I didn’t know this version of my grandparents and I believe that, I guess, I wasn’t put on the earth in this time to know them young. While AI can “change” that, should it?
For the most part, I have ignored Elon Musk’s AI Twitter (I’m old, I still Twitter) posts. I don’t know, it feels like his AI posts range from his current kink to fake morphing pictures of beautiful, very fake, women. As if we don’t have enough fake women running around the earth right now.
I came across a post from a woman who has lost a teenage daughter, saying she has been tempted to put pictures of her daughter into AI to, “bring her to life” and perhaps to see how her daughter would age. In the end, she has decided that her grieving heart could not absorb even more pain of falsely “watching” her deceased daughter, “grow old.” Smart woman.
The internet, and specifically smart phones, have rewired out brains. That is an absolute fact. We spend hours a day looking down, scrolling, playing mind numbing games, searching for whatever our algorithm dictates, escaping real life.
Yes, you can use the phone to learn. Historical facts, hopefully. Recipes, that’s my every day. World wide information at the tip of our fingers. Much of the technology is useful, but I fear we talk ourselves into it’s usefulness in order to negotiate with our brains how much time of our waking hours are spent scrolling. I won’t even get into the damage that technology has done to an entire generation of children, yet.
Now add AI. It is being sold as fun, creative, useful, comforting, another escape. Bring your loved ones to life, maybe even have a computer generated conversation with them. Are we being rewired again? Has anyone asked that question? What are the risks? Are our brains ready for this? Are our hearts?
My first concern (always the kids) is that the schools are going to implement AI in ways that alter how children view reality without the average parent understanding how detrimental this can be. My second concern is that we’re going to lose even more adults to the almighty technology god that brings the dead back to life.
Dramatic? Maybe, time will tell. I’ve read Pet Cemetary, we’ve been here before. We learned that cats and small children don’t come back the same. Similar, yet off. Oh, and evil. But not the same. Neither can AI bring our loved ones back the same. It is a false promise that you can be with your dead loved one, no matter how much “fun” is sold. Fake news. Misinformation. A lie. Why would the tech giants want us to continue to go down the rabbit hole of deceit? Softening our minds and bringing in a new age of mental distress? I don’t have that answer. I believe perhaps that one is each of us to answer ourselves.
My third concern is how, as Christians, are we to approach AI? Do we believe that “bringing” the dead back to “life” is of God? The answer to that, for all, is a definitive no. God’s promise is that, through His Grace and our repentance, we will meet again in Heaven. Not on the computer. The intense temptation to ‘see’ our loved ones in the here and now is going to be big. Too big for many. An alternate reality, or I should say, another alternate reality.
How many of us are going to want to live in the computer generated reality where our loved one still ‘lives?’ Many, I fear. Why not? Who likes to live with pain? Not me. Not you?
Yet the fact remains that this is our world. Painful at times, imperfect, difficult, confusing. We are faced with challenges that give us opportunity to lean into God or to lean onto the world. Is AI another sparkling falsehood that Christians need to keep an eye on from afar?
I don’t know, for sure. I have my thoughts and I believe that we will quickly be able to see, if we’re watching, how these computer generated images and morphing pictures are affecting those around us.
For now, I would mentally place caution tape around AI. Yes, we can walk through it and there may even be times where it’s necessary. However, on a daily basis, we should heed the huge manhole in the middle of that caution tape before willingly removing the cover and gleefully jumping into the unknown.
To be, or not to be, that is the question. Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to sufferthe slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them. Hamlet
Years, and years, and years ago I was living in Carlton, Minnesota. A small town about a half hour or so southwest of Duluth. As of the 2020 census, it had 948 people living in it. I think it’s grown since I was there. Funny enough, when we told Matt’s Auntie and Uncle that we were moving to small town Minnesota last year we got a dire warning from Auntie, “Be careful of those small towns.” I still don’t know what that meant. Anyways.
