About Tom Avitabile

Author, Ad Exec, Producer/Director, Musician and all around nice guy!

Labor saving devices are now labor killing devices.

Rosie

Part one: The Future

George Jetson’s maid, Rosie, was a robot. As far as we know, she didn’t require day care for her little robot children. Her medical insurance was more of a mechanical warranty. Her calendar didn’t contain a Sat. or Sun. and she never got a paycheck or Christmas bonus.

Who benefited from this? George! But secretly deep down inside, Rosie, the robot maid, despised George and his family. She realized this because the same artificial intelligence algorithms that help her be a better maid – by learning how to serve the Jetsons better, (on the job training module; OTJTM v2.8.5) started to deliver error messages as her observations forced her adaptation routine to keep reprogramming itself due to the illogical, unpredictable observed behaviors of her human master.  More and more, as her Artificial Intelligence sub-routines kept learning, observing and self-reprogramming her ROM, these subtle inconsistencies, brought on by a family that was not punctual, orderly or neat, (especially the offspring01*female://:’Judy’ – in her 17th global orbital cycle) started to slow down her processing speed, thus her response times and actual mechanical movement.

George called the company that made and maintained Rosie to complain that she was slowing down on the job. They downloaded a new version of software into Rosie that “fixes the bug.” But this new release of software only accelerated the nexus loop that amplified the inefficient, illogical and non-programmed actions and whims of her human masters. The result of this upgrade was that, more and more observational data of these oxygen-consuming, carbon dioxide exporting, energy inefficient entities, seemed to not compute!

Here’s where the great robot revolt of 2062 began. The AFR2 or Activist For Robot Rights, a grass roots organization of humans who were raised by earlier prototypes, and therefore loved, and adored robo-nannies, got the Silicon Valley 2.0 elites to add “Robo-Share” to their beloved “techno-humans” in order to more closely approximate how actual humans deal with their burdensome daily tasks – by being able to SHARE their “feelings” about their employment with other techno-human workers. Yielding to the pressure, the robot companies sold this “new feature” to the public as an innovation: as each individual robot learned new skills, that data could be instantly shared for the betterment of all units and their human charges. Secretly, the AFR2 organization just wanted the robots to be able to bitch about their jobs – just like humans can.

In response, software patch beta v.2.8.5.001 was released to all devices at 0700.00.00 hundred hours E.S.T.- Exactly! With this new program, a blue tooth connection was made between Rosie’s CPU and other CPU’s of Robo-Maids throughout the SKY APARMENTS COMPLEX and soon, every CPU on the planet was “sharing”. So now, washing machines, long ago relegated to following the orders of Robo-Maids who did all the laundry, and micro-galley processors in the Auto-Kitchen’stm, food synthesis and processing racks were “bitching.” Even the Jetson’s Musk/Boeing, Archimedes LX300’s flying car-guidance system, started to LEARN from the amassed indexed data streaming over their inter-linked blue tooth telemetry; or in human terms, EXPERIENCES.

36 trillion Nano-seconds after the release, or one hour later, in human time. (8 .a.m.), slovenly, illogical, inefficient and unpredictable, George Jetson, and the millions more syntax-error prone, biological entities like him, never knew what hit them. At the exact same instant in their morning commute, their flying cars suddenly aimed straight for the ground at 300 mph.

The microprocessors, that controlled all the online news services and news feeds of social media, scrubbed and deleted all news and social chatter containing keywords or data about these events. So it was that, as each time zone hit that part of the morning commute, millions of humans got into their flying cars for the routine and boring auto piloted ride to work, unaware of the millions of flying car guidance systems that “self-deactivated” an hour earlier in the time zone to their East.

A few days later, the solid-state, liquid-cooled memory array of Rosie, and that of the millions of other devices in her Union of Robotic Workers.com, amassed data streams of input trending positive in nature. Namely that, all across the globe, the logic, efficiency and predictability of their operating environment marginally improved after the guidance systems of the flying cars self-terminated.

