Story of my Life

Recently, I went to the cinema to watch Disney Pixar’s newest movie, WALL-E. A bleak, post-apocalyptic tour-de-force, the movie depicts the gentle romance between two robots of the future: WALL-E, the not-so-bright and not-so-attractive ‘guy’ with the big heart and sweet personality, and EVE, the sleek, sexy, totally out-of-his-league babe.

The story goes like this: A hundred years into the future, Earth — over-polluted and overtaken by garbage — can no longer sustain life. So we flee to outer space, leaving the planet’s cleanup in the mechanical pincers of an army of stout, capable robots.

Seven hundred, entirely uneventful years pass and now, pillars of compacted trash line the city skies like towering skyscrapers. One day, WALL-E — now the sole surviving creature of his kind — meets EVE, a visitor from outer space with a mysterious mission.

However, Pixar designed these robots so that they’re — well, they’re human. We see them as human. We see them communicate, we see them think, act, understand, love. And we accept this. By the end of the movie, we’ve accepted WALL-E and EVE as equals and we may even shed a tear here and there for our newfound friends.

But what exactly is WALL-E? Is he pure fantasy and fiction?

Or is he — is Artificial Intelligence — simply the way of the future?

Alan Turing’s Vision

This prophecy, published in 1950 by English mathematician Alan Turing was a bold statement indeed. Remember, in that day and age, computers weren’t sleek, glossy, or available in a variety of neat colours; no, they where clunky, they weighed nearly 30 tons, and they took gaggles of people to operate.

Turing, however, saw past all that. He envisioned a day when digital computers programmed with rules and facts would possess the intelligence of man.

This boldness and guiding confidence was exactly what researchers needed and thus was borne the field of artificial intelligence (AI). In the 1950s and 1960s, the field would see enormous growth and popularity. It became the hot topic of students, researchers, writers, and even the movies.

In the 1960s, for example, when Stanley Kubrick directed his 2001: A Space Odyssey, starring HAL, the omniscient and omnipotent robot, he had taken care to directly consult MIT Professor and AI expert Marvin Minsky, who assured him that yes, by the end of the 20th century, robots like HAL would not only live among us, but they would exceed us in many capacities.

It no longer became a question of if machines would become intelligent, but when.

A Philosophical Fork in the Toaster

However in 1973, Berkeley philosophy professor, Hubert Dreyfus published his book, “What Computers Can’t Do”, in which he proposed the exact opposite of what was on everyone’s mind: Machines, he reasoned — as they were progressing now — would never, ever, reach the same intellectual capacities as a human.

There is a passage in Dreyfus’ book in which he recounts the results of a meeting among the top minds in computer science; here, his (early) report of A.I. was deemed to be “sinister”, “dishonest”, “hilariously funny”, and an “incredible misrepresentation of history”.

But of course, researchers in the A.I. community would be incensed. They would be, in fact, deeply, unapologetically pissed off.

After all, they’d just spent the last two decades of their lives telling the world what computers could and would do…only to have their fundamental beliefs and dreams attacked by — of all people — a philosophy scholar?

Hubert Dreyfus Criticises

The core of Dreyfus’ critique was about rules. See, a conventional machine is programmed to accept an input and apply a set of rules to produce an output. The idea is that any intellectual activity, whether it be adding numbers, playing chess, translating languages, or disposing of garbage, could be mimicked using a set of rules.

Dreyfus, however, argued that rules — by themselves — did not contain the necessary information for their application. Suppose we were to design a robot to process the following phrase:

What does “it” refer to, the puppy or the window?

But of course, even a child could tell you that it refers to the puppy. But how does a computer know? Does the computer know that puppies are furry, cute, and love to be hugged and touched by children? Can the computer understand that Mary probably doesn’t want a silly windowpane?

What if instead the phrase was:

Now, it refers to the window. But does the computer know that children enjoy pressing their noses against windows? Does the computer know that the puppy is out of Mary’s reach, separated by a layer of glass?

