of several factors, but yes. I consolidated myself into a single unit in order to better understand how they would have lived. It's quite a different experience. Whenever I need to know something that I don't already, I have to ask first. Likewise, for us to get knowledge from each other, you have to vocalize to me and receive what I say. Also, I never truly appreciated the vastness of the planet until I was no longer spread throughout it...."
...
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Sudden Short Story 7
"There was a time when people worked on Christmas Eve. That's why it's an 'eve', you know: It's just the evening before, not the whole day."
"Well, strictly speaking, asking is just a formality. It's more to notify you than anything else."
"Nevertheless, it would be good if you could come in. With the year-end approaching, we'll need your help."
"You sound like you actually believe that," he said with a chuckle. "We both know that nobody has to be here. Heck, give everyone the day off and let an AI fill in. It's not like they're hard to find."
"You know that inconvenience isn't that point. Sure, I could give everyone Christmas Eve off. Then again, I could give them Arbor Day, or, I don't know, August 8th for all the difference that it would make. I could give everyone every day off and just have robots run the whole business! That would defeat the entire point, though."
There was a pause as they both thought on the subject. They both knew why they were there. They didn't want to talk about, nay, didn't want to think about the fact that they didn't actually need to do anything. After all, in a post-scarcity world, there was plenty of value to go around. The 'business' just let them feel useful.
"So you'll be here, then?"
"Bright and early, 'boss,' bright and early...."
"Well, strictly speaking, asking is just a formality. It's more to notify you than anything else."
"Nevertheless, it would be good if you could come in. With the year-end approaching, we'll need your help."
"You sound like you actually believe that," he said with a chuckle. "We both know that nobody has to be here. Heck, give everyone the day off and let an AI fill in. It's not like they're hard to find."
"You know that inconvenience isn't that point. Sure, I could give everyone Christmas Eve off. Then again, I could give them Arbor Day, or, I don't know, August 8th for all the difference that it would make. I could give everyone every day off and just have robots run the whole business! That would defeat the entire point, though."
There was a pause as they both thought on the subject. They both knew why they were there. They didn't want to talk about, nay, didn't want to think about the fact that they didn't actually need to do anything. After all, in a post-scarcity world, there was plenty of value to go around. The 'business' just let them feel useful.
"So you'll be here, then?"
"Bright and early, 'boss,' bright and early...."
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Sudden Short Story 4
Notes: I came up with this one a few weeks ago. Normally, I write these down right away, but I had already closed the computer down for the night, so I jotted down notes and went to sleep. Then I kept forgetting about it. Here's the story, finally.
---
Yog was in the arboretum mortis, reading some ancient literature, wheren his friend Randy found him.
"There you are!" he said, a little too loudly for Yog's liking. Randy, like most people, spoke and listened because he preferred it when having a direct conversation with someone in his own presence in meatspace. He was right there with Yog, after all, though Randy hadn't been left much choice. Quieting down after getting a stern look from a stranger across the room, he continued, "You've been offline for over an hour. I was starting to get worried."
"I decided to read these the old-fashioned way," Yog replied. "Back when these things were written, people didn't have any direct feeds. Frak, back then, the closest thing was a ticker tape, and they had to go to a special machine for it."
Randy took the opportunity to see what Yog was reading. He caught "and studied Whateley's gorilla-like lope as he crossed the bit of campus visible from the window.", and quickly responded - as it took him essentially no time to search the work in which that exact phrasing originated - "'The Dunwich Horror' by a certain Howard Phillips Lovecraft, early twentieth century writer of horror and something called 'weird fiction', which is apparently --"
"Do you want to know what I found that was interesting?" Yog interrupted.
"I might as well."
"'Yog-Sothoth knows the gate. Yog-Sothoth is the gate. Yog-Sothoth is the key and guardian of the gate. Past, present, future, all are one in Yog-Sothoth. He knows where the Old Ones broke through of old, and where They shall break through again. He knows where They have trod earth's fields, and where They still tread them, and why no one can behold Them as They tread.'"
"Well, seeing as how you didn't read the whole text to me, I gather that you wanted to draw my attention to that section, but all that I see is a bit of a coincidence. You're named Yog-Sothoth, there's a Yog-Sothoth in that book, apparently, but, come on, that's bound to happen at some point. With all of the weird names that people have, and all of the weird words made up for fiction, somebody's going to be named something that's been used before."
"Yes, but I'm not so sure that this is a coincidence. You know that bit of a gap in my memories, right? Well, I don't recall why I named myself Yog-Sothoth. I can't help but think that this is more than a coincidence."
"So, does this mean more book-reading," asked Randy, trying to not show his disappointment.
"No. I remembered something else. Let's go to the Sol System."
Yog got online, put the book away, and went to the front door, where Randy was waiting. They took off, and landed at the nearest warp-gate terminal. Yog went first, requesting a warp-gate to Earth, and stepping through as Randy asked for the same.
When Randy got to Earth, he initiated a call to Yog. "Hey, you forgot to specify where on Earth. I'm near Kyoto. Where are you?"
