Your daily dose of teh ky00t

This is Liam.

Liam is cursed with that same irresistible urge that gave us hairless naked apes the iPod, the steam engine, and nearly complete domination over all the earth: curiosity. If I place a box anywhere in my apartment, even if it’s simply a bottled water box that is set to go out with the trash, Liam will not rest until he has been over, under, around, and through it. He’s compelled, you see. He loves novelty, and he wants to know what it’s all about.

He’ll usually sleep in any box I put on or near the floor, at least for a few days. When it ceases to be novel and interesting, he grows tired of it and returns to sleeping at the foot of the bed with me. Like us naked apes, he’s curious and also fickle in his attentions.


Curiosity is a pretty sophisticated trait for an animal whose brain is smaller than my fist and not very wrinkly. In terms of raw processing power, a dozen Liams put together would compare pretty poorly to an IBM Blue Gene/L supercomputer, a much more computtionally powerful, yet singularly uncurious, piece of equipment.

Liam is actually pretty sophisticated in many of his behaviors. A couple weeks ago, he made a face at me.

It happened while I was eating frozen TV dinner apples. Microwave baked apples are tasty and delicious, and I make a point to eat them regularly. Five minutes in the microwave and you can have a small black plastic tray of bliss.

So there I was, sitting by my desk playing World of Warcraft and eating microwave baked apples, and Liam hopped up onto the desk and, brazen as you please, reached into my black plastic tray of bliss with his paw, hooked out a small piece of apple, brought it up to his nose, sniffed it suspiciously, licked it, and made a face at me. He shook the apple off his paw in disgust and wrinkled his nose at me.

Then he watched me eating the apples for several minutes, stole another bit of apple, sniffed at it even more suspiciously, and made another face at me.

There are many ways one might respond to this. One might say “Aww! How cute!” (And really, it was.) One might say “Hey! That’s my food! Don’t put your paw in that!” (And really, I did, though I knew even as I said it that it was pointless-an exercise more for my benefit than for the cats. We naked walking monkeys are kind of insecure in our position that way.) One might push the cat off the desk sternly. (And really, I didn’t have the heart to, because i dote on the cat so. A pushover, I am.)

Or, if one’s inclination runs that way, one might sit back and ponder the surprising degree of cognitive prowess the cat possesses.

I mean, seriously, think about it.

The cat recognized that I was eating something. We take that for granted, but there’s a lot of intellectual horsepower being brought to bear on a task of that sort. First, it means that he was able to map a projection of himself onto a projection on me well enough to be able to determine what kind of activity I was engaged in, and to recognize that it’s an activity he also engages in, despite great physical dissimilarities between us. That, at its foundation, means he was able to recognize the difference between himself and the rest of the world, and to recognize that some things in the world are more like him than other things in the world, to recognize those things when he sees them, and to recognize patterns of behavior common to he and I even as he recognized that I am distinct from him. Human babies take rather a long time to sort all this out.

Then, he was able to make an inference–namely, that what I was eating might be something e would like to eat as well. He made this inference in the absence of other cues, such as smell; he is, after all, a carnivore, and he is uninterested in a tray of baked apples just sitting by itself. (I know; I tried. What can I say? I was curious, too. He probably thinks they small like rotting plant matter.)

When he made this inference, he was able to formulate and then implement a plan of action, which shows at least a very limited ability to plan, even if only in a simple way.

When he obtained a piece of apple and decided it was just as revolting as it smells, he was then faced with a conundrum; this stuff was revolting, but clearly I was eating it (and with great gusto and no small amount of satisfaction, I might add). So he was willing to re-evaluate his original decision, and put it to the test again–something, the cynic in me begs to point out, that appears beyond the cognitive grasp of many people I know.


A couple of weeks ago, in a repeat of the I am not Sir Edmund fucking Hillary debacle that left me stranded on the balcony with a rope in my hand, Shelly went onto the porch to do some tidying up and the door locked behind her, trapping her until I came home for lunch.

