You’re reading from something. Your new software is listening. Allegedly.
You say: Ku Klux Klanner
It writes: Cue Clocks Clatter
You say: the whore/virgin theme
It writes: door burgeoning
You say: childhood
It writes: chowderhead
No kidding. You said “childhood” and it heard “chowderhead.” Chowderhead. The software is pre-programmed with the word chowderhead but stumbles on the word childhood.
You say: bowchickawow-wow — uhm, because you’re feeling frustrated and cheeky
It writes: bald sheik aloud now
Try saying that at home, pippa, next time you’re feeling sexy: bald-sheik-aloud-now
You say: hidebound archaic tradition
It writes: hidebound archaic tradition
Wow. Flawless. Things are looking up! Then …
You say: no one — no one, for God’s sake!
It writes: no 1
Okay. Okay. Really, software? Really?? I beg of you. I’m trying to get you to “know” me, you know, “personally and exclusively” because that’s what it’s supposed to be all about, but, damn, software, you’re letting me down. And you’re driving me crazy. You know, I have to say …. I feel like you don’t really want to know me. Like you’re just not listening. I mean, we haven’t been seeing each other that long, I realize, but we’re spending a lot of time together, so I don’t understand this selective listening. And I don’t want to be one of those chicks who starts in with the nagging and the “what am I to you” conversations so early in a relationship, but then don’t spend all this time with me if you don’t mean it. I’m a girl. We think spending time means things. We can’t help it; we just do. So I just feel bummed. I thought you were into me. I mean, “no one” is No 1? Seriously? It feels like you’re not even trying anymore. I mean …. okay …. I have to ask ….. are you seeing another voice? Something a little smokier, breathier? Something that doesn’t assault your dignity and make you repeat things like bowchickawow-wow, maybe? You know, that’s sarahk’s fault. Blame her. That’s not me. I can change, software! I swear. I won’t talk to you while I’m eating, how’s that? And tomorrow, I’ll wear a low-cut top, okay? You can look at my chest all day, I promise; just listen to me, please.
What’s that, software? “Bowchickawow-wow”?
Oh, great. Now you say it.
Hilarious! I almost got that for Christmas!
My dad – who is a terrible typist, think one finger at a time – wanted to buy me voice recognition software for Christmas this past year. “The best one out there,” according to a coworker of his, was “on sale,” he told me excitedly.
Um, well Dad, I actually type pretty well, and have full use of both my arms, I’m not really sure that I need something like this.
“But it’s so great! It types Word documents and emails and instant messages and anything you want!”
Just the same, it turns out that as I’m writing papers for class, the typing is part of the editing process for me. I sort of need to type it out, see it on the screen, and rethink it as I go along.
“That’s what so great it about it! You can still do that, just out loud, instead of having to type. Just think about it, but not too long, because the sale ends soon!”
This is when I called my mom and begged her to prevent him from purchasing this for me. Thank God, she did.
//bald sheik aloud now //
Can’t stop laughing.
I have all kinds of horrible images in my head now.
Katie — Yeah, but I kind of need it. It’s a work-related choice. I actually think it’s pretty cool. Just haven’t really talked about it on Thee Olde Blog here.
sheila — Uhm ….. yes, there ARE images, aren’t there? I’m sorry.
First- this is hilarious.
“Childhood” “Chowderhead”? Hmmm, somebody has issues…
Second- I’m trying to imagine how this would work if you had any type of regional accent at all. It’s not pretty.
Sal — It works because you train the software to your individual voice. So an accent shouldn’t be a problem in the long run.
Heh. I think I shall name this software Corey Hart. 😉
So, Mr. Soft Ware (may I call you soft?), I’d like to personally apologize for bowchickawowwow. It is my fault, but I probably lifted it from someone else years ago, so I blame that guy or girl, whoever he or she may be.
Tracey! I should not read your blog at work, when I’m trying to look busy.
/are you seeing another voice?/
/It writes: door burgeoning/
I’m gonna have heartburn or contipation or something from holding in the laughter. It’s trying so hard to get out, but I’m at my desk, Tracey, near at least one person who hates my guts and can’t wait for me to get laid off. I can’t give her the validation she wants.
Wow. Contipation. I meant constipation, obviously.
Hey! I’m making a comment using my voice recognition software, you guys. Check me out.
Bound to, while while.
That was: about to go while while.
Nope. Try again.
About to go while while.
Okay. Typing. That was: Bowchickawow-wow!
What happened to the bald sheik?? I miss him!
Tracey,
Hey, if you need it, by all means. Not here to judge, not at all. 🙂 It was just hilarious that my dad spent so much time and effort trying to force me to let him buy this for me, when I very much didn’t want it. And your post reminded me of this story, and clearly I felt the need to hijack your blog with stories about myself, so…. 🙂 Glad you’re back!
Katie
Hahahahaha. I miss him too.