Alison B

@akbea.bsky.social

I twist other people's words for money. http://rewritten.uk Anything pre-July 2023 is imported from Twitter; I don't have a time machine. Not that I'd tell you about, anyway.

Filling out the intake form for a new doctor's office, and I'm just gonna go out on a limb and guess that their patient portal was at least partially coded by AI... This does not inspire confidence in their HIPAA compliance.

Screenshot of a "preferred language" dropdown menu showing an exhaustive list of languages, many of which are not spoken in modern times, like "Egyptian (ancient)" and "English, old (ca. 450-1100)".

Grumpy about: the pervasiveness of AI in society and its erosion of human-to-human interaction. Not grumpy about: having the tail of a completely different animal grafted onto his furry arse.

A piece of AI slop art that purports to be a coloured pencil drawing of a grumpy Winnie the Pooh. He is saying "I don't want trains without staff. I don't want to order food only through an app. I don't want supermarkets without cashiers. No matter how convenient AI may seem, I don't want a life without human connection."

Which is a noble sentiment, but the AI slop machine has given Winnie a fox's tail.

I think I need contact with anyone else who's gone through the breast cancer rollercoaster recently. I've no family, nor anyone else I know that has been through it. I appreciate that you may not want to discuss this, but if you do I'd appreciate it x

I’m all for paying more tax to fix social care and the NHS as long as the private equity parasites that have infected both are eradicated. What I’m not up for is paying more tax to line the pockets of shareholders of companies that have been invited to enshitify our essential public services.

So, happy 22nd birthday, this photo caption – which appeared in Selkirk paper the Southern Reporter below pictures of St Ronan’s Games Week and Cleekum Ceremonies in Innerleithen

Picture caption from the Southern Reporter: Caption, caption about these pious little bleeders and the lady busser doing that interminably boring thing so cherished by Border festivals. What on earth is going on in this picture – these people have got to get out more often for their peace of mind and sanity.

If anyone hears a distant explosion this afternoon, that will be my theatre-mad youngest daughter coming home from school to find that she has received a personal reply from a fan letter she wrote ages ago to her absolute idol, Lin Manuel Miranda. Don't ask, don't get, ask, sometimes get.

i first met sam neill in the late 80's on the set of jeremy brett's sherlock holmes. i think it was manchester studios. he and jeremy were pals. i was moving a light wi'out gloves cause i'm a tosser. i burned my hand. yelled "FUCK!" jeremy came right over, sam (who was visiting) in tow. (1/4)