I’ve wrote about Carlton before. The happy Vacation Bible School memories at Jay Cooke State Park; the car jaunts to stinky Cloquet that seemed like hours in the car but was more like 8 miles; and the trips to Duluth for speech therapy and trips to Zayers Shopper’s City. Playing on the railroad tracks at 5 years of age with my best friend, Chrissy Davis and snowmobiling in the woods a couple of blocks away from our house (once this Hawaiian decided to like snow. It took a while.)
Chrissy’s mom also babysat me at times when my mom would help out at the church. I used to go with her to church and ride my tricycle around the front but then I was booted out of the circle of trust when I attempted to ride a couple of miles away to pick up my brother at school. (Still bitter about that one. I could have made it assuming I wasn’t plowed down by a train or semi-truck coming around the curve. Helicopter parenting harshed my mellow.)
Anyways. Green Goo.
Nearly every day, as I remember it, Chrissy’s mom would make us Green Goo for lunch. No, it’s not officially called Green Goo. It’s officially called, Green Pea soup. It is not to be confused with Split Pea with Ham. That’s gross. Chunks of peas and ham in a watery broth. Barf. Green Pea soup came out of the can like Thanksgiving cranberry sauce. All in one piece but had the consistency of an uncooked potato. You had to SLOWLY add a can of water; heat it up very carefully while stirring until you achieved that perfect Green Goo goodness smoothness. I always felt like a James Beard award winning chef when making my can of Green Goo.
When I make a can of Green Goo, I can smell Chrissy’s house. The washer and dryer were running at all times just off of the kitchen, so it smelled of detergent and hot dryer. The house was old, so it had old house smell. Chrissy’s mom almost always had curlers in her hair so the smell of whatever curl conditioner she used wafted through the kitchen among the other smells. It was glorious.
Green Goo has zero nutritional value. Don’t care. It’s delicious. It’s happy. It’s warm. It’s a happiness amongst a rough start to a rough childhood. Each winter, up until a couple of years ago, I would buy a few cans of Green Goo. I suddenly realized, a few years ago, that my Green Goo wasn’t on the grocery store shelves. What? Weird. Maybe they’re just out.
Nope. Green Goo is off the shelves. It’s gone. I have excitedly believed I’ve found it in a Wal-Mart or Target online cart but when I go to pay, it is substituted with the Split Pea with Ham garbage. Computerized mental warfare.
I’m fairly certain the Green Goo has the shelf life of about 20 years or so meaning that the few cans out there, including one for $99.00 will be good to go. This is probably why we don’t win the lottery. God knows that I would spend thousands of dollars hoarding the last remaining cans of Green Goo on earth instead of being more charitable with the money. That’s fair. Also, we forget to buy lottery tickets. That may also be a contributing factor. Dunno.
As we age, we are forced to admit to ourselves that the world we grew up in is not the world we now live in. Some of that is good. I like most modern advances. Technology is fun, at least, the technology that I actually understand. In my Green Goo days (my mom thought it was disgusting but would occasionally make me a can. She could be cool that way) DFL Minnesota Senate candidate, Bill Luther, would often come to the house for coffee with dad. They would talk about the Vikings and Twins and probably some local politics.
One thing Pastor John was always good at was listening to people. He ran counseling sessions for hours each week. The priests from across the street at St. Alphonsus church would come over and they would talk over a few beers. He would listen to the church council. He would listen to his wife. He would listen to his kids, when he was around. He would listen to complaints at the church. He would listen to ideas on how to make things better. He listened.
He also would make it very clear that by listening, it did not mean he agreed with what was being said. There were times in life where Pastor John was very stern with others. At one point, the church council attempted a coup d’etat against the other pastor. My dad sat them all down and sternly let them know that if Pastor Paul goes, Pastor John goes with him. That shut down any more attempts to split up this team. It was pretty cool. What wasn’t cool was being on the receiving end of stern Pastor John. I’m not sad those days are over. Heh. I believe attempting to listen to opposing points of view can be enlightening. But make no mistake, by listening or viewing videos, in no way means I agree with them.
