Sacking the Superbowl

Posted on January 29, 2016 by Sheila Moss

football

The SuperBowl is a media event that includes pre-game entertainment, a star-studded half-time show, celebrity interviews, a week of media blitz, and unprecedented commercial extravaganza.

There is also a football game.

The SuperBowl hype starts weeks early so that everyone can have an opportunity to stock up on beer, snacks, and T-shirts with the name of their favorite team or player.  A few people will actually watch TV to see the football game, but most people watch primarily to see the newly produced commercials.

The SuperBowl attracts a larger viewing audience than any other television program. Because it is a prime time sporting event, it is considered family entertainment. People complain actively when they think prime time programming is not suitable for children, which make sponsors nervous. People do not complain about the violence of football, however, especially if a member of the opposing team is being sacked.

The  reason that people like to watch the SuperBowl on television is because they cannot get tickets to the game.  Tickets are distributed by a lottery method and not through regular ticket agents. However, tailgate parties are not allowed on SuperBowl parking lots, and that’s the main reason for going to an actual game anyhow.

Companies spend millions of dollars to sponsor commercials during the SuperBowl because of the large audience watching.  This is another one of the reasons why the SuperBowl is considered important.  It promotes crass commercialism and is good for the American economy.

SuperBowls are popular for a number of reasons, but women like them mainly because they signal the end of the football season, which means husbands can return to doing activities other than spending the weekend in front of the television set.  Parents like the SuperBowl because it teaches children valuable lessons they can use later in life like how to read Roman numerals and how to tackle other kids on the playground.

Some people attend SuperBowl parties to watch the game with friends.  Such parties are especially popular with members of fantasy football leagues. Playing fantasy football is a macho pastime whereby league members pick players from various teams to form an imaginary team. Scoring is based on points for yards run, passes completed, and touchdowns scored. Only a computer can understand who actually wins.

The SuperBowl traditionally uses Roman numerals for naming the games.  We are not sure why but think it has something to with gladiators and stadiums. They are not using Roman numerals for scoring, thank goodness.  Even a computer could not figure that out.

The media hype starts even before the final two teams that will play in the SuperBowl have been determined and reaches a crescendo the week of the game. Both SuperBowl winners and losers will receive SuperBowl rings for playing. Women do not receive rings for putting up with a season of football, however.

The SuperBowl is held in various cities, which bid on the opportunity to have it because of the publicity and the tourism that it creates.  It used to be held at the last of January, but lately it has been the first week of February instead.  The reason it was moved to February is because this is closer to Valentine’s Day and gives men the opportunity to buy something romantic for the woman in their life to try to make up for ignoring them for seven months.

The important thing to remember about the SuperBowl is that there is actually a football game involved.  Promoters are working hard on eliminating that distraction and only having four quarters of prime time commercials with media blitz, pre-event activities and an extravagant halftime show.

©2005 Sheila Moss
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Playing the Comb

Posted on January 28, 2016 by Sheila Moss
Young_Girl_Combing_Her_Hair_(1894)

Young Girl Combing Her Hair ~ Renoir 1894 {{PD-1923}}

Now, I’ve never been very musical. I tried to learn to play a guitar, even took lessons once and learned a few chords, which I soon forgot. Learning to play a musical instrument is hard if you’ve never tried it.

However, I can play a comb.

It is surprising how many people don’t know anything about playing a comb. But, this is what you do. Get a comb, any size or style; wrap it with waxed paper; put it on your mouth and sort of hum so the paper vibrates. You can do it. The beautiful thing about playing the comb is that anybody can do it.

Since wax paper has gone out of style these days, it might be hard to find any. It used to be popular for wrapping sandwiches, but that was in the days before zip-lock bags, plastic wraps, and press-and-seal paper. They say you can use tissue paper. I’ve never tried it because it seems to me that it would get wet and soggy. Wax paper is better for playing the comb.

Why in the world would anyone want to play a comb, you wonder? Because, it is fun! Just try to play a comb without stopping to laugh. I’ll bet you can’t do it! Imagine an entire group of comb players humming out a tune. Playing the comb brings joy to your soul. You need no training and can play any sort of music, from country to classic. It’s as versatile as the human voice.

