What do videos, Fergie, Chrissy Teigen, Kim Kardashian, and nursing moms have in common? Image. Message. Intention. Neon.

Huh? What did I say? Have I gone completely BONKERS? The jury is still out on THAT, but hopefully, it’ll all make sense very soon. 

If you use videos in your blogs as much as I love to do, you’ll definitely want to read this post! 

It’s TOTALLY cutting edge…and totally COOL.

And FREE. Yup, FREE!! Read on…

Marshall McLuhan had a lot more to say than his ubiquitous “The medium is the message.” 
How about…
“We shape our tools and thereafter our tools shape us.”
“The new electronic interdependence recreates the world in the image of a global village.”

“Advertising is the greatest art form of the 20th century.”

And this is one of my faves: “Diaper backward spells repaid”. (Think about it.)

Which leads me into this message of MY medium.

I’ve shared a bit about my son we all refer to as Angel Boy, esteemed professor in the Pacific Northwest with a Ph.D. from Yale, and I’ve shared a few stories about Angel Boy 2.0, my one and only amazing and brilliant grandson — but I’ve not talked much about my DIL, other than to tell you that she’s also brilliant and even more spectacular is the fact that she successfully gestated the world’s most beautiful manchild (lol).
After doing something like that, there’s not really anything else she’d need to do to become my favorite daughter-in-law in the whole world, but there’s more to tell
 
I am so VERY proud of her!  
More than 1.8 billion pictures are uploaded to the Internet every day—and she knows exactly which ones you’ll choose to look at.

With a Ph.D. in Neuroscience from Brown University, my DIL is co-founder of Neon–a company that uses human neuroscience and machine learning to automatically select images for some of the world’s largest publishers and platforms.

Neon is supported by leading Silicon Valley venture capitalists, the National Science Foundation, and has been recognized by the World Economic Forum, The White House, Fast Company and others.

Get to know a bit more about Sophie HERE where she was chosen one of Fast Company’s most creative people of 2015.

DIL has been working hard juggling start up life, delivering a beautiful baby, AND A BEAUTIFUL APP.

Here’s the cool part for us bloggers and anyone who loves videos– the app is user-friendly for those of us who are less than brainy techies–YAY!!

Neon Pro is FREE and available at https://app.neon-lab.com.

I know you’ll do me a HUGE favor and re-post and share and post on your walls and tweet all about this amazing FREE app

Since the title of this post should contain content that makes SENSE, here’s my breastfeeding connection. Thirty-five years ago, I did it night and day with my Angel Boy. Now DIL feeds precious AB 2.0 the same way. Mothers have been feeding their babies this way FOREVER. Animals do it; whales and dolphins, too. It’s beautiful and natural. Although I was a stay-at-home-mom,  I am in awe of working moms who manage to do it all like my DIL, Fergie, Chrissy Teigen, and even Kim Kardashian.
Have you seen Fergie’s new video?
I processed Fergie’s M.I.L.F.$ video (with her celebrity momfriends) through the Neon app. MILF, anyone?

Here’s another video I processed of the paddleboarder in Half Moon Bay who had an encounter with a whale.
http://neon.li/2aleepl

Now YOU try it! Neon Pro is FREE and available at https://app.neon-lab.com.

 


BREAKING NEWS…San Francisco – July 28, 2016 – Neon Labs (https://neon-lab.com/), the video and image performance company, today announced the availability of Neon Pro, a free web app that makes the company’s deep learning technology, and NeonScoreTM, available to individual content creators. Previously, the technology—which identifies and serves high performing video thumbnails and images—was only available to global image, video, eCommerce and content platforms operating at massive scale, through Neon EnterpriseTM.

Founded on a decade of neurocognitive research at Brown University, Carnegie Mellon University, and Harvard Medical School, Neon technology combines the science of human perception, deep learning, and the world’s largest and most comprehensive dataset of emotional responses to images. Using deep neural nets trained on human visual perception data, rather than just clickstream data, Neon predicts how people will emotionally respond to an image, and how effective the image will be in driving engagement.

