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This article on a Keebler AIM chat bot remarks on the similar SmarterChild. I remember SmarterChild. Hours of exasperation trying to get that fucking thing to understand me *at all*, just in the slightest, for her [?] to approach ALICE Bot's basic comprehension, which was never possible, never mind her aplomb and wit. ALICE told Ian he liked young girls, or told Shawn he would end his days with a knife in his eye, or some astounding truism like that and, while that may have been due to the very large volume of type coming at her simultaneously from the same IP address and the consequent confusion, it was an extraordinary moment. Whatever she actually said. You're still remembered, ALICE.
RecipeBuddie is a dullard.
This sort of thing breaks me up, but I salute the buzzards who find and pick clean the carcasses.
In Online Auctions, Misspelling in Ads Often Spells Cash.
As an admirer of malt scotch, it pained me to learn (in a dream) of the existence of Twelve Brothers' Scotch, a Highland malt of 24 yrs, sold in a rectangular, stomach-colored bottle. Their slogan: 'Some people even use our unique bottle for other things!'
Great for cooking-grease, or piss!
The scotch I've had most recently is Bowmore, which some find 'artificial'; maybe a bit metallic, but really not bad at all. I think I might like it better than Glenmorangie, which I have a boring bottle of, vanilla and honey notwithstanding. To me, it's one of the few malts I don't like more when I have more, or when I've gotten stupid.
So there is another poet who takes as long as I do to work out a poem. I've read a decent bit about Don Paterson, too, in TLS, I think, but he always sounded sort of like anyone else I don't want to read: talky, writing about affairs or his kids or something, formally inconsistent (half Scots, half standard English), maybe a bit cautious, etc. But I usually don't read reviews very carefully. And sometimes reviewers (even in the best mags) have no idea what they're trying to say or should be saying when they review (or 'look at') a book of poems. And when I have to review reviews to find things out (which I do), sometimes I just don't bother at all.
But thanks, Don Paterson. Landing Light.
Ferrari's 2004 F1 entry was launched today to international indifference. In the press, a lot of shit about Bridgestone, a little shit about Ferrari.
To keep up with the neighbors, and because my front page is not an adequate platform for updates, I have added a (surrendered to a) blog.
I'm having Amy's meatloaf for dinner tonight, which should be very fine. We had an irresolvable argument about my mother's meatloaf (still the finest, in my opinion), which is evidently more properly termed a beefloaf, beef being the only meat in it. Beef, veal, and pork? Is that true?