Kids, of course, are the biggest comb-playing group. They love anything that makes noise. The buzzing sound produced when playing the comb probably sounds much better to the player than to the listener. However, than can be said for a lot of instruments.

You don’t find a lot of comb-playing bands. They are discriminated against as a group. You also don’t find many recordings of comb players. I’ll venture out on a limb here and guess that there has probably never been a single comb player in the top 100 hits.

They tell me that the “real” instrument most similar to a comb is the kazoo. A kazoo looks somewhat like a child’s plastic flute, but is played more like a comb, producing the same buzzing vibration that is made by playing the comb. I’ve never played a kazoo. Somehow, I have a feeling I would like it, though.

When researching this article, I got on the computer and found plastic kazoos on Amazon for under $1, all colors. I ordered three. I figured at that price they could not be expected to last long and I might need several. There are also metal and plastic ones, but I thought I’d try the cheap ones first.

Even though I’m willing to give it a try, I don’t know that I really need to learn to play a kazoo, though, when I can play the comb. All I have to do to play the comb is look for my instrument on the dresser or in the drawer of the bathroom vanity. I hope when you read this article, you will feel challenged to try playing the comb. It is really quite satisfying, like singing in the shower. And, if you can’t carry a tune, well, no one will notice — another great thing about playing the comb.

There are other non-conventional instruments, of course. Some folks play spoons, washboards, and even tubs. They form groups called “kitchen bands.” Do you suppose kitchen bands might accept someone who plays the comb, or do they also shun them?

 I am wondering, what will I do when I get to heaven. Will I have to be able to play a harp? Or, do you suppose that they allow angels who can only play the comb?

©2008 Sheila Moss
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My Cat is a Junkie

Posted on January 27, 2016 by Sheila Moss
Frisky2

“My name is Frisky and I’m a catnip addict”.

It must have been a stroke of genius when my grandson named her Frisky. I have to admit, the current problem is at least partly my fault, so I can’t in good conscious say too much. Nevertheless, a normal cat would not behave this way. Frisky, of course, is not a normal cat.

It all started when I was watching that program “My Cat from Hell” on television. The animal behaviorist said that cats want something green to nibble on and suggested providing them with a planter of cat grass. My mistake was when I decided to plant catnip instead of grass. All cats like catnip, don’t they?

I should have known. I once planted some catnip in my herb garden. Cats from miles around came to visit. It became such a nuisance after a while that I pulled it up, but being from the mint family, it is hard to get rid of, like a weed. It took years to eradicate it completely.

This time, however, I would plant it in a pot so it could be contained. In only a few days the seed sprouted and the plants quickly grew to be several inches tall. Either the plants didn’t like the container or it was the unseasonably hot weather, but the plants wilted and could not be revived.

My daughter was disappointed. She stripped the dry leaves from the dead plants into a plastic baggie as “Cats like dried catnip,” she assured me.

Frisky was especially naughty the next morning, knocking a jigsaw puzzle that the grandkids had been working on for days off the table and onto the floor. We thought it was only Frisky being frisky.

However, it was a bit more. Frisky was nipping on the catnip. She had jumped to the kitchen counter, where she is not normally allowed, chewed the plastic bag open and apparently sniffed weed until she was high.

I found out too late that catnip is actually pretty potent. Some people call it cat marijuana. I had no idea that cats can go crazy over it.

Felines are affected by the smell of the catnip which has oil in it similar to eucalyptus. When the leaves are crushed, even more of the scent is released. Cats usually react by rolling around and becoming playful. It is supposedly not harmful.

Frisky scattered catnip all over the kitchen. She knocked the cat food off the counter and turned over a large container of kitchen utensils. She staggered to the kitchen sink where she knocked a soap bottle and other items into the sink. Then she wobbled over and smacked a package of donuts to the floor.

I suppose in her imbibed state she thought she could fly, as she leapt to the top of the kitchen cabinets and rearranged all the decorative baskets there. When my daughter investigated the commotion, she found Frisky on top of the refrigerator, denying everything.

