The Skeeter Daddle Diaries

Some of you Old Timers out here today might remember when, in 2007, Sno-Isle Libraries established a pilot library here at Terry’s Corner, I guess to see how many of us Camano residents were literate or not. And if enuff of us were, maybe run a vote to see if we deserved a real library. I got plenty of friends who think libraries are obsolete now that we got Google and Wikipedia and pretty soon Artificial Intelligence, why waste money on books? In 2013, 76 of those folks lost us the bond to build that new library, close but no cigar. Same thing happened in Stanwoodopolis about the same time.

Our library was originally a restaurant with a small bar where the childrens’ reading room is now. I lobbied hard to keep the bar, figuring some of my naysaying pals might swing their votes if they could drink at the new library. Great ideas don’t always win, I guess.

Well, Camanoites are a stubborn tribe. When Sno-Isle put that bond before the taxpayers a second time, all kinds of volunteers came out of the woodwork to canvas the community, see what they thought a library ought to be here and hopefully get out the vote. A lot of you volunteers are out here today to celebrate the success of that bond measure. All part of the same volunteerism that built the State Park and the Senior Center and the Visitor Center and the kids’ playground behind us. It takes a community to raise a library.

So thank you all for making this library a reality. I mean, after all, if we didn’t build libraries, how could folks ask to ban books? So let’s ignore the fire ban and move on to the purpose of this gathering, which the band misunderstood ——- no guyz, it’s not a book burning, it’s a bond burning. Just be glad it’s not a band burning is what I told them. And on a personal note here: couldn’t you folks at Sno-Isle reconsider keeping that bar?

[podcast]https://www.skeeterdaddle.net/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/audio-American-Accountant-Audition.mp3[/podcast]audio — American Accountant Audition

Billy Nashville was wailing on a red Gibson he’d put stick-on gold letters up the body that read B-I-L-L-Y  S-I-X G-U-N. His real name, William Cosnosczski, wouldn’t fit in neon, he claimed, so he changed it to a stage name he thought better suited to his debut in Nashville. None of us figured Billy had ever owned a gun, certainly never shot one, but Billy 6-Gun only had to write ballads of bad marriages, drunken brawls, truck driving romance, heavy drinking and hard living. He didn’t know anything about those either and Nashville wasn’t waiting for him to learn, not when most of the songwriters came in from Hard Rock County, Tennessee or Whisky Creek, Kentucky, practically born with a guitar in their pudgy little hands and bottle fed Jack Daniels.

Poor Billy grew up in Olympia, Washington, then ended up on the South End when his parents moved here, not exactly an early retirement. We all thought maybe his Daddy shoulda gone to Nashville. With or without a 6 string.

Billy 6 Gun or Billy Nashville or William G. Cosnosczki, he wasn’t half bad on that cherry red Flying V Gibson. The trouble is, half the damn males in America aren’t half bad either. And some of them write decent songs. And every now and then, one of them looks good on stage. Unlike Billy …

Music is like any art medium, it’s hard — very hard — to make enough money to keep above water while you learn the ropes. And trust me, there are ropes. Some to hang yourself by, but some to swing to another level. If we made accountants work this hard for so little money, well … maybe this would be a world filled with song instead of one painted by numbers. Just my opinion, of course. Not based on scientific data. Or even much research.

Billy still plays the open mike down at the South Grange every Wednesday night. He’s talking about a Try-Out with American Idol. Good luck, Billy, I say. Just don’t be too disappointed. Don’t quit playing, don’t quit singing. And if you ever get despondent, consider this: there is no, and never will be, an American Accountant. Because, really, why would anyone with a soul care? Just my opinion. Of course.

Maybe you’ve been feeling a little lonely lately. Friends are busy, boyfriend or girlfriend has broken up with you, work is now done remotely, the nights are long and binge-watching Netflix with a bottle of wine doesn’t cut it anymore. What’s a person to do? Well, Zuckerberg and his tech pals have the answer. An AI companion. A chatbot that knows your innermost thoughts and secrets, a bestie when your bestie has abandoned you, always just a click away, happy to listen to your problems and offer sympathy and advice. What’s not to like?

