Teaching the robot to talk

HH HH EEEEEEEEEE LL LL OOOOOOO
HH HH EE LL LL O O
HH HH EE LL LL O O
HHHHHHHHHH EEEEEEE LL LL O O
HH HH EE LL LL O O
HH HH EE LL LL O O
HH HH EE LL LL O O
HH HH EEEEEEEEEE LLLLLLLL LLLLLLLLL OOOOOOO

WW WW OOOOOOO RRRRRRRR LL DDDDD
WW W WW O O RR RR LL D D
WW W W WW O O RR RR LL D D
WW W W W O O RRRRRRR RR LL D D
WW W W W O O RR RR LL D D
WW WW O O RR RR LL D D
W W OOOOOOO RR RR LLLLLLLLL DDDD

For a long time, I was feeling indulgently lazy, and I had nothing to say to the internet.
A few months ago, I got over that feeling, and wanted to write about Michelle Obama. Unfortunately, the internet has not been willing to do my bidding, and has refused to upload photos onto this blog. And writing about Michelle Obama with out pictures? I don’t think so.

Back in the old days, when people were just getting used to the idea that a computer was something you would want in your home, I remember that during prayer time in class I prayed aloud my request that my family could get a Commodore 64. My parents sent me and my brother to a computer class at the rec center. The guy who taught the class instructed us to do some codes that were just a little bit more complicated than my spell-out of the words above. I don’t remember any of what he told us. What I remember is that he was pudgy and sweaty, and the way that the moisture from his body soaked through his disheveled white dress shirt. I remember wondering what made my parents think it was okay for us to spend time alone with this man.

I wonder what happened to me in my life that made me more inclined to remember a sweaty shirt rather than something useful like a computer maneuver.

So, I am back here, trying to wade through the digits.

March 30, 2009