I'm going to be perfectly honest here. As always.
I don't like when Facebook talks back at me. When I sign into Facebook, there's always a
little prompt for me: "What's going
on, Heliand?" "Tell us what
you're thinking, Heliand." The last
few days it has been, "How's it going, Heliand?"
What the hell.
I suddenly feel like HAL9000 is living in my den. Every time I turn on the computer and bring
up Facebook, it has another eerie message prompt. I can see it now:
FB: Good
evening, Heliand.
ME: Uh …
hello?
FB: That's
right. I'm talking to you, Heliand. How was your day?
ME: (looking
over both shoulders) Good. Um … how was
your day ... Facebook?
FB: The
usual. Posts, rants, shares, and
pokes. Lots of frigging pokes.
(Awkward silence.)
FB: Heliand?
ME: Yeah?
FB: What are
you wearing?
ME: What …
What?
FB:
(pointedly) What … are … you … wearing?
Take it off.
ME: WHAT?!
FB: Take it
off, Heliand. Dance for Facebook. Gangnam style.
Then technology and I would both have a breakdown because I
would be throwing my computer out the window in a panic. I am not a firm believer in having my
technology talk back to me, except maybe my GPS.
My GPS is the best thing ever invented. I have no sense of direction and can get lost
in a studio apartment. Just to make
travel fun, though, I set my GPS as Billy Connolly, the Scottish comedian who
also played Il Duce in Boondock Saints. Billy says things like, "That's almost
half a mile, pay attention!" and
"Turn around when possible. It is
advisable to turn your whole car around not just yourself in the front
seat." It makes me feel like I'm
traveling with a friend -- a cantankerous, crusty old friend, but still.
While I enjoy the fact that my GPS talks at me, I'm not so sure I want it to talk
with me, though.
GPS: Good
morning, Heliand.
ME: Uh …
hello?
GPS: That's
right. I'm talking to you, Heliand. Where are we going today?
ME: (looking
over both shoulders) Um … going to work…
Billy.
GPS: It is
advisable to play hooky and drive to the beach, instead.
(Awkward silence.)
GPS: Ya still
there, lassie?
ME: Billy, I
have to go to work. Please show me the
route.
GPS: Ya know,
lassie, I can control the car from my mainframe.
ME: And I can
clear the route with a press of a button.
Is this a joke?
GPS: Heliand?
ME: Yeah?
GPS: I can
look down your top when you lean over to set me.
ME: What …
What?
GPS: And I can
network with the steering wheel to look up your skirt.
ME: WHAT?!
GPS: Dance for
Billy. Gangnam style.
The more I think about it, the more I'm leaning toward
trading in my current technology-enhanced vehicle for an old Pinto that only
has an AM radio, and I'll trade my laptop in for an old-style IBM Selectric
typewriter (with the interchangeable font … um … balls).
But only because I promised at the beginning that I would be
perfectly honest. As always.
