Tomorrow, Donald J. Trump will take the oath of office and become the 45th president of the United States.
The official oath is very simple: I do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my Ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States.
This could be an awkward moment. Our next president is famous for going off-script.
Actually, that’s a lie. It suggests there’s a script to begin with.
He is known for saying whatever comes to mind. And because his brain is so unique and excellent, he has little experience in following anyone in a repeat-after-me situation. I don’t expect him to be intimidated by the chief justice of the Supreme Court. Trump will want to say it his way.
To offer a little assistance, I’ve re-fashioned the oath into what I think is a passable example of Trump-speak. And it has the added bonus of rhyming, so he could sing it if he wants.
I solemnly swear!
My swears are so solemn
they’re top of the charts
in the solemn swear column
I will execute faithfully
this lofty post.
I’m as faithful as Jesus
and a better Host.
The office of President!
I’m so well suited.
No office will ever be
more executed.
As for my ability,
you be the tester.
when we’re talking ables
nobody’s is bester.
And the Constitution!
You kidding? Forget it!
I’ll preserve and protect that
like someone who’s read it.
I promise this oath
it’s a pledge that I’ve spoken.
I’ll honor it like
all the others I’ve broken.
Today’s guest post comes from Barbara in Robbinsdale.
The four of us (my sister and her son, Husband and moi) were on our own for five days in Paris.
We learned a lot about food and eating the Parisian way – picked up baguettes from the boulangeries (bread bakeries), croissants and other delicacies for our petit dejuener (breakfast) from patisseries (dessert bakeries), meats from boucheries, crepes and quiches from crèperies.
On our first day, however, we were lucky enough to come upon the neighborhood marché (market), which had on display all the spring (and other) vegetables you can imagine, plus sausages, fish, cheese, and our dinner – kabobs. Why I didn’t take more photos at the marché I don’t remember, but here is one.
And here’s how some of the bounty looked back at “our” flat (air.bnb, but that’s another story).
It was delicious, especially because it represented the success I had in asking the price.
Combien, s’il vous plait? (How much, please?)
Of course, the answer was spoken so quickly I couldn’t catch it, so I did what I had seen other tourists do – laid out my palm full of coins (there are 1- and 2- euro coins) and let him take what he needed. Then said “Merci.”
I’m not sure exactly when my family got our first game of Aggravation. It’s like Parcheesi; six players move their pieces around the board to their safe home base. Until you are home safe, if any other player lands on your space, back to the beginning you go. My father didn’t care for it much; he said that since it was a dice game, it was just a game of chance so not very challenging. For a while my sister and my mom and I played against each other – each taking two colors of marbles. After a few years my sister slowly withdrew leaving Nonny and me squared off playing three colors each.
We’ve played Aggravation for decades now – whenever we visit one another, out comes the game and the marbles. My game board had duct tape on the bottom side holding it together and for many years at her house, we had one oddly-colored yellow marble. We each have a favorite die (although I do trade off every now and then). Having gone up against each other for so many years, I can honestly say that Nonny and I play exactly the same game. Aggressive right out of the chute, addicted to the center spot and wildly competitive. Very very rarely does either of us make a move that the other can’t predict.
My dad was right – it’s just the dice. Nonny agrees with this assessment. But we keep playing anyway and while we do win about the same number of games, the pattern is weird. Two years ago when she was here, she won 8 out of 9 games but this past Thanksgiving week I won 10 out of 11. The fact that both Nonny and I remember these stats should probably be disturbing.
On Sunday I turn 75 years old. In the past I have celebrated “landmark” birthdays with gatherings of almost everyone I know. The first one was for my 60th. It was a potluck (I provided ham and turkey) in the basement of church-turned-theater. I called it “The Funeral of my Youth” and decorated with photos from my past. Since I have friends from several different pieces of my life, I asked them to wear a nametag indicating why they knew me and when they met me. I think about 50 people were there. Upstairs in the “sanctuary/theater” a couple friends performed songs they had written in my honor, another sang John Hartford’s “Tall Buildings” for me. A friend and I performed a short play (vignette?) of “I’m Herbert” by Robert Anderson (it’s one of a collection of four short one acts titled “You Know I Can’t Hear You When the Water’s Running”). It is two old folks sitting on the porch trying to remember their past.
When I turned 64 I threw another party based on the Beatles song. Again in the basement of the small church-turned-theater. Less elaborate, again a potluck but no “performances.” Well, one. We had to hear the song, of course. A friend sang it right before everyone walked out the door.