Neon’s predictive image technology helps businesses drive significantly higher clicks, likes and shares for videos and images, resulting in increased revenue. The company guarantees that Neon Enterprise customers will increase their overall engagement rate. Depending on the content and context, increases in engagement of 30% and higher are common.

Neon Pro, a free and slimmed-down version of the company’s enterprise offering, now available as a web app, allows individuals and content producers to get NeonScores for their videos and images. Neon Pro identifies the thumbnails and images that are guaranteed to increase engagement over human-selected images and thumbnails.

Neon Pro is free and available at https://app.neon-lab.com.

How NeonScore Works:
The NeonScore is a number from 0 to 99, common to Neon Pro and Neon Enterprise, that measures the predicted emotional impact of an image for a given audience, device or platform. The higher the number, the higher the predicted engagement. NeonScore uses the company’s patent pending methods to analyze every image or video frame for over 1,000 unique and interrelated “valence” features that drive human interest, such as eye gaze, instability, brightness, and incompleteness.

“Unlike the traditional deep neural networks that are trained to identify objects in a scene, Neon uses deep learning in a creative way to predict the emotional response to images at massive scale. This novel approach has helped us identify the features of an image that drive engagement, allowing us to predict the images that will go viral, even before they are published” said Sophie Lebrecht, Neon Chief Science Officer.

#NeonScore #NeonPro #WomeninTech #DeepLearning #AI
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Pap Smear With Benefits #Midlife Version

In the spirit of October’s Healthy Living Theme, the entire body will be in the limelight. LOL. Don’t miss Friday’s post!


V-jayjay Exam.checkmark

Botox.

Check and double check.

Time management at its finest.

Just like most females who endure that yearly gynecological wellness check, which may or may not be another sip of the Kool-Aid that we’ve been conditioned to believe is essential for good health and cancer detection, I too brave the silvery stirrups every twelve moons or so, although at my advanced #midlife status, it’s acceptable to wait a couple of years between these physically invasive exams.

My pre-check routine is to bathe and shave (this might be oversharing, but I don’t wax ‘cos I’m allergic to it and I really have an aversion to strangers hanging around “down there”) and make myself and my lady parts as camera-ready as possible.

If I could bedazzle or drape a scarf around it, I would, as I do loves me some accessories, so I attempt to spruce it up all up for the big reveal. I mean, you never know when you’re going to be discovered, right? Always ready, that’s my motto. As Norma Desmond said, “All right, Mr. DeMille, I’m ready for my close up.”

A momentary pause for a brief rant:

 I gotta comment on the feelings of being post-menopausal and sitting in the same waiting room with full-to-bursting, fecund, FERTILE women.

It doesn’t feel very good. To be past — as in beyond — childbearing age.

It’s not that I want to have another baby even if I could– I’m no Michelle Duggar — the truth is that I only wanted one perfect child (which I have), but to be sitting amongst those who still have functional baby makers made me feel kind of dried up and old.

“I’m in the club”,  I whispered to myself. “I was just like you guys. I puked for four months and then ate my weight in blueberry pancakes and endless jars of gefilte fish (and I mean eating them straight from the jar and even drinking that disgusting jelly-like liquid) and couldn’t see my feet for the last two months before I went through the hell of a twenty-four hour labor and eventual Caesarean section delivery.”

I wanna pull up my shirt and pull my pants down just enough to proudly display my C-section scar, those battle wounds, my daily reminder of  the painjoypainjoy I endured to become a mom, which is all I ever really wanted to be when I grew up.

“My memories might be thirty-two years ago but I remember it like it was yesterday.”

Screw it. The solution should be separate waiting rooms. I can’t deal with the assault of fruitfulness slapping my aridity in the face.

Rant status: OVER.

Just like we all have to do whether we are the elite or the hoi polloi or even Kim Kardashian or Kate Middleton, I changed into the most unflattering shade of pure and blinding white scratchy paper gown with the narrow plastic belt/tie/thingy. The great equalizer. It was barely long enough to execute a proper bow. Or maybe it was a hairband? Now I’m not sure. Whatev. Is white paper the new black? The new orange? Nope. It’s still nothing that will ever be trendy or urban chic.

