Assistive Technology

I woke this morning to the alarming news, via push-notification, from the NY Times that A.I. chatbots are forcing educators to rethink how we teach. The article explained that ChatGPT, the popular chatbot released by OpenAI in early December 2022, is able to answer questions and compose text in such an effective way as to pose a threat to traditional homework assignments. This bot can do math problems, research questions, and write essays all in simple and disarmingly-human sounding sentences. 

Suddenly eager to find out more about this technology which has been only on the periphery of my attention until now, I clicked to another recent article from the Times, which had 10 writing samples and challenged readers to identify them as either the work of a real student or a chatbot. The authors had asked a fourth-grade teacher; a professional writing tutor; a Stanford education professor; and Judy Blume, to see if they could tell which was which. None of them was right every time. I got 9 out of 10.

My next stop was the bot itself, which, not surprisingly with all its recent media attention was over capacity. I had to try several times before I could set up an account and start playing with it. The wait was absolutely worth it, though. When I finally got on, I tested several questions and prompts related to our current essay unit, trying to see what my students might find, if they knew where to look. 

The bot and I had some interesting exchanges about the characters in "Thank You M'am" and "Raymond's Run", but it was flat out wrong about more than a couple of its assertions about Squeaky. That made me feel better, and it was just fabricating ideas about the main character in the story "Vanquishing the Hungry Chinese Zombie". It misgendered her and spat out a bunch of hooey about saving her village, which was very similar to the patently wrong information it included in a claim about the character of Spark in "Bouncing the Grinning Goat". I literally laughed out loud at how wrong the dumb bot was.

So there was that quantum of solace, but as I thought more about my students, I focused on the one kid who won't write about any of the assigned stories for a variety of reasons, and I wondered if I could get the bot to tailor a story to his penchants. Well. It was a learning curve, and I required the bot to give me at least 15 revisions, none of which were perfect. I was able, however to stitch together a tale of 1500 words or so that has a character he may find relatable, and who accomplishes something he might find admirable, but with methods that are unquestionably unethical. That's a claim waiting to happen-- do the ends justify the means?

The writing? Is not remarkable, despite my instructions to add dialogue and figurative language, which the bot did. What the composition lacks is concrete details and present actions; it tells instead of shows, and I did not have the desire to revise for artistry. 

On the other hand, I cannot wait to see what this conundrum of a kid thinks of the story, which, by the way, is called "The Ends and the Means" by A. I. Chabeaux. Clearly, there will be a part 2 to this blog post, if not that story.

Cursed

The Bills were ahead by a hard-fought 10 points at the end of the third quarter when we stood up to go. We were at friends', celebrating their dog's birthday and the NFL playoffs, as well as getting in some baby time with their adorable 10-month-old.

"What?" asked our host. "You can't go now! There's still the whole fourth quarter to go!"

"I have some school work to do," Heidi apologized.

"Plus?" I added, "you don't really want Heidi anywhere around this football game. She's a jinx!"

His eyes widened and Heidi laughed. "It's true," she admitted, "the Bills never win when I watch."

"Well, thanks for coming," he said. "See you later!"

Kaboomcha

I knew right what it was the moment the sound of glass exploding in the kitchen rang out like a gunshot. 

Back when we lived in Saudi Arabia in the 1970s all alcoholic beverages were illegal, as they still are today. But like any prohibition, this ban encouraged all sorts of bootlegging. Despite being punishable by deportation or public flogging, many folks made wine, brewed beer, and distilled moonshine from sugar water, which was called sadiki, or "my friend". 

My mother was among the brewers and vintners, mixing batches of malt syrup, hop pellets, and yeast, or grape juice, fruit, and yeast in large trash cans in the shower of an unused bathroom off the kitchen of our villa. Then she would bottle her concoctions, reusing the ceramic capped liter bottles that the grape juice came in and set them on their sides in racks to finish fermenting.

Sometimes the beer would get a little too fizzy, and unless the bottles were burped, they might explode. Then there would be a mess of beer and glass to clean up, but since they were in a shower already, the job was relatively easy. Even so, such mishaps could have been dangerous, and my mom took care to avoid them.

As for the product itself, I wasn't a drinker back then, and I don't really remember how it was. My dad was always very complimentary, but of course it was his only option, and so there was that. It seemed like guests at the parties my parents had enjoyed their drinks, too. My mother never sold her beer and wine, nor did my parents make it a practice to offer it to any of their Arab acquaintances, and so they stayed out of trouble.