Then at 70 I invited friends again, even more as my circle had expanded. The church-turned-theater had been purchased for a home, so I found another lovely venue nearby—the Scott House. It is a historic-once-was-a-stagecoach stop between St Paul/Mpls and Duluth/Superior. It was still beautifully decorated from the holidays. The entertainment was the movie “Lumber Jill” where I played a “Creepy Old Woman.” (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lYf8quaYcGs ) Another potluck of exceptional tastiness. Another success…another group of 50+ or so. I promised everyone I would do it again…
But this year, even retired and with time to prepare, I opted for a less celebratory event. This year I decided I wanted to meet with people for dinner or lunch in small gatherings so I get to talk to everyone and enjoy their company more one-on-one and spread out throughout the month.
What do you do to celebrate those “special/landmark” birthdays?
The fear of the number 13 has been given a scientific name: “triskaidekaphobia“; and on analogy to this the fear of Friday the 13th is called paraskevidekatriaphobia, from the Greek words Paraskeví (Παρασκευή, meaning “Friday“), and dekatreís (δεκατρείς, meaning “thirteen”)
way back when dale was first looking for a guest blogger or two when he was going to be away i was assigned was friday the 13th as my date and dale suggested that i do a friday the 13th blog to go with it.
i was thinking i had something else important to say so i used another topic and figured someone would get to it soon. i didnt and while it surprised me that a couple of friday the 13th’s a year have come and gone without a blog on it, it remains a model of the trail that the stuff we have at our fingertips is what we discuss.
friday the 13th is a day of infamy that comes around on average 2 times a year. it is a day to avoid. i have canceled flights changed plans and done things differently when i realize that friday the 13th is where it is falling. i am funny with numbers.
666 is an automatic no no, i will run like a white tailed deer when i hear the number. i have a guy in new jersey who is a drummer who is a picky picky picky hat guy who has a phone number with 666 in it. it is less obvious that some others it is a number where the first 3 numbers end in a 6 and then the first 2 on the last 4 are 66 so i guess it is possible that he really never did notice but wow… how could you not? i admit it i am superstitious. i will not walk under a ladder step on a crack or allow 666 in my life. (by the way, he never buys a hat he just makes me answer questions in detail and then decided he really didnt want to spend that much money anyway.)
i had a drivers license issued back whenever it was that minnesota handed out new numbers that had 666 right smack dab in the middle of it. i went to get it changed and was told it could not be done. i stayed on the phone talking to supervisor after supervisor until i got one who said they understood and would deal with it. i hung up the phone feeling better but when i checked back in months later i discovered that nothing had been done or would be done. i went in search of an answer and found one that i plugged in right away. it took over a year to rid myself of the dreaded 666 in my wallet but it is done now.
all worthwhile things take time. if you want to get a deal on your airplane tickets or find shorter lines and the popular restaurants try making a reservation on friday the 13th.
where do you stand on superstition and hows it working out for you?
I’m going to write about glue. All Trailbabooners know about glue. Some of you are/were teachers and may even have made your own glue using flour and water. I recall being taught the recipe in first grade to finish paper-mâché projects. At the time, it seemed rather messy so I have my doubts that process is popular today. The history of glue goes back thousands of years. Affixing one item to another was a challenge to be met by tool makers and construction laborers. Tar, eggs, starch all found their way into everyday use. For most folks their experience with glue is limited to the basics: Elmers and Super Glue. And typically their knowledge of glues is also basic: “Glue is glue”. Well, that is not true. Indeed, it can be quite confusing to go to the glue aisle of a Lowe’s or Home Depot and be confronted with a dozens of varieties of glue. As reading the fine print seems a lost “art”, I surmise that many failures arise from the assumption that all glues are pretty much the same.
In my floor covering trade, there are hundreds of different glues. Each has specific qualities and recommended usages. But the basic guideline for use is: Read the label. Well, back in the early 70’s, we were doing a project at the University of North Dakota in Grand Forks, North Dakota. The material was delivered to the job site along with buckets of glue. It was cork tile. From Portugal. With instructions in Portuguese. There was no discernible contact information in the material so as Portuguese is not a common language in North Dakota, the University did put me on to a Spanish translator. As these languages are related, I hoped for the best in getting a fairly good idea as to how to use the glue. I missed a step in translation. The glue had to be used over a porous subfloor ie wood or properly prepared concrete. Our concrete was polished meaning it was now a non-porous subfloor. We came in the next day and found the tile we had laid expanded about 1/32 of an inch in each piece causing a peaking effect. The glue had no where to go except into the cork itself. I panicked. Then I remembered a little physics and what could shrink material: Cold. We obtained dry ice and moved the chunks around the floor for hours. It worked!
We still get material from foreign countries but most often it comes with instructions in multiple languages… including English.
Christmas is not one of my favorite times of the year, Memories are loaded with emotional and physical loss – each of my parents died, I received divorce papers, old reminders of the difficult maneuvering after my parents separated and divorced and remarried. Then there was exhaustion after the long hours working in my father’s retail business wrapping presents, followed by a six hour drive to southern Minnesota to be with grandparents, my parents smoking and arguing what seems like the entire way.
