I'm doing a little reviewing, now.
331 views; 0 Favorites; 9 Comments. DT3 Clearly, it's not about Favorites or Views.
533 Views; 1 Favorite; 12Views. DT3
836 V; 3 F; 18 C. DT3
So far, I'm learning nothing of rhyme nor reason to it all.
595 V; 1 F; 10 C. DT3. (Something really, really ridiculous. The joy I got from the delight it gave the commenters was all I needed. That's all I ever need. To be esteemed by my peers, with their words. But, I flatter myownbadself with the term "peers.")
Let's go back a few pages.
656 V; 0 F; 16 C. DT3. (This one, I thought, should've had a million Vs and a bajillion Fs.)
955 V; 0 F; 11 C. DT3. Why, oh, WHY, I remember wondering. Right in the story, I said, out loud, that I'd copied someone else's work, and, that I was just "practicing." That nothing extraordinary was aimed, or even, hinted at. Nonetheless, it bagged a DT3. I just had to laugh. This convinced me that numbers are just being pulled out of a hat, with the whole DT3 thing.
What is it?
(There he is, again.)
https://www.lumberjocks.com/projects/407532
Yeah. There's more.
645 V; 0 F; 6 (six) C. DT3 on a piece that was pretty much a failure and a flop.
And, much more. I could go on. I won't. Except for this:
1480 V; 1 F; 15 C. Another that I thought deserved a million and a bajillion, etc. One of my most impressive Things, ever, IMHO. Yet, the numbers don't jibe with the DT3. And, in point of fact, the number of Vs, Fs, and Cs don't mean that much to me. Again, it's the reaction I get from my Beloved Buddies. That means the world to me. I read every word.
And, you know what? Periodically, when I'm feeling a little mistreated and unloved, in general, I go back and remind myowncreepyself that someone out there appreciates what I do. Even when it's some piece wherein I was clearly, and admittedly, just goofing off. I don't do this stuff for DT3s. I do it because my Beloved Buddies seem to enjoy it.
I'm very candid with you people. You've seen me through a lot of stages in woodworking, and, moreso, in life itsownstickyself.
Case in point: My Mojo went missing, as you recall, for some period. A miserable time, for me, it was. A most distressing time. Here's one comment (name omitted) from that piece. It was a "practice piece," that merely meant to tell a story - an excruciatingly long story, that required some fortitude in even my own reading of it. It garnered 1044 Views; 0 Favorites; and, all of 14 Comments. This Comment, among others made me better:
"Hi Mark,
I like it too! Reminds me of something from a Dr. Seuss book, or a Disney animated movie (I seem to recall a fountain in Aladdin). It is a happy bit of frivolity whose sole purpose (after serving as your learning process of course) is to create smiles by sparking the imagination. It served it's purpose - it made me smile.
Thank you."
This, and only this - NOT DT3s - is why I keep coming around, poisoning your tender minds with my piffle.
To sum up: I'm pretty sure that the whole "algorithm", or (in human terms, "means whereby a thing is arrived at") can be likened to the way the GPS navigators work. For instance: The thing'll tell me to go straight for 1.4 miles, them tell me to go another 700 feet, straight ahead, then, go another 2.3 miles, straight ahead. Then, 15 feet before the intended turn, it'll tell me when, and where, to turn. Also, it'll tell me to turn left on the road I'm already on, meaning, I guess, to get in the left turn lane on the road I'm on, then, it tells me the NEXT turn, into a road that's not there. What is there, is a tree. So, we've come full-circle. All before I've made this turn, without ever telling me to make THIS turn.
In short,
Too late for that.
The spacemen are taking over. They're making dopes of every one of us. The Fates, or, the Furies, or, mebbees, just the computer programmers are trying to have a little fun at our expense. The joke's on them, though. We're above it. When a DT3 shows up on a piece of trash - especially your own piece of trash - just laugh it off.
True story: A long time ago, when I was driving truck all over the country, I would need to ask directions from a local in a town I'd never been in.
"How do I get to the Yada Yada factory to deliver this load?"
"You go half-way through town…" (I've never been in your town before milady. How do I know when I'm half-way through it?) "and, when you get to the building on the right that used to be the Piggly Wiggly…," (HUH?) "count seven lights and turn left…" (Traffic lights? Street lights? Porch lights?) "then, go about fourteen miles straight down…" (so, it's underground? And, what's bigger, milady? Fourteen miles, or nine inches?) and, when you see an old Dodge parked in the weeds, you're almost there. You can't miss it." (Now, I've been dared to miss it.)
Every word of it is true, to the best of my recollection. Not a word is made up. How does this relate? It's clear as mud, so to speak.
To wit: Artificial Intelligence (AI, the Big-Brains call it - the Wave of the Future - the be-all and end-all in human progress), is nothing more than a bunch of self-important, over-educated, sorely-lacking-in-wisdom people, who truly can't find their own arses with both hands, telling the computers what to think, and then patting themownbadselves on the back about their accomplishments in the field of making "computers think" for themowninhumanselves. When, in reality, the computers are merely exhibiting the truth that's been stated since the Dawn of the Cyberage. "Garbage in/ Garbage out. God help us all, when the brain fart of all brain farts is let loose among us, using the same system of navigation - Self-Driving Cars and Trucks.
When the spacemen get here (actually, reveal themselves, by walking up to me and asking me to tell them where they can find the smartest, ablest among our planet's inhabitants - the "Humans" - I'm gonna say. "Never heard of heard of 'em. Let me introduce you to dogs. They're happy. They're innocent. They're dumb as a box of doorknobs. But, you'll ALWAYS know where you stand with them. They don't play head games. They'll never poison your mind against others you've never met, and never will meet."
Enjoy the moment. Make up up some new naughty words, when it gets the better of you. And, most of all, treasure the ones you hold dear. Especially the dogs.
I, honestly, didn't mean to write so many words. I didn't mean to respond, to this, at all.
Thank you. And, I humbly apologize.