Great, the next step is the inelegant hop up on the also white paper-covered exam/lounging table. I must admit I’ve become so spoiled by 800-thread count sheets that I was quite offended by the scratchy but slippery texture. At least it’s sterile — and that pleases my OCD.

The doc finally sauntered in with a pleasant smile and bouncy hair, switching on that godforsaken bright light that serves to highlight each and every darling cellulite dimple that I’ve accumulated over the last few decades. ILOVEMYCELLULITEILOVEMYCELLULITE. NOPE. SERIOUSLY. I HATE MY CELLULITE.

“How often do you do a self-exam breast check?” Doctor Z asked as she was doing just that. “Never” I said, with my most winsome smile. “There really isn’t enough there to check…” She laughed at my little attempt at levity to lighten the atmosphere while she’s kneading and pinching and probably thinking about what she’s going to be drinking later on that evening — anyway, that’s what I was doing. White wine? No. Pinot Noir? No. Straight vodka from the bottle? Winner, winner, winner! 

That wasn’t soooo bad, but then we reached  the dreaded part of the visit where the doc always says, “Can you scoot down a little more?” And then, “How about a little more?”

Ignominy. That’s the only way to describe it.

Quack quack

Quack quack

A Pap smear, also called a Pap test, is a procedure to test for cervical cancer in women by collecting cells from the cervix. That first involves the insertion of an instrument of torture called a speculum. FYI, the modern speculum was invented (by a man, of course) in 1845.

I can share with you after having gone through about a dozen gynos over the years, Doctor Z is the BEST. And I prefer a woman gyn. I don’t think a man can understand what our issues are, no matter what. Only a woman knows what another woman feels and experiences.  Doc Z has perfected a painless method of scraping the cervix and she’s never accidentally pinched that very sensitive area that makes you want to convulsively kick their faces across the room. FYI, that’s the real reason why the have those little wheeled stools so they can roll away FAST before they get punched out by a valiant v-jayjay.

The most dreaded part of the exam is over; time to stuff the paper gown in the trash and get dressed.

But this visit’s not quite over because Dr. Z has joined the ranks of a new breed of doctor; combining a medical specialty with the value added option of a little cosmetic rejuvenation in the form of Botox and fillers.

Ergo the Pap smear and Botox.

I consider it my reward for enduring the humiliation of exposing my inner workings. While we chat about being vegan and a new vegan restaurant in Encinitas called #Native Foods,  Doc Z prepares the botulism that will be injected into my face; to paralyze the correct muscles and stem the flow of aging —  if only for a few brief months.

But that’s good enough for me.

Maybe I can no longer have babies growing in my belly –but my glass is still half full; I no longer have to worry about “that time of the month” and my empty nest (and womb) affords me the opportunity for a little well deserved pampering.

What’s your experience with your OB-GYN (if you care to share, that is!)
Do you have a male of female doc?

Pap Smear With Benefits (#Midlife Version)

V-jayjay Exam.checkmark

Botox.

Check and double check.

Time management at its finest.

Just like most females who endure that yearly gynecological wellness check, which may or may not be another sip of the Kool-Aid that we’ve been conditioned to believe is essential for good health and cancer detection, I too brave the silvery stirrups every twelve moons or so, although at my advanced #midlife status, it’s acceptable to wait a couple of years between these physically invasive exams.

My pre-check routine is to bathe and shave (this might be oversharing, but I don’t wax ‘cos I’m allergic to it and I really have an aversion to strangers hanging around “down there”) and make myself and my lady parts as camera-ready as possible.

If I could bedazzle or drape a scarf around it, I would, as I do loves me some accessories, so I attempt to spruce it up all up for the big reveal. I mean, you never know when you’re going to be discovered, right? Always ready, that’s my motto. As Norma Desmond said, “All right, Mr. DeMille, I’m ready for my close up.”

A momentary pause for a brief rant:

 I gotta comment on the feelings of being post-menopausal and sitting in the same waiting room with full-to-bursting, fecund, FERTILE women.

It doesn’t feel very good. To be past — as in beyond — childbearing age.

It’s not that I want to have another baby even if I could– I’m no Michelle Duggar — the truth is that I only wanted one perfect child (which I have), but to be sitting amongst those who still have functional baby makers made me feel kind of dried up and old.

