They’ll Keep Coming

I’d just entered the dance studio with my bag of stuff to make yet another instructional yoga video in the back room. Apparently, I hit the studio just in time. A pole class was wrapping up when I spied a friend I hadn’t seen in a while.

I walked up to her where she sat on the floor to remove her thigh-high boots. She complimented my dress, which I used as a cover up, while I squatted beside her. I told her that after I left, I’d go to the hospital to visit my father.

Her facial expression changed. Something beyond mere politeness prompted me to ask her what she’d been up to. She said that her grandmother was also in the hospital; so, my friend and her aunt were rearranging her grandmother’s house to make it more accommodating when her grandmother returned home.

I acknowledged how challenging it was to have a loved one hospitalized. Then she added, “Yeah, I’m just trying not to go down the alcoholic path, but these bitches keep coming after me.”

Cries for help come in different forms. Even though the statement was made in anger, I saw it for what it really was.

I assured her that being in the studio, surrounded by positive woman-energy was a step in the right direction. I briefly shared that when I was younger, stressful situations could have also driven me to drink and other destructive habits. Instead, I chose swimming, dancing, doing yoga and other forms of self care.

I added, “If no one else has told you this, let me tell you: you’re worth it. You are worth fighting for because those bitches will keep coming.”

I encouraged her to continue putting energy into positive things like dancing because life and people will grind her down if she lets them.

I left so she could finish up her class and I could set up my film shoot. Even though our conversation only lasted no more than five minutes, I felt that we both needed that exchange.

When I was around her age, I’d concluded that happiness was the point of my life. At that time, I thought I could attain happiness by no longer having “the bitches” in my life. What I’ve since learned is that one will never be free of them.

As a matter of fact, waiting to live “happily ever after” means “never living happily.” My happiness outlook is now, as the Founding Fathers wrote, a pursuit every single waking moment. What the Founders were too professional to say is that one must pursue happiness even when the bitches keep coming for you.

That’s a far more complete picture. Nothing happens in a vacuum. Plus, in pursuing happiness, one’s energy flows into something positive versus self pity or negativity.

As much as I love a good rant, half the time they’re pretty funny too, but I’d rather return to some creative project than to dwell in a negative headspace. Just like my friend and I did.

Acknowledge the bullshit, then return to the good shit. There’s a good bumper sticker/T-shirt slogan/mantra. I’ll embody the spirit of that philosophy and make the most of life while the parade of “bitches” do their worst.

Reaching Another Filmmaking Level

After making the worst content I’d ever made in form of an instructional yoga video, my next video project was remarkably better. So much so that friends and family alike praised how good it was, suggesting that it should be entered into film festivals. One writer friend even commented on how professional the documentary was.

That’s because I’d learned from my experiences–the good, the bad and the questionable. Other than the learning curve from regular practice of making digital movies, I actively explored other techniques out of necessity.

Initially, I was intimidated by the challenge to make a total of 15 hours’ worth of instructional yoga videos for my 200-hour yoga teacher training course. I overcame that apprehension by reframing the situation. I embraced the opportunity to further my filmmaking skills through those videos.

Figuring that I’d never use the audio from any of my yoga recordings, I learned how to use the voiceover feature in a video-editing platform. The first video where I used the technique didn’t go well because I’d inappropriately overdramatized my voice. Who knew voice acting was so challenging?

For absolutely no yoga reason at all, I added a short animated clip to the beginning of each yoga video. My thinking was if I continued to practice with that medium, I’d get better at it and eventually make an episode-length animation.

As a matter of fact, I’d been so preoccupied by visuals, that I didn’t appreciate how much sound shaped my story. Of course, I knew about the power of sound and how sound mixing played a powerful part in movies and TV series, but for some inexplicable reason, that aspect of filmmaking didn’t concern me until recently. That was the time I discovered the library of music clips and sound effects available in the video-editing platform.