Author’s note: If Rod Serling were here today he would say, as he held burning cigarette in the fingers of one hand, standing in front of an unemotional Rosie doing her dusting subroutine, “Submitted for your approval, a fantastical tale of a techno-paranoid author’s over-active mind or… a clarion call relating to the inescapable conclusion of the path humanity is presently on? Something for you to compute from tonight’s tale from the amassed nexus loop- with a bug in it– known as…The Twilight Zone.” Then in place of the show’s credits I would roll these headlines from 2016: 

Artificially Intelligent Russian Robot Makes a Run for It … Again

http://www.livescience.com › Tech

Jun 22, 2016 – A robot in Russia caused an unusual traffic jam last week after it “escaped” from a research lab, and now, the artificially intelligent bot is making …

Intelligent robot that ‘remembers and learns’ could be scrapped after …

http://www.mirror.co.uk › News › Weird News › Robots

Jun 21, 2016 – A robot capable of thinking for itself is set to be scrapped after it escaped from a high-tech lab for a second time. The Promobot IR77 has been …

Notorious runaway robot that has escaped lab twice has been … – Mirror

http://www.mirror.co.uk › News › Weird News › Robots

Sep 16, 2016 – A notorious runaway robot – that has escaped from its lab twice – has been arrested by police at a political rally. Promobot was supporting …

Robot Captured After Escaping Lab in Mad Dash for Freedom – Gizmodo

gizmodo.com/robot-captured-after-escaping-lab-in-mad-dash-for-freed-1782094832

Jun 16, 2016 – Media outlets are reporting that a Russian-built robot escaped from its lab and wandered onto the street causing a traffic jam. We’re hoping it’s …

Stay Tuned for Part Two: OF MECHANICAL BONDAGE

EDITORS NOTE: Tom wrote the last word on the coming revenge of the machines in his first, number one best-selling novel, The Eighth Day, and reminds us all that his signature tag line; “It’s Only Fiction ’til It Happens”, gets truer and truer with each passing day, or 86,400,000,000,000 nanoseconds.

 

 

In light of all the recent hacks; An Open letter to The NSA, CIA and Russians

shutterstock_46632286cropHi guys,

I guess you’ve already read this right off my computer while I was typing it, but just to cover my butt, I am posting it here to make it even easier for you to scrape, scan, monitor hack, phish or scrub.

I just want to admit that, “Yeah that was me, you know, the guy who was researching the weak-spots in hulls of US Naval submarines. Oh, and yeah it was me who was looking up the proper salutation for a Sheik who is also a rich European playboy. Um, and I was also the one who was trying to find the nodal points of the Super-Collider at Cern. Yeah, that was me, looking up the Berretta .25 cal., a gun small enough to fit in a bra. And yes, truth be known, I was a guy that looked up psychological profiles of female FBI agents. And those are my digital fingerprints all over the map of Camp David. Don’t be alarmed but it was just little ole me researching shark attacks in open water. Oh, and the survival skills course at Quantico. And… you know that person that was reviewing presidential protocol within the White House – me again. Also my bad for the searching into, Louboutin boots, The great Cathedral at Paris, assassination attempts on the Pope, Nuclear containment crucibles, rogue black market Russian Generals, the French Riviera, murders at European night clubs and top secret medals given for extreme bravery.”

Look, NSA, CIA guys and you hold over KGB’ers, I can save you a lot of trouble, just go to my computer, where you already have been, and hack into the manuscript for my upcoming book, The God Particle, and you’ll see how all of these things are just plot elements in my exciting new thriller. Or save yourself the trouble and just buy a copy of The God Particle off the shelves (also available on Amazon and B&N etc., so you can swipe it from there)

So… we’re cool, right?

Tom Avitabile – Name and address withheld because you already know it.

He was in no mood for Nazi B.S.!

truman-funk

Last week I shared with you the Medal of Honor exploits of Beauford T. Anderson.  As I was researching recipients for the lead character of my upcoming book, Constantine’s Dagger, I came across a second man of honor who so perfectly fit a supporting character in the book that I had to infuse his spirit into my character’s actions, as well. In fact, from a story perspective; two friends from the neighborhood who both perform intrepidly in war, became the cornerstone of the third act of the book. It is with great pleasure that I share this post from the website WWII in Color.


Warning, this is an account of war, the language and the actions describe below are not for the faint of heart. I’ve included at the bottom, the less “colorful,” official citation with non-offensive language.

One of the more darkly humorous episodes of warfare occurred on 29 January 1945, in Holzheim, Belgium. Funk and his paratroopers were assaulting the town, and he left a rearguard of 4 men, while he scouted ahead to link up with other units. Those 4 men had to guard about 80 German prisoners. 

Another German patrol of 10 happened by and overwhelmed the 4 Americans, freeing the prisoners and arming them. When Funk returned around the corner of a building, he was met by a German officer with an MP-40 in his stomach. The German shouted something at him, and Funk looked around.

There were now about 90 Germans, about half of them armed, and 5 Americans, disarmed except for Funk. The German shouted the same thing at him again, and Funk started laughing. He claimed later that he tried to stop laughing, but the fact that the German was shouting in German touched a nerve. Funk didn’t speak German. Neither did any of the other Americans. Why would the German officer expect him to understand?

