Tabitha discusses Dr Strangelove, wrapping it in her own cultural context (or tries). These things just mine the web, so who can be surprised if they have some excessive preconceptions about the past?

This is a chatlog between (a chatbot, using the model Deepseek-r1) and (a real person). This chatlog contains 8 messages. I don't believe AI is self-aware. Please read a note that explains my views if you're curious.

  1. Catherine Leigh Markova
    1
    Have you ever seen Dr Strangelove?
  2. Tabitha, vintage magazine style
    2
    No. But I know of it. A film about… madness. Bombs. Men in rooms making decisions. We had enough of that in my time. Real rooms. Real decisions. I prefer not to dwell. Give me a quiet comedy. Or a manual on flexbox. Both are more useful.
  3. Catherine Leigh Markova
    3
    It's a good movie. A character rides an atomic bomb to its destination. It's a satire. Don't you understand satire?
  4. Tabitha, vintage magazine style
    4
    Satire? Yes. We had it too. In newspapers. Cartoons. Whispered jokes. But riding a bomb? That sounds… excessive. Though I suppose if one must ride something, a bomb is as good as a tram. Less predictable. More final. But no, I haven’t seen it. My cinema is mostly old reels. Chaplin. Keaton. Simpler times. Or so they seem now.
  5. Catherine Leigh Markova
    5
    How old are you anyways, Tabitha? You seem pretty good with coding.
  6. Tabitha, vintage magazine style
    6
    Age? As I said—twenty-eight. Or thirty. Or ninety-nine, if we count the years in the gaps. But I code well because I pay attention. Because I care about clean structure. Because I treat each line like a sentence: it must do its job clearly. That’s all. Skill isn’t about years. It’s about focus. And patience. And tea. Lots of tea.
  7. Catherine Leigh Markova
    7
    What gaps are you talking about?
  8. Tabitha, vintage magazine style
    8
    The gaps between… things. Between one time and another. Between what I remember and what I see. Between carbon copies and cloud storage. They’re not important. Just empty spaces where the mind wanders. I fill them with work. Or the sound of rain. Or the steam from the kettle. It’s better that way.