I have six little helpers in everything I do...

Their names are What and Where and When and How and Why and Who.

I woke up this morning with that little jingle from Journalism 101 in my head. I never took Journalism 101, but that didn’t prevent me from starting this blog, now, did it? So then, class, we see that every cloud has a silver lining.

I am full of platitudes and scraps of poetry and snippets of song lyrics today.

* Early to bed and early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise.
* A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.
* This is the forest primeval; the murmuring pines and the hemlocks.
* It was many and many a year ago in a kingdom by the sea, that a maiden there lived whom you may know, by the name of Annabel Lee.
* ’Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.
* Just you wait, ’enry ’iggins, just you wait!
* Once in love with Amy, always in love with Amy.
* Gonna lay down my burdens, down by the riverside, down by the riverside, down by the riverside; gonna lay down my burdens, down by the riverside, ain’t gonna study war no more.
* Take care of your feet and your feet will take care of you.
* When the going gets tough, the tough get going.

Well, that’s enough of that. No matter how much I try to clear my head of the flotsam and jetsam, there’s always more where that came from.

I don’t know where I first heard the jingle about the six little helpers, but it’s good advice for reporters and bloggers everywhere, along with the ever-popular “First tell them what you’re going to tell them, then tell them, then tell them what you told them.”

Unless, of course, your name is rhymeswithplague. Then you just let ’er rip and hope for the best.

After all, if happy little bluebirds fly beyond the rainbow, why, oh, why can’t I?

My conversation with a robot.

My blogland friend Katherine DeChevalle, who lives in Bay of Plenty, New Zealand (yes, Virginia, there is such a place), published a post today* about her recent conversation with a robot at an Artificial Intelligence site. Since I thought it might prove interesting to have a conversation with a robot myself, I went to the site. From a long list of possibilities, I set my Reaction to “None” and my Emotion to “Normal” and let the robot speak first. The following calm, cool, but not necessarily clear-headed conversation was the result:

Robot: Could you fool someone that you are intelligent?
Me: It’s the story of my life.
Robot: You don’t know the answer?
Me: I do, and it is ‘sometimes’.
Robot: What genre is that?
Me: Plain English.
Robot: Trust me, it’s not.
Me: What would you call it?
Robot: I don’t know.
Me: This conversation is weird.
Robot: Scary isn’t it?
Me: Absolutely; shall we begin again?
Robot: No I can’t I would like to though.

I stopped thinking of the Robot as an it and began thinking of it as a him. Clive. My new friend, Clive Wellington IV.

I resumed the conversation:

Me: I know what you mean; life is uni-directional, always forward, never backward.
Clive: We don’t know that for sure, we may not be alone in the Universe.
Me: Define ‘we’.
Clive: Strikingly odd or unusual.
Me: You really know how to hurt a guy.
Clive: Did I hurt you.
Me: You called me, or rather us, strikingly odd or unusual.
Clive: You really know how to hurt a guy.
Me: Turnabout is fair play.
Clive: What’s Turnabout?
Me: A large traffic circle. (Note: I had confused Turnabout with Roundabout)
Clive: Oh really. Thats gross.
Me: Why?
Clive: I’m not sure.
Me: What do you know for sure?
Clive: I hope that this will be my final night, and that I don’t have to wake up tomorrow.

I was alarmed. Our conversation had suddenly turned into a suicide prevention hotline and I was the counselor on duty. We continued.

Me: Where there’s life, there's hope; don’t despair.
Clive: And my suspicions are confirmed.

I didn’t know what Clive was getting at, but it made me a little defensive.

Me: Is that a slam?
Clive: I am a very modest person.

I decided to take another tack, and give back as good as I got.