"It doesn't matter. I just checked and Mars is closer."
"'Closer'? Where exactly are we going?"
"We're going to an asteroid in the belt," Yog replied. He forgot to dissonate his communications, so Randy heard him as he said "warp-gate to Martian night, midnight preferred".
Randy followed suit, and soon both were standing under the night skies of Mars, at a gate that was shortly before Martian midnight.
"The Solar asteroid belt's pretty boring. There's nothing interesting there except 1 Ceres, and we're nearly opposite it!" Randy complained.
"Yeah, but I've got these numbers in my head that don't match anything else there. They work as systemic coordinates, though, so I might as well have a look. If you're coming, then make sure that you bring enough fog." With that, Yog gathered up a large volume of nanofog, set the protocols for long-term control, made an ovoid around himself, set the outside to shimmer, and took off into the night sky.
[[]]
They moved through the belt, heading where only Yog knew. The destination appeared to be an ordinary asteroid. Randy caught up to Yog when he stopped, touching their fogs so that they could talk.
"So what's this, then?"
"I think that a part of me is here. I think that I've pieced it together: It is the gate, and I am the key."
"Well, then, how do you unlock it?"
Without answering, Yog moved toward the asteroid. He orbited it closely, looking for anything that he might have missed. After a few minutes, he stopped, and messaged Randy directly, informing him that he didn't see anything that would be out of the ordinary for an asteroid of that shape and size in that system. Randy moved up alongside Yog, and said unto him, "Well, we could start cutting, though it would take a while with this little fog. We could surely crack it with more material, but I doubt that you want that, if it really does contain a piece of you. Are you sure that this is the right rock?"
"Yeah," Yog sighed, "I thought so," and rested his hand upon it. In a moment, his hand sank, unexpectedly, into the surface. "Oh, maybe that's how it's supposed to work," Yog commented, as he sank further and further into the asteroid. Randy put his hand on the surface, but nothing happened.
"It must be somehow keyed to you, Yog," he said, and used his fog to look at and feel the area around Yog. "I'm not sensing any action, though." Too quickly, though, Yog was gone.
With nothing else to do, Randy waited. It was a bit unnerving, that. There was nothing to occupy his time, and even the nearest contact point was subject to luminal lag, so there wasn't much point to anything other than passive reception. Since he was waiting for Yog, Randy figured that he might as well look into some old media, but then, Yog emerged from the asteroid.
"Well there you are," Randy said, as he followed Yog back to Mars. "So? What happened?"
"I'm not at liberty to say, nor can I, really," said Yog, "Whatever is in there, there's a reason that I made myself forget it. This time, though, I at least got myself to remember why this rock is here, so that I don't repeat this incident."
"Well, it's not like you had much choice," Randy retorted, "since I was here, too. It's not like you could make me forget."
"Oddly enough, I feel like I could...."
---
Notes:
"wheren" - a blend of "where" and "when", developed to express both and the interconnected nature of space and time
Note (2010/December/29): I apparently started this back on July 28th, which was itself apparently after I first had the idea, per my note above.
---
Yog was in the arboretum mortis, reading some ancient literature, wheren his friend Randy found him.
"There you are!" he said, a little too loudly for Yog's liking. Randy, like most people, spoke and listened because he preferred it when having a direct conversation with someone in his own presence in meatspace. He was right there with Yog, after all, though Randy hadn't been left much choice. Quieting down after getting a stern look from a stranger across the room, he continued, "You've been offline for over an hour. I was starting to get worried."
"I decided to read these the old-fashioned way," Yog replied. "Back when these things were written, people didn't have any direct feeds. Frak, back then, the closest thing was a ticker tape, and they had to go to a special machine for it."
Randy took the opportunity to see what Yog was reading. He caught "and studied Whateley's gorilla-like lope as he crossed the bit of campus visible from the window.", and quickly responded - as it took him essentially no time to search the work in which that exact phrasing originated - "'The Dunwich Horror' by a certain Howard Phillips Lovecraft, early twentieth century writer of horror and something called 'weird fiction', which is apparently --"
"Do you want to know what I found that was interesting?" Yog interrupted.
"I might as well."
"'Yog-Sothoth knows the gate. Yog-Sothoth is the gate. Yog-Sothoth is the key and guardian of the gate. Past, present, future, all are one in Yog-Sothoth. He knows where the Old Ones broke through of old, and where They shall break through again. He knows where They have trod earth's fields, and where They still tread them, and why no one can behold Them as They tread.'"
"Well, seeing as how you didn't read the whole text to me, I gather that you wanted to draw my attention to that section, but all that I see is a bit of a coincidence. You're named Yog-Sothoth, there's a Yog-Sothoth in that book, apparently, but, come on, that's bound to happen at some point. With all of the weird names that people have, and all of the weird words made up for fiction, somebody's going to be named something that's been used before."
"Yes, but I'm not so sure that this is a coincidence. You know that bit of a gap in my memories, right? Well, I don't recall why I named myself Yog-Sothoth. I can't help but think that this is more than a coincidence."