Liam, in another example of cognitive dexterity (the only kind he has, I fear, as he is a stunningly clumsy cat), recognized that she was trapped, and became highly distressed and agitated. That shows empathy–the ability to map himself onto her and to respond as if he was the one in the distressing situation. He also knew that the door’s latch was to blame, and pawed and batted at it in a charming but unsuccessful bid to release her. Lack of opposing thumbs, and all that.


A Blue Gene/L system has, at very rough estimation, approximately the same processing power as a human brain. The Blue Gene/P supercomputer, currently in development, will well and truly trounce human beings in terms of processing ability. However, the architecture is very, very different. Modern computers are just really big, really complex Von Neumann machines, bound by the fact that the processing and memory are distinct entities which interact with one another in a series of discrete state changes.

A brain cell can roughly be mapped onto a transistor in the sense that it has only two discrete states, “firing” and “not firing,” but the architectural similarities pretty much end there.

Still, they are both finite state machines with memory, handwaving and nattering of Roger Penrose aside. And it is an axiom of state machines and formal language theory, which I will leave as an exercise to te reader to explore further, that any universal Turing machine, which is a finite state machine with memory, can, given sufficient memory, emulate any other universal Turing machine.

Which means that, given sufficient cleverness on our parts, it should be possible to take these wonderful brains of ours and emulate them in these crude computers of ours, without loss of fidelity.

Handwaving and nattering of Roger Penrose aside. (“Look! Consciousness is a quantum phenomenon! I don’t know anything about quantum physics, neurophysiology, consciousness, or cognitive science, but consciousness is a quantum phenomenon! I have no proof of this, so watch as I wave my hands!” But I digress.)

And, of course, when you emulate one kind of machine (yes, I said it, brains are machines, deal with it) on another kind of machine, if the host machine is sufficiently faster than the emulated machine, the emulation of the emulated machine is faster than the real thing.

Chew on that for a while.


I love Liam. He’s very sweet, and he is a constant little reminder in my life of figment_j. I continue to be impressed by the range of cognitive flexibility we take for granted, even in relatively unsophisticated animals, and I can hardly wait until we start building machines which can exhibit the same kind of cognitive skills.

We’re not there yet, but we will be soon. When IBM makes a supercomputer that has Liam’s level of cognitive prowess, the Singularity will well and truly be nigh.

Everything I needed to know about life, I learned from my cats

I have two cats. Until recently, I had a cat named Molly and a cat named Snow Crash, both of them rescues.

Snow Crash is not part of the family any more. He decided to play escapo-kitty a few weeks back…headed out the door and disappeared. I spent several days looking for him, and put food outside the door, but he never turned back up.

In a way, this is as it should be. He dropped unexpectedly into my life when we rescued him from a rooftop, he stuck around for a while, and he left when he wanted to. He’s a tough cat, and if he hasn’t found someone else to look after him (which I suspect he has), I do not doubt his ability to look after himself.

At roughly the same time as Snow Crash decided to leave, I adopted figment_j‘s kitty Liam. Liam is a lot like Molly in temperament; he loooooves people, and he loves to cuddle.

But the integration of Liam into the household has not been smooth. Molly, who tyrannized Snow Crash, is for some inexplicable reason terrified of Liam. He’s never once behaved aggressively toward her, but she’s frightened of him nonetheless.

And these past two weeks have been enlightening. Molly and Liam are a microcosm for human society, really.

TELL THE PEOPLE YOU LOVE THAT YOU LOVE THEM

I spent the weekend in Tallahassee with Shelly. Upon my return, both cats greeted me at the door enthusiastically, and they even put aside their differences for long enough to cuddle with me at the same time. The two of them were purring so loudly they sounded like a 1977 Harley-Davidson “Shovelhead” V-twin with loud pipes. Liam was so happy he snorted.

When the people in your life know how much you love them, they’re more likely to reciprocate your love, and to seek to take care of you. Emotional reservation is hard on the people in your life, and oftentimes leads to loss.

