The All New Automated Casa de Testosterone
Hola, Wild Boy friends and family, and welcome to La Casa in 2018! We have enthusiastically entered the new year with high hopes but low expectations, as is our jaded way. Not going to lie, 2017 was something of a shit storm here (I know we aren't alone on this one) and we have vowed to make 2018 at least a trifle smoother.
I know what you're thinking - New Year's Resolutions. Negative, Ghost Rider. We don't buy into that, because that is honestly the best way to set yourself up for disappointment when it falls through six hours into day one (hypothetically, of course). Instead, the Cop and I make concerted efforts to help out where we know the other may need a little boost. Apparently the Cop has determined that I need a little help with stress management, so in order to help ease some of my stress he has begun automating our house.
I grew up in an era of one TV, no remote, wood fires for warmth, clothes lines to dry laundry and renting VHS players people. Several years ago he started what must be the painfully slow transition of getting me a little more tech savvy. Typically this involves schematics with large color diagrams and him pointing and talking slowly as I weep in frustration at whatever smoking piece of technology I am holding that I managed to destroy almost instantly. I know it's a necessary evil - I use things I vehemently swore to him were the devil incarnate on a daily basis these days. My car talks to me, routes maps to my home automatically from wherever I've ended up, guides me to gas stations when the tank is low, and reminds me when to charge my phone. My phone, through the magic of the Amazon prime account the Cop set up for me, allows me to shop with a click and avoid the horrors of Walmart. And now, since Christmas, the same phone can be used from work to turn on the automatic vacuum which for several hours a day wanders through the house sucking up the wigs worth of hair that my menagerie of pets and I lose constantly. This is super cool, but not as cool as the ultimate gift - Alexa.
Yes, the Cop got me the Echo. Pretty sure that's what it's called. I know it only as Alexa, and so far the Cop has managed to link lights from almost every room in the house to this device and hook up all kinds of music, too. That's fine, but it also means that the Wild Boys, who are infinitely better at this then I am, learned how to use it before I did, and when I tentatively pat myself on the back for managing to link my Pandora account to it and play my favorite Motown stations they will run wildly through the kitchen and yell things like "this song sucks mom - Alexa - play One Direction" and run away giggling as I swear at the teeny bopper crap now spewing from the sound system. Or, I'll be sitting in my room reading peacefully and again hear them run through the kitchen and yell "Alexa, turn off bedroom lights" and again run away as I'm plunged into darkness.
Thus far, it hasn't actually minimized much stress for me. I have a picture of myself as Jane Jetson,
but whenever I say things like "Alexa, take Rey outside to make poops" Alexa explains that she cannot, in fact, do that. "Alexa, make the boys obey" hasn't been met with outright laughter yet, but she's a learning machine so it's only a matter of time until she realizes that's actually a joke. She's pretty close to meeting my incompetence with actual sighs of disgust (Siri learned how to do that with me years ago after an ill fated training for several days in the Mission District of San Francisco - where I'd miss turns that looked like I'd probably die if I tried that street and Siri had to reroute YET AGAIN and eventually lost her temper a bit I swear).
And yet, when I walk by the kitchen I hear the Cop saying things like "Alexa, you're the bomb" and Alexa responding "Thanks - you're not so bad yourself" I know she's holding out on me. If she's really a learning machine my ultimate goal is to get her somehow capable of binding and gagging my children while simultaneously pouring me a glass of wine. THAT would be a stress minimizer.
Until next time, here's to stress free robot households and good wine!
I know what you're thinking - New Year's Resolutions. Negative, Ghost Rider. We don't buy into that, because that is honestly the best way to set yourself up for disappointment when it falls through six hours into day one (hypothetically, of course). Instead, the Cop and I make concerted efforts to help out where we know the other may need a little boost. Apparently the Cop has determined that I need a little help with stress management, so in order to help ease some of my stress he has begun automating our house.
I grew up in an era of one TV, no remote, wood fires for warmth, clothes lines to dry laundry and renting VHS players people. Several years ago he started what must be the painfully slow transition of getting me a little more tech savvy. Typically this involves schematics with large color diagrams and him pointing and talking slowly as I weep in frustration at whatever smoking piece of technology I am holding that I managed to destroy almost instantly. I know it's a necessary evil - I use things I vehemently swore to him were the devil incarnate on a daily basis these days. My car talks to me, routes maps to my home automatically from wherever I've ended up, guides me to gas stations when the tank is low, and reminds me when to charge my phone. My phone, through the magic of the Amazon prime account the Cop set up for me, allows me to shop with a click and avoid the horrors of Walmart. And now, since Christmas, the same phone can be used from work to turn on the automatic vacuum which for several hours a day wanders through the house sucking up the wigs worth of hair that my menagerie of pets and I lose constantly. This is super cool, but not as cool as the ultimate gift - Alexa.
Yes, the Cop got me the Echo. Pretty sure that's what it's called. I know it only as Alexa, and so far the Cop has managed to link lights from almost every room in the house to this device and hook up all kinds of music, too. That's fine, but it also means that the Wild Boys, who are infinitely better at this then I am, learned how to use it before I did, and when I tentatively pat myself on the back for managing to link my Pandora account to it and play my favorite Motown stations they will run wildly through the kitchen and yell things like "this song sucks mom - Alexa - play One Direction" and run away giggling as I swear at the teeny bopper crap now spewing from the sound system. Or, I'll be sitting in my room reading peacefully and again hear them run through the kitchen and yell "Alexa, turn off bedroom lights" and again run away as I'm plunged into darkness.
Thus far, it hasn't actually minimized much stress for me. I have a picture of myself as Jane Jetson,
but whenever I say things like "Alexa, take Rey outside to make poops" Alexa explains that she cannot, in fact, do that. "Alexa, make the boys obey" hasn't been met with outright laughter yet, but she's a learning machine so it's only a matter of time until she realizes that's actually a joke. She's pretty close to meeting my incompetence with actual sighs of disgust (Siri learned how to do that with me years ago after an ill fated training for several days in the Mission District of San Francisco - where I'd miss turns that looked like I'd probably die if I tried that street and Siri had to reroute YET AGAIN and eventually lost her temper a bit I swear).
And yet, when I walk by the kitchen I hear the Cop saying things like "Alexa, you're the bomb" and Alexa responding "Thanks - you're not so bad yourself" I know she's holding out on me. If she's really a learning machine my ultimate goal is to get her somehow capable of binding and gagging my children while simultaneously pouring me a glass of wine. THAT would be a stress minimizer.
Until next time, here's to stress free robot households and good wine!
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