Thursday, July 8, 2004
Secondhand Rants will return on Monday, July 12.
Wednesday, July 7, 2004
One of my professors once explained, in a poetic moment set against a lazy afternoon, that most people only retain twenty to thirty percent of spoken conversation, forty if they know they’re being tested. If this theory holds true, then most students either missed the point entirely or hastily wrote “twenty to thirty tested conversations” in their notes.
I used to retain more than forty percent–or so I’ve been told, I hope–but recently I’ve noticed my capacity drop significantly, so much so that I’m clearly going to have trouble ordering at, like, an IHOP a decade or two down the road.
“Hi, welcome to International House of Pancakes. Can I take your order?”
“Wait, you only sell cake? Why not pancakes? I bet those internationals stole all of it. Never did trust those foreigners myself.”
Or what if you’re sitting at a fancy restaurant with a hot date when your listening comprehension fails you?
“–but the real reason I started skydiving is because there’s a sense of solitude when you’re suspended up in the sky. It’s a complete rush, but it’s a thoughtful rush, you know?”
“That’s fascinating. Have you ever gone skydiving before? Heard it’s fun. We should totally go sometime.”
The classic example, one we’ve probably all witnessed or experienced firsthand, is the infamous classroom scene.
“And that’s why the third differential works out so elegantly. Jane, would you like to add anything to the discussion?”
“Um…differential.”
The most obvious solution for this problem, of course, is to listen carefully, but that’s far less attractive than a pill or a device. Since there’s a glut of diet pills on the market right now, I want to innovate. Let’s go with the device.
I’d call my contraption the Speakeasier, and from a design perspective it’d be as small and simple to use as a deceased Tamagotchi. Record four replies into the gadget and that’s it! Here are the four replies:
Brilliant!
I’ve never thought of it that way.
Same thing as always.
Can I get back to you on that?
The advanced AI delivers these replies, in glorious CD-quality audio, based on inflection and keywords. In other words, if the gadget detects an excited speaker, it would reply with an excited phrase.
“I finally found the coat I wanted!”
“Brilliant!”
Let’s test the Speakeasier with our erstwhile examples, shall we?
“Hi, welcome to International House of Pancakes. Can I take your order?”
“Same thing as always.”
“–but the real reason I started skydiving is because there’s a sense of solitude when you’re suspended up in the sky. It’s a complete rush, but it’s a thoughtful rush, you know?”
“I’ve never thought of it that way.”
“And that’s why the third differential works out so elegantly. Jane, would you like to add anything to the discussion?”
“Same thing as always. Can I get back to you on that? “
The potential for customer dissatisfaction, however, is ever present.
“Do you love me?”
“Can I get back to you on that?”
“Fluffy just died!”
“Brilliant!”
If this ever happens, you should probably just run away.
Tuesday, July 6, 2004
I met Muse for lunch last Wednesday at a greasy burger joint, the kind of restaurant lodged symbiotically near subway stations. All told, the food wasn’t bad, and you could delude yourself into thinking you were at Chili’s if you shut your eyes tightly enough. It had been a good week at the skyscraper, better than most, but something weighed heavily on Muse’s mind. It turned out I was thinking about the same thing.
“Gosh, I can feel that gyro just sitting there,” she said as she leaned back.
“Yeah, the cook should’ve surgically implanted my burger into my arteries. You know, sped up the process,” I said, wiping my fingers on a hopelessly dirty napkin.
Muse glanced out the window at the rainy street corner and sighed.
“It’s getting pretty bad,” she finally said.
“I agree,” I replied. “This is the worst it’s ever been.”
We were talking about Blogger and why so many users’ journals were coming up blank, despite having the benevolent might of Google backing its technology. The actual Blogging mechanism still works, mind you, it’s the free hosting that’s going bonkers.
“We’ve got to do something about this,” she concluded.
“But what?” I said, letting the question hang for a theatrical moment.
“I don’t know,” she trailed off.
Muse excitedly seized a steak fry and waved it like a professor’s pointer, and for a moment the fry transcended its dirty tuber roots and became something noble. Moments later, it sank back to the plate while a downcast Muse sighed even louder.
“I thought there was something we could do. I guess not.”
I nodded. A cab had stopped at the corner, doors splayed open, and the passenger appeared to be haggling with the cabbie about something, probably fare. Maybe, I thought, maybe they should call it ‘Flogger’ because it’s so unforgiving.
If you hit the wrong button, your page doesn’t show up. If they upgrade their servers, your page still doesn’t show up. Really, the device should electrocute you every time you make a typo. Audio Blogger, in case you’ve kept up with all the recent bells and whistles offered by Google, would turn into Audio Flogger, a new product that would allow you to reach out and beat someone senseless.
I’m sure many gentle readers use Blogger. I’m also sure that many readers are tired of being told, “This page cannot be displayed.” Criminey! I clicked on a few blogs today and they looked identical–blank, white, filled with foreboding. The fact you’re told a page cannot be displayed even as it’s displayed is enough to liquefy the mind.
Can you tell I’m in a good mood today? Maybe if I click my sandals a few times–and jam them down on the accelerator, of course–I’ll get home quickly enough.