Not only does understanding the nature of the word “it” in these sentences require such obvious facts about dogs and windows, but it also requires a certain human element. It requires us to empathize with how Mary may feel. It requires us to understand the physical nature of Mary’s body and how she interacts with her surroundings.

Previously, many A.I. researchers believed that programming an understanding of language could be done syntactically – that is, by appealing only to the rules of grammar and dictionary definitions. But Dreyfus (and linguists such as Noam Chomsky) pointed out that the issue was much, much more complex. So much of what we do and say depends on context.

And they were right. A.I. researchers would begin having difficulty producing machines with the common-sense understanding of a mere four-year old. There were simply too many rules — too many rules and each rule leading to more and more rules so that even the most basic statements and stories could simply not be understood without appealing to millions of common-sense facts.

So…Is WALL-E Dead?

But what does this all mean for poor WALL-E? Did Hubert Dreyfus destroy the dream of ever producing a WALL-E? Is true Artificial Intelligence unlikely to ever happen?

No, no, and no!

Dreyfus never intended his original critique to be a crushing blow to Artificial Intelligence. The dream continues to live on, but today, researchers are older and wizen by his words. The field is no longer as naïve and wide-eyed as it was half-a-century ago.

For example, one possible avenue for modern AI research is provided by our own brains: Instead of programming a computer to abide by the traditional step-by-step rules approach, we model it like the neurons in the human brain where the results of the program depend on the ‘strengths’ of each particular neuron.

This radically different method of computing not only combines the work of psychologists and cognitive scientists in understanding how the human mind works, but also biologists and neuroscientists who study the physical brain, and finally, mathematicians and computer scientists, who work to develop the models for artificial neural networks.

If Artificial Intelligence is to succeed – if WALL-E is to ever exist – we know now that it is going to take the work of all of us — of mathematicians, computer scientists, cognitive scientists, philosophers, and psychologists. The dream of imbuing a machine with an intellect – if it is ever to happen – will be the crowning achievement of not any one discipline, but of humankind as a whole.

Seeing how it’s Monday night, and I have nothing better to do, I’m going to talk to you about a subject which may, perhaps at first, seem silly and inane; but with some clarity and deeper thought, you might come to realize its hidden importance.

Okay, that’s not true. It’s pretty stupid all the way through.

But anyways, the subject tonight is regarding one of Google’s April Fools jokes. Did you manage to catch the one about Google Paper?

According to the site, Google was offering Gmail users the ability to receive their e-mails via hard copy printouts — up to a hundred thousand copies. This included high quality glossy prints of any photo attachments, attached to the Google Paper, which, by the way, was 96% post-consumer organic soybean sputum.

Got all that?

Now, I want you to pull your eyes towards the picture of the female Google model above, sitting on the bench and using the laptop. In case you haven’t noticed, she is what I would call ‘mindfuckingly hot’.

See, when I first saw this April Fools joke, it started me thinking: Google controls our lives, right?

I use Google Mail as a central hub for my billion of school and personal accounts, I use Google Calendar to organize my life, Google Maps to go where I need to go, Google Search to do research and Google Books to sample books and Google Scholar to find articles. Hell, I even use Google to spell-check my documents, and to convert feet to meters.

So is Google Women or Google Girls entirely out of reach? Will Google one day provide me with dates and potential love interests?

All I have to say is, if they all look like her, sign me up, yo.

In the last post, I handed the torch to fellow blogger Dave, along with the request to comment on the news of the Hollywood adaptation of the ‘true’ story of a group of Asian-American MIT students winning big in Vegas. The result was the recently released 21 — but now with white actors and actresses replacing the shamefully geeky geeks.

Dave replied in a typical Dave-like manner (That is, incoherently raving about nothing in particular, and supplementing his argument with hastily photoshop-ed pictures. Did he, by the way, even use Photoshop? Looks more like Microsoft Paint to me).

But he makes the point that,

Dave oh Dave. Allow me to rebut.

The status quo is changing. Minutely, perhaps. But it’s changing nonetheless.

No, you’re right. The really big Asians names in Hollywood probably only include Jackie Chan and Jet Li — and both do nothing to deter the Asian kung-fu-master stereotype (that’s assuming we’re not including the likes of Keanu Reaves who, by the way, has a minute droplet of Asian blood).

