Tag Archives: diminish

As an Avid Introvert, I Fear AI May Diminish My Joy in Human Connection – Emma Beddington

Posted on by
Reply

THe faces depression: As reported by The Cut, individuals are turning to AI to crack escape room puzzles and manipulate trivia nights. Is this not the essence of spoiling one’s enjoyment? “It’s akin to entering a corn maze with the intent of taking a straight path to the exit,” remarked a TikToker featured in the article. There are conversations with passionate readers who rely on ChatGPT to substitute book clubs and source “enlightening opinions and perspectives.” Everything was pleasant until a character’s demise disrupted the fantasy saga he was savoring (though, in truth, that seems rather grim).

Conversely, Substack appears to be filled with AI-produced essays. This New Blog platform is a vibrant hub for passionate creators to showcase their writings. Handing that off to a bot feels like peak absurdity. Will Storr, who delves into storytelling, examines this unexpected trend and its implications. In his own Substack, he discusses the phenomenon of “impersonal universalism,” wherein grand statements may sound profound but fall flat. “Insight possesses a universality akin to white noise, wrapped in an unsettling vagueness that can cloud our thoughts,” he observes.

I find it puzzling how anyone can derive pleasure from using extensive language models (LLMs) to appear vaguely “intelligent” or engage in AI-altered hobbies. Yet, I believe this isn’t an existential threat posed by AI. It is crucial that we savor our experiences. Let robots take our jobs, but they shouldn’t steal our joy. I’m not here to dictate how others should find pleasure—I’m no authority on fun. If I were to teach you, it might very well come across like an AI-generated Substack (embracing nature, chatting with strangers, enjoying moments with loved ones). Yet, I often reflect on what genuinely makes me feel alive, as I seek to engage more in those activities. It becomes a personal defense against “impersonal universality.”

First up: singing. While I wish AI could concoct melodic canons and create ethereal robot madrigals, it cannot replicate the whimsical joy of my quirky choir made up of very special individuals. We may not be the most skilled vocalists, but when we harmonize, we share a deep sense of connection (research indicates that group singing fosters bonding) quick social bonding). Occasionally, everything aligns for fleeting moments of breathtaking beauty, humbly guided by our choir director, silently matching a chef’s kiss. Regardless, it remains delightful.

Next, let’s discuss not my own but someone else’s experiences. I find endless inspiration in the unique artifacts people treasure, acquire, and eventually discard. My regular visits to York’s weekly car boot sale reveal a captivating blend of stuffed badgers, Power Rangers merchandise, fishing gear, and a ceramic mouse in Victorian attire. More noble collectibles might include the textiles featured in Renaissance paintings: garments, tapestries, and drapes. Recently, I spent an exhilarating 10 minutes at The Frick Collection in New York, immersed in an astonishingly vacant room while studying Holbein’s Portrait of Thomas More, contemplating the feel of his fur collar and red velvet sleeves, pondering his choices.

A substantial portion of my joy stems from simply being present in nature. I stroll, dig in the soil, observe wildlife (yes, that includes birds), but predominantly, as a lifelong introvert, my delight comes from people. If I had to identify my most reliable source of happiness, it would be wandering through a new city, soaking in the lives of its inhabitants. What do they wear, consume, and discuss? What triggers their anger? What kind of dogs accompany them? It’s an endless buffet of human experience, from toddler tantrums to tender moments of affection to the play of queue dynamics. Recently, I watched the documentary *I Am Martin Parr*, which showcases a photographer adept at capturing the nuances of British life, likened to a magpie, and he resonates with this sentiment. Now in his seventies, Parr is still eager to explore and document the marvelous and strange nuances of society. He declares, “I’m still thrilled to venture out and observe this chaotic world we inhabit.”

That is my secret. AI can offer a rote summary of who we are, but it mixes all our hues into a muddy shade. It cannot encapsulate the joy of something utterly unique.

Emma Beddington is a columnist for the Guardian

Source: www.theguardian.com

Physicists Explore the Moments When Nature’s Strongest Forces Diminish

Posted on by
Reply

STAR detector of the relativistic heavy ion collider

Brookhaven National Laboratory

We are making strides toward comprehending when the powerful nuclear force weakens its influence on the most basic components of matter, causing quarks and gluons within particles to suddenly morph into a hot soup of particles.