"So, does this mean more book-reading," asked Randy, trying to not show his disappointment.
"No. I remembered something else. Let's go to the Sol System."
Yog got online, put the book away, and went to the front door, where Randy was waiting. They took off, and landed at the nearest warp-gate terminal. Yog went first, requesting a warp-gate to Earth, and stepping through as Randy asked for the same.
When Randy got to Earth, he initiated a call to Yog. "Hey, you forgot to specify where on Earth. I'm near Kyoto. Where are you?"
"It doesn't matter. I just checked and Mars is closer."
"'Closer'? Where exactly are we going?"
"We're going to an asteroid in the belt," Yog replied. He forgot to dissonate his communications, so Randy heard him as he said "warp-gate to Martian night, midnight preferred".
Randy followed suit, and soon both were standing under the night skies of Mars, at a gate that was shortly before Martian midnight.
"The Solar asteroid belt's pretty boring. There's nothing interesting there except 1 Ceres, and we're nearly opposite it!" Randy complained.
"Yeah, but I've got these numbers in my head that don't match anything else there. They work as systemic coordinates, though, so I might as well have a look. If you're coming, then make sure that you bring enough fog." With that, Yog gathered up a large volume of nanofog, set the protocols for long-term control, made an ovoid around himself, set the outside to shimmer, and took off into the night sky.
[[]]
They moved through the belt, heading where only Yog knew. The destination appeared to be an ordinary asteroid. Randy caught up to Yog when he stopped, touching their fogs so that they could talk.
"So what's this, then?"
"I think that a part of me is here. I think that I've pieced it together: It is the gate, and I am the key."
"Well, then, how do you unlock it?"
Without answering, Yog moved toward the asteroid. He orbited it closely, looking for anything that he might have missed. After a few minutes, he stopped, and messaged Randy directly, informing him that he didn't see anything that would be out of the ordinary for an asteroid of that shape and size in that system. Randy moved up alongside Yog, and said unto him, "Well, we could start cutting, though it would take a while with this little fog. We could surely crack it with more material, but I doubt that you want that, if it really does contain a piece of you. Are you sure that this is the right rock?"
"Yeah," Yog sighed, "I thought so," and rested his hand upon it. In a moment, his hand sank, unexpectedly, into the surface. "Oh, maybe that's how it's supposed to work," Yog commented, as he sank further and further into the asteroid. Randy put his hand on the surface, but nothing happened.
"It must be somehow keyed to you, Yog," he said, and used his fog to look at and feel the area around Yog. "I'm not sensing any action, though." Too quickly, though, Yog was gone.
With nothing else to do, Randy waited. It was a bit unnerving, that. There was nothing to occupy his time, and even the nearest contact point was subject to luminal lag, so there wasn't much point to anything other than passive reception. Since he was waiting for Yog, Randy figured that he might as well look into some old media, but then, Yog emerged from the asteroid.
"Well there you are," Randy said, as he followed Yog back to Mars. "So? What happened?"
"I'm not at liberty to say, nor can I, really," said Yog, "Whatever is in there, there's a reason that I made myself forget it. This time, though, I at least got myself to remember why this rock is here, so that I don't repeat this incident."
"Well, it's not like you had much choice," Randy retorted, "since I was here, too. It's not like you could make me forget."
"Oddly enough, I feel like I could...."
---
Notes:
"wheren" - a blend of "where" and "when", developed to express both and the interconnected nature of space and time
Note (2010/December/29): I apparently started this back on July 28th, which was itself apparently after I first had the idea, per my note above.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
On 3D, Color, and Talkies
So, you may have noticed a 3D trend in film lately. There becomes a question of permanence. Is 3D here to stay? It seems like a fad. After all, 3D was a gimmick in the 1970s and 1980s, and even back in the 1950s.
However, 3D has something in common with synchronized sound (a property of films known as "talkies") and color. It's part of how we experience reality. Reality has sound (except to the deaf), reality has color (except to the colorblind, though even they can see some colors), and reality is 3D (except to those who lack depth perception). So, while I'd say that films don't need to be in 3D, they also don't need to be in color. It doesn't mean that the technology will go away.
That being said, the previous point that 3D has come and gone might indicate that it will fade again since the technology wasn't accepted just because it was widely available.
Personally, I think that 3D will first solidify itself outside of theaters, where individual people watching their films on personal laptops or handheld devices will allow for the use of autostereoscopy, such as via a parallax barrier. That is, you'll no longer have to wear fancy headgear for 3D, since the screen will effectively "know" where your head is, since you won't be likely to change it, a la how the Nintendo 3DS will work. (It loses the 3D effect if you're viewing the screen from off to the side.)
However, 3D has something in common with synchronized sound (a property of films known as "talkies") and color. It's part of how we experience reality. Reality has sound (except to the deaf), reality has color (except to the colorblind, though even they can see some colors), and reality is 3D (except to those who lack depth perception). So, while I'd say that films don't need to be in 3D, they also don't need to be in color. It doesn't mean that the technology will go away.