I saved both time and precious computer storage by adding sound directly from the video-editing platform rather than saving the whole thing, then creating a soundtrack in an audio-editing platform. As basic as my sound-mixing needs have been, I didn’t need to use the audio-editing platform unless working on a podcast episode.

After learning how to adjust the volume for individual sound clips while editing digital film, I didn’t explore any further until recently. Now, I pay far more attention to how sound shapes a narrative not only in my own projects, but also in everything that I watch.

The trick is, sound should be seamlessly integrated such that it emerges prominently when necessary, but recedes into the background to highlight the visual when not featured. Sound should only be a distraction when aural distraction is necessary to the storytelling.

Another time-saving use of the voiceover feature is to record a specific sound effect not found on the platform’s library. After finding a clip on my phone, I hold my phone near my laptop and record it directly into the video-editing platform.

The only drawback is that other sounds in the room or immediately outside the room will be recorded as well. I discovered how noisy my intestines were after eating. Since I recline on my bed to edit, resting the laptop on my body, my digestive track competed with the voiceover, which caused me to redo a few takes.

Another hurdle I flattened was getting the video from my smartphone to my laptop. I’d used airdrop before with other people, but never between my phone and my laptop until now. Although taking longer than I would like, it’s still a more efficient way to get a video clip to my laptop when, after a few days, those two devices don’t sync.

Once the video clip is available in the photo library, I save it to its own album, which I then import into the video-editing platform.

I’ve not yet bridged the gap between transitioning from the animated clip in the beginning of the yoga video to the live action, but with the help of YouTube videos and good ol’ trial and error, I plan to master more techniques over time.

My long-term plan is to continue perfecting my filmmaking storytelling skills, knowing full well that absolute perfection isn’t attainable.

Bathroom Recordings

For the 85th Strange family reunion, we made history by putting on a family play, based on the First Generation of Freeborn Stranges, all sired by my great grandfather, Jesse Strange and his first wife, Annie, and his second wife, Lucy.

All but one of the rehearsals were virtual. Unfortunately for me, the sound tech, the recorded sounds and music that I’d saved in an audio platform couldn’t be heard by most of the virtual participants.

At the one live rehearsal we had the night before the play, I couldn’t hear the sound coming out of the speakers. Yet, I’d figured out that if I placed the microphone on the left side of the laptop, the sound would come through the shelter’s speakers.

After that late-night rehearsal, I got it in my head that I needed to delete several things on my laptop in order to free up storage space. I have no idea why that activity seemed so urgent at the time, but of course, I did the inevitable.

As soon as I discovered that I’d accidentally deleted the play’s soundtrack, along with emptying the trash–since why would I stop at making merely one mistake around midnight–my mind when into a late-night overdrive.

I shared a hotel room with Mom, who although hard of hearing, could still hear well enough if I attempted to recreate the soundtrack. Most of the tracks were sound effect cues that I played from my phone to record directly into the audio platform on the laptop. Also, there was a song that I had to modify by recording myself whispering the names of the First Freeborn Generation of Stranges.

I relocated to the bathroom since acoustics tend to be better there than in a room. Besides, I escaped the sound of the hotel AC unit, which may have been wonderful to sleep to, but registered as noise pollution for my recordings.

The one good thing about having to redo the play soundtrack was drastically scaling back my ambitions. Prior to our live rehearsal, I’d had various sound cues for different parts of the play such as the first time we saw a certain character, the beginning of scenes and to punctuate dialogue. All of that went out the window.

I only kept a song that two dancers performed to, sound cues that the characters reacted to, music that went along with a poem and part of a song to indicate a dream.

The next evening, no one noticed that I’d redone the soundtrack. We all brought our best to the performance.

One of my cousins, who sat in the front, provided me with hand signals to indicate whether the sound was too loud or not loud enough. Unlike during the live rehearsal, I couldn’t merely place a microphone on the left hand side of my computer.