DON’T FEAR THE WRONG THINGS

Molly is still scared of Liam. When he first came into the house, she ran and hid under the bed, and wouldn’t let him within ten fet without arching her back and hissing at him. Her radius of fear is slowly shrinking–she’ll sometimes let him very close before she freaks out–but she’s still quite frightened of him, in spite of the fact that he’s very good-natured and non-aggressive.

When we fear something without even pausing to know whether or not we have anything to be afraid of, we accomplish little save for making ourselves miserable. Fear of the unknown, or fear of novelty, robs life of its joy. When you decide in advance you will fear something before you even experience it, you deprive yourself of opportunities to make new friends and learn new ways of joy.

SOMETIMES, OUR FEARS BECOME SELF-FULFILLING PROPHESIES

Every so often, Liam will walk up to Molly and sniff her nose. Molly usually sniffs back…until she remembers that se’s afraid of him. Then she pins her ears back, hisses, growls, and spits in his face. So Liam, naturally, bops her on the nose with her paw. Occasionally, Molly will walk up to Liam, then remember her fear and turn and flee…and Liam, thinking that Molly is playing the “chase me chase me” game cats are so fond of, will tear after her.

In both cases, Molly’s preemptive fear creates the very behaviors in Liam she’s afraid of. He chases her only because she runs; he bops her nose only because she gets in his face and makes a fuss. It’s common for people who are behaving offensively to believe they are being defensive, and that their behavior is provoked; but often the provocation is the phantasms and fears in their mind projected onto others, not the behavior of the people around them.

Assume the best. Don’t project your fears and doubts onto the motivations of the people around you. It’s remarkable how far you can get when you treat others as though they’re basically decent people. Not everyone is a decent person, of course, but you can’t tell the ones who are from the ones who aren’t until you quit projecting.

WE MAKE THE WORLD WE LIVE IN

Liam loves high places. He also loves knocking things off counters and shelves and watching them fall. And, on top of that, he’s clumsy. As a result, my apartment now looks like its been struck, in rapid succession, by a herd of stampeding water buffalo, an earthquake, several flash floods, and a small tornado.

Liam loves climbing behind one of my shelves to sleep. A couple days ago, he knocked a box full of 3.5″ floppy disks off the shelf, and they fell in a big pile, preventing him from being able to get behind the shelf.

The things you do now may come back to haunt you later. The world you live in tomorrow is shaped by the things you do today. Think about that before you knock stuff over, especially if you’re knocking it over just for the joy of seeing it fall.

DON’T FIGHT OVER PEOPLE. THEY HAVE MINDS OF THEIR OWN.

Molly loves sleeping with me at night. Liam loves sleeping with me at night. I have a king-sized bed; there’s plenty of room on it for two cats.

But Molly is afraid of Liam, and reacts defensively wen he hops up on the bed. He really likes sleeping next to me, though, so he won’t back down when Molly puts up a fuss. The two of them tend to argue over who get to stay in the bed next to me…often at four AM. Sweet, yes?

Not so much.

When this happens, I kick them both off the bed. I choose to spend my time with people, and animals, who make my life better, and whose lives I make better. Waking me up at 4 AM and introducing drama into my bed does not count as “making my life better.”

When you disrupt the lives of the people closest to you, expect those people to be unhappy about it. Regardless of your reason for making the disruption. Or who got there first.

ASK FOR WHAT YOU NEED

Neither Liam nor Molly is shy about letting me know when the litter box is full or the food bowl is empty. This is a good thing, because on a good day I’m about as disorganized as a band of anarchists at a wake for Hunter S. Thompson, so their little nudges are what keeps the food delivery and the waste removal on track.

You can’t expect to have what you want if you don’t ask for what you want. That’s one of the little secrets of life that people often don’t find out ’til they’re much older than they should be.

Cats! And deconstruction

The cats and I have developed, especially since I’ve moved to Atlanta, a number of little rituals we go through almost every day.

These rituals begin when i get up in the morning. I stumble blindly into the bathroom, making noises like “rrrrrgh” and “ungggggh,” ad run the water. That’s the cats’ cue to run into the bathroom and sit on the sink while I shower.