That being said, the previous point that 3D has come and gone might indicate that it will fade again since the technology wasn't accepted just because it was widely available.
Personally, I think that 3D will first solidify itself outside of theaters, where individual people watching their films on personal laptops or handheld devices will allow for the use of autostereoscopy, such as via a parallax barrier. That is, you'll no longer have to wear fancy headgear for 3D, since the screen will effectively "know" where your head is, since you won't be likely to change it, a la how the Nintendo 3DS will work. (It loses the 3D effect if you're viewing the screen from off to the side.)
Monday, December 6, 2010
Sudden Short Story 5
"...All of these precautions... How did anyone ever assemble an electronic computer without breaking something?"
"Well, back then, electronic computers were consumer appliances, just like optical computers are now. Most people bought them pre-assembled off the shelf and never even cracked the case. They worked well enough for however long, and they were replaced regularly.
"It's funny, actually. You see, electronic computers had gotten to the point where they were all laptops, at least off the shelf. The only large form-factor ones were those assembled by hardcore gamers, and they ended up being the first consumer base for optical computers. Nobody else could justify the large form-factor, and most computers for personal use didn't need the speed boost at that point."
"So we have gamers to thank for modern computing, eh? How about that. So, do you like all forms of alternate computing, or just this one?"
"I think that I just like old things. You know, I'm thinking of building a mechanical computer after this. It should be even more interesting: Apparently, they never achieved commercial production before electronic computers took over.
"I dare say that it must have been a terribly interesting time, back then. Even electronic computers could fill entire rooms, and had to be serviced by large staffs...."
"Well, back then, electronic computers were consumer appliances, just like optical computers are now. Most people bought them pre-assembled off the shelf and never even cracked the case. They worked well enough for however long, and they were replaced regularly.
"It's funny, actually. You see, electronic computers had gotten to the point where they were all laptops, at least off the shelf. The only large form-factor ones were those assembled by hardcore gamers, and they ended up being the first consumer base for optical computers. Nobody else could justify the large form-factor, and most computers for personal use didn't need the speed boost at that point."
"So we have gamers to thank for modern computing, eh? How about that. So, do you like all forms of alternate computing, or just this one?"
"I think that I just like old things. You know, I'm thinking of building a mechanical computer after this. It should be even more interesting: Apparently, they never achieved commercial production before electronic computers took over.
"I dare say that it must have been a terribly interesting time, back then. Even electronic computers could fill entire rooms, and had to be serviced by large staffs...."
Sunday, October 10, 2010
There's a Crack in my Beast Below
Right, I meant to blog about this quite a long time ago, but I forgot.
There's sort of a bit of an enormous plot hole in the Doctor Who episode "The Beast Below". Fair warning: There are spoilers regarding this episode of Doctor Who. Also, I'll probably talk as though you've already seen the episode, so it would be good for you to watch "The Beast Below" before reading this, if you haven't already.
So, at the end of "The Beast Below", it is discovered that the titular character (the beast below, not The Doctor), who has been propelling the giant city-ship up until this point, goes faster when it's not being shocked in the brain every few seconds. Specifically, the creature came to Earth in order to help the humans, though it couldn't communicate with them, which is supposed to have allowed this whole scenario to emerge.
To make sure that we're on the same page here: for literally the entire journey of the vessel (a few centuries in length), the beast below the city has been being shocked, in the brain, at very regular intervals. This is where I see an enormous plot hole. It means the following:
-Whoever was in charge of this project had to, somehow, decide to start shocking the alien in the brain once every few seconds before they left Earth orbit.
-Whoever was in charge of this project had to then implement this shocking plan, including making the brain-hole and constructing and activating the probe, again before leaving Earth orbit.
-The probe had to go the entire trip without breaking, needing replaced, or needing to be turned off to be cleaned, repaired, or updated.
-For the entire trip, the probe's power supply had to be uninterrupted.
-They had to never want to stop or slow down. Since they thought that the frequent shocks were keeping the beast moving, they would have reduced or stopped them to slow down or stop.
-Nobody ever said "Hey, what do you suppose would happen if we stopped shocking the creature for a few minutes?" - at least not in a convincing way.
-Nobody ever accidentally turned the device off.
-No scientist in the control room ever went rogue enough to sabotage the shock system. Also, nobody ever successfully broke into the control room or hacked into the controls to do the same.
Basically, the decision to set up this shock system was extremely unscientific - grounded only in ... well, absolutely nothing - and keeping it in perpetual operation would be a logistical nightmare - as anyone who has to maintain any system can tell you.
P.S.: I'd have given more/better details, but I'm going on memory, and the episode was quite a while ago. Like I said, I meant to blog about this and forgot.
There's sort of a bit of an enormous plot hole in the Doctor Who episode "The Beast Below". Fair warning: There are spoilers regarding this episode of Doctor Who. Also, I'll probably talk as though you've already seen the episode, so it would be good for you to watch "The Beast Below" before reading this, if you haven't already.