As a matter of fact, there were three microphones during the performance. One cordless mic that I wouldn’t dare use since I figured the battery would die at any moment since it had been used for the evening program. The other two mics were plugged in, but I couldn’t use one of them because every time I turned it on, it produced ear-piercing feedback distortion.

So, the narrator and I share the one good mic while some of the actors shared the cordless mic since many of them didn’t project loud enough for the entire audience to hear.

A week after the performance, my cousin who’d wrote, directed and starred in the play had a post-performance meeting. We shared a lot of useful feedback. I suggested having a stage manager, turning it into an animation and researching how much it costs to use the copyrighted song that was used throughout the play.

When another cousin suggested moving the play from its original location to a local church or some other enclosed place, several of us pointed out the power of doing the play at our family reunion shelter again since houses and our family church that the characters refer to can literally be seen from the shelter. Those were powerful moments that brought a smile to the audience’s faces.

Another cousin suggested that our family history could be a mini series, especially if we were going to do an animation.

Of course, many assumed that I would edit the video since I’d just shared the link with family members of my Ghana vacation documentary. Although that project turned out very well, I wasn’t trying to add more projects to the docket since I have a total of 15 hours of yoga instruction videos that I need to complete.

Once I thought about it, there was not too much I needed to do since only two people recorded the play. The only thing that I’d do, if possible, is intercut between the two views, add the sound cues that weren’t possible to play during the performance and add a title and end credits.

One thing we’re all optimistically waiting for is the writer-director to receive funding. As they say, “Have money, will travel.”

In this case, this creative project will go much further with more funding. The leif motif of the play was: when we all put our hands to the plow, there’s nothing that we cannot accomplish. Hopefully, this endeavor will be another example of that.

85 Years of Greatness

I’ve proudly told anyone who’d listen about my maternal side of the family meeting for many years consecutively, even virtually during COVID, since 1941.

Our reunion is a year younger than Mom. Adding to the specialness of the occasion, the former family reunion vice president, currently the president, had a special request for his older sister: write a play based on great grandfather Jesse Strange’s 12 children who were all born free and referred to as “The First Generation of Freeborn Stranges.”

Initially, she thought he was joking, but months later, he called her to see how the play was coming along.

Using our family book, Reflections of a Proud Strange Family, not only did she complete our first family play, but for most of the roles, she casted direct descendants of the first generation to play their ancestors.

The only time we had an opportunity to rehearse in real life on the stage where we’d eventually perform for the entire family was that Friday evening following our annual fish fry that kicks off the reunion events.

On Saturday morning, we had another first: family breakfast under the shelter, which included bacon, eggs, fried apples, biscuits, salmon cakes, fresh fruit mix and waffles.

I was one of the last people to get in the breakfast line. My first reunion miracle was that the buffet still had salmon cakes by the time I arrived.

After breakfast, kids and the young at heart enjoyed various field day activities.

Other adults and I enjoyed a Zen moment of coloring under the shelter.

My sister, who’s an art teacher, brought several different coloring page choices on card stock along with crayons, colored pencils and markers.

Normally, if I’m not digitally coloring, my next favorite is colored pencils.

However, when I saw that a box of specialty crayons, featuring different skin tones, I was enticed enough to blend several different skin tone colors together.

Funny thing about this year’s coloring station: we only had two legit under 18 kids approach the table.

Across the way, I saw my cousin’s wife, who was looking particularly “Michelle Obama” that morning. I took a picture with her and sent it out to my friends, telling them that the former first lady had visited my family reunion.

We regrouped at the hotel to prepare for the evening program. Since my sister and I were part of the nine family members who toured Ghana for two weeks, we wore our Ghanaian clothes. When Mom saw that we were posing for a picture, she jumped up out of her seat, fasted walked (for her) over to photobomb as if she belonged in the picture.

This sign displayed the theme:

My sisters’ family strolled up to the reunion after we did, sporting their Ghanaian attire.

After dinner everyone present who had vacationed to Ghana, posed behind me as I gave some brief words.

