How long do you think it will be before science is able to develop a computer sophisticated enough to emulate the complexity of the human mind, and what would be the ramifications of such a computer?

Tomorrow is 7/7/07. Could this be your lucky day?

Perhaps you’ll get a new iPhone tomorrow. Or maybe someone will pay you to buy them one! I saw this article about people paying other people to stand in line for them, and it reminded me of our Shakespeare in the Park discussion from April.

I wonder - does it change the ethics of the situation if the product is not free? Is standing in line still “part of the experience” of getting an iPhone?

Now that we’ve had a few years to think it over…

Wasn’t the whole “Freedom Fries” episode just a little silly?

I’m feeling a little let down by the Sopranos finale. To be sure, there were things about it that I liked, but the series ended not with a bang, but a whimper. The finale is the writers’ last chance to say whatever it was they wanted to say when they created the series. It should be something spectacular.

There have been series finales that have knocked my socks off. My pick for best finale would be the last episode of M*A*S*H, an instant classic that did justice to the magnificent series it concluded. Over twenty years later, it still has the power to move me.

I also really liked the last episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation, which used a time-travel scenario to pay tribute to how far the show had grown during its run. Picard actually goes back in time to the series premiere. Brilliant.

And who could forget the finale of Newhart, when Bob wakes up in his earlier series The Bob Newhart Show and realizes he dreamed the whole Newhart series?

Cheers brought back Diane for its finale. Seinfeld put the gang on trial for their lack of empathy throughout the run of the series. Deep Space Nine ended with a final battle of biblical proportions between the forces of good and evil, and the ultimate sacrifice by the central character to save the universe. Now that’s good teevee.

What was your favorite series finale of any TV show, and why?

I finally picked up a copy of Al Gore’s new opus The Assault on Reason, and I’m looking forward to devouring every word. I chose to get the unabridged audio version on 9 CDs, which I will import into my iTunes library and listen to on my iPod heading back and forth to work over the course of about a week or two.

So my question is why the fact that I’m listening to the audiobook on the subway rather than reading the hardcover version at home in my easy chair should elicit snickers everywhere I go, as though I’m somehow cheating or that I shouldn’t get credit for “reading” the book.

First of all, let’s clear this up right now. I’m not in school. I don’t need credit for reading the book. I’m genuinely interested in what the man has to say, and if I can do that more efficiently through my headphones, I don’t see why anyone should have a problem with that.

It’s an issue familiar to any Shakespeare teacher. But is this really the equivalent of renting the movie when you have a book report due? Is it different if you’re watching a full-text version of a Shakespeare play (like the BBC versions) instead of reading it? What if you’re reading a comic book version of Shakespeare in the original language? What if you get together with a group of friends and read the complete text out loud? Does a spoonful of sugar necessarily ruin the gas tank?

Personally, I like to read. And these days I usually have one book running on my iPod while another is sitting on my night table. But with my schedule so crazy around this time of year, it’s usually the same book sitting on my night table for a while (I still haven’t finished The Blank Slate) while I’m able to burn my way through many more audiobooks on a variety of topics. I don’t feel that I’m missing anything by experiencing them this way, and as an auditory learner, it might even be a better way for me.

So why do audiobooks get such a bad rap?

This is the day when we remember those who gave their lives in military service for our country.

It’s also a good opportunity to mention the sacrifices being made right now by our active service members. Whatever we may think of a particular policy, the men and women who serve in the military are truly what make our way of life possible.

We should also remember the family members of those who have already fallen, as well as of those who are still in harm’s way.

So with that in mind…

What do we do now in Iraq?

I wouldn’t call myself a huge fan of Lost, but I find myself watching it faithfully each week. Every now and then there’s an episode that makes me glad I do. Last week’s episdode, “Greatest Hits,” was such an episode.

