Wednesday, July 12, 2017

My world of autocorrect

We have an Echo. My brother-in-law, Lew, kindly bought it for us when I was out of work last year. It's been a great source of entertainment from playing music (mostly country) to ocean sounds (for meditation ) to most recently podcasts (I JUST started S town). I like the puny dirty jokes.

Now that my voice is going, I admittedly sound like a drunken sailor on a good day, and even my family is starting to have trouble understanding me. -- talking to my Echo, or Alexa as she is so fondly referred to, has become its own source of entertainment.

Me: Alexa, table lamps on.
Alexa: I'm sorry, I don't know table eels.
Me: Alexa, table lamps on.
A: I'm sorry, I don't know tattoo limps.
Me: Alexa, table lamps on.
A: I'm sorry. I don't know T. E. Z. Laps.
(Deep breath)
Me: Alexa, table lamps on.
A: please refer to your Alexa app to turn on your titty amps.
(Second deep breath after five minute fit of giggles)
Me: Alexa, lamps on!
A: okay
(Lamps go on)

This is a daily occurrence.

Me: Alexa, play country music.
A: playing coat and mullet by---
Me: ALEXA, play country music!
A: playing country kitchen by---
A: playing today's country.

Sometimes, I just give up and let her play whatever she thinks she heard me ask for.

Then there is my phone. Oy. Texting with my fingers has become very difficult for me, so I am using my voice recognition software on most interactions. I wonder what my neighbors think of me as I break into fits of laughter as I "talk to myself" in the backyard.  Trying to tell my family via text that my feeding tube was scheduled for July 26th, originally came out as: I'm sexting the feeling too for July tweety sit.  

I laughed for ten minutes.

If I don't lap I wilt die.
If I don't laugh I will cry.

Live to Love. Love to Live.