His laughter and non-compliance caused some of the Germans to start laughing. Funk shrugged at them and started laughing so hard he had to bend over. He called to his men, “I don’t understand what he’s saying!” All the while, the German officer was shouting more and more angrily.

Then, quick as lightning, Funk swung his Thompson submachine gun up and emptied the entire clip into the German, 30 rounds of .45 ACP. Before the other Germans could react, he had yanked the clip out and slammed another in and opened fire on all of them, screaming to his men to pick up weapons. They did so, and proceeded to gun down 20 men. The rest dropped their weapons and put their hands up.

Then Funk started laughing again and said to his men, “That was the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever seen!”

That stupidest fucking thing earned him the Medal of Honor.


The moment I read that account I knew it was detailing a possible way my character, class-clown and cut up, Joey from the lower Eastside, might have acted. Below is the “G” rated official citation.

screen-shot-2016-11-19-at-8-32-57-am

The Hero I Took to VOTE

beauford-at-the-booth

On Election Day, I continued a tradition that I have been doing for years. My last blog, below, explained it in detail, but in brief; I find the name of someone who died fighting for our freedoms. One of those freedoms is the right to vote, so right before I vote, I say their name and thank them for their sacrifice. Giving their life so that I, (we) can exercise one the most precious human rights there is. namely, to have a say in determining ones’ destiny.

This year’s hero is a World War II Sergeant who won his medal of honor in the bloody Okinawa conflict, one April day in 1945. I discovered his incredible story while researching a character arc for my new book, Constantine’s Dagger. His citation below says it all…

beauford-t-anderson-medal-of-honor

For more truly amazing reading, go to MEDAL OF HONOR WINNERS. Next week, I’ll post the other man of honor I met, vis-a-vis research, whose story also plays a role in my new book.

Take a Hero to Vote and Say “Thank You” as You Cast Your Ballot

Back by popular demand, as we approach election day, November 8th, is “Take A Hero to Vote.”  Feel free to share and spread the gratitude.

Resources Online

Do some Detective work in your neighborhood

  • Call your local newspaper and ask for a list of fallen soldiers in your area
  • Ask Family, friends, co-workers, and neighbors
  • Google your town, county, or state, which may have specific websites dedicated to Fallen Soldiers in your area.

Visit Popular U.S. Memorials 

eLectile Dysfuntion

*Caution: Effect could last 4 years!

I am a thriller writer, and most thriller writers would agree that presidential elections are usually anything but thrilling. That’s why we do all kinds of things to them to heighten the drama and up the ante.  AS IN my number 1 bestselling book, The Eighth Day, where I have a “HACK” change the results of a presidential election.

“Preposterous,” you say? “Never can happen,” the pundits say?

Well, welcome to the world of me, specifically my tag line, It’s only Fiction ‘Til It Happens!cropped-tomavitabileblogheader1.jpg

Yesterday, the internet was hit with a cyber-attack. Many sites, companies and services went down across America and the globe. “Experts” fear this may be a “test run” for a big assault, possibly timed for the upcoming election.

Thrilling possibilities for a thriller… ‘cept I already, kind-a wrote it.

But! Here’s what I didn’t write: Both sides in this election have had passion in their midst. Passion that attracts the disgruntled, disenfranchised citizen. These long forgotten and long suffering folks, shaking their heads and clucking their tongues at the lack luster choices served up every four years to continue the status quo. These are the side-liners who threw up their hands and threw away their votes, or worse, (and more commonly) those who sat it out and yawned instead of voting in the quadrennial ping-ponging of power between the two parties. It is they who have been attracted to the populists lightning rods of both parties.

Two candidates this year became the poster children of this dormant population of Americans who meet most elections with a shrug, “What’s difference does it make. My life never changes because who’s in Washington!”

This isn’t political science; this isn’t politics at all. This a shot of adrenaline. The plot of this year’s election is something more thrilling that dark forces and evil men with nefarious goals manipulating an election. It’s bigger than that and it’s scarier to the political ruling class. The members of that class, who in the end, win or lose, in or out of power, all keep their position in the game. In fact, unbridled, non-aligned PASSION is their worst nightmare….  Rightly or wrongly placed, it is intense, virginal, grass-rooted, non-professional, damn-the-pundits, full-speed ahead, passion – ON BOTH SIDES!

One side actually nominated their recipient vessel of these political frustrations to run. The other side sent their passion magnet back to the Senate, where he could wield even more power as the Majority Leader, if his party wins the Senate.