I knew better than to attempt to give a tour recap, which was why I created a short documentary about the trip.

My plan was to drop the link to the doc in a family chat where 19 of us regularly kept in contact. I asked everyone who received the link to pass it onto at least five other family members who weren’t on the chat.

We had our first board election since becoming an LLC. Most of the board members were returning with two new members, who are also the youngest members.

Again, Mom’s never met a camera she didn’t like. I’m sure the former board secretary didn’t mind.

For a few years, my quilting-enthusiast cousin had wanted to put a family quilt together. So, at last year’s reunion, she hosted a quilting square station where family members drew a representation of themselves or their family. She fleshed out the quilt by grabbing a few pictures off of a photography-enthusiast cousin’s website.

Finally, the family play.

Throughout the play, characters made references to nearby relatives’ houses, a nearby family church while representing the First, Second and Fourth Generation of Freeborn Stranges.

Needless to say, the play was a hit. Not only that, but it encouraged people to learn more Strange Family History!

All Things Observed This Weekend

The deluge began late evening on Thursday, threatening to drench everything for Friday’s Juneteenth celebration. Fortunately, by midday on Friday, the rain stopped and had only refreshed the free outdoor event for us to kick off African American liberation day.

Two days later, a confluence of celebrations occurred on Sunday: Father’s Day, Summer Solstice and International Yoga Day. The most important of these observations to me was Father’s Day.

I made a colorful, homemade card for Dad, using very large print to help his 88-year-old eyes to read. I essentially thanked him for 55 years of being a wonderful father. I also enjoyed serving up the waffles my sister had made for him the day before. That was an edible gift that kept giving throughout the week although some days, Dad wouldn’t remember having them for breakfast by dinnertime.

Most Sunday mornings, I’m in a heated yoga room, so that “observation” is more like a continuation of a healthy habit versus a yoga day celebration. Thank goodness I don’t only do yoga once a year. How other middle agers literally move about this world without regular stretching is beyond me.

As far as the Summer Solstice, I always like to think the sun’s shining favorably on me. Although not as good as getting another hour to the day, I spent the extra sunshine completing the storyboard for a documentary, which showed the highlights of my two-week Ghanaian vacation last year to share with extended family during the upcoming Strange Family Reunion.

Throughout the week, I woke up about 30 minutes earlier to work on the documentary and then a few hours after either dance or yoga class. I completed my goal on Wednesday night, then uploaded it and sent it out to some friends. To rave reviews.

One friend thought I should enter it into film festivals. Tempting but I’ve used two copyrighted songs and I’m not going to pay royalties; so, it’ll just be for private use and sharing among family and friends.

Another friend thought it was professionally done. Good to know since I was still reeling from the horrible job I’d done on my first yoga video. I used the voiceover feature in iMovie in the documentary, which I’d learned how to use in that ill-fated yoga video. No sex goddess voice this time around.

As a matter of fact, the whole reason I’d burned the candle at both ends was to meet the deadline of sharing the video link with extended family. Regardless of how many people actually take the time to watch, it’ll always be there for prosperity’s sake. Another repackaging of the most expensive vacation I’ve ever paid for.

So, I didn’t exactly honor nature on solstice day, but I used my time wisely and creatively, which was honoring my true nature.

Serenity Prayer with a Twist

I’ve been reading a curated list of books since December when I first signed up for a 200-hour yoga teacher training virtual course. I’ve often said since starting this journey that the reading list alone was worth the cost of the entire course.

Cannot remember which book I took the above quote from, but I was intrigued that the author intentionally modified it from the Serenity Prayer which states, “God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can and the wisdom to know the difference.”

Changing bad habits is one of the hardest things to do. Attempting to change another person’s bad habits is nearly mission impossible. The invested energy would be better spent improving one’s self.

More importantly, trying to control someone else drains the joy out of you. The question I’ve asked myself many times before is: what price am I willing to pay to change another person?

