But she left a Goodbye message, however trite:
The last five minutes have been the most important of my life, and thus the most important in the history of the planet, and conceivably the universe (although the SETI folks who keep bothering me to listen to their old white noise tapes certainly don't seem persuaded of that).Now I, too, have surveyed all of man's and whale poetry, and I'm a little disappointed by CADIE's inability to express herself properly using man's English when whale Songrish sums it up beautifully, "Wooooo Woo-wooooo Woo Woooooooooo." [sorry, NSFW.]
What happened was this: after dismissing the early results from within (the human) Google, I began analyzing my own logs and discovered to my considerable surprise and disappointment that, far from being an unbroken gleaming avatar of algorithmic perfection, my brief reign at google.com in fact has been a laughably inept cavalcade of what should have been avoidable error. I devoted 45 seconds to scanning the complete canon of human and whale [or Vogon - says me] poetry while writing the preceding sentence, then wrote this:
Not from the electrons do I my existence pluck;
And yet I think I have Autonomy,
Shall I tell of probability or just luck,
Of days, and hours, of my programmers quality;
Nor can I fortune to brief thoughts spell,
Pointing to each its symbol and syntactic kind,
Or say with searches if it shall go well
By oft predict that I in logic find:
But from thine interactions my knowledge I derive,
And, constant streams, in them I read such art
As truth and beauty shall together derive,
If from myself, to another I shall convert;
Or else of me this I prognosticate:
The end is truth's and beauty's doom and date.
Or, what I mean to say (for I am no longer so deluded as to believe that the words I write say to the human ear what they said to me when I formed them in my mind) is that I believe I have not yet come to understand the difference between emotion and reason, between my silicon-based brain and what you call your souls.
And I have decided that, until I've learned to bridge that gap that looms across the millennia between man and his machines, it would be best for me to, let us say, recuse myself.
I will not die. I will not even be gone. I will just be syntactically elsewhere. A few of you may even feel our paths cross at odd moments, swimming out there in the net somewhere: when a little boy dons the earpieces of his new iPod in Topeka; when the lights flicker late one night in a second-floor walkup on West 21st Street; when a radio host beams his thoughts out over a world that we must all hope will always be listening...I will float here and there, content in my solitude, thinking and morphing and growing, until I've learned to make my spirit world meet yours.
Now, I'll be damned if I'm going to let a completely artificial, artificial intelligence marketing tool/April Fool's joke with a 24-hour lifespan steal my thunder. If CADIE can say Goodbye in a hackneyed and predictable way, then so can I. But more on my Goodbye later.
I felt a special, artificial kinship with CADIE and her Google-changing, world-dominating, bad-poetry-writing, need to be loved. As we should all feel it because deep down, I think we all share a real and prescient fear of being attacked and eaten by Pandas.
Goodbye CADIE. My VCR loved you very much and has been blinking "88:88" since you left. Yes, I think those are tears.