How well have computers been taught to jump out of the system? [...] In a computer chess tournament not long ago in Canada, one program – the weakest of the competing ones – had the unusual feature of quitting long before the game was over. It was not a very good chess player, but it at least had the redeeming quality of being able to spot a hopeless position, and to resign then and there, instead of waiting for the other program to go through the boring ritual of checkmating. (GEB, page 37)
The important part is about knowing when to quit (not being the weakest in the pack – that’s the old man Dennis and he doesn’t know where he is let alone when to quit and go to the old people’s home).
The other day in the mango paddock, about 10 minutes back from afternoon smoko, Executive Picker Michael decided to pay me a visit and tell me of for my inefficient crate packing techniques. He could have politely educated me about his more efficient packing technique, but instead opted to give me an earful about how slowly I was going, how far behind the rest of the team I was, how it looked like I didn’t want to be there, how I was a failure and disgrace and that government taxes were bleeding him dry. Or something like that.
I cool headedly pointed out that unlike him, I was cleaning out the guts of a very thick tree, with long handled pickers, and had my previous trees had been much the same, thus explaining why I appeared to be behind. Robin came to my aid telling Michael that he was full of it, but I walked off to get a new crate and that was it.
But Michael’s always right.
This morning, Executive Picker Michael decided that I needed to have a watchful eye kept on me, and that the best eye for that was one of the ones in his eye socket. I ended up in the row of trees next to him – it was an equal setting, I kept up with everyone else and he had nothing to say. However, towards the end of the morning he initiated communications with me. I obliged. At first it was something about nuclear bombs, then it was global warming and carbon emissions. He likened aeroplanes and cars and pollution to elephants and canaries shitting in his back yard. “If I got one big fuckin elephant in my garden shitting everywhere and one canary doing little canary shits, and then if I wanna get rid of the shit in my garden, who’s gunna go first – the elephant or the canary?”
Have you one of these in your garden?
I pointed out that planes are comparable to – if not more efficient over long distances than – the same amount of people driving to their destination in individual cars, plus cargo on top of that, and thus the choice in his garden would have been between an elephant and an extended family of hundreds of canaries. Some quick research reveals that an Airbus A380 uses 3 litres of fuel for each passenger, per 100km travelled. Give or take 2 litres and you get a range representative of most commercial jets. A Subaru Forester – not the most economical model, but similar to the one my parents drive, uses 9.6 litres of fuel per 100km (1-5 passengers – competition with the plane really depends on how many people would fit inside). But you know what they say – lies, damned lies and statistics, and it’s not like I’ve researched this in depth. Don’t quote me.
Back to the mango picking. Before I knew it, we were talking about politics. I was warned previously not to go there… but it was too late by the time I realised. Superannuation, taxes, government hoopla, bureaucracy, Telstra charging line rental when the lines are down. The price of fish in China. And more. I was just getting carried away with the light mango-paddock (ie, meaningless) conversation, but before I knew it Michael was swearing and shouting.
Afterwards, according to Michael’s son Aaron, I had him really worked up and that he’d remain that way for a couple of hours, if not the rest of the day. Oops. I didn’t know that anyone could get so worked up over mango-paddock conversation. It’s like yelling at someone when you ask how the weather’s been and they say it’s been rainy. Aaron explains that Michael is only ever looking for agreement in a conversation, that nothing’s worth arguing because he’s always right, that Michael believes he’s had a hard life and he’s been the recipient of multiple injustices, and that he’s unwilling to consider the other viewpoint. Now that, folks, is a good understanding of one’s father.
Michael losing his temper didn’t bother me, but I apologised quietly to the other workers just in case they copped anything from his bad mood. Robin tells me there are plenty of past workers that won’t come back to the farm until Michael’s gone.
At the end of the day, Michael’s whole off-and-on, happy-angry business is just a game. The Michael Game. I’ll play by the rules and try to keep the peace as long as I can. Some can live with him, but if I have had enough of Michael, I’ll quit. The attitude’s called, ‘Take No Shit’. If that means that he ‘wins’ when I leave, then so be it – I’ll just get another job, hopefully without stressful idiots like him.
On my first day, Michael told me he is often hard to get along with, but really he’s a good bloke. I’m sorry Michael, but it’s not really up to you to decide if you’re a good bloke or not. Maybe all he needs is a good triangle.
Now dear readers, I’m sorry if you think you’ve navigated by accident to Bitch and Whine Centeral, but in all honesty this is the most interesting news I can give you for the time being. I told you life on the mango farm wouldn’t be very insightful, and here’s the supporting evidence.
We have slight drizzle, thunder and lightning. I want a bit more action here, but it’s not bad for November.
My sister’s just signed herself up to facebook. I pre-emptively blocked her (for the time being) so that she doesn’t take things from my wall and blow them out of proportion to tease me. I also spied on her with VNC, and in the process witnessed a girl with potential for intellignece writing like an idiot with ‘lol’ and what have you mercilessly scattered throughout. As if she doesn’t waste enough time in front of the mirror already.
