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</o:shapelayout></xml><![endif]--></head><body lang=EN-US link="#0563C1" vlink="#954F72" style='word-wrap:break-word'><div class=WordSection1><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Keith your commentary on uploads has my wheels spinning. I like it when my wheels spin.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Yesterday I was at Berkeley for a Science Olympiad tournament. It attracted the kind of high school students who care more about science than the football tournament yesterday, which has become a national cultural celebration of a child’s war-simulating terrain acquisition game. (Football fans, don’t jump me, I am just poking a little fun at the non-nerd crowd (sheesh, sensa huma.))<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>It was a beautiful sunny spring day, birds chirping, trees in bloom. A mariachi band was strumming and the caballero finding young couples and singing love songs to the likely bride to be (or considering this is a college campus, the likely temporary bed partner (sheesh sensa huma.))<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>I followed the music group and listened to the songs. I know only a little Spanish, typical of anyone who has lived for decades in California, but enough to understand what the singer is doing: simple beautiful sincere melodies about how he feels about his sweetheart.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>I am nowhere anywhere on the sexual preference spectrum, or if so, waaaaay the hell over on the ultra-hetero end of it, completely outta sight of anything else. But listening to this guy sing about how he feels about his senorita, the most beautiful woman in the world and how he loves her with all his heart (and so on as the guitars strum behind him and the trumpets so on) oh my goodness, even I, EVEN I… was getting a boner, just listening to this guy and my bride wasn’t even there. Of course I watched the young lady where he was singing to a couple, and she melted in a gooey sweet puddle. Of course she took her sweetheart immediately back to her dorm room. Hey, we were humans first, before becoming geeks second. <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>There is a good explanation for why there are so many people south of the Rio Grande: Spanish a great language for that kind of thing, way better than English.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>My point, one which I will expand on later (I gotta scoot, load the SciOly equipment in my truck back into the storage area) is that we should think about experiences like mine at Berkeley yesterday when we discuss uploading.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>For instance… what if… I upload, and realize I never have experiences like one I remember with crystal vision, the way I felt in Feb 2024 at Berkeley, listening to a mariachi band musically seduce young ladies into situations where a next generation of meat-being is given a chance to come into existence? Regardless of how good that uploaded existence is, Imagine I miss that Berkeley mariachi feeling so much, I want to see to it that the feelings I had yesterday are given a chance to be felt again, into the future, indefinitely.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>spike<o:p></o:p></p></div></body></html>