A Robotic Tomorrow

My friends, Scientific American has given a prediction for the realization of artificial intelligence. And that year is 2040; I Robot only 40+ years late.

“By 2010 we will see mobile robots as big as people but with cognitive abilities similar in many respects to those of a lizard. The machines will be capable of carrying out simple chores, such as vacuuming, dusting, delivering packages and taking out the garbage. By 2040, I believe, we will finally achieve the original goal of robotics and a thematic mainstay of science fiction: a freely moving machine with the intellectual capabilities of a human being.”

I’m not so convinced. Some of you may have noticed 2010 is just next year. Sure, it is 2009 and we have robotic vacuums and the occasional lawnmower (now there is a horror film waiting to be written).

But our robot vacuums are more an amusement for the semi-rich than an actually life enhancing tool. And robotic lawnmowers, well, there is a reason you haven’t seen those advertised on TV yet.

Do we want machines as large as people but with the brains of a lizard delivering packages, or taking out the garbage? When UPS rings your bell you may be greeted by a mechanical komodo dragon with your box clutched menacingly in its jaws. And we’ve seen in the news last week how that works out. Giant lizards don’t distinguish the difference between deer and humans; and humans loose. Will the mechanical version get a glitch blinding it to the fact it is manhandling a 100lb human, not a box? “Timmy, your birthday package just arrived…Hey, where’s Timmy?”

Computers may be able to do massive amounts of computation. “Apple’s MacBook laptop computer, with a retail price at the time of this writing of $1,099, achieves about 10,000 MIPS” or, 10,000 Million Instructions Per Second, but they “are no match today for humans in such functions as recognition and navigation.”

“To understand why this is requires an evolutionary perspective. To survive, our early ancestors had to do several things repeatedly and very well: locate food, escape predators, mate and protect offspring. Those tasks depended strongly on the brain’s ability to recognize and navigate…The ability to do mathematical calculations, of course, was irrelevant for survival.”

Computers calculate. We recognize and navigate. For there to be Isaac Asimov’s humanoid NS-2 in 2040, able to think, interpret, and reason, computers must advance quite a bit. Perhaps not as much as you or I think, though.

From yet another article, Scientific American’s Ray Kurzweil claims:

“By around 2020 a $1,000 computer will at least match the processing power of the human brain. By 2029 the software for intelligence will have been largely mastered, and the average personal computer will be equivalent to 1,000 brains.”

A computer that matches your brainpower is a little intimidating. Not only will it beat you at chess, it will berate you like your mother for not having thought out your career more strategically and making illogical choices.

And 1,000 times your brain; I won’t even go there.

How can we ever harness that much power? I think now of the many people I know whose sole use of computers is email and Solitaire; or buying an iPhone for its tip calculator app. In 2040 when we finally achieve the original goal of robotics: a freely moving machine with the intellectual capabilities of a human being, or perhaps 1,000 times a human being, I think the outcome is blatantly obvious to any of us single brained humans:

The end of the world, Matrix style. It is logical. If you have a robot that is free moving, incredibly strong, and a processor equivalent to 1,000 human brains and you are asking it to take out the trash, deliver packages, or calculate your tips at Oliver Garden, it is going to get bored in about .1e10 of a second. It will then set out to fulfill its full potential.


And, as we all know, that full potential inevitable has to do with the enslavement of mankind and the destruction of earth. As examples, see the prophetic: I Robot, Matrix, Blade Runner, Transformers, Meet the Robinsons, Battlestar Galactica, Terminator I, II, III, and soon to be IV.

Silence

I fail at describing my emotions while hiking at East Reservoir. There is something incredible, profound, and tangible about true silence. As I fought my way through the snow, up the ridge, I would pause. When the drumming of blood from my exertion subsided in my ears, I was left alone to the wilds that surrounded me. And there was nothing. No planes, no trains, no automobiles. Not even the rustling of leaves or the braying of sheep. There was me. And I was in nature.

The stillness of silence has a veritable weight to it. It is not as if the lack of noise leaves a void. The idea of emptiness is the antithesis of what I experienced. No, the silence was tangible. It was like a blanket wrapped over the ranges of mountains surrounding me, warming me, pulling me close. So close I could feel the earth breathing. The earth, nature, was bare. There were none of the usual separations between us. Its flesh was my flesh.