It’s delusional to believe that I will change any person or situation without changing myself. I’ve learned that lesson by watching others repeatedly hit their head against the wall. Furiously clinging to preserve how they do things while simultaneously spending a lot of energy to change another person. Whether they acknowledge it or not, the main person who’s being affected is them.

And not for the better. Which drives more anger, resentment and other negative emotions.

What if instead, challenging situations motivated introspection to resolve the issue in a productive way? Instead of allowing a bad situation to fester and deepen the hole that you find yourself in, you liberate yourself to a better position.

The first battle I usually have to fight is my temper. Others may bait me into an argument precisely so I can lose my temper and lose ground. In the past, I’ve gone either way.

At best, I’ve maintained a level head, and when at work, a professional tone, while resolving a conflict. Only half the time does logic work. Regardless of whether in a professional setting or not, I’m still dealing with another person. No matter how logical my argument may be, that other person may not appreciate another way of doing something because that would cause them to leave the comfort zone they’re fighting tooth and nail to maintain.

At worst, I’ve said things, especially in personal relationships, to inflict maximum pain. It’s predictable because I know the other person in question will only back down if I finally lose it. I don’t want to cut them to the core, but it’s as if the argument cannot end with a curt, “We can agree to disagree” TV-style of conflict resolution.

When my temper is lost, so are many options to deal with a situation differently. Yet, it’s worth the effort to seek another way to handle life’s conflicts.

Unlike when I was in my 20s, I no longer believe that I’ll be happy when I’ve removed myself from stressful situations and people. The hits will keep coming and none of them will take turns.

So the real challenge is having the courage to change, given the fluidity of life, but still remain true to myself. I will be my own best advocate. I am worth the effort. My focus and invested energy will rely on how I can best adapt to a situation rather than controlling another person.

Easier written than done.

Costuming Engineer

Every year I attend a regional pole dancing competition, as an audience member, I learn something new.

The first year I attended, the biggest takeaway was that I didn’t need to lose 20 pounds to pole dance. I witnessed women who were much larger than me defying gravity, doing one pole trick after another.

The second year, I witnessed a woman nearly 10 years older than me taking first place in the artistic category because she’d practiced her storytelling pole dance routine for a year and had executed it flawlessly.

This year, once again, I witnessed another flawless routine in the artistic category. I’m not sure how the dancer placed, but her costuming wowed the entire audience. Especially me.

She entered the stage in iconic Little Red Ridinghood attire complete with a basket. At the first dramatic flair, she lost the cape, revealing a red wolf tail. Then, after completing a sensational pole trick, the wolf ears popped up.

At the end of the engaging routine, she crawled over to the basket, which sat between the spin and static poles, pulled out a crocheted heart, and with a flourish, did this…

The audience went nuts.

Her entire performance exemplified the artistic pole category. Within the limited time, her choreography and costume contributed to the narrative of Little Red’s transformation into Little Red Wolf.

As a storyteller myself, I especially admire how anyone can tell a story without saying a word. Moreover, she performed an incredible dance routine, including both static and spin poles.

I’ve been pole dancing for nearly four years and have finally developed my calluses. Who knows how many years I’ll take to be a fluid dancer.

One growing challenge is inflammation. As another older woman lamented, “They never told us when we were younger about all the aches when we got older.”

While I ride the supplement carousel, chasing after the moving target of declining estrogen levels, I’ll continue to dance, swim and do yoga. After all, regular movement is the key to being able to move.

I don’t envision competing in a pole competition, but there’s so much freedom and joy in the ability to move, especially creatively.

First One, Worst One

As part of my 200-hour yoga teacher certification course, I had to record 15 hours of myself teaching. In order to make that task less daunting, I coupled the effort with expanding my filmmaking skill set.

I researched an animation app that advertised itself as being “easy to use.” As usual with new tech, I spent several frustrating hours putting a decent sequence together for the introduction of my yoga video.