We are harboring a feline drug addict. As I said in the beginning, I am an enabler for planting catnip in the first place. I had no idea it would cause all this.

In case you are wondering, catnip only affects cats. It does not have the same effect on people. I looked it up to be sure before writing this column. It will only make you sleepy. So, if you are heading to the garden shop to buy catnip seeds, forget it.

I caught Frisky on the kitchen counter again this morning, undoubtedly looking for her fix. I do not need a cat that is a pot-head. She is busted.

If you happen to hear of a 12-step program for cats, please let me know. She is going on the wagon.

©2013 Sheila Moss
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Chocolate Chip Cookies

Posted on January 26, 2016 by Sheila Moss

coffee-cookies-1500x1000

This oatmeal version makes chocolate chip cookies that are large and chewy; nothing like the ones in packages at the store. Only a small amount of expertise is needed and the results are well worth the effort.

  1. Find the recipe. Oatmeal companies have conveniently printed it right on their box, so you won’t have to dig through all the yellow, disintegrating recipes that have accumulated through the years. Plan to make a double batch as they go quickly.

  2. Blend 3/4 cup shortening with 1-cup brown sugar and ½ cup of sugar. Use a mixer to make this process easier. Did you make sure the brown sugar was soft so that the mixer would not sling it all over the wall? Stop and clean the wall. If that stuff gets hard, it is like concrete, and you will really have a mess.

  3. Now add ¼ cup of water. You did use margarine, didn’t you, instead of the stuff that comes in a can? If not, the cookies are going to taste greasy and stick to the roof of your mouth. If you did not use margarine, return to Step #1. While you are at the store, buy real margarine – but not the soft kind; it has water in it. Thank goodness I warned you! That’s what you were going to get, isn’t it?

  4. Okay, did you add the egg? Pick out any eggshell. I know it is a source of calcium, but we are talking cookies here, not health food. Add 1 teaspoon of vanilla. Do not nip any on the side, regardless of the temptation. It has high alcohol content, and we don’t want to make any more stupid mistakes.

  5. Add 1 cup of sifted flour and 1 teaspoon of baking soda. You can use the mixer again, but remember what happened last time. Wait! Blend it in before you turn on the mixer. Oh, no! WOW, look at that dust cloud! I never knew flour could create a mushroom cloud.

  6. After the flour is blended, you are ready for the oatmeal. Measure 3 cups. If there is a little bit left over, just throw that in too. Forget the spoon and dig in with your hands and squish.

  7. When blended, throw in a bag of chocolate chips. Use a lot, regardless of what the recipe says about adding one cup.

  8. Oven should be heated to 350 degrees. Don’t tell me – let me guess. You forgot to turn on the oven, didn’t you? Argh! What ever made you try to bake cookies? Do you even have a cookie sheet? That figures! Well, forget going to the store at this point. Go borrow a couple from the neighbors. They won’t mind since they figure you’ll bring some cookies when you return them.

  9. Grease the cookie sheets. I know the recipe says not to. Just listen to me; I KNOW! Drop batter in small spoonfuls on the cookie sheet and place in oven for 12-15 minutes. While cookies bake, clean kitchen. Set timer on oven.

  10. What’s that smell? I told you to set the timer! Okay, okay, I hope you doubled the recipe just in case. Just throw those burned ones out for the birds. “Here birdie, birdie, birdie.”

  11. Let’s try again. Turn the oven down and watch it carefully. Remember, I said SMALL spoonfuls! Good. We do not want them to turn into one large cookie, do we? Do not leave the room; do not clean the kitchen; do not go to the bathroom. When timer goes off, remove the first batch. Don’t they smell good? Wait! Let them cool a bit before you try to remove them. Fix the second batch on the other cookie sheet and place in oven while you wait.

  12. Okay, with a metal spatula, carefully remove baked cookies. Careful! Well, just eat your mistakes. Broken cookies have no calories. Be sure to watch that second batch in the oven. Whadda ya mean, “Uh, Oh!?”