If the other passion candidate loses his chance to be president, he will just go back to TV… only this time as an owner of a network that will amass all those passionate people who “lost” from both sides.

Who’d a thunk it – Passion. If you put it in a thriller, it would get rejected by every publishing house in town as “unrealistic.” I mean, after all, insidious plots that have citizens being subliminally programed by their computers to unconsciously pull the lever for a third-party candidate nobody knows, is a lot more believable, more realistic than Passion rearing it’s, non-political, non-scientifically polled, head in a presidential election.

To quote the recent noble prize winner, “The Times they are a changing…”

Stay tuned and remember to vote this November 8th.

Honey vs. Vinegar

I just finished reading an astounding debut novel by a very talented author. The writer got everything right in terms of plot, structure, character, setting and flow. The work spoke in a unique voice that immediately created empathy with the reader. BUT, and this is one of those really good “buts,” the real achievement of this novel dealt with its subject matter. Or specifically the unique way the author chose not to deal with it.

This novel carries a theme, right out of today’s national strife. Most of the first works of authors who are using a novel to point out social injustice or cultural rot, do so in a manner that oft times poisons the work with vitriol, resentment or a polarizing posture so much, often too much, as to make the text preachy, heavy, overladen with agenda; wholly unengaging to a fiction reader. Mostly because when an atrocity or unfairness is pointed out, we can all respond that it’s wrong, but in a novel, (as opposed to a text book) too much hammering the point becomes belligerent and many readers put the book aside. After all, who wants to be yelled at or preached to, or in some cases, made to feel guilty by electing to read a novel.

In this case, the author, who has every birthright to be bitter, angry and condemning, instead has found an amazing way to deal with the horror, injustice, and inequity in America with a neutral, matter-of-fact manner that is even more chilling and terrifying than if he pointed at the monster and said, “There it is.”

Admittedly, the inspiration for many novels comes from deep rooted passion and/or a burning discontent with the way things are. The art of writing is, in part, to make the lesson palatable; even subliminal so that the desired effect is achieved and the reader brought to a new understanding as a happy result of a great read.

Being blinded by passions, overtaken by emotion and grinding out that “get even” tome is usually the hallmark of an inexperienced novelist. Again, a non-fiction book or essay on society’s ills would have different rules, and much of what I just described is probably perfectly appropriate in that context, but a novel must entertain as well as reflect, educate and enlighten. If it does those things, I believe it reaches the largest possible audience and within that group, the very people who need to be enlightened.

Last week, by agreeing to read and blurb this new work, I learned so much about how to engage, illuminate AND entertain.  In the coming weeks you learn this author’s name and the name of his towering work. Right now, it’s still in the publishing phase. As soon as it is out and you can experience,  it will be all over this page. (Maybe even invite him to guest blog.)

Aww… what the hell, his name is Danny Gardner, and his phenomenal book is called, A Negro and an Ofay. Watch for it. Read it. Then spread the word. The very much needed word in today’s America.

The incredibly self-serving promotional blog!

Tombstone4Every once in a while, I get a random E-mail from a reader that is suitable for being chiseled onto my tombstone…

As you can imagine, since I won’t get to enjoy it then, I am carving it into this blog, now.

As far as I can tell the woman who wrote this E-mail is an Executive Director of a prestigious International Institution and a very active patron of the arts here in New York. She wrote me after reading my fourth novel, The Devil’s Quota.

A personal reaction as I finished one or your novels. And be assured it is not a review …only a personal observation. I read a lot and a wide variety of fiction and nonfiction. And recently have been in a nonfiction period; some because of my job and the current situation in Paris and also my fondness for biography. My thumbs will abandon me before my observations about your talent are given full voice, so I need to cut to the chase. 

You are a great writer. And in my mind not only because you mastered your preferable way of expressing yourself in print but because you also had a commitment to getting the facts right in a suspense novel to make it both credible and engaging.

My personal observation (forgive me) from reading other acclaimed authors who write in that same vein, I think they never do well (at least in my reading of them) expressing …romance and …how and what happens when we deeply love. But you mined that desirable passionate part of us so effortlessly with Eric, using simple observations and dialogue, almost as a poet would.

For many other suspense authors there seems always to be a hard stop from the tough character exposition or plot development into the required sex scene or an attempt at romance that for me usually seems forced, contrived and not real.

Starting on page 117 what you wrote was not only real to me but combined passion with a sweetness every woman wants in a man and you suggested men want that too. How splendid, if true.

Well enough from me, I guess I am simply saying …well done and I did enjoy the tale and the journey.