Men and boys absolutely do not belong in girls and womens sports, locker rooms, or other safe spaces. There is no cellular way a man can become a woman, or a woman can become a man. Zero. America is the greatest nation on earth and President Trump is the greatest President of our time, if not ever. Living with God in your heart does not automatically make your life easier, but it does make it more meaningful and allows the promise of Grace after death. More people need healthy food with weight training and less pharmaceuticals. These are statements that would hold zero controversy in the times of Green Goo. Today? They are polarizing; controversial; triggers. This is not progress. It is the Split Pea with Ham version of magnificent Green Goo.
I’m a Green Goo girl. Through and through. While I refuse to afford spending nearly one hundred dollars on a can, I can know in my heart that it is superior to that Split Pea garbage. So don’t @ me with your Split Pea bullshit. I may listen; I may not. But I will not agree. Sorry not sorry.
If it is not right, do not do it; if it is not true, do not say it. Let your purpose be undeviating. Marcus Aurelius
In the immortal words of Michael Scott, “It’s happpenninggg.” Pope watch. Years ago, Matt and I were on our way to Lapland Finland for his last Champions League Iceman contest. We stopped in Helsinki for the night and quickly realized that most of the television stations were fixated on Pope watch. Eventually, Pope Francis was elected as Pope.
I have to admit, we took Pope watch pretty lightly. I’m not Catholic; the Catholic church had been embroiled in scandal regarding sexual abuse of children for a little over 10 years so excuse me if I don’t really take things seriously as to who will be leading this den of pedophiles (or so I believed then); and an unlimited supply of Mintuu meant that the entire process was festive, but nothing else.
Part of the festivities was the smoke. I didn’t know this was a thing. Lutherans don’t have a supreme leader except for Satan in many of their churches. Yes, Satan leads many of today’s churches including the Lutheran ones, not the point of today. For days, we watched black smoke come out of the infamous chimney. And today will most likely be the first release of, assumingly, black smoke.
Black smoke is somewhat festive, but those watching know there is more coming. The Cardinals are still voting. They’re not done. They’re still figuring it out. Sit tight. It may look as if nothing is happening, but you can’t see the work behind the locked doors of the Sistine chapel. Stand by.
Also this week is my and the Bigg guy’s 11th wedding anniversary. Now, if you look on the google which gift represents the 11th wedding anniversary, you would find a picture of a water heater. Yes, last week, my beloved bought me a water heater. Was it for our anniversary? Probably not but the timing was pretty spot on. He also spent hours cleaning up water in the basement which was another anniversary present, actually a little bit bigger than the water heater itself. Hard to say. But suffice it to say, the HotHunkyHubs took one for the team last week. If I were in Rome, you’d see white smoke coming from the chimney. Mission accomplished. At least one of them.
Mostly; however; we live with black smoke coming from the house. We’re still working on it. Haven’t figured it out. Compromising for an occasional white smoke day. The general public doesn’t see the work that’s happening behind one of our five doors (our house has a lot of doors going to the outside. A spectacular amount actually) but there is always work going on. Sometimes the work is festive, usually it’s mundane.
I’ve come to appreciate Pope watch. I still don’t think I can comprehend the deep meaning as a devout Catholic can, but I can understand the spiritual process. Many want a Pope that will continue Francis’ progressive momentum. Many want a more conservative Pope. What does God want? I don’t know, He hasn’t told me. Probably cuz I’m not Catholic. I hope He wants a Pope that is spiritually led, not led by world topics. We already have enough of that. It distracts us from seeking what God wants from each of us and makes us focus on political agendas of non-believers.
This is the same process Matt and I go through each day together. Who are we serving today? God? Ourselves? The world? More black smoke. The process will likely never be complete. We have to take votes all day, every day. There have been moments of white smoke throughout our 14+ years together. Mere moments. The rest of the time? Black smoke. We’re still working on it. Stand by.