So, at the end of "The Beast Below", it is discovered that the titular character (the beast below, not The Doctor), who has been propelling the giant city-ship up until this point, goes faster when it's not being shocked in the brain every few seconds. Specifically, the creature came to Earth in order to help the humans, though it couldn't communicate with them, which is supposed to have allowed this whole scenario to emerge.
To make sure that we're on the same page here: for literally the entire journey of the vessel (a few centuries in length), the beast below the city has been being shocked, in the brain, at very regular intervals. This is where I see an enormous plot hole. It means the following:
-Whoever was in charge of this project had to, somehow, decide to start shocking the alien in the brain once every few seconds before they left Earth orbit.
-Whoever was in charge of this project had to then implement this shocking plan, including making the brain-hole and constructing and activating the probe, again before leaving Earth orbit.
-The probe had to go the entire trip without breaking, needing replaced, or needing to be turned off to be cleaned, repaired, or updated.
-For the entire trip, the probe's power supply had to be uninterrupted.
-They had to never want to stop or slow down. Since they thought that the frequent shocks were keeping the beast moving, they would have reduced or stopped them to slow down or stop.
-Nobody ever said "Hey, what do you suppose would happen if we stopped shocking the creature for a few minutes?" - at least not in a convincing way.
-Nobody ever accidentally turned the device off.
-No scientist in the control room ever went rogue enough to sabotage the shock system. Also, nobody ever successfully broke into the control room or hacked into the controls to do the same.
Basically, the decision to set up this shock system was extremely unscientific - grounded only in ... well, absolutely nothing - and keeping it in perpetual operation would be a logistical nightmare - as anyone who has to maintain any system can tell you.
P.S.: I'd have given more/better details, but I'm going on memory, and the episode was quite a while ago. Like I said, I meant to blog about this and forgot.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
If Fry Really Awoke in the Year 3000
I had a passing thought about what would happen if someone like me woke up from cryogenic stasis far in the future. This took a funny route, and became what would happen if Fry (from Futurama, for those who don't know) really woke up in the year 3000. It entered my head as a comic, but I can't draw for crap, so here's the dialog, with a few notes:
...
Actually, I forgot how it started. It somehow got to this point. (Somehow, I had included the notion that extensive genetic intermingling led to that middling skin color for everyone.):
Thawed Guy: So that means...
Others: That's right. You're now the whitest man on Earth.
Thawed Guy: NOOOOOOOOO-- [Khan-style] Wait, does that mean that my lifestyle is, on average, better than everyone else's?
Others: Nope.
Thawed Guy: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! [Khan-style] Well, I guess that I'd better go look for work.
Others: Actually, we live in a post-scarcity state.
Thawed Guy: *blinks*
Others: Nobody has to work. Ever.
Thawed Guy: Yes!
...
This was much better when it was abstract, and in my head.
...
Actually, I forgot how it started. It somehow got to this point. (Somehow, I had included the notion that extensive genetic intermingling led to that middling skin color for everyone.):
Thawed Guy: So that means...
Others: That's right. You're now the whitest man on Earth.
Thawed Guy: NOOOOOOOOO-- [Khan-style] Wait, does that mean that my lifestyle is, on average, better than everyone else's?
Others: Nope.
Thawed Guy: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! [Khan-style] Well, I guess that I'd better go look for work.
Others: Actually, we live in a post-scarcity state.
Thawed Guy: *blinks*
Others: Nobody has to work. Ever.
Thawed Guy: Yes!
...
This was much better when it was abstract, and in my head.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Crazy Idea: Double-iPad
I had an idea on the day that the iPad was announced (yesterday, I think). Imagine 2 iPads, next to each other, touching, longer side to longer side, facing the same way. Now, imagine that they are connected by a hinge, and that they could close together all the way, such that the screens face each other, similar to how a laptop closes screen-to-keyboard. Finally, imagine that these two devices are the same device, rather than two separate devices tacked together. I think that this device - which I will tentatively call the iPad DS - would be good. It's like a cross among an iPad, a conventional laptop (or perhaps a tablet PC - I don't know much about them), and a Nintendo DS.
This layout has some advantages over the other devices:
-The maximum potential screen area is double that of an iPad.
-With the right settings, one vertical, landscape screen could act like a normal laptop screen, and the other screen could function as a keyboard. Thus, it could effectively be a laptop with a touch-screen, but it adds versatility, since it doesn't have to be.
-The ability to close it means that the screens are better-protected than that of the iPad.
-It would potentially be very nice for reading newspapers or books. Think of holding a laptop book-wise, with the keyboard replaced by another screen.
I estimate the cost for the basic version of such a device at $1000 if it's made by Apple. The cost of $500 per iPad is a good guideline, and there is added complexity, but at the same time, the hardest part of development is already finished.
I have no plans to buy an iPad, for many reasons. I don't have a job yet, I already have a computer that's new as of 3 months ago, and I like using my computer on my desk (keyboard down and monitor up). However, if a double-iPad were released, then I would seriously consider buying it once I have consistent work.