As soon as I’m done with the shower, I turn it off and stand in the tub to towel off. At that point, Snow Crash hops onto the edge of the tub, pokes his head through the shower curtain, and starts lapping at the water dripping from the faucet.

It’s really cute.

Click here to die of teh cute!

Ceci n’est pas une LiveJournal update

First, because the one thing LiveJournal needs more of is pictures of cats, I give you Molly, perched regally atop the new loft in my apartment. The loft has definitely become her space; Snow Crash has not once climbed on top of it, so it’s the place she goes when she gets fed up with him.

Click here and go Awwwww…

Because the world needs more pictures of cats…

Generally speaking, when I go to bed each night I pile all my stuff (you know, keys, wallets, and so on) on the coffee table. That way, I know where all this stuff is every morning, and I don’t have to waste time searching for it; God knows I’m a shambling, barely-literate mess in the mornings as it is, and anything that adds to my list of intellectual tasks at hand increases the chances for catastrophe significantly.

Our cat Molly, who is quite observant, has learned this little ritual, and it suits her just fine. Each morning, as I’m preparing to leave in the morning, she bounds over to the coffee table and waits for me to pick up my keys and wallet and whatnot, so that she can give her claws their morning sharpen.

On my leg.

She does have a scratching post, mind, which she uses all the time. To sleep on.

Whew! After the heavy processing of the last two posts…

…some lighter fare, about kitties and about social dynamics.

First, the kitties. My kitties love John Woo movies!

Every animal that exists is bequeathed by God with a unique gift. Human beings are bequeathed with an amazing hubris that tells us we’re the chosen of God, for example, as a sort of “sorry, my bad” for the whole hairless-ape thing we’ve got going on. Dogs are gifted with boundless, enthusiastic optimism to compensate for the eating-off-the-floor thing.

But cats have the greatest gift of all. Cats are granted a special and limited immunity from the law of gravity.

Three nights ago, S was over late, and the kitties were feeling frisky. In a beautiful and stirring tribute to the Great Director, the two of them faced off against the vast expanse of the living room hallway, then charged each other in a stirring reenactment of that scene in “Mission: Impossible” with the motorcycles. About three feet apart, they both leaped high into the air, and collided with all four paws outstretched several feet off the ground, whereupon they fell heavily to earth in a ball of savage mock fury.

The performance was somewhat marred by the fact that they were both purring madly, but it was amazing nonetheless. I’d give the right arm of a crippled child with leukemia for a photograph, as long as it was a reasonably patient child who wasn’t using the arm for anything and liked cats and John Woo.


In other, and also amusing, news, I recently left a post about transhumanism on one of the Macintosh technical forums I read. I’ve been a member of this particular technical forum for many years, and I’m usually quite prolific. Another member of the forum told me that there was a conversation on transhumanism on a different forum he belonged to, and did I mind if he quoted me? I said no, not at all, and he sent me a URL to that other forum.

I went over, took a peek, and discovered that I have a fan obsessed freak. She used to use the Mac technical forum, disappeared around three years ago…

…apparently because of me. Seems I’d posted a comment in a conversation about using digital cameras with a Mac, and she’d said “Oh, a fellow photographer!” and visited my Web site, and read my polyamory pages, and, well…

“Creep” figured prominently in her comments on the other forum. “Depraved sexual appetities,” too. And other, even less flattering things.

She quit using the Mac technical forum because she couldn’t bear to use a message board I belonged to, and has over the past three years spent a great deal of time and energy talking about me on this other forum. For the sake of curiousity, I did a search on that other forum for my name. Thirty hits, in all, representing messages about me this woman has left.

In the most unkindest cut of all, she said something about how she can’t understand how I get all these women, because she’s seen pictures of me and I’m “sure not easy on the eyes.”

