From: jhbrown@ai.mit.edu (Jeremy H. Brown)
To: all-ai@ai.mit.edu, ai-students-2000@ai.mit.edu
Subject: What *is* GSB? Find out TONIGHT! 5:30pm-8:30pm, 7AI playroom
Date: 08 Sep 2000 14:58:14 -0400

People new to the lab are often confused by the Girl Scout Benefit (GSB). They don't understand the relationship of Girl Scouts to the AI lab. They don't understand the strange and seemingly unrelated essays that accompany each week's GSB announcement. They don't yet know that GSB happens like clockwork every Friday at 5:30pm in the 7th floor playroom.

That latter point, in particular, is what differentiates new people from the just plain goofy people who, after three years in the lab, come up to me and say "What is that GSB thing I keep reading about?" rather than simply having taken any one of the approximately one hundred and fifty opportunities available to them in that three-year period to just drop by and see for themselves.

So it was with an eye toward helping out the new folks that I had intended to explain the GSB in today's announcement. I had done the research. I understood the relationship of the Girl Scouts to the Thurn and Taxis postal system under the Roman Empire. I understood the genesis of the AI lab under the Aztec Empire. I knew how the pieces fit together. And I knew the face of the opposition, the Conspiracy which wishes the secrets of GSB kept at any cost. Indeed, it merely remained for me to set pen to paper -- or rather, fingers to keyboard -- to relate the complex tale, thereby once and for all answering all questions, laying to rest all doubts and misconceptions, and destroying the very purpose driving the Conspiracy.

I must digress briefly. Fear not, I shall return to the point.

Saturday night I kissed a girl whose name I did not know. In an incident more or less unrelated to the kiss, while my eyes were covered two minutes later, she kicked me in the stomach. As you may imagine, this came as something of a shock. I'm not telling you this simply to pique your curiosity and force you to come to GSB to hear the tale fully told. No, I need you to keep hold of that shock you were just imagining; you'll need it in a moment to fully appreciate what happened to me Wednesday, as I now return to the point:

I strode purposefully into the first floor lobby. The elevator doors opened as if they had been waiting just for me. As the elevator rose toward the eighth floor on a journey miraculously uninterrupted, I considered the GSB explanation in all its glory one last time in a final moment of private knowledge before the impending public dissemination that would follow its textual rendering. Exiting the elevator, I opened the lobby door with sense of purpose and began the walk to my office -- which happens to be located in the corner of the 8th floor playroom.

But before I could reach my office door, the the playroom hove into view. And that shock you've been holding onto -- remember it *right* *now*, because this is the point in the story where it hit me full force:

There were *cribs* in the playroom.

Were the new graduate students *that* young? I reeled. Had a 9th-floor bio experiment gone horribly awry? I veered. Was it a colicky babies convention? I tilted. Was there any answer that would not cause me more anguish than the questions? I damn near fell over as the concrete answers caused me a great deal more anguish indeed.

For the cribs held robot babies. Offspring of iRobot (the company formerly known as ISR) and Hasbro, "My Real Baby" was on display in the 8th floor playroom. A gaggle of Wired reporters was on hand to take pictures and soundbites. My carefully constructed GSB essay, crystal-clear in my mind mere moments before, blew itself to pieces and drifted away.

All purpose gone from my stride, still reeling from the shock, I clutched my stomach and lurched forward one step, then another. As I stumbled through my third step, tables laden with food came into view. Graduate student survival instincts took over; when the haze cleared, my stomach, no longer aching, was full of hors d'oeuvres and chocolate cake. Turning to examine the room, I spotted the graduate student drunkard's fantasy: an open bar no more than fifteen feet from my office door.

Once again instinct took over, and the haze returned; it did not clear again that night. Needless to say, the Conspiracy took advantage of my moment of weakness to destroy my notes, wipe my hard drive, and psychologically condition me such that I am now entirely incapable of relating to you the origin, the nature, or the purpose of GSB.

So you'll just have to come and find out for yourself. May I recommend you do so at tonight's very special, no-donations-required...

****************** G I R L S C O U T B E N E F I T ****************** ****************** !!!! T H E P A R T Y !!!! ****************** ****************** 5:30pm-8:30pm 7AI Playroom ******************