There exist unique combinations of temperature and pressure where all three phases of water (liquid, ice, and vapor) coexist simultaneously. For years, scientists have sought similar “critical points” in matter impacted by the potent nuclear force that binds quarks and gluons into protons and neutrons.

In a particle collider, when ions collide, the strong force is disrupted, resulting in a state where quarks and gluons form a soup-like “quark-gluon plasma.” However, it remains uncertain if there is a tipping point preceding this transition. Shinto Researchers at the Lawrence Berkeley National Laboratory in California are getting closer to unraveling this mystery.

They assessed the number and distribution of particles produced after the collision of two high-energy gold ions at the Relativistic Heavy Ion Collider at Brookhaven National Laboratory in New York. Dong mentioned they were essentially attempting to formulate a phase diagram for quarks and gluons, depicting what types of matter are generated by strong forces under varied conditions. Although the new experiment did not definitively locate the critical point on this diagram, it significantly narrowed the possible area for its existence.

The phase diagram indicates a region where the material gradually “melts” into plasma, akin to butter softening on a countertop, but a critical point would correspond to a more sudden transition, similar to a chunk of ice unexpectedly forming in liquid water. Agnieszka Sorensen from the Rare Isotope Beam Facility in Michigan, which was not part of the study, stated that this new experiment not only guides researchers in pinpointing this critical point but also uncovers which particle properties might best indicate its presence.

Claudia Ratti from the University of Houston in Texas emphasized that many researchers eagerly anticipated the new analysis due to its precision, which surpasses that of previous measurements, particularly in parts of phase diagrams difficult to theoretically compute. She noted that several predictions regarding the critical point’s location have recently converged, and the challenge for experimenters will now be to analyze data at even lower collision energies that align with these predictions.

Dong remarked that the clear detection of the tipping point would mark a generational milestone. This is significant as the only fundamental force suspected of possessing a critical point is the strong force, which has played a crucial role in the universe’s formation. It governs the characteristics of the hot, dense matter created shortly after the Big Bang and continues to influence the structure of neutron stars. Dong concluded that collider experiments like this one could deepen our understanding of these exotic celestial objects once the strong force phase diagram is finalized.

topic:

Source: www.newscientist.com

Do Smartphones Diminish the Experience of Watching Soccer?

Posted on by
Reply

In November 1980, at the age of 13, I journeyed alone to Farhill from East Kill Bride and arrived to find an empty dugout without a manager. It felt quite odd, and my shyness prevented me from reaching out to anyone while I was there; the next day, Bertie Auld resigned and moved to Hibs, as reported by Sunday Mail.

The news hit hard. Bertie was my first manager, and as a devoted supporter, I felt responsible for the team’s presence in the Premier League year after year. Now he was gone, and no one informed me.

I skipped the next match, but soon after, I noticed Peter Cormack in the dugout. No one had mentioned it to me. At 13, I was an avid reader of newspapers but lacked a radio—just a single ear headphone connected to it, not convenient for carrying around.

This memory resurfaced after a recent Thistle home game I watched on TV. In front of me, a young couple was intently focused on their smartphones, engaged with the match. Admittedly, the game was quite dull, yet they followed the action closely and commented on the referee’s decisions. “It’s definitely offside.” “That was a clear penalty.” “He should have received a red card.”


Meanwhile, the crowd around me buzzed as we collectively pondered: “What a bizarre situation.” Why pay to attend a game only to ignore the live action unfolding mere meters away?

Yet it made some sense. As the young couple focused on their screens, more necks craned forward, and soon everyone nearby was chiming in to affirm the referee’s calls. Many of us who lament the changes in football secretly yearn for a return to the 1970s. Thank you. Yes, it did prompt a question.

For that couple, utilizing technology during the match was completely normal. This reflects how we have been conditioned to perceive sports. VAR is now standard for viewers of top leagues, whether we like it or not. Social media informs fans about clubs and their products. The differences between my 13-year-old self and kids today are vast.

Our access to football has transformed dramatically. This isn’t about whether “it was better back then.” Such discussions are tedious. I’m not keen on debating how technology has altered the game. Rather, I’m intrigued by how it has changed us. How have our brains adapted? How has our capacity for patience diminished? Our perception of football has evolved.




Tottenham fans have seen their team play Juventus in the Champions League via phone screens. Photo: Dylan Martinez/Reuters

In her recent book, “Extinction of Experience,” Christine Rosen posits that technology has personalized our life experiences to the point where we no longer tolerate waiting, unpleasant encounters, or situations that don’t align with our expectations.