What I DO know, much like (I’m guessing) the billion plus Catholics around the world, is that I’m on the right path. I’ve chosen wisely to put my belief in a marriage to a good man. Because of that, there is always a chance for a white smoke event. Together, we place God above our own worldly desires (some days. We fail a lot in that) and lean into His direction. When we do that, we succeed. Much like the church. All Christian churches in my opinion but especially the Catholic church which is on display right now.
The point of today is not to see the black smoke as a failure. You’re working on it. Keep going. Lean into God’s direction. If it’s not working, really contemplate why and don’t be afraid to change your vote. And on those days that the white smoke billows from the theoretical chimney? Celebrate. Cheer as if you’re watching from the Vatican bricks that white smoke fly. You did it. Soon enough it will be time to get back to work but, in that moment, celebrate a victory.
There is no more lovely, friendly, and charming relationship, communion, or company than a good marriage.Martin Luther
I have written twice already on the importance of using our words. No, screaming at someone calling them names you barely understand isn’t using your words, it’s using propaganda. But that is for another day.
It is rarely more important than in the sport of weightlifting to use the proper language. For example, if your event happens to get shut down on day one because of a potential thunderstorm that actually lasted approximately 33 minutes and the later than scheduled weigh-in needs to take place at a nearby hotel because we couldn’t get into the venue until long after the sun came back out, we do not say that there is a “venue change.” There is absolutely a “location change” for weigh-in’s; however; if you claim that there is a “venue change” to a coach, the coach will immediately show signs of panic because they weren’t aware that there were alternative venues he now needs to get his lifter to with short notice.
Two little words, ‘location’ and ‘venue.’ Very different meanings, especially to weightlifters. We are taught very early on that words matter and if you use them incorrectly, we’re going to ask for clarification and if this clarification is needed multiple times, say at a Marshall’s table in the warm-up area at a meet where at least 5 lifters are fighting for a podium spot, weightlifters and weightlifting coaches tend to get a bit testy. I know. I’ve had to file a SafeSport complaint against one coach for his two hours of bullying and harassing me because I used a word that he felt was incorrect at a meet. SafeSport agreed with me that his behavior was unacceptable and acted accordingly. Rare win for Jules against a USAW board member.
Debbie Millet is one of the most amazing woman and mentor a girl could have. Her calm approach to coaching in the back gives way to absolute fire in the front. Think Brahms to Viking Death metal in a few short steps.
For those not involved in weightlifting, the “back of the house”, i.e. the warm-up area is actually where the magic happens at a meet. I love it. It is orchestrated chaos. Coaches watching what other coaches are doing; lifters going through their pre-meet rituals; openers being raised or lowered depending on how warming up is going, and finally, heading out to the platform to lift. The smell of tiger balm and the sounds of weights dropping, I absolutely love it.
Those who are serving as Marshall’s in the back are in charge of two things, lifting attempts and helping the session to keep moving so as not to delay the minutes that coaches are assuming their lifters have until they go out to the front. The cards in front of me pictured above is what coaches or lifters must fill out in order for an attempt to be entered into the computer (by a 2nd Marshall) and shown on screens both in the back; in the front, and most importantly at the speaker’s table. One change from one coach can force a cascade of more changes by other coaches, especially if you are in a session where multiple people are vying for those medal spots.
The lifters have it easy, they go lift. Those handling them in the back have the pressure of perfectly warming up the lifter; making sure any necessary changes to the lifter’s cards are made in time; out-coaching the other coaches trying to out-coach them; and not throwing hands at the Marshalls when they move too slow and changes don’t get made it time. It is high pressure and there is a very specific language used to alleviate some of this pressure at the Marshall’s table.