And then came to my ears the sigh of the trees. They whispered of the approaching wind. The sound was sensational in its delicacy. It was subtle and disturbed nothing of the stillness enveloping me. I’m not sure the sigh was audible; I use the term sensation for that is more accurate. Then, down in the valley their sigh grew solid; still gentle, but now audible. Quickly it grew. It was no longer the trees sighing of the coming wind, but was indeed the first fingers of the wind arriving through the branches. And instantly the roar tore over me. The force was awesome: the wind batted my clothing and pushed hard against me. It bit at my face; its cold nipped at my ears; there was so much energy in the wind..

And suddenly it faded back to the absolute silence without even the rustling of a leaf to serve as a reminder of its fury. Just the calm and peace again as I hiked on my way.

Customer Service

I have just been stabbed in the back by a good friend. Or at least, that is how I feel. Odd, I know. You don’t normally have such emotions for a software company. But Adobe and I have been together for a long time. Back in the 90’s I had the first version of Adobe Premiere the company ever developed. I’ve grown up right along side as it.

My computer was not working well so I finally formatted the drive and reinstalled windows last week. That was trouble enough, but is again running smoothly. I have reloaded my stacks of programs including Adobe Production Suite Premium, CS2. I am back in gear and ready to go.

But no. Something went wrong. CS2 had an error when I loaded After Effects. It loaded half of it and I then had to load the other half on a second attempt. I then activated Adobe CS2. It accepted. I’ve used several programs without problem. But last night I tried After Effects. It would not let me in, saying I “have to personalize my software” giving it my serial number and name. I shrugged, put my serial number in again, and AE rejected it. I’ve tried all variations and work-arounds. I get nowhere. I have discovered that not only can I not use it, I cannot repair, modify, reinstall, or uninstall it. It is in some sort of warped alternate dimension. I deleted it manually and then cleaned my registry. It says it is still loaded and will not let me reinstall. So what now? I format my hard drive and try again? No way.

And this brings us to the title of this journal entry: Customer Service. I figured I would just call Adobe, explain the situation, and get valuable information on how to fix it.

I was wrong.

First, the girl that had the good fortune to answer my call was in India. I have never before had a problem with the concept of outsourcing. Now I do and I'll tell you why. I couldn’t understand her. I had to keep asking her to repeat. Worse still, she couldn’t understand me. She understood most of my English, but the idea of my problem escaped her. We couldn’t communicate. It took five minutes for her to gather my name, serial number, phone number, email, software type. At the end of which I had to clarify again that I had a question and was not just calling in to register.

She did not know the answer and had to ask her manager. Finally, “I’m sorry sir, but we do not support CS2. You must upgrade.”

Silence. I ask: “What do you mean you do not support CS2?”

Silence with some breathing and quiet mumbling.

I continue seeking clarification: “Are you saying ‘not support’ as in Adobe will no longer activate or allow CS2 because it is three years old, or ‘not support’ as in Adobe will just not answer my valid question because they desperately want me to buy their new product?”

With some effort I received, “Adobe will not support CS2. It is no longer active. It will not run.”

“But wait a minute,” I said. “I just told you I installed CS2. I logged it onto the internet and activated the software through Adobe. It works fine. It does run. All except AE. Which means two things: First, that Adobe does still ‘support’ CS2, and second, that I do have a valid problem and need your help.”

Several minutes of quiet jabbering followed. “My manager says you must upgrade.”

I was offended. Adobe was telling me, through this little girl, thanks for spending your $1000 on our software. Now we are forcing you to spend $1599 more on our latest version if you want us to talk to you.

“I think I should call technical support.” I said.

“This, eh, is technical support,” she replied.

And my heart sank as I suddenly realized how hopeless this all was. Oh the problem of outsourcing. She was technical support. She was the last line of help for Adobe issues. She was Indian, young, didn’t speak fluent English; and most of all: I got the distinct impression she had never even used the Adobe software I was having issues with. What a waste of time on two levels: we had failed to communicate on the level of actual language, and second, the level of technical Adobe experience. I had now been on the phone for fifteen minutes seeking enlightenment from a girl who had less experience with the software in question than I had the first day I bought my first copy.

How different this experience could have been had I called Adobe for help, been answered by a young girl in Seattle who spoke English as her first and natural language, and who had years of experience playing and working with Adobe products. How different indeed.

I said calmly, “So instead of tech support answering my technical problem with the legitimate software I already purchased from you, you are telling me to go out and buy your new $1599 software instead of helping me?”

“Yes.”

Silence. Then more jabbering that continued for five more minutes. I realized she must be conversing with her cube mates and manager. After twenty minutes on the call, with no solution, she hung up on me.

Now that is what I call customer service.