This layout has some advantages over the other devices:
-The maximum potential screen area is double that of an iPad.
-With the right settings, one vertical, landscape screen could act like a normal laptop screen, and the other screen could function as a keyboard. Thus, it could effectively be a laptop with a touch-screen, but it adds versatility, since it doesn't have to be.
-The ability to close it means that the screens are better-protected than that of the iPad.
-It would potentially be very nice for reading newspapers or books. Think of holding a laptop book-wise, with the keyboard replaced by another screen.
I estimate the cost for the basic version of such a device at $1000 if it's made by Apple. The cost of $500 per iPad is a good guideline, and there is added complexity, but at the same time, the hardest part of development is already finished.
I have no plans to buy an iPad, for many reasons. I don't have a job yet, I already have a computer that's new as of 3 months ago, and I like using my computer on my desk (keyboard down and monitor up). However, if a double-iPad were released, then I would seriously consider buying it once I have consistent work.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Sudden Short Story 2
Victor Kurzweil - no relation - was an out-goer. The last of a dying breed, he actually spent some time wholly in his body. Of course, he always felt that he left a bit behind whenever he "wandered out of the mists", as the latest notion was - "notion" being the new "meme", after all.
At this particular time, Victor left. He went out. He stood his body up, which was possible for anyone, since solutions had been found long ago to prevent the meat's meat from atrophying, but was slightly easier for out-goers, since they actually used it. One of the odd things about meatspace - "meatspace" being a very old and classical term, like "water" or "the" - was the lack of sensory input. There weren't always tastes or smells, and what sound there was was generally just background noise unless someone did something about that. Sight was largely used for navigating three-space-one-time.
Victor went to the kitchen area of his apartment in meatspace - much preferring his mist-ical personal locality. There, he remembered that he could use the "window" - an odd term for something that couldn't be moved, reshaped, minimized, or readily removed altogether (though such "windows" were also thoroughly outdated) - for seeing another local region of meatspace. It seemed to have an odd sort of film on it, though. Victor banged his fingers into the "window" - always being so clumsy with his off-hand, whichever one that was - but then straightened it out and wiped.
The film lacked cohesion - only the parts that he'd touched lost their tinge. He also noticed that the film remained on his hands, but then remembered his object-orientation and realized that it would have been inappropriate for it to disappear here. Still, it seemed interesting, so he went ahead and wiped it off into some Kontainment®, making a mental note to have it mass-spec'd later. Victor also noticed that the "window" didn't become clear. He tried to look closer, before remembering that his physical eyes could only zoom in so far. He started to realize just how good it was that he went out every now and then: Imagine what he'd forget if he never came out!
What Victor had seen were some odd streaks along where he had wiped. He couldn't see them anywhere else. Moreover, at either end - where he had started and ended the wipe - the marks resembled the "fingerprints" from the old police procedurals. That triggered a realization: Of course, in meatspace, his fingers had imprinted the "window".
Victor went back to what he'd intended to do in the first place; he looked out the "window", where he'd wiped off the odd film. Across the street and down a bit, he saw some punks. It was obvious that they were punks, since they were outside, but didn't seem to be going to or from anything. They weren't stretching, or rehearsing their movements. They were just relaxing, talking to each other, and overall acting like they were very comfortable in meatspace.
There looked to be five of them, as two men and three women. Both men wore brown hats. They were quite tall for hats, and very cylindrical. They looked like they belonged on Abe Lincoln's head, though they were shorter and browner than that. Both men also wore some odd outfits, with at least two layers on the top halves of their bodies. They didn't match, though. One man had a black thing on top, which looked like it would work quite well alone, and without need for the buttons. Below that, though, was a white shirt with sleeves that went all the way down to the wrists, and some sort of odd layering on and above the chest. Victor would have thought it a waste of cloth if he'd ever heard of "waste". The other man wore a brown thing that looked like a thicker version of the aforementioned white shirt, except that it seemed to have been cut down the middle and have buttons in it, though those weren't being used to hold it closed at the moment. Thanks to that, Victor could see parts of two more brown layers below that, but he wasn't sure what to make of them, especially since both of those seemed to have buttons, too! Victor decided to look at the women.
Doing this caused an odd reaction in Victor's "personal meatspace". He couldn't figure out why, since he could barely make out the women's forms, for their extensive clothing. One wore a blue dress, though it had sleeves attached - again going all the way to the wrist - and the bottom part went all the way down, hovering just above ground level. Victor couldn't quite make out how her legs must be shaped, since the outline of the dress was some odd sort of curve that was fixed in some places, but changed in others. As she moved her body while she talked to the others, he saw an odd swaying in the dress, before something finally came out of the back of his brainpan and smacked him: Her dress - at least that part of it - wasn't meant to go along the shape of her body. After mulling that over, he reasoned that there might also be something holding it outward that much, and that her legs weren't even ridiculously disproportionately huge.