“I’m in the club”,  I whispered to myself. “I was just like you guys. I puked for four months and then ate my weight in blueberry pancakes and endless jars of gefilte fish (and I mean eating them straight from the jar and even drinking that disgusting jelly-like liquid) and couldn’t see my feet for the last two months before I went through the hell of a twenty-four hour labor and eventual Caesarean section delivery.”

I wanna pull up my shirt and pull my pants down just enough to proudly display my C-section scar, those battle wounds, my daily reminder of  the painjoypainjoy I endured to become a mom, which is all I ever really wanted to be when I grew up.

“My memories might be thirty-two years ago but I remember it like it was yesterday.”

Screw it. The solution should be separate waiting rooms. I can’t deal with the assault of fruitfulness slapping my aridity in the face.

Rant status: OVER.

Just like we all have to do whether we are the elite or the hoi polloi or even Kim Kardashian or Kate Middleton, I changed into the most unflattering shade of pure and blinding white scratchy paper gown with the narrow plastic belt/tie/thingy. The great equalizer. It was barely long enough to execute a proper bow. Or maybe it was a hairband? Now I’m not sure. Whatev. Is white paper the new black? The new orange? Nope. It’s still nothing that will ever be trendy or urban chic.

Great, the next step is the inelegant hop up on the also white paper-covered exam/lounging table. I must admit I’ve become so spoiled by 800-thread count sheets that I was quite offended by the scratchy but slippery texture. At least it’s sterile — and that pleases my OCD.

The doc finally sauntered in with a pleasant smile and bouncy hair, switching on that godforsaken bright light that serves to highlight each and every darling cellulite dimple that I’ve accumulated over the last few decades. ILOVEMYCELLULITEILOVEMYCELLULITE. NOPE. SERIOUSLY. I HATE MY CELLULITE.

“How often do you do a self-exam breast check?” Doctor Z asked as she was doing just that. “Never” I said, with my most winsome smile. “There really isn’t enough there to check…” She laughed at my little attempt at levity to lighten the atmosphere while she’s kneading and pinching and probably thinking about what she’s going to be drinking later on that evening — anyway, that’s what I was doing. White wine? No. Pinot Noir? No. Straight vodka from the bottle? Winner, winner, winner! 

That wasn’t soooo bad, but then we reached  the dreaded part of the visit where the doc always says, “Can you scoot down a little more?” And then, “How about a little more?”

Ignominy. That’s the only way to describe it.

Quack quack

Quack quack

A Pap smear, also called a Pap test, is a procedure to test for cervical cancer in women by collecting cells from the cervix. That first involves the insertion of an instrument of torture called a speculum. FYI, the modern speculum was invented (by a man, of course) in 1845.

I can share with you after having gone through about a dozen gynos over the years, Doctor Z is the BEST. And I prefer a woman gyn. I don’t think a man can understand what our issues are, no matter what. Only a woman knows what another woman feels and experiences.  Doc Z has perfected a painless method of scraping the cervix and she’s never accidentally pinched that very sensitive area that makes you want to convulsively kick their faces across the room. FYI, that’s the real reason why the have those little wheeled stools so they can roll away FAST before they get punched out by a valiant v-jayjay.

The most dreaded part of the exam is over; time to stuff the paper gown in the trash and get dressed.

But this visit’s not quite over because Dr. Z has joined the ranks of a new breed of doctor; combining a medical specialty with the value added option of a little cosmetic rejuvenation in the form of Botox and fillers.

Ergo the Pap smear and Botox.

I consider it my reward for enduring the humiliation of exposing my inner workings. While we chat about being vegan and a new vegan restaurant in Encinitas called #Native Foods,  Doc Z prepares the botulism that will be injected into my face; to paralyze the correct muscles and stem the flow of aging —  if only for a few brief months.

But that’s good enough for me.

Maybe I can no longer have babies growing in my belly –but my glass is still half full; I no longer have to worry about “that time of the month” and my empty nest (and womb) affords me the opportunity for a little well deserved pampering.

What’s your experience with your OB-GYN (if you care to share, that is!)
Do you have a male of female doc?