Bizarro is brought to you today by Forbidden Love Comics.I don't have a car but I have rented ones with a GPS and I really enjoy it. If there is a choice of voices, I go for the woman's voice, because when I drive I like to pretend I'm Captain Kirk steering the Starship Enterprise, and the GPS voice is Uhura.
When I'm in a less geeky mood and just want to be myself, I name the voice and converse with her as I drive.
"At Cornhole Street, turn left," she purrs.
"Thank you, Trudy," I reply, "and may I say you look very smart today. That's a lovely color on you."
"Turn left."
"Yeah, I heard you, I'm turning. I have to wait for this car to get out of my way."
"Go 450 feet and turn right at Blacklung Avenue."
"I just said you look nice today, Trudy. No response?"
"Turn right."
"So you're not going to respond to my compliment at all? You're just going to pretend I'm not even here until it's time to toss out one of your monotonal directives?"
"Turn right."
"I heard you, for chrissakes! You just said it, like, 11 seconds ago!"
"You have arrived at your destination."
"Thank god! And if you're going to ignore me, you can just stay in the car! Bitch!"
Trudy and I seem to always get into this kind of fight. I've also had conflicts with Rita, Debby, and another one whose name escapes me. Uhura and I tend to get along much better.
12 comments:
That's awesome. Being a TNG/DS9 geek I would probably opt for the Captain Sisko/Leutenant Dax scenario. Dax is Hot. No argument that Uhura is too, though.
Live Long and Prosper
Great Blog! -- Reminds me of HAL on 2010 Odyssey Two. -- Dave, I said turn right!
Cornhole Street.
snork snork snork.
I am such an infant.
the same thing happened to me! a few weeks ago i had to borrow my brother's gps to get to a friend's baby naming ceremony at a synagogue in portola (one of those miandering neighborhoods in sf).
the gps conversation i had with "mel tormé", as i like to call the sexy deep throaty gps voice, went like this:
mel: turn left on brotherhood way.
me: i don't see brotherhood way, i thought we were on brotherhood way?
mel: turn left.
me: what? where? I think we past it?! Was that brotherhood way back there?? god damn it, maybe i can make a youie.
mel: turn left.
me: hellloooo, i can't turn left here, that is someone's driveway! mel you are so lost and won't even admit it!!
mel: recalculating...
me: i knew it! damn it mel! hurry, the light is turning green where do i go??
mel: recalculating, recalculating
me: oh wait i see the synagogue, we past it, let me make a youie. why didn't you tell me to turn left into THAT driveway?! you need to be more specific mel! I can't even hear you very well, why is your volume so low??
needless to say, i left mel in the car under some house slippers so no one would break into my car and steal him.
gps systems...humpf, the are all alike!
forget those gps things! i gotta pal a mine, named thomas guide! nothing beats old school, champ!
thats a funny cartoon!!!!
Being neither a good judge of drawings nor humor, all I can say is I'm laughing out loud.
May the laugh speak for itself.
sad but true a recent study of black berry users found that more than 50% would choose the black berry over their wife.
great post!
The laughter speaks volumes, Fram.
In the early days of augmentative communication (devices that use synthesized speech to speak for people with communication problems; Stephen Hawking used one)the programmers tried to make them more human and less robotic by giving them attributes that might possibly match the characteristics of the person using it (male/female/adult/child)
sometimes they got a little strange: I remember one with an hispanic accent, one with a raspy "smokers" voice, also the traditional computer voice. With a classroom of students using them we'd try to have each kid use a different voice so we'd know who was talking. I haven't worked with them in years, I wonder how things have changed.
Driving from Denver, Matt and Amy arrived first and checked into the top-floor (Floor 7) suites at the Gold Spike in Downtown. Disappointed only begins to describe how they felt by these $33 rooms. They were not prepared to be dropped into the lap of luxury, but that's exactly what they found themselves.
A stay at the Gold Spike should be characterized by mouse holes, dirty fixtures and trash under the beds. Instead, the suites were recently renovated, clean with new carpet, and huge. One suite had three full sized rooms: a sitting room with a new large television, sofa (which folded out into a bed), table, desk and a balcony; a bedroom with two new beds with new sheets and blankets, another new television and another balcony; and finally an oversized bathroom and closet. The joint felt intimidating, and the normal amount of damage our group would have normally done seemed inappropriate in such posh surroundings. It meant we would have to cause our trouble elsewhere.