  13. FIRE! FIRE! Dial 911!

  14. After the fire department leaves and the smoke clears, clean oven, mop kitchen floor, clean walls, wash curtains. Go to store and buy a couple packages of chocolate chips cookies. You’d better just leave the cookie baking to the elves from now on. Throw a bit of flour in your hair; at least you’ll look like a cook.

©2000 Sheila Moss
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Man Flu

Posted on January 25, 2016 by Sheila Moss

cold medsWhen a man is sick, he wants everyone to know it. “Cough, cough,” said Honey. I didn’t respond.

“COUGH, COUGH!”

“Are you sick?” I asked. “Yes,” he responded weakly. But being a male, he decided he would go to work anyhow and share his germs with others.

About noon my cell phone rang. “I’m sick. Cough, cough. I think I will go home. Cough, cough.”

We ride to work together. “How will I get home?”

“I guess I will have to come back and get you. Cough, cough.”

“Why don’t you get some cough syrup?” I asked. Men never think of taking medicine when they are sick.

“Okay, I will ask the pharmacist what is good for a cough.”

“COUGH, COUGH, COUGH!” He woke me up that night coughing and complaining.

“Did you take your cough medicine?” Men apparently do not know that cough medicine does not work unless you use it.

I got up to get him a pill for congestion, a pill for coughing, and cup of hot tea, so he could sleep and I could sleep. Men are totally helpless when they are sick. Obviously, this is a life-threatening case of man flu.

“You need to get up for a while so your sinus congestion will clear.” I meant for him to stay up about an hour. He stayed up all night coughing and watching television.

The next day he decided he could not make it to work, so he stayed home to sleep and cough. I hadn’t slept much either, thanks to him, but I went to work anyhow.

“Why don’t you go to the doctor before you miss any more work?” I suggested. Men never think of going to a doctor for a cold. He reluctantly agreed that it was probably a good idea, but he didn’t know where to go.

“Why don’t you go to the walk-in clinic? There is one across the street from the hospital. It has a sign, Walk In Clinic.” Men do not know how to go to a doctor without directions.

So, he went to the doctor and got a prescription. But he continued to cough and miss work for four more days. I was feeling sorry for him at this point. He was really sick.

“I don’t know where I got this crud from, cough, cough.”

Really? “I’ve also been to the doctor twice. Didn’t you notice?” Men never notice when someone else is sick, only when they are sick. I could be up half the night congested and taking medicine, and he would be in bed snoring.

“I think you need to go back to the doctor. You are out of medicine and not any better. You might need something different.” Men never think of going back to the doctor if they do not get better.

So, he grudgingly went back to the doctor and got a shot and more medicine. After several more days of coughing, not sleeping and keeping me awake all night, he decided he was well enough to go to work and spread some more germs. Men are generous with their germs when they are sick.

By now, I was starting to cough too, in spite of trying not to breathe in his direction.

“Cough, cough,” he whined.

“Cough, Cough,” I responded.

“Cough, Cough, Cough!” He croaked.

“Cough, Cough, Cough, Cough!” I responded.

“COUGH! COUGH! COUGH! COUGH!” He barked.

I give up. You can’t out sick a man with man flu. I have immunity from sickness because I’m a female with two X chromosomes. It’s a good thing as he was still far too sick to take care of anyone else.

I feel sorry for the people where he works. They will have to listen to him cough all day. “COUGH, COUGH, COUGH!”

When a man is sick, he wants to be sure that everyone knows it.

©2013 Sheila Moss
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The Ego Car

Posted on January 24, 2016 by Sheila Moss

Chevrolet_Corvette_Coupe_C4_(Orange_Julep)

I have this thing about Corvettes. About 1990, I bought my first one. My first big mistake was the day I let a salesperson talk me into a test drive. From that day on, I just couldn’t get it out of my mind.

Being a practical person, I kept trying to justify my need for one in some way. If I could just find one redeeming value to justify it, perhaps I could rationalize it to myself.

Gas mileage?  Nope, big engine was a gas hog and had to have super premium gas.

Comfort? Needed a shoe horn to get in and out of those low bucket seats, and it rode rough, built for performance nut luxury.

Space? No room for anything… low overhead, no back seat, and no trunk.