The next woman's dress was similar, though it was green and black, and it tended to drape more, though it still failed to convey the shape of its wearer's legs. The last woman was dressed much more reasonably, wearing a white shirt - though, again, the sleeves went all the way to the wrists, and Victor was starting to wonder what they might be hiding along their forearms - and her brown pants looked too big, and seemed to have straps going over her shoulders. She also wore something about her waist, which seemed to be cluttered with large objects.
Victor continued to look at them, trying to recall what flavor of punk they might be. He had heard of many kinds, including the no-longer-extant "cyberpunks", though "cyberpunk" seemed to have been a term that once meant the same thing as "futurist". After mulling it over for a bit, he realized that they were steampunks. It didn't much matter, since all of the remaining punks were the same: Most of them spent all of their time in meatspace, and all of them spent most of their time there.
Victor noticed something odd about how they looked. That is, they seemed to have stopped mulling about, and were all looking the same way. On its own, Victor's brain figured it out: They were looking at him. Victor stumbled back with a start, nearly falling for lack of practice standing. He went back to grabbing to something to taste while he spent some time in meatspace on the principle of practice. Everything seemed a bit blurred and faded. He thought that perhaps he should lay down, seeming to recall that people who didn't feel well in the old stories did that. He found his bed and gently laid his body upon it. Its softness was surprisingly comfortable.
---
Victor awoke with a start. Mostly, he was startled because he didn't realize that he was asleep. Victor also took note of his "personal meatspace", and decided that now was as good of a time as any to go back in, since the device that would hold his body was where he made depositions, and since cyberspace was where all of the entertainment occurred, anyway.
Victor plugged himself into the port, letting automation handle the rest of the things that would attach to his body. He managed to get everything vital handled, but found the world at odds with himself. He had always been considered quirky - he was an out-goer, after all - but now it was like he was crazy. Nobody in the world understood him, and he didn't understand why. He eventually left.
Not more than ten minutes after going back, Victor "wandered out of the mists" again, though he was the only one who called it that anymore.
[END]
---
This was another story that came to me rather suddenly. There were a few things that didn't get said here, but I figure that I'll make notes on them later. Alternatively, perhaps I'll revise the story a bit.
At this particular time, Victor left. He went out. He stood his body up, which was possible for anyone, since solutions had been found long ago to prevent the meat's meat from atrophying, but was slightly easier for out-goers, since they actually used it. One of the odd things about meatspace - "meatspace" being a very old and classical term, like "water" or "the" - was the lack of sensory input. There weren't always tastes or smells, and what sound there was was generally just background noise unless someone did something about that. Sight was largely used for navigating three-space-one-time.
Victor went to the kitchen area of his apartment in meatspace - much preferring his mist-ical personal locality. There, he remembered that he could use the "window" - an odd term for something that couldn't be moved, reshaped, minimized, or readily removed altogether (though such "windows" were also thoroughly outdated) - for seeing another local region of meatspace. It seemed to have an odd sort of film on it, though. Victor banged his fingers into the "window" - always being so clumsy with his off-hand, whichever one that was - but then straightened it out and wiped.
The film lacked cohesion - only the parts that he'd touched lost their tinge. He also noticed that the film remained on his hands, but then remembered his object-orientation and realized that it would have been inappropriate for it to disappear here. Still, it seemed interesting, so he went ahead and wiped it off into some Kontainment®, making a mental note to have it mass-spec'd later. Victor also noticed that the "window" didn't become clear. He tried to look closer, before remembering that his physical eyes could only zoom in so far. He started to realize just how good it was that he went out every now and then: Imagine what he'd forget if he never came out!
What Victor had seen were some odd streaks along where he had wiped. He couldn't see them anywhere else. Moreover, at either end - where he had started and ended the wipe - the marks resembled the "fingerprints" from the old police procedurals. That triggered a realization: Of course, in meatspace, his fingers had imprinted the "window".
Victor went back to what he'd intended to do in the first place; he looked out the "window", where he'd wiped off the odd film. Across the street and down a bit, he saw some punks. It was obvious that they were punks, since they were outside, but didn't seem to be going to or from anything. They weren't stretching, or rehearsing their movements. They were just relaxing, talking to each other, and overall acting like they were very comfortable in meatspace.
There looked to be five of them, as two men and three women. Both men wore brown hats. They were quite tall for hats, and very cylindrical. They looked like they belonged on Abe Lincoln's head, though they were shorter and browner than that. Both men also wore some odd outfits, with at least two layers on the top halves of their bodies. They didn't match, though. One man had a black thing on top, which looked like it would work quite well alone, and without need for the buttons. Below that, though, was a white shirt with sleeves that went all the way down to the wrists, and some sort of odd layering on and above the chest. Victor would have thought it a waste of cloth if he'd ever heard of "waste". The other man wore a brown thing that looked like a thicker version of the aforementioned white shirt, except that it seemed to have been cut down the middle and have buttons in it, though those weren't being used to hold it closed at the moment. Thanks to that, Victor could see parts of two more brown layers below that, but he wasn't sure what to make of them, especially since both of those seemed to have buttons, too! Victor decided to look at the women.