A character was planning a suicide mission in order to save the rest of the castaways. Throughout the episode he was making a list of the five best moments of his life. As he added each item to the list, we flashed back to that moment in his life. He called it his “Greatest Hits” list. What a wonderful thing to do.

I’d like to invite you to make your own Greatest Hits list. What you come up with will probably be too personal to post here, but I offer you the exercise all the same.

What five moments in your life would make your Greatest Hits list?

Since we’ve been talking about Ken Jennings and Jeopardy, I’ve been thinking about the Cheers episode “What is…Cliff Clavin?” in which Cliff Clavin, a postal carrier who lives with his mother, goes on Jeopardy. As a bar know-it-all, Cliff’s reputation and self-image are on the line. Guest star Alex Trebek reads off the categories:

CIVIL SERVANTS
STAMPS FROM AROUND THE WORLD
MOTHERS AND SONS
BEER
BAR TRIVIA
CELIBACY

And then Cliff knows this is his game. This is his dream board.

What’s your dream board on Jeopardy? You could answer this question in two different ways. You could either choose the six categories you’re strongest in, and that you would most like to see if you were an actual contenstant on Jeopardy. (I’m pretty good with questions about Shakespeare.) Or, as in the example above, you could create a mini-autobiography by choosing six categories that sum up your personality and interests. Or maybe that’s the same list.

What categories would be on your “dream board”?

At the recent Republican debate, the candidates were asked to raise their hands if they did not believe in evolution. Sam Brownback, Mike Huckabee, and Tom Tancredo all raised their hands.

And this is America, where people are free to believe anything they like. But these are people who are running to be the president of the most powerful nation on earth. The next president must be able to lead the world in dealing with the crisis of global climate change. The next president will probably have to revisit stem cell research. The next president will possibly have to deal with another epidemic. All of these things are difficult to do when you don’t believe in science. Just ask President Bush.

But these three guys raise their hands, and it’s buried in the middle of the story, after we finish talking about the legacy of Ronald Reagan. Why is this not the top story? If they had said they were athiests, it would be the top story. If they had said they were atheists, that would be the end of their careers in American politics. If they had said they were agnostic, that would be the end of their careers in American politics.

So many of our most celebrated figures are openly athiest, from scientists to artists, from business leaders to Karl Rove. But not one of the candidates running for president.

Why is disbelief in evolution more acceptable in American politics today than disbelief in God?

A reader has written in with an ethical dilemma. Since he has requested to remain anonymous, we will refer to him as “Busy in the Big Apple.”

Dear Shakespeare Teacher,

My wife and I enjoy attending summer performances of Shakespeare in the Park. As you know, while the tickets are distributed free of charge, patrons must wait in line - usually for several hours - for two seats each. Since I work near Central Park and have the flexibility to take an extended lunch hour, the waiting typically falls to me.

Last summer, though, I came up with a different idea, something I like to think of as a new paradigm. I hired the vagrant who panhandles in front of my office building, and whom I occasionally patronize, to go to the park, wait in line for about three hours, and pick up two tickets. I offered him $20 and carfare. He agreed and brought back the tickets. I paid him and threw in a five dollar bonus. I thought the scheme was a win-win. The panhandler earned some honest money, my work productivity was enhanced, and my wife and I enjoyed an outstanding performance of Macbeth.

Not until after the play, though, did I reveal to my wife how I had obtained the tickets. She was horrified. She says that I cheated two other theatergoers and took advantage of a needy person, most likely enabling any substance abuse habit he may have. I understand her arguments, but I must demur. Friends tell me that wealthy donors get free tickets to Shakespeare in the Park without the wait. I’d rather subsidize a down-and-outer, whom I see as master of his own destiny.

Summer is fast approaching, as my co-conspirator reminds me almost every day. My wife and I have agreed to turn the issue over to you and your readers, lovers of the Bard as they must be. If you validate my approach, I will go the same route this summer as last. If not, I’ll grab a folio and head for the hawthorn-brake.

What should they do?