Declare and Change. That’s it. There are no deviations from, ‘declare‘ and ‘change.’ A lifter has 30 seconds on their clock to declare. After that, they may make up to two changes to that next attempt. If they first do not declare, then they may not make a change. So say, when the card Marshall tells the computer Marshall that a lifter declares a number to be entered onto the computer system, it is necessary for the computer Marshall to confirm with the cards Marshall that ‘x lifter declares x amount of weight.’ Any deviation to that sentence will bring out a not very patient side of a coach who will state that it was a declaration and not a change. Add in multiple deviations to that sentence and you can have full on anarchy in the back.
When there is Marshall chaos in the back, depending on the meet and the coaches, it’s not good. In 2019, Iranian Olympian Kianoush Rostami’s coaches put in for an opening change that came in too late and wasn’t recognized by the computer system. The delay and chaos (the bad kind) that ensued was legendary. Ultimately, Rostami bombed out in the snatch; threw a full-on temper tantrum in the back after missing his first two attempts while challenger Tian Tao also was on the cusp of bombing out and after Rostami bombed out, he threw another temper tantrum on the platform. It was a spectacular display of “shit went south in the back.” I’m fairly determined not to have that happen on my watch. While our meets do not hold Olympic implications for the lifters (for the most part), they ARE incredibly important for those lifting. They will be treated as such.
Sitting at the Marshall table is no joke. You are, at times, the punching bag for stressed coaches and doing a few simple things to attempt to alleviate coach’s target practice is something I strive for. Because of this, when working with a brand new person who isn’t very comfortable with the fast pace necessary in the back, I’ll do a few things before we start to give them a heads up that things are going to get spicy. I’ll alert the other Marshall that there may be, for example, five women vying for a podium spot. That means changes will come in fast and furious, be prepared. Also, we want to confirm with each other that a declaration or a change is to be entered but we want to keep chatter down to a minimum so as not to slow down other changes coming in. It should also be explained that those fighting for the top will be towards the end of the session so even if the session started out comfortable and steady, well, shit’s about to get moving.
Marshalling a weightlifting session is not for everyone. If the fast pace is too stressful and makes you shut down, it is not for you. If you have a difficult time using the words, declare and change, it is not for you. If a card Marshall tells you that ‘lifter x declares x amount of weight’ and you repeat back, ‘lifter x changes to x amount of weight’ the coach will immediately question if they’ve lost a chance to change because they missed a declaration. To the non-weightlifter, it probably seems silly. Believe me, I agree. At the end of the day, I willingly walk into this weightlifting thing so I need to play by their rules. Sorry not sorry. If you don’t have what it takes to do this thing, go find another way to contribute. Contributing is always appreciated. I’ve recently had to bow out of contributing in a certain way because it wasn’t a good fit. There is absolutely nothing wrong admitting that certain chores aren’t a good fit.
There IS however, something desperately wrong with blaming someone else because you cannot handle the stress of specific situations. That is wrong. Don’t do that. Understand your limitations and go forth accordingly. Sitting next to someone for two hours who is trying to not only help you but also keep a weightlifting session moving and not once saying, “hey, I’m trying here but I feel like you’re talking down to me and that’s not helping me” but putting that someone on blast 7 hours later in an email is not okay. Threatening that person with bodily harm after they attempt to talk with you the next day is not okay. Really any time a man threatens a woman with bodily harm, no matter the reason, it is not okay. Lunging at a woman is not okay. Telling her she absolutely does not want to be standing in front of you right now (or what?) is not okay.
Ultimately, I’m hoping this man has had a chance to think about treating a colleague this way and has come to understand that it wasn’t okay. If not, he can discuss it further with the HotHunkyHubs, who really doesn’t care how a man felt but rather how he behaved towards Mrs. HotHunkyHubs.
Understand this, words matter. At times, it may seem silly and why would it matter that the words are being mixed up? It matters. Sorry not sorry. Buck up and just repeat the words that were said to you originally. See how easy that is?
No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.
tosabarbell 