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March, 2026:

Odd Lots

Grokipedia V0.2

Having spent some time with Grokipedia back in October of last year and written it up, I went back earlier today and took another look. It’s now V0.2. More significantly, it now has 6,092,140 articles. (Back in early November, it had 882,279.)

Here are some links that are worth a look:

Wikipedia has an article on Edison Park, the Chicago neighborhood where I grew up. So does Grokipedia—but it’s not the same article. Grokipedia has much more detail, and was not copied from Wikipedia, as many of Grokipedia’s critics claim. Now, I found an error in the Grokipedia article: The northern boundary of Edison Park is not Touhy Avenue but Howard Street. A small enough thing, but if precision is required, will the AI be able to provide it?

I have a few quibbles with the biography Grokipedia posted of me; it made no mention of the 2009 third edition of Assembly Language Step-By-Step, and did not mention Carol at all. There was also some repetition about my projects like Cosmo the robot and my two home-made reflecting telescopes. I had hoped for a detailed bibliography like those on Wikipedia; no joy there. Those are gripes I found while I had my editor’s hat on, and in truth I’d rather have too much information in the piece than too little.

Although I’ve read the other articles in the above list, I didn’t put them under my editorial microscope. I was surprised at its mention of Modula2+ and Oberon 2, languages I’d not heard of before. Xerox in-house language Mesa has an article but its successor Cedar doesn’t. I did learn that there is a programming language called Haggis, for use in (where else?) Scotland. The lack of photos on Grokipedia continues, as I mentioned in my first post on the topic.

My conclusion? Grokipedia is the best AI of the several I’ve tried so far. I saw no gross AI hallucinations (like me being dead, sheesh) and significant topics are mostly covered. I didn’t read anything political and hence potentially biased; I was looking for programming languages and writers who are also friends, like Sarah Hoyt.

The research continues. I’ll post another pertinent entry here when I find something worth reporting.

Odd Lots

Scraps: “May You Always”

I haven’t done a piece on scraps in a couple of years, so if you didn’t see it back in 2023, here’s a link to where I define it. Basically, stuff that pops into your head without a trigger or other reason. Happens to me all the time. But today I had a weird one.

While I was grocery shopping, a song popped into my head: “May You Always,” by the McGuire Sisters. It peaked on the Hot 100 on January 5, 1959. I haven’t heard for a number of years. I liked it (still do) for the Sisters’ voices and harmony. I could hear it as clearly as though it were on the radio. I had it on my college-years 8” reel-to-real off-the-radio mix tapes, and heard it a lot. So it’s no huge surprise that I remembered not only the melody and harmony but also the lyrics.

Here they are if you’re not familiar with the song. (I suspect a lot of my older readers might be.) Here’s the Sisters singing it. It’s clearly a person wishing another person well. Given who’s singing, it’s no surprise that I consider the lyric’s viewpoint singer a woman. The lyrics don’t say it out loud, but it sure sounds like a breakup song. The relationship is over, and she’s wishing him all the best.

But…why did they break up? She’s wishing for him to find someone to love as much as she loves him. So it wasn’t that he found another girlfriend. People break up for other reasons, sure. But then it hit me in the back of the head: She’s dying. They love one another deeply, but she’s on her deathbed, saying her goodbyes, with nothing but loving wishes that he continue on with his life and find someone new to love.

In reading the lyrics now, that interpretation seems obvious to me. Why?

I’m 73. A fair number of my friends have died. You get into your seventies, and that will happen. It’s part of the curve that we’re on. It’s a little odd that about as many women as men in my social circles have died. But that’s how it is. (Two of the women were, egad—murdered.)

I bring this up only as a reminder that getting old means you see others leave this world much more often than when you’re young. But young women die too—and that seems to lie at the emotional core of “May You Always.” That wouldn’t have occurred to me when I was 30 or 40. Well, it occurs to me now.