Sure, the tech companies are going to profit from this but c’mon, like Zuck says, this is better than being lonely, it’s being connected. So what if your new romantic Artificial Intelligence partner also gives your information to the home office? Just going to offer you some products to enhance your relationship probably. Nothing to worry about really. And those critics who predict most of us will soon have a chatbot buddy to lean on in times of trouble, well, maybe they have plenty of pals and a loving spouse, easy for them to be disdainful.

Back in the primitive days pre-Covid and definitely pre-AI, we lonely hearts could get a dog or a cat for companionship, assuming our landlord would allow a pet on the premises. But you had to feed the furry friend and you had to walk it and you had to clean the litter box and if you wanted to take a vacation you had to find a sitter or put Fido in a kennel. Your AI friend, none of that mess and clutter and bother. And let’s be honest with one another here, a spouse can be a trial too. Nagging, demanding, impossible expectations, forgotten anniversaries … well, you know what I mean. They didn’t dream up divorce laws for chuckles. But a romantic bot partner, now we’re talking. A romantic hot bot more like it. Sure, it’ll be addictive but who cares, right? Your choice if you want a porn partner but my guess is 99%. Say goodbye to those lonely nights and say hello to your new friend. Probably worth every penny of the monthly subscription.

I heard a study recently that said the poor are more charitable than the rich. On average they give almost twice as much of their income percentage-wise to those in need than their wealthier brethren. They also volunteer more for charities and non profits, service groups and outreach programs. Basically, if my sociology statistical studies are still in semi-working order, this proves, not quite conclusively but damn close, the South End is way more philanthropic than our neighbors up yonder ensconced behind their key carded gated communities.

I had a friend tell me in all seriousness awhile back (in regard to my bemusement over her financial plight at the time) that a million dollars just wasn’t what it used to be. What exactly do you say to a pronouncement like that? Do you work out the math of inflation vs. income? Do you shrug your overburdened shoulders and just agree? Or do you take pity and offer up a loan …. you know, to get her by until that devalued million dollars returns to its rightful place in the economy?

These are tough times. Especially, I guess, for the rich. Or, more aptly, the folks who no longer count themselves among the Gatsbys of Camano. Their stocks have slipped, the value of their two homes has dropped, their retirement funds seem inadequate now, even their hedge fund broker refuses to return their frantic calls — that vast chasm between Us and Them looks like a ditch, not a Grand Canyon. And if sacrifices must be made — and believe me, they must — a little less giving to the needy is definitely the order of the day.

Meanwhile, down here on the Lower Tiers, we kind of see we’re all in this together. So we still donate, we still volunteer and we still give. We don’t have much, but it never seemed too little somehow. Even though a hundred dollars isn’t what it used to be.

While I’ve been rehabbing my new titanium knee replacement, I’ve been reading a lot. Currently I’m reading ‘Careless People’, tell-all from one of the insiders back when Facebook was just getting started. If you aren’t already totally cynical about social media and the demise of democracy, this will darken your day … and any sunny expectations for the future.

These people, Zuckerberg and his very few cohorts, were setting up an internet connection service. You know, stay in touch with your friends and family, maybe your co-workers, all in pursuit of open communication. But as usual, like Dylan said, ‘until greed got in the way.’ Greed and power and egoes. Turns out you can make a lot more profit if you provide misinformation, bot fake news and click bait. You can also swing elections. Not just in third wold countries but right here in the Yew Ess Aye.

I suspect Facebook is no different than Twitter or X, the Washington Post under Bezos, Google, Microsoft, all these tech boyz with socially stunted personalities still playing video games but now the riches yahoos on earth. Adolescent geniuses who now rule the world, who control the strings of power, who mostly want more More MORE, damn the cost to society. Atlas Shrugged — bow down to the captains of industry, the job creators, the developers of Artificial Intelligence. They avoid taxes, they have no loyalty to nations, they’re above the laws of mere mortals.

Back here on earth, I live across the road from Microsoft’s head of AI. Helluva nice guy. The other morning I heard him interviewed on NPR, talking about the positives of AI, how it could create a better battery six times faster than us humans, maybe not me, which would be 1000 times faster. Plenty of folks working for these companies would tell you they’re creating a better world, a connected world, curing diseases, eliminating drudge work, dreaming the future. They’ve got their hands on the throttle. And their boot on our necks. Us mere humans don’t stand a chance.