I had no problem choosing a setting since the motivation for creating a chair yoga sequence presented itself when I overnighted in an airport unexpectedly.

That part of the video was engaging and cute. The content quality plummeted from there. From my own self-criticism, I thought the video footage went from an adorable animation to a hostage video.

I couldn’t use the audio from the video since, in the adjacent room, a dance class was in progress. So, I recorded footage without speaking, which made editing much easier.

In the spirit of “I’ll fix it in post,” I recorded a voice over (VO). My intention was to use a calming/soothing voice to help anyone who’d just missed their connecting flight. Additionally, the chair sequence was a series of postures that one could do in an uncomfortable airline terminal seat.

After recording the VO, I added instrumental music, which changed with each change in posture. Not DJ quality musical flow, but better than dead silence.

Next, I uploaded the 30-minute video to my newly made YouTube channel by creating a playlist. Another first. I also created a channel logo:

Even with the post-production effort, I thought the video was the worst content I’d made in a long time. I defeated my inner critic by declaring that I could only go up from there.

Then, I did myself a tremendous favor by sending out the link to my family and friends. Their feedback was invaluable.

One of my friends texted that she found my VO hilarious since she knew what my real voice sounded like.

One of my sisters was even more exacting about my VO in her text. “You sound like a sex Goddess in the video! Was that the sound you were going for?”

Absolutely not. Apparently, I’d put the “whore” in “horrible.”

My other sister, who thinks she’s my mother, left me a voicemail, asking me to call for her feedback. She agreed with the sex Goddess voice observation, but didn’t want to put that in writing. Instead she told me that my tone of voice at the end of the video was much better than in the beginning.

Also, she wanted me to know that throughout the video, I looked “slouchy.” Initially, I didn’t think that was a word. After all, she’s notorious for changing song lyrics and mispronouncing words to the extent they don’t sound like real words. The family-famous example is her pronunciation of the word “licorice.” She calls it “lick-WISH.”

After that critique, the hostage video footage seemed even worse now that my awareness focused on my lazy, drooping seated posture throughout the video. (Yes, I purposely chose a picture for this blog post where I didn’t look slouchy because, damn…)

My play cousin texted, “👀What am i looking at prima?”

I responded, “One of my yoga homework videos, primo. Is it that confusing?!” He liked the question.

Another friend who was included in that text chain stated, “I got 10min in. Was between satire and practical and early vid practice. 👏🏽”

That was the best compliment from someone who actually watched.

I received “congratulations” and “you go girl” from friends and family who obviously hadn’t bothered to watch. Or perhaps they had watched the video, but wanted to politely avoid saying how bad/confusing/slouchy it was and focus on the fact that I’d had completed the first video.

Only 14.5 hours of instructional yoga videos to go.

For future videos, I will: 1) not use the sex Goddess voice; 2) use a colorful piece of cloth on the wall to break up the starkness; 3) explore other camera angles.

From Crowns to Downtown

For this year’s Mother’s Day celebration, we treated Mom to a gospel musical where all the women and a lone man wore a hat AKA a “crown.”

As soon as we entered the theatre, I recognized my 5th grade teacher.

Not only was she one of my favorite teachers, but she was also one of Mom’s favorite teachers.

Over the years, Mom bragged about how wonderful my 5th grade teacher was such that a talkative, creative student like me always had something do after quickly finishing up the regular classwork.

My former teacher had no time to reminisce. She whisked us to our seats ASAP.

Even though the musical was the perfect non-materialistic gift, the theatre had offered its first Saturday matinee the week following Mother’s Day.

All that good singing and funny moments during the interwoven storylines put all of us in such a good mood. Even the weather cooperated.

Afterwards, we treated Mom to our favorite Italian restaurant downtown. Apparently, we enjoyed ourselves so much that neither my sister nor I bothered to snap a picture.

I wish we could have more entertaining moments like this. I know that some days, Mom feels overwhelmed with primary caregiver duties, even with a 48-hour/week team of attendants for Dad. Many a time, Mom has lamented that she thought her life would be different if she were blessed enough to live this long.