“Depraved sexual appetites,” that’s cool. “Sick pervert?” Hey, it’s a dirty job but someone has to do it. “Dedicating an entire Web site” to my “unnatural perversions and lusts?” Well, hey, it’s something to do on a Saturday afternoon. But “not easy on the eyes?” Man, that just hurts. 🙂

Y’know, the funny thing is, I barely even noticed when she stopped posting on the Mac forums, and I don’t think I’ve ever actually had a conversation with her. The emotional energy she’s invested in me is kind of flattering, in a peculiar way, but damn…

My kitties are a metaphor for social change

Snow Crash, the tabby cat, is not an extropian.

We’ve spent the majority of the week moving–an experience which is, for most cats, traumatic. We’ve relocated from a three-bedroom apartment to a one-bedroom apartment–and we had too much stuff to fit in the three-bedroom, so, as you might imagine, the new place is rather a wreck.

Snow Crash has spent much of the past week in hiding. He quickly learned to open the cabinet beneath the sink in the bathroom, and there he has stayed, hiding from the frightening and overwhelming upheaval in his environment:


Molly, on the other hand, is having a ball. She loves very little more than exploring new places, and the new apartment, with boxes piled to near-ceiling height everywhere, has given her endless little nooks and crannies to explore. She’s had a blast poking her nose into, under, over, around, and through everything she can find, and just to make things even more delightful, it all keeps changing! Every time we come into the new place with another armful of boxes, we rearrange stuff and there’s more to explore! If she could have her way, I’m sure she’d have us move twice a month. I don’t think Molly has stopped purring since we took her over.


According to the Myers-Briggs theory of personality types, the majority of the population, by a wide margin, is “Guardian” personalities. Guardians, the theory goes, are people who favor consistency, conformity, rules, order, and continuity in all things. Guardians are uncomfortable with change, particularly social change; fond of hierarchy; and feel threatened when things stop being like they were. A Guardian is the personality most apt to say things like “We do it this way because that’s how it’s always been done.” Far rarer are personality types which embrace and even thrive on change, which discard systems that don’t work well and refuse to cling to them merely because they are traditional.


Now, you may argue that the Myers-Briggs personality types are flawed. The granularity is poor; there’s a lot of overlap within the personality types…whatever. Be that as it may, there are clearly people in the world who favor continuity over function, who feel threatened by change, who prefer safety and stability even when that stability comes at a cost to others; and there are people in the world who embrace change, who seek to improve the way things are done, who look to drive society forward, technically and socially. And no matter which way you slice it, these two philosophies are inherently incompatible.


America in the dawn of the 21st century is a bad time and a bad place for social conservatives.

On the surface, this may seem like a wonderful time to be a social conservative. The conservatives dominate all aspects of American politics; Fundamentalist Christianity, and the rigid, dogmatic inflexibility that accompanies it, is so powerful that the American president is among its number; the political party to which he belongs has become little more than an extension of the ultraconservative religious right, and has openly embraced and championed the causes of social conservatives. A good time to be a conservative indeed.

But do you feel that? That vibration underfoot? Bet you thought that was the enormous, unstoppable juggernaut of conservative zeal passing by, right? Wrong. That’s a seismic shift. That’s tremendous pressure building up along the fault lines of American social politics. That’s the earliest warning signs of an approaching earthquake that will rearrange the landscape in ways that many people don’t have even the slightest idea about…at least not yet.


You can already see some of it coming. The skirmishes being fought right now over gay marriage, over polyamory, over the asinine and intellectually bankrupt doctrine of “intelligent design,” these are the opening salvos in what will be a long, bitter war whose outcome is already decided.

Every single time the Guardians have waged war against social change–every single time, from the days of Galileo to the end of slavery, from the civil rights movement to women’s suffrage, every single time the Guardians have lost. Change is inevitable. Social progress is inevitable. No matter how many times we go down this road, the result is always the same–the people who have been denied their full and complete participation in society at large win in the end. Always. Gay marriage? Get used to it; it’s going to happen, just as surely as the end of slavery. This is a story we’ve seen before, and no matter how the forces of tradition may scream and fight (and plant bombs and drag people behind pickup trucks), anyone with any understanding of society already knows how this story will end.

