Oh, good. Waymo is bringing its self-driving minivans and trucks to New Mexico.
The Duke City’s drivers can’t wait to take their hands off the wheel for real. Then they won’t have to steer with their knees while texting, smoking meth, swigging hooch, spitting out the fire in their laps (spilled hooch and pipe sparks), and shooting at the punk-ass bitch who gave them the side-eye at the last stop light they ran.
Not exactly a prime morning to be homeless, kipping in a cardboard condo in the arroyos south of Central.
But then, when is it?
Nevertheless, the Albuquerque Journal says a bunch of New Mexicans are doing just that, or something very much like it. Citing a U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development report, the Journal says our state’s double-digit surge in homelessness from 2018 to 2019 led the nation.
The numbers are all over the place, depending upon who’s giving them out. The New Mexico Coalition to End Homelessness says we have 1,524 sheltered and unsheltered people in the Duke City. Albuquerque Public Schools says there are twice that many, just counting children alone. And Danny Whatley, executive director of the Rock At Noon Day, a day shelter and meal site, estimated the number of homeless in Albuquerque at between 4,000 and 4,500.
Still, we’re No. 1, amirite? We’re No. 1! We’re No. 1! We’re No. 1!
So. Much. Winning.
Ho boy. There goes the neighborhood. The Poindexters are building the next Billy Shakespeare out of 1s and 0s.
In this piece for The New Yorker, John Seabrook wonders:
Could the machine learn to write well enough for The New Yorker? Could it write this article for me? The fate of civilization may not hang on the answer to that question, but mine might.
Sigh. Remember the good old days, when automatic writing was limited to the spirits or subconscious? I have a feeling this new breed of writer will rely on a different solvent than did its human predecessors.
“Gimme a benzene. Make it a double. I’m stalled on this goddamn novel.”
Jesus H., etc.
I know this isn’t exactly the wilderness, but still, damn.
Anyone who’d pay $3 an hour for wifi at Hyde Memorial State Park probably shouldn’t be allowed to leave home with his wallet.
Get your face out of the phone and take a hike, f’fucksake. Give Yogi and Boo-Boo a shot at your pic-a-nic basket.
Ho boy. “Like biking without the work.” Thanks so much, Revel.
I’ll just put the bicycle industry over here, shall I? Next to the buggy whips, Linotypes and rotary-dial phones?
Anybody seen any journalism on what we do with the batteries in all this lovely “green” e-shit when they fail, as batteries do? Can they be recycled? Do they wind up down in WIPP? Or do we just launch them into space?
Mad Blog Media 