Doing this caused an odd reaction in Victor's "personal meatspace". He couldn't figure out why, since he could barely make out the women's forms, for their extensive clothing. One wore a blue dress, though it had sleeves attached - again going all the way to the wrist - and the bottom part went all the way down, hovering just above ground level. Victor couldn't quite make out how her legs must be shaped, since the outline of the dress was some odd sort of curve that was fixed in some places, but changed in others. As she moved her body while she talked to the others, he saw an odd swaying in the dress, before something finally came out of the back of his brainpan and smacked him: Her dress - at least that part of it - wasn't meant to go along the shape of her body. After mulling that over, he reasoned that there might also be something holding it outward that much, and that her legs weren't even ridiculously disproportionately huge.
The next woman's dress was similar, though it was green and black, and it tended to drape more, though it still failed to convey the shape of its wearer's legs. The last woman was dressed much more reasonably, wearing a white shirt - though, again, the sleeves went all the way to the wrists, and Victor was starting to wonder what they might be hiding along their forearms - and her brown pants looked too big, and seemed to have straps going over her shoulders. She also wore something about her waist, which seemed to be cluttered with large objects.
Victor continued to look at them, trying to recall what flavor of punk they might be. He had heard of many kinds, including the no-longer-extant "cyberpunks", though "cyberpunk" seemed to have been a term that once meant the same thing as "futurist". After mulling it over for a bit, he realized that they were steampunks. It didn't much matter, since all of the remaining punks were the same: Most of them spent all of their time in meatspace, and all of them spent most of their time there.
Victor noticed something odd about how they looked. That is, they seemed to have stopped mulling about, and were all looking the same way. On its own, Victor's brain figured it out: They were looking at him. Victor stumbled back with a start, nearly falling for lack of practice standing. He went back to grabbing to something to taste while he spent some time in meatspace on the principle of practice. Everything seemed a bit blurred and faded. He thought that perhaps he should lay down, seeming to recall that people who didn't feel well in the old stories did that. He found his bed and gently laid his body upon it. Its softness was surprisingly comfortable.
---
Victor awoke with a start. Mostly, he was startled because he didn't realize that he was asleep. Victor also took note of his "personal meatspace", and decided that now was as good of a time as any to go back in, since the device that would hold his body was where he made depositions, and since cyberspace was where all of the entertainment occurred, anyway.
Victor plugged himself into the port, letting automation handle the rest of the things that would attach to his body. He managed to get everything vital handled, but found the world at odds with himself. He had always been considered quirky - he was an out-goer, after all - but now it was like he was crazy. Nobody in the world understood him, and he didn't understand why. He eventually left.
Not more than ten minutes after going back, Victor "wandered out of the mists" again, though he was the only one who called it that anymore.
[END]
---
This was another story that came to me rather suddenly. There were a few things that didn't get said here, but I figure that I'll make notes on them later. Alternatively, perhaps I'll revise the story a bit.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Sudden Short Story
I just came up with this idea. I'm not going to make this look nice. This is version 0.1 or something.
The Bimillennial Law, as it came to be known, was a peculiar thing. In 2103CE, it was noticed that life-extending technology was coming about so quickly that people just weren't going to die of old age anymore. It was realized that the overcrowding that this would cause could lead to great suffering, but it was hard to pick an age at which to put people down. 100 was clearly too early, since people had already lived several years past that 100 years ago. Some people thought that nobody should out-live Abraham, from Hebrew legend. Others used the age of Adam from the same mythos. Still others thought that nobody should live past 999, to limit ages to three digits - in decimal. Eventually, the age of 2000 was settled, being far enough away that nobody had to worry about it any time soon, and old enough that anyone who survived to it would have lived a satisfactory life, and could start to suffer from having to deal with just so many profound changes in a lifetime.
Later on - though well after the establishment of several extraterrestrial colonies - someone realized that this was stupid. The vote to repeal the Bimillenial Law was unanimous. Nobody was ever executed under this law.
The Bimillennial Law, as it came to be known, was a peculiar thing. In 2103CE, it was noticed that life-extending technology was coming about so quickly that people just weren't going to die of old age anymore. It was realized that the overcrowding that this would cause could lead to great suffering, but it was hard to pick an age at which to put people down. 100 was clearly too early, since people had already lived several years past that 100 years ago. Some people thought that nobody should out-live Abraham, from Hebrew legend. Others used the age of Adam from the same mythos. Still others thought that nobody should live past 999, to limit ages to three digits - in decimal. Eventually, the age of 2000 was settled, being far enough away that nobody had to worry about it any time soon, and old enough that anyone who survived to it would have lived a satisfactory life, and could start to suffer from having to deal with just so many profound changes in a lifetime.
Later on - though well after the establishment of several extraterrestrial colonies - someone realized that this was stupid. The vote to repeal the Bimillenial Law was unanimous. Nobody was ever executed under this law.
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