Robert arrived next, which was a boon, because one goal of this trip was to make him eat until he threw up, and the earlier he started his eating rampage the better. Last time, it took nine hamburgers and about three pounds of fries, and he lost it all right in front of the Greyhound Station. He swore to have transformed into a more responsible glutton. Nobody bought it.
Mark and Dan were due to arrive from San Francisco right around this time, but just as their plane began its descent, a massive dust storm blew through town and their plane was diverted back to California, never to return. Well, not until 11 pm or so. In the meantime, an always hungry Robert became a willing participant in the mission to make him vomit by wolfing down a Lady Luck foot long weiner.
Matt, Amy and Robert were joined by Phil and Ghizal, who rolled in from Southern California, and tried to get food at the Main Street Station Buffet, but it was closing just as they showed up at ten pm. Plus, on Friday night it was one of those fancy-shmancy seafood buffets the casinos want you to think is some special treat.
Down the street, the Paradise Buffet at the Fremont had the same stupid deal, so the hungry travelers ended up at the Dugout Coffee Shop at the Las Vegas Club. On the way through the hotel, they took in a live radio broadcast of some guy interviewing washed-up former Dodgers Steve Yeager and Jay Johnstone. Jay has always thought himself a funny guy, but he seemed to have no sense of humor at our yelled insults regarding his lousy career as a journeyman. Steve "Boomer" Yeager willingly posed for pictures, and smiled at our chants of "Boomer", but he refused to answer our queries about the memorabilia scam in which he is currently embroiled back in California. Also, nobody else bothered to show up to watch these two former not-so-greats.
Brett poses with a Dodger that was nobody's childhood idol, Steve Yeager.
Once seated in the Dugout, Matt immediately had to leave to meet Dan and Mark's late plane at McCarran Airport. Fortunately, Robert used Matt's absence to take one small step for gastrointestinal injury and one giant step for vomiting by eating his own meal of spaghetti as well as Matt's eggs, toast, hash browns and bacon, some fries and Amy's pancakes. Upon finishing, he did not look the worse for wear, but he did walk slower and he made several pit stops.
Meanwhile, Mark and Dan were busy finally landing in Las Vegas and feeling very left out of the loop as they stepped off the plane to the open arms of nobody. You see, Matt arrived a little late due to bad information from the airline, and Dan and Mark panicked and didn't wait by their gate. So they headed out to the downtown shuttles, which actually service the hotels on the strip, and go only grudgingly anywhere near downtown. After arriving downtown and stiffing the driver, much to his chagrin, they ran
Phil and Ghizal "goof" at a dangerous crime scene.
into the Gold Spike, and were immediately coated with a fine silt layer of cigarette smoke and dust. They were at last met with thekind of camradarie they deserve, from everyone involved.
Well, almost everyone. Phil and Ghizal had wandered down the street from the hotel and witnessed a stabbing. Two drunks were fighting and one took a broken bottle and fileted the other. This was pretty exciting to Phil and Ghizal.
They got up close and watched the police cleaning up the store windows and washing rivers of blood down the gutter. Phil wanted to get a little closer and get some blood for his collection. He ignored the police warnings and started scooping some into a sandwich baggy.
For anyone that thinks this was a great idea, it wasn't and Phil got arrested and hauled to the detention center.
He wasn't even drunk yet.
Knowing from past experience how long it would take to get Phil out of the hoosegow, the general consensus was that craps at the Plaza would be much more fun. Along the way, Matt made a woman working at Sassy Sally's cry when he refused to leave without a free left-handed professional slot player glove. Mark told the lady out front that he wasn't falling for their scam and she got all upset. She said "It isn't a scam, it's a gimmick."
Matt makes new and patriotic friends in Downtown Las Vegas.
They have street performers on the Fremont Street Lame Experience and Steve joined some tropically attired Mormons on the steel drums. This behavior is clearly not encouraged and he was quickly pulled aside by the ubiquitous downtown bike police.
