Tuesday, July 30, 2002
Multiplexing
Work continues on my AI. So far, I've had a ready solution
for each problem I've encountered, thanks to ten years of
thinking about every possible angle on this thing. Only had to
resort to (more) mathematical scribblings once so far, which took
two days but resulted in another key result which appears to solve
a number of problems.
But for some reason the more I do, no matter what it is, the more my brain starts churning out completely unrelated ideas at the same time. In the last two hours I've added notes to two or three other back-burner projects, and now suddenly in the midst of coding the bowels of my AI (and you didn't AIs would have guts!) I've come up with another audio/music related idea sufficiently compelling that I'm now coding and testing that on one (virtual) screen while continuing to code the AI on the other. Not to mention writing this journal entry on the third. The audio stuff takes a minute or two to generate a plot, so in that time I can switch back to the AI.
Are there just so many common underlying themes in the universe that the path to one solution inevitably criss-crosses the paths to many others? Or is my ADD brain just indiscriminately active when its active at all? "Yee haw, let's get down to business! Hey, look at the interesting pattern that lady's shoelaces make in the shadow of that fern. Did you know ferns are carcinogenic? I wonder if dinosaurs ate ferns, and if so did that accelerate their evolution?"
Oh yeah, audio. AI. Right. Back to work. And, sigh, I really wish I were more focused because my shoulders are complaining bitterly about all this time behind the keyboard--a new limitation since the vaccine. Sometimes these seemingly trivial things change the rest of our lives. No surfing for me this weekend, either, until the shoulders cool down a little, which really sucks because these are the first (and possibly the last) notable waves all summer.
In unrelated news, I've pulled up the beans which failed horribly for some reason--pale, spindly and eventually withering away--and replanted them. Just a few days later, they've leapt from the earth and, in stark contrast to their predecessors, are sporting leaves so dark green they're nearly black. I don't get it. Life is chaos. Here's hoping they make a good, healthy attempt at reproducing so I can lightly steam and consume their underdeveloped offspring with a touch of butter.
Audio, AI. Right!