Max was seriously stoned. "Sure I guess so. Sure. In theory it could learn to do your job or mine. I remember a story I read by John Garth. It was called Giles Goat Boy. Yeah, Giles Goat Boy, what a title. Essentially it's about this Goat, musta been a real smart goat cause he talked and thunk and acted like a kid." They both roared at the double entendre of kid. That was worth another joint. "At any rate," Max tried to control his spasmodic chuckles. "At any rate, there were these two computers who competed for control of the world and this kid, I mean," laughing too hard to breath, "I mean this goat named Giles went on search of these computers to tell them they weren't doing a very good job." "So, what has that got to do with an Apple learning," Pierre said wiping the tears from his eyes. "Not a damn thing!" They entered another spasm of laughter. "No really. Most people either think, or like to think that a com- puter can think. But they can't, at least not like you and me. " Max had calmed down. "So?" Pierre thought there might still be a point to this conver- sation. "So, in theory, yeah, but probably not for a while. 10 years or so." "In theory, what?" Pierre asked. He was lost. "In theory a machine could think." "Oh." Pierre was disappointed. "But, you might be able to emulate thinking. H'mmmm." Max re- treated into mental oblivion as Abbey Road played in the back- ground. Anything from Apple records was required listening by Max. "Emulate. Emulate? What's that? Hey, Max. What's emulate? Hey Max, c'mon back to Earth. Emulate what?" Max jolted back to reality. "Oh, copy. You know, act like. Emulate. Don't they teach you emulation during sex education in France?" They both thought that that was the funniest thing ever said, in any language for all of written and pre-history. The substance of the evening's conversation went downhill from there. A few days later Max came by Pierre's loft. "I been thinking." "Scary thought. About what?" Pierre didn't look up from his Apple. "About emulating thought. You know what we were talking about the other night." "I can't remember this morning much less getting shit faced with you the other night." "You were going on and on about machines thinking. Remember?" "Yes," Pierre lied. "Well, I've been thinking about it." Max had a remarkable ability to recover from an evening of illicit recreation. He could actually grasp the germ of a stoned idea and let a straight mind deal with it the following day. "And, I maybe got a way to do what you want." "What do I want?" Pierre tried to remember. "You want to be able to label all of your music so that to all appearances each piece of music knows about every other piece of music. Right?" "Kinda, yeah, but you said that was impossible . . ." Pierre trailed off.