Matt was still hungry so he hit the Plaza Diner and the others joined him for his wonderful company and tales. "I wanted to get their fabled Pound of Pig for 3.95. As it turns out, it's not actually a whole pound of pig. I believe it is more like 12 ounces of low-grade ham and four ounces of salt. It also came with toast, and I was reminded that one of my favorite things on toast is butter. If only the Plaza had thought to include it. The eggs were runny and the hash browns were yellow. Overall, though, I liked it."
After the meal the gang found a few spots at the Plaza's quarter table, but several more opened as Brett kept scratching himself and saying "These pus-filled scabs on my arms just won't heal." Our group quickly took over the table except for an older guy with a hot hand and this doofus that was writing down number combinations in a notebook.
The Doofus had apparently seen some John Patrick video and half understood the bad advice. So, using his own logic system, he had devised a new craps system where he kept track of the throws and then still bet the exact same thing every time. His underage son stood behind him and pretended to be old enough to gamble and drink cans of Budweiser, but failed miserably. The father was heard to utter such nuggets of wisdom as "Three nines have come up so you know it won't come up again for a while." Brett, who stood next to him, had about enough after 45 minutes and started pinching the guy's arm. Brett kept at it until he drew blood.
Steve was nicknamed Retard specifically for this trip, and is not in reality that stupid. But, at the craps table, when Steve had the dice in hand, the rest of the gang was able to yell "Let's go, Retard!" and "Poppa needs new shoes, Retard!" The crew at the table was at first hesitant to allow this namecalling to occur, but when Steve told them, "No, it's okay, I really am a retard." they let our behavior slide.
At the Plaza they also have a collectible glass called "The Bone." Steve was enamored by the shininess of the plastic "bone" which is about 18 inches tall and shaped like the traditional dog bone and filled with beer. He ordered one, determined to get several of the $1.00 refills he was promised. But Amy is never one to let a cheap beer pass. She quickly was upon Steve asking "What does it taste like? I've never had beer out of a glass like that before." Steve relented to the pestering and let Amy have his bone for a sip. Amy, snatched the glass and immediately bolted to the women's room and stood among the primping women where she could polish it off without fear of being interrupted.
Amy got pretty well lit because she had successfully gotten Steve to refill his "Bone" four more times. Each time he refilled it, Amy managed to codger it from his hands and then abscond again to women's room. One time the boys heard the other ladies in the restroom with Amy chanting "Drink, Drink, Drink!" as Amy raced to quaff the whole beer.
At the craps table, Dan kept throwing money on the 12 and Matt rode him hard, citing statistics and odds, telling him what a lousy bet it was. Dan stood quietly and continued to bet the 12. At first he thought it would hit, but eventually, as Matt's behavior became more and more obnoxious, Dan bet the 12 hoping it would hit and that would shut Matt up. It never did hit, and everyone could tell that Dan had just about enough of Matt's hotshot attitude.
At some point, Phil had made his own bail and joined the rest of the group. He showed us the homemade tattoo he was given in the slammer that read "Live to Read." Luckily, it came off with a little soap and water.
After the highly successful craps session, it was back to the Gold Spike for some of their 50 cent well drinks. Dan was still silently fuming ever since Matt had laughed at him when he lost fifty bucks betting the 12.
Well, Dan finally reached his limit when Matt told Dan he was stupider even than the Giant, ill-proportioned leprachaun dangling awkwardly from the front of Fitzgerald's.
Dan screamed, "I'll polish your blarney stone, you fucking moron!" and attacked. Clearer heads prevailed in the form of Phil, who had no desire to be hauled in for a second time in one night, and Ghizal, who has a heart of the purest gold. Amy and Mark yelled "Fight! Fight! Fight!", and Ghizal and Phil pulled the two brawlers apart just as the cops rolled past.
With Matt and Dan separated, the gang headed back to the lounge at the Gold Spike. When the bartender wasn't looking she leaned over the bar and grabbed a bottle of something called "Old Mariner Vodka/Varnish". Amy downed the bottle in two long, sweaty swigs. She then tried climbing up on a quarter slot machine so she could play it upside down. The downside to Amy getting juiced to the gills was that she becomes belligerent and the evening was not complete until she accosted a blackjack dealer and demanded that he stop dealing so fast. She was not playing at the time.
