Hang a Door, Not Yourself
I am searching for a decent replacement for our current car; a task that should prove relatively easy, given the apparent plethora of tech affordances on offer. But even a major specialist site's search throws up the most egregious bollocks: I input that I want to search within a radius of no more than fifty miles of my home location, and I am presented with cars on sale in fecking Ealing, ferchrissakes: I live in North Wales. Please. It's not rocket science or brain surgery. It's not even basic bloody carpentry in tech terms; and yet it goes on. I'm afraid if the future is supposedly the implementation of artificial 'intelligence', and it's then delivered in such a half-assed and illiterate manner as most of our 'public-serving' tech is currently, then we really might as well put our heads between our knees and kiss our arses goodbye, folks.
I seem to remember a world in which, though the world itself was imperfect, stuff simply kind of worked OK in a grudgingly, mundane sort of way. But then I have been around a long time, so the perspective of experience should be taken into consideration. The question remains, however: "Who's the dinosaur here?". Sometimes, bleeding edge thinking is more retrogressive than it's proponents often imagine, and the prosaic, even stolid approach yields far more progressive outcomes than so-called 'blue-sky' thinking. Genius lies in the theft of and repurposing of existing ideas that no-one else knows what do do with. It's a thing, and the current crop of wet-behind-the-ears politicians should pay heed to the lesson of Harold Wilson's 1960's '...white-heat of technology...' non-revolution: another example of a middle-aged man beguiled by a futurism pedalled by ivory-tower young techies offering more than they could ever possibly deliver. Favour the carpenter is all I have to say: AI can't hang doors or repair chairs. Nuff said for today...
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