This month I'm kicking off my year of holidays from twelve things I might enjoy a little too regularly by joining the loads of people practicing dry January. It has been an adjustment not to reach for a beer or a glass of wine at the end of each day, and the non-alcoholic versions of those drinks I've tried have been disappointing. 

When Heidi was going vegan we learned early on that it's often best not to substitute the things you can't have, but rather to enjoy those you can. In that spirit, I've been looking for alternative beverages to drink while I'm cooking or with dinner. So far, my favorite is switchel, that traditional refresher that New England farmers drank while working in the field. My version is a mixture of apple cider vinegar, ginger, maple syrup, and lime, and it is smashing when added to sparkling water.

I also decided to order some cultures and brew my own Kombucha and water kefir. I've never been a big fan of the "buch", but I figured if I make my own I can fix it the way I like it. As for water kefir, I'd actually never heard of this probiotic drink, but it seemed easy enough to ferment in a mason jar with just a little sugar and water. Where kombucha takes a month, water kefir is ready in a few days; you just strain out the culture and add juice or other flavorings to the liquid. Then you bottle that in a swing-top and let it develop a little fizz.

My first batch was sumo mandarine and vanilla, and when I checked it after a day on the counter, there was a little gas in the bottle, but the kefir itself wasn't effervescent at all. I resolved not to burp it for a day or two, to encourage the CO2 to carbonate the liquid.

And that's what exploded in the kitchen this morning. It's been nearly 50 years, but it's not a sound you ever forget. 

When we ran in to survey the damage, it became clear how lucky we were that neither of us or any of our pets had been in there when the bottle blew. There was glass as far away as the living room, and chards all over the kitchen counters, stove, and floor. The bottle had been standing right where I usually set my cutting board, and I had been cooking there not even an hour before. If it had burst then? I could have been blinded or worse.

And so I cleaned the mess up not in anger or frustration, but gratitude. We were all fine, and there's even another batch of water kefir in another bottle on the counter, where it will be burped at least twice a day, and then consumed or refrigerated promptly.

A Character with Character

As part of the essay project, today students had to analyze the character of their choice and come up with some character traits and write them on an anchor chart posted on the wall. Since my story was one of the options, the teenaged-me is one of the characters they could choose. 

Based on the evidence in the text, the young scholars found me (or the me in the story, which took place 45 years ago) to be responsible, trustworthy, clever, bossy, controlling, smart, funny, manipulative, dishonest, mean, forgiving, cooperative, evil, quick-witted, sensible, and, (my two personal favorites)

nimble

and

relentless!

News to Him

A friend and colleague stopped by for a short chat this afternoon. "Do you all have any plans for the long weekend?" I asked him.

"Charlie wants to go the zoo," he told me about his 4-year-old son. 

"That should be fun," I said.

"He wanted to see the dinosaurs," he laughed, "so my wife had a little talk with him last week to explain that the dinosaurs are extinct."

"I'm sure he was disappointed," I laughed, too.

"And sad!" my friend said. "I came home from work and he was all upset. 'Daddy! A meteor hit the dinosaurs,' he told me. 'They're all gone, so they don't have any at the zoo.'"

Thank You Kids!

As a way to get my students to think about the short story selections they have been reading to prepare for their argument essay, the warm-up question today was to name their favorite so far. It is not false humility for me to report that I was shocked at how many students chose the story that I had written. 

For the second year in a row, I included the short memoir as an option, and I also read it out loud to each of my classes. But that was last week, and coming back today after two days out for Heidi's eye surgery, I had almost forgotten that it was one of the choices. The young writers in my class had not forgotten though, and when the final tally was complete, my story had garnered more votes than the other 9 combined! 

The competition wasn't shoddy either; it included the likes of Shannon Hale, Eve Bunting, Jack Gantos, Jacqueline Woodson, and even Langston Hughes. I spent the day shaking my head and blushing a little-- I know I have the advantage of proximity and familiarity, but it never hurts to get a little validation and appreciation.

HeidiVision

"Can you see the lines in the clouds?" Heidi asked me on the way to her follow-up appointment for her eye surgery. And when I nodded she continued, "The sky used to just look gray to me, but now I see each individual cloud!"

I was elated by her gratitude at her newly restored vision. Her cataracts had been getting progressively worse over the last decade, but neither of us really appreciated how bad they had become. 

At the doctor's office they did a routine vision check, which she passed handily. "Can you read the number at the bottom of the screen?" the PA asked. 

"20/20?" Heidi replied. 

"That's right!" he told her. "Wanna try the next one?"

And she got many of them right! So for the rest of the day, in addition to her amazement at the clarity of all she can see, she's been telling everyone, "And my vision is better than 20-20!"