But one Christmas I love to remember: the year I was in Switzerland.
After my first year teaching I quit to travel in Europe. I ended up staying with a family in the small village of Adliswil just outside Zurich. They lived above their tearoom and bakery but also had a home up in the mountains near Einsedeln. The month leading up to Christmas they made candies — delicious Swiss chocolates, many with nummy hazel nut cream. (I thought they were called Moor’s Caps/Moorenkoppen, but I can’t find what I remember them being on the web…so memory being what it is…who knows what they were called.)
Not only did they put up with me, but they graciously allowed me to invite a college friend who was studying in England to join me for the holiday.
On Christmas Eve we drove up to their mountain home. The tree was decorated (did I help decorate it? I don’t remember) with real and lit candles. Interestingly my friend remembers many more details of the holiday than I do, but this we both remember: There was snow. In the evening, we walked somewhere I don’t recall and on our way up along the mountain road a man was riding a bicycle down the road yodeling. A perfect Swiss moment.
I used to hate computers. Throughout the 1960s and 1970s, computers increasingly intruded into the lives of average people. And they were no fun. I hated them. Just about everybody did. People had notes on their cubicle walls saying, “I am a human being. Do not bend, fold or mutilate.” That—for younger readers who might not know—was a reference to the legend printed on the universally hated computer data cards.
When I heard that people were buying computers for their homes, I was astonished. What? People needed computers to do their taxes? That made no sense at all. I suppose I first heard about home computers in 1980, for that is when the first home computers were hitting the market.
Well, guess what? The most astonishing gift I got in the Christmas of 1982 was the computer my parents gave me. My life has not been the same since then. I used that primitive computer (an 8 bit CP/M Osborne) to write six books. I soon was writing email letters to friends, sending articles and manuscripts electronically to publishers and even (yes!) using the computer to do my taxes. A computer hater became a computer lover almost overnight, and now I can’t imagine life without my computer. I use it more and enjoy it in more ways than my TV.
All of this is necessary background for what this blog is really about, which is robots.
When I first heard people wanted robots for their homes, I was amazed and derisive, just as I had been about home computers. And just like computers, robots are coming into our lives and into our homes. The most militantly humanistic young couple I know owns a robot that whirrs around vacuuming their home without human guidance. The manufacturer of the Roomba now makes a similar robot that mops tile floors.
Now there are robot lawn mowers that will roar around peoples’ yards mowing the grass without human guidance. If I had a lawn to mow now I’d be tempted by these. They aren’t cheap. For all I know, they might chop up the occasional tulip garden or Pomeranian. But these are the “Model T” versions of robotic lawn mowers, after all. We can expect them to get better and cheaper year by year, just as computers did.
When I scoffed at the notion that robots would enter our homes, I was thinking of little tin men clanking around brandishing brooms, trying to sweep the kitchen floor. But that’s not the way it will happen. Of course, that could come. Sony already makes a robot called the QRIO that looks like the stereotype of a robot, something that has two legs and two arms and walks upright. But that’s not how robots will first enter our lives.
The first robots to enter our homes will be stationary, yet they will be able to listen to us and talk back. And they are already here. Examples include the Amazon Echo, Amazon Dot or Google Home. These little robots were extremely popular Christmas gifts this year. What they feature is artificial intelligence. They talk to us and respond to things we say. They interact with their human “owners.” They even perform simple tasks, like playing music or ordering takeout food.
I first understood how close all this is to revolutionizing our world a few weeks ago when I viewed a promotional video for Jibo, the “home robot.” I used to think “home robot” was an oxymoron like “military intelligence.” But, no, it is a clever new social robot. Watch this video and draw your own conclusions:
This is the future. And the future is now. Robots are changing our lives, just as computers once did. Brace yourselves!
What will home robots do? Nobody can know for sure, but the general answer is that they will do anything that is unpleasant or bothersome to the point we don’t like to do it ourselves.
Something else that is coming—and indeed is here already—is the robotic pet. These are highly popular in some societies. Count me among those who are creeped out by the idea of a robotic cat or dog. But many people, particularly in Japan, find robotic pets comforting. A robotic cat presumably would not need a sandbox, and it would only “eat” batteries.
Beyond doing unpleasant things, I am convinced that social robots will increasingly serve as substitutes for human friends. We already have robots that chat with us and perform small tasks. It wouldn’t be difficult to create a small robot with AI that that would have something like a face and something like a personality. Are there lonely people in this world who would love to have a robot that never tires of talking to them and laughs explosively at their jokes? How would you react to a robot that sits by your toaster in the morning chatting with you, making coffee, delivering a weather report and saying snarky things about Donald Trump?
What bothersome tasks would you like to have done by a home robot?
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