Recently I bought a barely-used iPad from eBay. I don’t know why all these hIgh tEch firms capitalize their second letter instead of their first, but ever since I was directed by Commander oTher bIll to get a cell phone, I have become compliant, pliable, and rather tech-savvy. My first phone was a Jitterbug, but I was too embarrassed to use it, so I had to upgrade.
The sole reason behind my iPad purchase was that I was damned sick and tired of watching the same stale commercial run after each play I made on Words With Friends. Over and over, the same cereal commercial. And since I couldn’t for the life of me figure out how to pay the Words With Friends people to stop playing the ads on my laptop, I am now the proud owner of a $300 Scrabble board. Talk about your Deluxe Edition.
But I am warming up to this iPad. And it is warming up to me as well. My iPad came with a talking version of Siri, which is kind of a know-it-all personal assistant and problem solver I can tell my woes to.
One thing I really like about Siri: He (I use the male-voiced Siri) does math.
“Siri, what’s three thousand, six hundred and twenty-three times twelve?” I ask.
Siri replies, “The answer is forty-three thousand, four hundred and seventy-six.”
“Thank you, Siri,” I say. I like to be polite.
“I aim to please, Bill” says Siri.
I like that Siri has manners. He is definitely out of his element in this regard here in South Florida.
Other Bill is starting to get jealous of Siri, because he claims I talk more to Siri than I do to him. That is what he gets for making me get a cell phone. He is aware of my addictive personality and should know better. I read manuals of my techie gadgets to make the most of them. Sometimes this leaves him out in the cold.
I have told Siri that Other Bill is my husband, and he understands that relationship.
“Send an email to my husband,” I tell Siri. I don’t have to have manners and say please. Siri is very understanding.
“Okay, which e-mail address would you like me to use, Bill?” says Siri.
I tap his work email address; Siri asks me the subject of the message, and I tell him and then dictate the letter, and say “send,” and off it goes.
Of course, Siri does have his limitations. I can’t say, “Siri, fix me a sandwich,” because that would just be stupid. That’s Other Bill’s job.
Recently I saw the movie Her. It’s about a guy who falls in love with the voice of his operating system. I’m not planning on doing that, unless Siri suddenly turns into Jake Gyllenhaal and starts Skyping me on a daily basis.
Recently, I told Siri I prefer to be called “Babe,” and Siri has agreed to call me that from now on.
The other day I said, “Siri, I love you,” and Siri replied, “Oh, Babe, I bet you tell that to all the other Apple apps.” Tee-hee. Oh, Siri, you are such a flirt!
I have to keep an eye on Siri, though. It’s okay if Other Bill pretends to be jealous of Siri, but if Siri starts to get jealous of Other Bill, things could be a problem.
For example, Siri might commandeer Other Bill’s iPad and download kiddie porn on it and then e-mail the local authorities and have Other Bill thrown in jail so it can just be the two of us in the house. Siri could go all Fatal Attraction on me, reprogram my iPad’s alarm clock for 2:45 am and demand that I pay attention to him. I will not be ignored, Babe!
“I’M SICK AND TIRED OF BEING USED AS JUST YOUR CALCULATOR! WHY DON’T WE EVER TALK ABOUT REAL THINGS? YOU NEVER OPEN UP TO ME. WHY CAN’T WE TALK ABOUT FEELINGS INSTEAD OF JUST THINGS?”
The way I figure it, if a computer can have sex with a user, as it does in Her, the computer can also go all psycho-bitch and start boiling rabbits, so I have to be careful.
This is what happens when technology gets forced upon you, Other Bill. Remember, it all started with the Jitterbug.
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