Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Friday, November 6, 2009
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Dear Focus on the Family,
I have a concern I feel my neighbors are afraid to address directly. I can imagine some of them have already sent you letters portaining to what I'm about to divulge; nonetheless, I would like my letter to be considered individual, as it is of course being written by one. As we all well know, or those of us who are well enough, no two crosses are the same, despite the similarities of their hanging.
My friend and attentive neighbor, Mary, a school teacher, a young childrens school teacher, had herself a mighty stroke about a year ago and while I'm pleased in this instance our prayers were heard to the extent that she is fine, I feel her recovery has carved a new path none of us could have seen and therefore prayed upon. Seems mystery is not limited to the LORD. She has turned to a recovery method, run through a well-respected university, that involves robots. She, being a low-grade teacher, along with her husband being a non-union worker nor federal employee, cannot afford traditional recovery, therefore found herself all too keen to jump into this little robotic trial. I say little as her robot therapist companion is three feet tall. The experiment, which is more a behavioral study than anything else, is conducted by a lovely woman, and is free, free, free!
Mary is monitored via cameras and sensors and sonar {the robot uses this} while she, with her recovering right arm {she's a righty} pulls journals from a shelf just above her shoulder, and places them neatly in a file box situated on top of a desk behind her. She calls the robot over, in any emotional tone, and it approaches, rolling and swivelling {like R2D2!}, stopping roughly two feet from her thigh. She commends it for coming and stopping, and it beeps. Not a seat belt beep, a perfect friendly, hasty, cheerful tweet. She adores this.
As she correctly places each journal on the desk, her buddy beeps, less in approval than like a participant in a brand new game. The faster she moves, whilst maintaining efficiency, and the more energy she exerts, the more rhythmic, vigorous, and excitedly uplifting his beeps become. She refers to it in the male. She so enjoys this process {scientifically, the results are undeniable} that she recently told a major news outlet that she prefers the robot to her husband. In her words, "..., when I'm at home, my husband is useless. He just says, 'Do it.' I much prefer the robot to my husband."
They've been married for six years now and Mary and Steve have been unable to produce a child. While many of us in the community feel by these press statements that Mary may desire more attentiveness from her husband, we imagine that clearly she understands he {Steve} has more responsibilities to R2's one, which may explain the disparity in attention. The real issue at hand seems to be the robot's child-like excitement, accompanied by his tininess and demeanor.
Steve has of course read the quote in November's first issue of The New Yorker, and has for all intents and purposes become despondent. He has forgiven Mary, but in a very Catholic way, and not long ago was heard inquiring as to whether future human-robot copulation would constitute adultery. We would all hate to see a marriage crumble over a university's {albeit positive} robotic test-pool. Perhaps there are underpinnings beyond the 'uncanny valley'. Perhaps there's more to it than the lack of a child, although she does hold a pillow every time she sits on a stranger's couch.
Thoughts?
Brochures?
How bout a phone call.
Put Ahmanson's money to good use. Give us a shout.
All for Jesus Through Mary,
Esra Daliance
Dear Ms. Daliance,
Nineveh sours on countless hours.
Blessings,
F.F.
I have a concern I feel my neighbors are afraid to address directly. I can imagine some of them have already sent you letters portaining to what I'm about to divulge; nonetheless, I would like my letter to be considered individual, as it is of course being written by one. As we all well know, or those of us who are well enough, no two crosses are the same, despite the similarities of their hanging.
My friend and attentive neighbor, Mary, a school teacher, a young childrens school teacher, had herself a mighty stroke about a year ago and while I'm pleased in this instance our prayers were heard to the extent that she is fine, I feel her recovery has carved a new path none of us could have seen and therefore prayed upon. Seems mystery is not limited to the LORD. She has turned to a recovery method, run through a well-respected university, that involves robots. She, being a low-grade teacher, along with her husband being a non-union worker nor federal employee, cannot afford traditional recovery, therefore found herself all too keen to jump into this little robotic trial. I say little as her robot therapist companion is three feet tall. The experiment, which is more a behavioral study than anything else, is conducted by a lovely woman, and is free, free, free!
Mary is monitored via cameras and sensors and sonar {the robot uses this} while she, with her recovering right arm {she's a righty} pulls journals from a shelf just above her shoulder, and places them neatly in a file box situated on top of a desk behind her. She calls the robot over, in any emotional tone, and it approaches, rolling and swivelling {like R2D2!}, stopping roughly two feet from her thigh. She commends it for coming and stopping, and it beeps. Not a seat belt beep, a perfect friendly, hasty, cheerful tweet. She adores this.
As she correctly places each journal on the desk, her buddy beeps, less in approval than like a participant in a brand new game. The faster she moves, whilst maintaining efficiency, and the more energy she exerts, the more rhythmic, vigorous, and excitedly uplifting his beeps become. She refers to it in the male. She so enjoys this process {scientifically, the results are undeniable} that she recently told a major news outlet that she prefers the robot to her husband. In her words, "..., when I'm at home, my husband is useless. He just says, 'Do it.' I much prefer the robot to my husband."
They've been married for six years now and Mary and Steve have been unable to produce a child. While many of us in the community feel by these press statements that Mary may desire more attentiveness from her husband, we imagine that clearly she understands he {Steve} has more responsibilities to R2's one, which may explain the disparity in attention. The real issue at hand seems to be the robot's child-like excitement, accompanied by his tininess and demeanor.
Steve has of course read the quote in November's first issue of The New Yorker, and has for all intents and purposes become despondent. He has forgiven Mary, but in a very Catholic way, and not long ago was heard inquiring as to whether future human-robot copulation would constitute adultery. We would all hate to see a marriage crumble over a university's {albeit positive} robotic test-pool. Perhaps there are underpinnings beyond the 'uncanny valley'. Perhaps there's more to it than the lack of a child, although she does hold a pillow every time she sits on a stranger's couch.
Thoughts?
Brochures?
How bout a phone call.
Put Ahmanson's money to good use. Give us a shout.
All for Jesus Through Mary,
Esra Daliance
Dear Ms. Daliance,
Nineveh sours on countless hours.
Blessings,
F.F.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)