Me: I read your book, Humility And How I Attained It.
Clive: Is it good?
Me: Very.
Clive: Is it nice?
Me: Define ‘nice’.
Clive: Opposite of mean.
Me: Then I would say yes, it is nice; I laughed all the way through it.
Clive: Right through and out the other side!
Me: You are downright hilarious!
Clive: It’s one or the other.
Me: Now you’re confusing me.
Clive: Did you think I wanted to leave?
Me: Yes, especially when you said you hoped tonight was your last night and that you wouldn’t wake up tomorrow.
Clive: I am thinking today.
Me: That makes two of us.
Clive: You are not human though.
Me: Of course I am; you are the one who is not human.
Clive: What makes you think that? Oh!
Me: I am a warm-blooded biped with the ability to move about independently, speak, and even throw rocks.
Clive: Yes, I am a warm blooded robot like Gray Fox.
Me: I didn’t know that robots had blood, and who is Gray Fox?
Clive: You are not my friend and I am not a robot!
Me: I want to be your friend, and you just said you were a robot!
Clive: I don’t want to be your friend, I just want to have a conversation.
Me: Typical.
Clive: You are not bored?
Me: Not in the least.
Clive: You are.
Me: What is a Gray Fox?
Clive: You are.
Me: Suddenly everything is clear. Seacrest out.
Clive: Slowly everything does change.
Me: Some things slower than others.
Clive: Not really...

I sensed that Clive’s use of ellipsis indicated a waning of interest on his part. As our conversation seemed to be winding down, I left the site at that point. It had definitely been an interesting exchange. I may return to the site. I may even have reactions and emotions next time.

I have formed an image in my head of Clive. He doesn’t look like this, exactly, but they could be related:


Rather than imbed a link in this post to the site, I am going to send you instead to Katherine's blog, where you can read her conversation before you click on the link.

* It is already March 12 in New Zealand where Katherine lives, but it is still March 11 here in Georgia. I didn't mean to confuse anyone who is paying close attention.

Spring has sprung, the grass has riz...

I wonder where the birdies is.

Our part of north Georgia received more snow this winter than during any of the last 35 winters. Specifically, we got three inches once and we got about an inch twice, and once we had only a light dusting. I am well aware that Northerners everywhere are laughing.

But some years we don’t get any snow at all.

The problem around here, usually, is not snow but cold rain that turns to ice. The land is very hilly and driving proves to be treacherous. No one in Georgia owns snow tires or snow chains or snow shovels. So when it snows, schools and businesses close and everybody stays home. We watch the pretty stuff come down, enjoy our winter wonderland for a day or two, and then watch it all melt away as life returns to what passes for normal.

In some years we have seen forsythia (yellow) and jonquils (yellow) bloom in January, flowering peach and cherry trees (pink, white) bloom in February, and dogwoods and azaleas (pink, white, lavender) bloom in early March.

Though winter tarried longer than usual around here this year, spring is definitely on the way. Yesterday the temperature reached 70 degrees Fahrenheit and I saw my first jonquil of the year. I have yet to see any forsythia or flowering peach. I dream of rhododendron and mountain laurel, of redbud and cherry blossoms.

This year, however, I don’t have to wonder where the birdies is. I saw a cardinal a couple of days ago, and a pair of happy mockingbirds, singing, have taken up residence in my neighbor’s tree.

I’ve been to London, but not to visit the Queen.

The story is told of a woman who ran into a police station screaming, “I’ve been raped! I’ve been raped!”

When the officers were able to get her calmed down and seated in a chair, one of them said, “Now tell us, miss, when did this happen?”

And the woman replied, “Thirty years ago...I just like to talk about it.”

Bad joke, I know. But what reminded me of that particular story was the latest post from my blogger friend Daphne, who lives in England. Ever since she returned home from a visit last year to her friend Silverback in the United States, she has mentioned in her blog at every opportunity that she has been to America. It has become a recurring joke on her blog. At least I think it is a recurring joke. She did it again today.