As football fans, we anticipate news immediately. We expect access to games without hassle, including digital tickets. However, Rosen highlights that these conveniences come with hidden costs. As we become less accustomed to patience, our understanding of its importance dwindles, leading to frustration and anxiety.

Transportation, phones, appliances—like all new technologies that have enriched our everyday lives, including the Internet and, notably, smartphones—transform our relationship with time. In the past, attending away games required considerable patience. Long journeys were a test of endurance. Now, improved roads, trains, and buses make it easier for fans to travel across the nation to venues like Ibrox and Parkhead rather than supporting local teams. It’s now quicker and better in many ways.

Back in the day, when travel was rare and arduous, teams like East Fife, Cowdenbeath, and Queen of the South attracted crowds of over 20,000. With travel being challenging, it was easy to support local clubs—there were no alternatives.


However, when we are denied immediate access to what we desire, we often respond with frustration and seek distractions. Our impulsive reactions during football matches reveal that we frequently overlook the value of perseverance. This impatience extends to transfer windows: “January 3, still no signings? Typical.”

Following a loss, even during matches, we might see discussions regarding the manager’s future pop up on social media. “How is he still in charge?” Such reactions reflect poorly on us and neither solve the issue nor enhance the situation. Wanting someone to lose their job is an anomaly in a sport often labeled as a working-class game.

Like many aspects of our lives, we resist waiting for what we want. Nowadays, if you have the money, you can buy your way out of any queue. Why should football be any different? We’ve been conditioned to seek immediate gratification.

I no longer find the changing football experience bothersome. Discussing it feels fruitless. What truly matters is what we might be losing in the process.

The convenience of purchasing tickets via apps is undeniably delightful. I hold season tickets on my mobile, allowing me to buy last-minute tickets effortlessly. However, in this digital age, I miss the excitement of the turnstiles, the familiar banter, and the social interactions that kickstart the matchday experience. Those daily exchanges remind us of our humanity—the need to connect and inquire about one another’s day. But now, many of those interactions feel unnecessary, which is a bit disheartening.

For many, football serves as a sanctuary where they feel part of something larger. It offers comfort, camaraderie, and hope. While technology facilitates ticket purchases and program access, it risks undermining our shared human experience.

Our smartphones provide real-time updates from various matches, creating an immediacy that can feel surreal. Tweets about goals at Cappielow spread faster than moments unfold. Young couples verifying offside calls from their devices may confuse older fans like me, but they often provide information that isn’t readily available. What’s inherently wrong with that? I sometimes forget that I’m at the match, immersed in social media clips of “young teams” reveling in last season’s playoffs. My own enjoyment seems to fade into the background.




Stamford Bridge fans engaged with their mobile devices. Photo: Richard Heathcote/Getty Images

We often grow complacent with this mediated version of “being there” while not actually experiencing it. Engaging with distractions in the crowd often reflects our overexposure to social media. Football may involve long stretches of monotony, and our minds sometimes struggle to cope with that. Anxiety arises when we gravitate towards mediated experiences rather than fully embracing the present.

I previously mentioned in Nutmeg that 90% of all live sports events tend to fade from memory. It’s those remaining 10% that we come back to, reminiscing and cherishing. Perhaps boredom is a necessary component of the experience. Why should it be avoided? Football is a game that demands patience. We must concentrate on tactics and await the right moment. Only then can we appreciate the unforgettable, often breathtaking experiences that make it all worthwhile.

As the season begins, we hope for the best but remain open to various outcomes, allowing things to unfold naturally. A poor start may improve by October; thus, I’m willing to be patient. Or perhaps the season will see a slow burn, and we learn that much remains beyond our control.




New Issues of Nutmeg are now available.

Even if we face defeat and feel disheartened, we rally ourselves and anticipate the next match. The events of last Saturday will soon blend into history. In that spirit, we allow managers to make mistakes, grant players time to rediscover their form, and accept it all as part of a long season—a natural facet of the process.

We must embrace technology, though it doesn’t mean we should forgo our options. A little extra effort, whether it’s engaging more with our surroundings, initiating conversations, or fostering connections, can be rewarding. Only then can we uncover something extraordinary and unforgettable. That’s when we truly become real fans.

This is an article by Kenny Peeper for Nutmeg Magazine

Source: www.theguardian.com