The staff at the Gold Spike felt that this was a good time for everyone to go to bed, and feeling indebted to that staff, they did so.
As is the way with Saturday mornings in Las Vegas, Saturday morning began with trouble. Mark awoke to the foul sound of Matt snoring his fool head off. Fashioning a sophisticated missile launching device using only the remote control, mounted on a
Steve greets the new day with a scowl.
rotating base attached to the dresser, and an Atomic Fireball, he pelted Matt in the head six times before finally waking him with a start. Matt, being a big baby, felt himself somehow wronged and leapt from his bed to Mark's, with a pitiful attempt at a war cry. Mark, remembering his training from Desert Storm, swung into defense mode, crushing Matt's knee with a vicious judo chop and clearly knocking him senseless, muddling his recognition of the whole incident.
After cleaning up the blood and washing away the previous night's dirt (in the posh showers replete with hot water, a commodity not always available in the non-suites of the Gold Spike) the gang headed onto the streets for nourishment.
Settling instead for the $2.49 buffet at the Sahara, which closes to switch the trays from greasy breakfast food to greasy lunch food precisely at 11:00. The group arrived at 10:50, to the dismay of the hostess, who couldn't believe the audacity of people trying to eat breakfast while the buffet was open. She threatened to charge everybody for lunch if they stayed past 11:20. She then stuck her tongue out at Dan.
After a mediocre meal of mediocre breakfast foods, Mark and Brett stormed to the dessert bar and demanded it be immediately
Brett, Amy, Robert and Ghizal display prizes Robert won in the New York New York arcade. From left to right, prizes are: a dumb plastic snake, A dumb rubber extra-terrestrial, a dumb cup and a pretty neat plastic fish with ESP.
opened, whereupon they returned to the table bearing pastries for everyone. Since dessert counts as lunch, they all had to hop over the planter and beat a hasty retreat for the outside while the hostess was distracted by a kid spilling jello.
Brimming with expectation and excitement, they headed for the newly christened Monte Carlo super-resort and casino. Upon entering, however, their enthusiasm was dampened by the discovery that like other casinos, it offered slot machines, felt tables and a gift shop or two, but nothing new.
The next stop was New York New York super-resort and casino, which is impressive for its attention to detail, right down to Steve having his wallet snaked by a pickpocket.
Upstairs at New York New York is what they say is an authentic replica of Coney Island, featuring an enormous arcade with bumper cars and lots of ripoffs that spit out tickets you may then exchange for worthless prizes, and a roller coaster with a line too long to be worthwhile. In the wink of an eye, we were out of there and heading to the Boardwalk next door.
Mark poses for hilarious gag photo where one might think he is actually at a beach around the turn of the century.
The Boardwalk Casino is a small, relatively empty, and pretty clean place, but the question remains as to why they would try to attract customers with a faux rollercoaster right next to a place with a real one. Outside, an unmanned sunglasses sales cart provided a perfect opportunity for Ghizal to use his Brooklyn street smarts to take control and sell a good part of the actual owner's inventory at rock-bottom prices before he felt his luck running out and ducked inside. Steve received a free deck of playing cards for telling an employee he was rude. Mark tried fruitlessly to find a drinking fountain and instead came across a fantastic "gag" photo opportunity which was cleverly placed in the very back of the casino, right next to the room service kitchen.
Amy slipped away from the group for a moment and was finally found in the bar wagering with a man on the number of toes she had on each foot. She had bet six toes, but the man was at least generous enough to give her two to one odds. We pulled her out of there before any shoes came off.
Having seen all of the strip that it is proper for anyone with a heart condition to see, the gang traveled back north to the safety and comfort of the Gold Spike Hotel and Casino, where they could afford the gambling. They each made a mental note not to go back to the strip unless there was something free in it for them.
If you ever come across a gps whose last name is "Garmin"...her name is Lisa. Don't forget it, or she'll take you through the most ghetto places she can think of. Actually, she'll do that anyway...so just try to follow her directions. She really hates to "recalculate."
That's great! My GPS has a voice that flirts with me in an English accent. She calls me darling and does these "sexy" laugh type things.
My girlfriend nearly threw it out the window once.
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