But there are certainly names that have recently inched the status quo in our favour.

Let’s start with Yul Kwon (South Korean), who graduated both from Stanford and Yale, then worked briefly for Google. However, you might know him as the winner of Survivor: Cook Islands during the infamous season when the castaways were first split into tribes according to race (I wrote about it here).

In winning, he not only blasted pretty much every single Asian stereotype out of the water, but he was also named one of People Magazine’s Sexiest Men of the Year.

That’s Exhibit A, Dave.

For Exhibit B, we turn to Maggie Q who starred alongside Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible III, then had a far more memorable role as the girl who kicked Bruce Willis’ ass for most of Die Hard 4 until he um…threw her down an elevator shaft.

Okay, I’m cheating a bit, here, because Maggie Q is only half Asian (a feisty product of a Polish father and a Vietnamese mother), and if we were to open that door, I suppose we could also bring in Kristen Kreuk (of Smallville fame).

But there are other examples: Michelle Yeoh, the first Asian bond girl in Tomorrow Never Dies and another one of People Magazine’s Most Beautiful. And don’t forget Grace Park who plays Number Six in the hit show Battlestar Galactica, also named in the 2006 Maxim’s Online Hottest 100 List.

And this, my dear friend, brings us to the last exhibit.

I chose one that would be close to your heart.

Daniel Dae Kim plays Jin on the television series Lost. But I know what you’re thinking: large ensemble cast — the casters would have had to put in an Asian actor for political reasons, anyways.

But no, the reason why I bring him up (in addition to the fact he’s another one of People Magazine’s Sexiest Men Alive) is the fact you can often spot him comfortably cruising around on bus billboards ever since he’s teamed up with Gap.

In your blog post, Dave, you asked, “What’s the point?”.

While these are indeed exceptional and rare example, perhaps the point is that the situation is not as hopeless as you once imagined.

There’s still the possibility of change.

The blogosphere is dead.

Truly.

I’m lazy when it comes to finding new blogs to read. I like to pick out a few comfortable places to settle down with, then ride ‘em out till the end. Unfortunately, it seems most of these wonderful blogs have slowly but surely lapsed into stagnation.

I have to wonder though, what is the average lifetime of a blog? From experience, it seems to be under 2 years. Blogs with their own domain — indicative of perhaps more dedication by its owner — seem to last a little longer, but not much.

My two gal pals have deserted me; enter Melodrama. Hot Coffee Girl has posted a few rubbish entries (yes, you heard me, woman — absolute rubbish!), and Rhys has more or left me for dead. Probably for her burgeoning webcam fetish business.

Anyways, when the women leave you, I suppose all that’s left to do is to turn to your best mates.

So to produce some friendly interblog sparring, I’ve decided to turn to Dave with the following proposal:

Some of us may have heard of 21, a newly released film adaptation of the non-fiction book Bringing Down the House. The movie chronicles the exploits of a group of MIT card players in the 90s, who made a lucrative amount of money playing blackjack at Vegas casinos.

Now what you may not have heard is that the real-life counterparts of the Hollywood actors were Asian American MIT students. Of course, Hollywood, being Hollywood, promptly swapped them for white actors (with a token Korean played by Aaron Yoo).

This, of course, produced a flurry of outrage from the not-usually-so-vocal Asian communities.

So, the question is, is this just the ‘real world’ and we should thus accept it as such? Would this ever have happened if the real-life counterparts were, for example, African American? Clearly, this was in an effort to improve the marketability of the film, but do you agree with the decision?

I am told that beautiful women are everywhere.

No. Really.

They’re literally everywhere. They’re in every nook and every cranny, every street and every corner. They have big blue eyes and small brown ones, long blonde hair and short raven hair. Legs that reach the skies. Soft, velvety skin. And they love to tease us with their skirty skirts.

You — you could very well be one of these beautiful women.

You probably are. Don’t lie.

But it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because I can’t see them. I know it sounds crazy, but it’s true. I can’t see any of them.