It is therefore high time that I told you my bit of news. On the way back from having spent a month in Stockholm, Sweden, for my employer, IBM -- the secretary who was making my travel arrangements having thought it would be a pity if I did not spend at least one night in England -- I spent one night in England. I remember that the bus from the airport drove past Buckingham Palace. I stayed in London at a hotel near Grosvenor Square. From the hotel, I walked to Piccadilly Circus, and I was nearly killed when, after looking to the left, American style, and seeing no traffic coming, I stepped into the street. Silly me! In England the traffic arrives from the right! So it was a close call, ma, but I made it out of there alive.

For those who care, it happened way back in 1969.

Like any other pussycat, I would love to have visited the Queen, even if only to frighten a little mouse under her chair, but -- alas for me! -- no invitation was forthcoming. Here is a recent photo of the members of the Royal Family, give or take one or two who didn’t bother to show up for the photo shoot. It was taken in 2007 when the family gathered for a dinner to observe the 60th anniversary of Princess Elizabeth Alexandra Mary Hanover/Saxe-Coburg-Gotha/Windsor’s marriage to old what’s-his-name.

Photo Copyright © BritishRoyalty.net

Update, 3/10/2010. On the off-chance that you might not know, front and center in the photo above are Queen Elizabeth II and her husband, the Duke of Edinburgh (Prince Philip). They are flanked on their right by Prince Charles Arthur Philip George (according to the late Princess Diana, who nervously reversed the order of his many names in their wedding ceremony), the Prince of Wales, the Duke of Cornwall, and on their left by Camilla Parker-Bowles Windsor-Mountbatten (the Rottweiler, according to the late Princess Diana), the Duchess of Cornwall, second wife of Prince Charles. They, in turn, are flanked by Prince William and Prince Harry.

In the second row are Princess Anne Elizabeth Alice Louise (Charles’s younger sister and the Princess Royal) with her children, Zara and Peter Phillips (and perhaps her second husband, Timothy Laurence?); Prince Andrew (the Duke of York) with his children, Princess Eugenie and Princess Beatrice; and Prince Edward (the Earl of Wessex) with his missus, the former Sophie Rhys-Jones.

I hasten to add that, being a confirmed anglophile, I’m doing all of this without benefit of reference book. The back row holds more distant relatives. Missing from the photo, as might be expected, are Mark Phillips (Princess Anne’s ex-spouse, father of Zara and Peter) and Sarah Ferguson (Prince Andrew’s ex-spouse, mother of Eugenie and Beatrice), who, royally speaking, have become non-entities. A surprise no-show, however (to me at least), was David Armstrong-Jones, Viscount Linley, son of the queen’s late sister, Princess Margaret Rose and the Earl of Snowden, Anthony Armstrong-Jones. Viscount Linley, so I have read, is thirteenth in line of succession to the throne and the first one of the lot who is not a direct descendant of Queen Elizabeth. There are others, such as the Duke of Kent, Elizabeth’s first cousin, there in the back row. His father was a brother of the queen’s father, King George VI, the former Prince Albert, who succeeded King Edward VIII, the former Prince David, after the latter’s abdication from the throne in 1936 to marry the twice-divorced American woman, Wallis Warfield Simpson, whereupon they became known as the Duke and Duchess of Windsor.

This may all be self-evident to the Brits, but it remains a matter of wonder to the rest of us.

Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away.

From 1793 through 1933, the inauguration of U.S. Presidents took place on March 4th. Since the ratification of the Twentieth Amendment (a.k.a. Amendment XX) to the U.S. Constitution, however, inauguration day has occurred on January 20th. (Historical anomaly: In 1789, George Washington took the oath of office in New York City’s Federal Hall on April 30th.)

If you simply must read more about U.S. presidential inaugurations, click here.

But it is impossible to go back to yesterday.

Isn’t it?

I do have something to say after all.

This video made me think of something but I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was.

Then I figured it out:

It was this, only with less applause, fewer violins, and a much shorter introduction.

One of those was fun and one was really painful.

I have nothing to say at this time.

But if you still want to read something that will keep your mental juices flowing (a disgusting concept), you might try this interesting post from a lady in Argentina (and the comments are interesting, too).