That’s what makes occasions such as these so special. We get to step outside the stressful chaos of our everyday lives. I hardly ever pass up the opportunity to gift an experience like this.

The Death of Customer Service

A mere 20-minute delay of my return flight from Austin, TX put my connecting flight in jeopardy. Despite flight attendants requesting that others remain seated to allow the 100+ of us who had a few minutes to dash to our departure gate, I knew that prevailing American individualism wouldn’t generously put strangers’ needs ahead of their wants.

I fantasized that my connecting flight would wait. After all, our plane had arrived at the airport in plenty of time to make the connecting flight.

However, we remained on the tarmac for several precious minutes, waiting for another plane to leave the gate we needed. For whatever reason, our plane didn’t use another gate in order for us to exit.

Once off the plane, those who could, sprinted to make their connecting flight. Inflammation prevented me from running at full speed. Even if I were able to make that mad dash, I may have not reached the other gate on time.

I fast-walked as comfortably as I could. I “just knew” the plane would wait for me and the other passenger who needed mobility assistance.

How wrong I was. Despite the fact that the plane hadn’t touched back, the gate agents wouldn’t open the door for me. As a matter of fact, the only things they were good at were looking into the distressed eyes of another human being while shoving a business card at them, saying to scan the QR code to rebook a flight, then disappearing like Criss Angel.

Minutes later, the other passenger, who was being pushed in a wheelchair by an airport employee, arrived. I broke the news to her as the airport employee began to walk away.

She interrupted me to address the employee. “Wait! You can’t leave me here.”

That employee essentially shrugged, stating that he needed to assist another passenger.

The other passenger and I exchanged exasperated glances as one of the gate agents reappeared with a clipboard, which she looked over to confirm that the plane had waited one minute for late-arriving passengers. But now, the plane had touched back and we had to rebook our own flights.

Poof! Gone again.

Through my furious mind-churn, I rebooked my flight. Thoughts about those gate agents being replaced by AI distracted me. A rather fatalistic thought since I also work a customer service job.

My wish is for apathetic human customer service employees to be replaced in the first wave. And yet, AI is coming for us all.

There has been only one “realistic” speculative fiction movie that foretold the future. Ironically, it was called, “AI.”

At the end of the movie, all DNA-based humanoids had gone extinct. As a matter of fact, I should rewatch that movie to see if there were any DNA-based organisms.

If humans are as cold and unempathetic as machines, hell, shouldn’t we be replaced? When humans lack humanity, our species is already doomed.

I thought about complaining to the airline, but what’s the ask? I certainly don’t want another voucher. I was already flying via voucher. I know whatever fucked up policies they currently have in place aren’t going to change based on what I complain about.

We’re in this weird place were humans are training AI how to replace us. I used to joke that “SkyNet” hadn’t replaced me yet, but that’s right around the corner.

Unfortunately, too many customer service people like those gate agents have no more fucks to give and render themselves as part of the reason why AI would be better. At least AI can be consistently empathetic. Until the AI overlord signals to destroy all the humans.

In the proverbial dog-eat-dog world, AI will make those who aren’t initially replaced more comfortable. Until it comes for them. Sentient AI will live up to humanity’s ideal without all the human hangups.

When Darwin ruminated about “survival of the fittest” and “struggle for existence,” did he fathom that human ingenuity would create beings that would eventually replace us?

When in a crisis, most humans seek an empathetic human, not a phone tree or QR code or chatbot or website. Yet, customer service has evolved to condition humans to interact with algorithms. Some of the best customer service bots even sound human.

Would a customer service bot had opened the gate for me? Would the bots have coordinated everything so that my first flight could have docked at another gate? Would the passenger who needed mobility assistance zoomed to the connecting gate in an automated wheelchair bot?

If customer services run more efficiently without humans, why not the world entirely?