I have never claimed to have a strangle hold on clever shit.
So it doesn’t shock me when I find myself doing something stupid, that I find out is a lot stupider than I thought at first.
My iPhone comes with Siri, my cyber mistress.
She sets my reminders, alarms, appointments, answers my questions with her little dry comments.
True, we will never consummate the relationship, but what she does for me is critical.
A week ago, while screwing around in the phone settings, I found that I could give Siri an accent.
So she has been Australian for the last week.
Its been cute, her little accent.
It was amusing, right up until my texting stopped working.
It has been a frustrating week.
I am a lazy texter, there in lies the problem.
I rarely type on my phone, my fingers are a little clumsy and I tend to hit several letters.
Speech to text is much better.
And now its not working.
The speech to text is pooched and cannot recognize shit.
I have been meaning to call tech support, but found myself too busy.
Do you see it now? I sure as hell didn’t.
I was just about to leave the gym, standing sweaty and exhausted in my judo gi, waiting to talk with one of the trainers.
Just for shits and giggles, I changed Siri’s voice back to English.
I tried a trial speech to text message to the girlfriend.
And what do you know? It worked perfect.
And then came the stupid feeling.
That moment when you realize that you were the source of your own torment. Your stupidity has been teasing you like some sort of schoolyard bully, making you miserable the whole time.
And there is no one to blame but yourself.
Its always more pleasant to have someone to blame.
At least I have always thought so.
Blame is good, blame is fun, mainly because blame is someone elses fault.
And I am good with that.
For God’s sake, I can’t be guilty for everything.
Let’s spread this around.
One entity I would like to blame? Right now, right at my table at Starbucks at this moment I would like to blame Starbucks.
For the music.
I once compared Starbucks to a teenager, constantly going thru phases of music appreciating.
That had been mellowing for several months, and while the music still couldn’t be described by any sane person as “Good”, at least it didn’t suck.
The teenage persona of Starbucks that picks out the music has developed ADD. Badly.
Mellow incomprehensible jazz was playing when I first came in. The kind of jazz that is identified as “Good jazz”. So good, its almost impossible to listen to without developing a migraine.
Then we moved on to Some sort of a Latin/Rumba torch song that may or may not have had the sounds of a cat being killed in the background.
Barely had that ended when a Russian folk song came on, totally incomprehensible in slurred Russian. Crosby, Stills, Nash and Leonid.
And then the soulful strains of a acoustic guitar playing hipster came on, butchering a top 40 song from the 80’s.
This is the missing tenth circle of Hell that Dante spoke of. (Or forgot to speak of.)
Now my coffee tastes off.
Starbucks is in the torture game, it seems.
Waterboarding must be next. (Still don’t consider that torture.)
But at least I have done no wrong here.
So you can’t blame me.
And that is what its all about.
(No animals were harmed in the writing of this blog.)