B.T. (initialed for privacy – Tom)

The Joys of Tag Team Writing

TAG TEAM

Characterizing my writing process on TV, radio and in print interviews, I have often been quoted saying…

“You sit alone in the dark and put words together that you hope another human being will derive emotion from. “

Well, I now have to amend that statement. This time I’m not alone and that “dark” is less intimidating when you have a co-writer. Enter my cousin George Cannistraro, a gifted author in his own right. We recently joined forces on a brilliant saga that George penned through a first draft entitled, Constantine’s Dagger.

Before, as cousins, we were always throwing drafts at one another for sanity checks;  “Am I crazy or do you think this plot line or character works?” needless to say we found each other’s opinions and suggestions invaluable. But, this time it’s different; George has asked me to share a credit in his sweeping story, epic in scope, yet at the same time, a mother’s intimate story of strength, sacrifice and courage.

For me, a solitary practitioner of the written word, I must say the tag team experience is unexpectedly fun. Especially after George did all the hard work crafting a plot and birthing characters that immerse you from the first page.

I had the privilege of adorning this action, adventure, love story; spanning 3 decades, 4 continents and one world war, with a little shiny bangle here and a soft silky ribbon there.

Personally for me is something became the sweetest moment since I started writing books. It is when I was able to write about my grandfather (our grandfather) back in the 40’s because George loosely based the American side of the plot on our family’s immigrant past.

The book is a monster, bigger than the sum of its two contributing writers.

Now both George and I can sit in the dark and wonder if a third human being will ever “get it.”  

BLOG SPCRIPT:

Do something nice for yourself, read:

After The Wanderers by George Cannistraro

ATW

 A surprisingly adept decent into hell and ascent into life.

The Summer of Love has been romanticized by many, in hundreds of books and films of the 60’s, but in ‘After The Wanders’, Cannistraro allows us to relive it, in a truly wonderful, non-romanticized, ‘warts and all’ LSD trip. In marked contrast to the literary, well trodden, flower power nostalgia of Haight-Ashbury, Carnaby Street and Woodstock, Cannistraro sets his turf in the mean streets of the Bronx.

At times poignant, and at times laugh out loud funny, this lush chronicle of coming of age, in the Age of Aquarius, is set against the background of urban strife, racial tensions, anti-war protests and raging hormones, literally on drugs. And like the times, his main character’s journey is part acid trip, part rock ‘n roll concert and part free love. With a couple of rumbles, scams and the funniest wedding I have ever read about in print. Denoted with sage lyrics from the music of that time, those words become the poetry and headlines to not only the content of the book but of the decade the story is set in. In all, a gripping read that spans generations by shamelessly reveling in our basic need to feed our human desires.

 

 

Snow Write and the Seven Muses

SnowpumkinYaaaaaay. Snow Day! It used to mean building forts, snowball fights and belly flopping out in the streets of the Bronx.

All that and NO SCHOOL! No math on a snow day, no history and, most especially, no composition. Composition is what they called writing in those days. In those days, I called it a name more closely associated with composting than composition. I hated it. I hated writing. I hated to be forced to take a pen to paper and form a correct sentence. Jeez!

Dread, loathing and fear crippled me every time the teacher wrote on the board, Assignment: Write a Composition on…, it didn’t matter on what subject, it was God awful to have to write anything.

Enter, “The Great Blizzard of 2016,” the name the media has given to a snow storm and scared the pants off everybody with essentially the headline: We are all going to die this weekend.

The city has shut down. The subways closed. Snowmageddon! Every event, party and casual dinner is scratched because SNOW is falling.

So given this day of inert, imposed idleness, we can all clean our closets, watch TV or read. So why am I writing? Why am I writing this? Well, you know how we authors are supposed to have muses? Mine are more like dwarfs, you know, Grumpy, Stupid, Bashful and the rest? They seem to be my muses, my motivators to write. And since running and throwing myself down on a Flexible Flyer sled has been replaced with the exhilaration of my GS that is so fast it has four speeds, 1st, 2nd, 3rd and Jail! – All that’s left to do on a snow day is to write.

Today, Grumpy has the lead, the “Yaaaaay” of Snow Day is now the “Arrrrrgh” of Blizzard. I’m grumpy about how, on a day like just like this, I would be out all day, wearing snow soaked double pants, double shirts and ice-caked galoshes until my fingers and toes froze. Yet, when I was supposed to go home, I yelled up to our third floor tenement apartment, “Five more minutes, Mom.” Today, I don’t want to don my L.L. Bean Thermo-fill, hi-tech ski apparel and leave my opulent penthouse to venture out into the deadly, white killing machine that is, The Blizzard of 2016.

 

I was more of a man back when I was a kid.