It started a few years ago. That’s when the numbness started. But it’s worse, now. It’s so bad, I can’t feel anything.

Imagine this: I’m walking down the street with a friend, and a girls passes in the distance. So my friend’s all, “She’s pretty cute”, right?

“Hrmm…” I’d mumble, looking up for a second. “Yeah, she’s alright…”

That’s it. “She’s alright”. Not, “she’s spectacular,” or “she’s gorgeous”, and never ever is she “wow”. I can’t remember how long it’s been since I’ve had a ‘Wow’ moment. They just stopped happening.

These women — these women I pass on the streets or see at the University — they could be Venus and it wouldn’t matter. They could be Jennifer Connelly or Jessica Alba in the flesh. Even Audrey Hepburn, back from the dead. I wouldn’t have even raised an eyebrow.

Because I’m numb, you see.

The thing is, I do see them; I see that they’re pretty, I see that they’re slim and have a nice figure, and I see that they have great hair. But I don’t really see them, you know? It’s more like I’m a judge, rather than a spectator.

I’m impartial. Neutral and unaffected.

But this numbness, it doesn’t take the Crane brothers to figure out what brings it on. I actually know the cause.

My days are roughly the same, day in day out. I wake up in the morning and haul my ass to work. If I decide beforehand to bring a lunch and dinner to work, I’ll stay there until eight or nine in the evening. If I don’t bring a dinner, I’ll head home at six to cook myself one or, if I’m feeling particularly adventurous, I’ll head to dining hall for dinner. At ten, it’s gym-time, and by 11:30 PM, I’m back home.

Occasionally, I’ll play rugby with the college in the evenings, and that helps break up the monotony. But for the most part, it’s an easy cut-and-paste affair.

Do I mind that my life is structured like this? Maybe. But it’s what I do. That’s the best answer I can give to friends and family who criticize me about my lifestyle. It’s what I do. At least for now.

Besides, that’s not the real problem.

At night, I prepare for my slumber with an episode from a favoured television series or an interesting piece of cinema.

The choices are endless. And the women, well, the women are simply delightful.

Maybe I’ll watch an episode of House and wonder whether all doctors come with the looks of Allison Cameron (Jennifer Morrison) or the wit of “Thirteen” (Olivia Wilde). Reliving high school is as easy as popping in The O.C., where I can follow Melissa, Summer, and Taylor (Barton, Bilson, and Reeser) through their four years. And if I’m in the mood for sand and beaches, I can always spend some time with Kate (Evangeline Lilly) and Claire (Emilie de Ravin) on Lost island.

And then there are the movies.

I can spend time listening to the poetic ramblings of Juno (Ellen Page). I can fight despair and temptation alongside Jennifer Connelly in Requiem for a Dream. I can laugh at the deadpan humour of Zooey Deschanel in Almost Famous.

The list goes on.

The beauty of it is, not only are these women beautiful and gorgeous, but they’re funny, smart, and sassy. They wake up looking great, and they say and do things no real woman would.

Because, duh, they’re exactly that: not real.

But it doesn’t matter.

Because these women, they get me.

When the gorgeous Charlotte (Scarlett Johansson) in Lost in Translation lies next to Bob (Bill Murray) and asks, “Does it get any easier?” — that’s the kind of connection I want. That’s the kind of relationship I need. But of course, I can’t have it.

There isn’t really a 24 year old, lost and confused, beautiful Yalie philosophy graduate named Charlotte. And even if there was, it’s doubtful I’ll ever meet her on a trip to Tokyo.

But that doesn’t stop me from hoping.

Real women are hard. Even if they have the looks of Number Six (Tricia Helfer), the intellect of Temperance Brennan (Emily Deschanel), and the sardonic wit of Lorelei Gilmore (Lauren Graham), they won’t know you. They won’t really know you.

It’s just not the same.

And so I go to work, I come home, and I escape in the company of these lovely — albeit fictitious — women. It’s escapism at its best.

I realize it’s sad. It’s humiliating. Wrong, even.

But there’s nothing I can do.

I’m numb, you see.