And in the grand scheme of things, it’s nothing, really. It will make as much difference as the elimination of ancient and bigoted laws barring mixed-race marriage made–society, if that’s all that changes, continues on more or less as it was before, despite the inane squawkings of a few indignant traditionalists. The sky didn’t fall when women started voting, the world didn’t end when blacks married whites, and the universe won’t collapse when men marry men or women marry women–by and large, it’s just not really going to change all that much.

But that’s only the tip of the iceberg. The social conservatives who fear gay marriage, polygamy, and the teaching of evolutionary theory are missing, as they often do, the real upheaval.

Snow Crash is not an extropian.


Snow Crash is not an extropian. It’s hard to be an extropian when you fear change. Extropians and transhumanists generally have noticed something that other people have missed–the technological and social change gripping the world right now, the shifts in society and gender and economics and politics that are fuelling wars and creating redefinitions in the most basic institutions of Western society, these aren’t like other changes. These are the tip of the iceberg–because now as never before in human history, technology is changing in ways that are increasingly rapid and increasingly unpredictable. We’re nearing the really bendy part of the exponential curve, the part where things start getting really, really interesting.


We like to think we’re advanced. We like to think the Information Age is a marvelous new thing, that we’re enlightened and advanced far beyond those poor primitive savages who lived, oh, a hundred years or so ago. In reality, this is nothing like the truth. The most advanced technology we possess today is still embarrassingly primitive, still just a notch or two up from flint knives and bearskins. Our ability to make things is still horrifically crude, wasteful and inefficient, little more than increasingly sophisticated variants on the same old primitive themes we’ve been using since far before the Industrial Revolution. But that’s changing, and if you think that wars for oil and social chaos because a couple gay men in San Francisco want to marry each other are a big deal, you ain’t seen nothing yet.


Back in the 1800s, the official stance of many religions was that black people did not have souls. This was a socially convenient stance, because if these people didn’t have souls, then they weren’t really people at all; the thing that separates man from the lesser animals, it was reasoned, was possession of a soul, so if black people didn’t have souls, then that cleared the way for exploiting them the same way one might exploit an ox.

It was all bullshit, of course. Wasteful, appalling, immoral, costly bullshit that required a major war and at least two civil rights movements to fix. But let’s think about this for a moment. If we find it so easy to deny personhood to an entire class of people based on the color of their skin, imagine how easy it will be to deny personhood to an entire class of people based on the fact that they are birthed outside a womb. Or uploaded into a machine. And if you think these things are impossible sci-fi fantasies, you’re not paying attention.


In the past, social change has generally meant changes in religious traditions, or changes in civic arrangements, or changes on political or economic structures–prompted, usually, by changes in technology. We’re on the horizon of changes in what it means to be human–changes in how we see ourselves, changes in how we think about the very things that separate us from other animals, changes in those things which differentiate us from every other form of life we know about. And oh, my God, is that going to make people upset.

We are social beings; we live in a social landscape every bit as real and relevant as the apartment my cats are in. Right now, we are where the cats were a couple weeks ago–a few little things are changing, stuff is disappearing from the shelves and cardboard boxes are appearing on the floor. Something’s up. We have an advantage over the cats, though; they could not possibly hope to anticipate the cataclysmic rearrangement of their lives that was coming, whereas we can, if we have the wit to do it, look ahead and see that these things are signals of a greater change than we might imagine, and see that our entire environment is about to be turned upside-down.

Most people fear this. Most people can’t even handle the idea of a trivial rearrangement to what the word “marriage means, much less complete redefinition of what the word “human” means.

Snow Crash is not an extropian. Molly, though, very well might be. And there’s a lesson in there.

Snow Crash was, and still is, traumatized by the move. Molly could not possibly be more delighted. The move was inevitable; neither one of them could have done anything to stop it. But one of them is happy and the other is not, and the choice about which to be is a choice we can make.

Shelly argues that you don’t have to be a neophile to be a transhumanist. That may be so, but it certainly helps. And in times like these, those of us who embrace change, who welcome it and adapt to it, have an enormous advantage over people who don’t.