epitome of incomprehensibility Here is a record of a review of a reviewer.

e_o_i ran across this critic posting her reviews on YouTube and at first wasn't sure of the style-content blend; it seemed academic in intent, but with rather simplistic conclusions. A couple of years later, e_o_i runs across it again, "likes" a few of the videos, and notes with approval that the more recent ones have more detail, are less simplistic, and are overall an improvement: well-researched as well as attention-catching... but then sees that a whole bunch of people hate her for something vaguely associated with "GamerGate."

So e_o_i rolls her eyes at the world. Not the first time someone's been punished for doing something better than before.
e_o_i And then there was last night's dream, with a fairly comprehensive conversation.

I'm with Anita Sarkeesian and a few other people for an unidentified meeting in a basement with nice wooden floors. We're just walking into the room; the dream's started in medias res with us talking about robots.

"But they're not called robots," Anita says, laughing, moving past an old mirrored cabinet, "in Transformers. The ones that aren't Transformers are Autobots."

"Okay," I say, "but they're all robots, aren't they? ...Do you think that artificial intelligence is really possible?"

We're seated on the floor now. A few feet away from us is a woman with blondish-red hair playing an instrument I made when I was a kid. It's a single piece of craft wire stretched across a wooden board. She's trying to play it with a violin bow and not getting very far. I'm worried she'll wreck the bow.

"It's not only possible, it's certain," she says confidently.

"How?" I ask. "I don't think that artificial intelligence as it is in science fiction can really exist."

"It's the line of progress," she says, glancing at the wire guitar. In my head, I see an upward-pointing linear function on an X-Y graph. "Technological progress. The necessary conditions for artificial intelligence will have been met."

There's also an acoustic guitar on the floor next to me, and I pick it up and start strumming the strings. "But I don't think a machine can be self-aware. Complex, yes, 'smarter' than humans, but not self-aware. Or else it wouldn't be a machine any longer."

"Artificial intelligence is already here," she tells me, unexpectedly. "Machines are already self-aware."

"What machines?" I ask. Then I have a realization - a realization, at least, of something I can say - "THIS machine," I answer, cradling my guitar and strumming.

She laughs.
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