At Large

Welcome to ice cream cone season. We doubt that there’s an official governmental edict designed to distinguish these summer days from the rest of the year, but with the way things have been going, that might not be far away. That, however, is a different subject.

These are the days when we find our way to a local emporium with a few windows facing a well-traveled parking lot, those windows staffed by local high school students who have snagged a summer job scooping ice cream and adroitly perching that scoop on top of a cone. Your choice. Sugar or cake or waffle. Decisions … decisions … decisions.

While patiently waiting in line, you survey the chalkboard listing of today’s flavors and make the critical decision. Your regular … or a bold departure? Butter pecan or … what’s that? Pineapple peach? Blackberry swirl? Are you ready for a change, or will the pressure be too great? Stepping up to the counter, will you be able to boldly go where you have never gone before?

On a recent stop of a lovely evening, we went through the liturgy of preparation and selection and made the bold decision to try something new. After all, change is inevitable in life, so even in these twilight years, we need to embrace the present and embrace change … which became an interesting sequence of events and play on words when the moment of actually making change became an insurmountable challenge for our “scooper.”

Guilty as charged

The crippling transaction was, no doubt, partly our fault. Had we prepared for this impromptu stop at the ice cream emporium, we would have had the correct change for the proposed cone acquisition. As it was, the smallest bill in hand was more than the acquisition cost. We did, however, have some coins available, which, when added to the proffered bill would cover the tab and leave the server with the simple task of returning a few foldable dollar bills before retreating to the freezer and attacking the tub of blackberry swirl. “Here you go,” we said. (We recall that we also smiled.)

Full stop

Then, time stopped. With a similar impact as hitting “pause” while streaming Ted Lasso for the third time, everything froze. Our previously cheerful ice cream cone technician suddenly turned into a statue. She had no idea what to do.  

One recalls the euphemistic term “brain freeze” employed when someone eats something too cold. There had been no eating involved. The brain froze. It should have been very simple. Money proffered minus cost of cone equals … 

Latter day impersonation of Lot’s wife apparently.

To the great relief of the entire cosmos … since having things stop for too long must have a negative effect on the rotation of the planets, the machinations of the stock market and life as we know it … a hovering manager felt the sudden locking of both thought and action and, with a few words of comfort, intervened, commandeered the cash register and completed the transaction.

Time for the “Google-machine”

Cone in hand, we strolled over to a nearby unoccupied picnic table and used our other hand to search “making change” on our omnipresent phone.  

Gobsmacked. (That’s an archaic term for being shocked … which those of us who are archaic still remember.)

The list of YouTube videos instructing eager learners on how to make change was both impressive and decidedly depressing. There’s even a two-part series entitled “Making Change” that covers in 17 minutes how to determine the correct give back when more money is offered than is required. 17 minutes.  

We’re aware that most contemporary cash registers will do the advanced mathematical calculations required when offered $10.45 for a $6.45 item, but can’t we do those calculations in our heads? Apparently not.  

Cone finished, the residual taste of blackberry swirl gracing our return to the car, the “change” encounter evoked both a smile and a shake of the head. Have we come so far that in the absence of machines that think for us, we’re unable to function? Will artificial intelligence engulf us and reduce us to reactive, not pro-active sentient beings?

As the sun sinks slowly in the west

Heavy questions were far too overwhelming for a lovely summer evening. Simply shake it off, start the car, turn on some music and head home. And, without fair warning, AI reached out of the speakers, attacked our ears, and kept us idling in “park” for a few more moments.

Music has always been an important part of our DNA. For the years we sat in an office, first a radio, then the computer underscored the day with strains of classical music emanating from local, then far distant radio stations. Like Jimmy Carter, we needed a soundtrack to get through the day. The habit continues. We are never too far from “the soundtrack of our lives.”

Audio streaming services are uncanny. Listen to a favorite album or playlist on a streaming service and, when the last cut is finished, the music goes on. The system has evaluated the mood and tone of the preceding numbers and simply changes the narrative by diving into the musical universe and continuing to select songs that fit the pattern. Artificial intelligence as program director.

I’ve previously noted the passing of long-time friend Peter Yarrow of Peter, Paul and Mary. The streaming service clearly, eerily seems to know this and, from time to time, pulls up a deep track from PP&M to remind, chide, enlighten, motivate or otherwise underscore a mood. I hadn’t heard (or thought about) their rendering of 75 Septembers, written by Cheryl Wheeler, for many years. Yet, there it was, straight off of the LifeLines album, bringing a coda to my ice cream cone encounter and being a plaintive challenge. 

“Are you more amazed at how things change,
Or how they stay the same?”

On to the next challenge. Will AI order my next ice cream cone for me? Does it know that I’m allergic to peanuts?