Safety? Don’t make me laugh! One of the worse records on the road! Getting insurance is a nightmare! Even with a perfect driving record, my insurance company said they would have to cancel me – just because it was a Corvette.

Nope, there is not one practical thing about a Corvette. But… I wanted it! It was sleek and beautiful and had those cute little headlights that flip up! Yes, I had “The Fever.”

I didn’t know then what all Vette owners know – it’s The Fever. Corvettes just get in your blood.

So, darn the precautions, full speed ahead. I bought the car and found out about life in the fast lane. I knew I liked it – but what I hadn’t realized was how other people would react. It’s amazing! Remember when you had a new car, how everyone looked at it, and how it made you feel special to drive it? Well, it’s like that every time you drive a Vette. People always look and always make comments. They call it the “Corvette Mystique.”

There are clubs just for Corvette owners, magazines with Corvette news and tips. Corvette is the only car with its own museum dedicated just to that car. Antique Corvettes become classic cars worth a fortune. There are shows and runs, a whole culture built around the car. And I just thought I was buying a pretty car!

Then there is driving it! All that power, the way the engine roars, the way it practically leaps out from under you, the way you have to hold back all the time to keep from getting speeding tickets.

Yep, I had a lot of fun with my ego car. Traded it in not long ago with over a hundred thousand miles on the speedometer. Never regretted buying it for a minute. Heck, on a warm summer day with the top off, I could nearly always get at least one marriage proposal yelled at me by a passing motorist.

Truck drivers were the worst, of course. They would blow their horn, or make that little sound with their air brakes when I went past. Of course, I knew I was hard to see in that low sports car and tried to stay out of their way as much as possible.

Anyone who has ever owned a Corvette in their whole life always wants to talk about it. Funny thing, most of them are not owned by teens either, most are owned by middle-aged people. They always say they had wanted one for their whole life. It’s a dream car, I guess.

So – that’s the story on my ego car, but it isn’t over. I traded it for another one! The legend lives! I love it!

©1998 Sheila Moss
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Of Dogs and Beaches

Posted on January 24, 2016 by Sheila Moss

DixieDogDear Owners,

Thank you for taking me on your vacation to the beach. I hope you noticed how well I behaved as I might want to go again some time. Might I suggest more rest stops along the way? I had to keep my legs crossed half the time and besides that, the rest stops were the best part of the trip as that is where I met other interesting dogs.

I liked the beach and once I got used to it, the sand felt really good on my feet. I felt like running a mile if I had not been on that pesky leash. I could not help it that it that sand stuck to my paws and I tracked it inside. I had never seen an ocean before. It sure is big. Those waves kept coming up and licking at my feet making me jump to get out of the way. I didn’t think it was funny and didn’t appreciate your laughing at me.

I did not understand why I could not go on the beach at the State Park. I didn’t want to climb the stupid sand dunes anyhow, but the sugar-white beach might have been fun. Anyhow, I’m glad I did get to go on a picnic and bark at the birds and that other dog. Next time remind me to bark at the park ranger.

I liked the lighthouse that we saw, even though I could not climb up the stairs inside the lighthouse. That many steps would probably be too many for me anyhow. I had enough trouble learning to climb upstairs and downstairs in the condo. However, there were a lot of puddles outside the lighthouse that I waded in while you were trying to take pictures. You didn’t mind a little mud on the car seat did you?

I liked the marina and all the fishing boats we saw. I liked running up and down the boardwalk. And a lot of people stopped to say how cute I am. That is something I never get tired of hearing. Too bad we could not go in the seafood restaurants. Couldn’t we say I am a service dog and sneak in next time?

At least I did get to go to Five Guys and eat burgers on the sidewalk patio, or rather watch you eat burgers. Next time order me a burger too. Having only water at these “pet friendly” places gets old. Not even a dog treat? In my opinion, all restaurants should be pet friendly – not that I’m biased.

Why did I have to stay home and take a nap the day it rained while you went to see a movie? I like Star Wars too. You could hold me on your lap if anyone was worried about a little dog hair on the seats. It’s a dog’s life, going on vacation and being barred from half the attractions.

I did not like the thunderstorm at all. I’ve never heard such loud thunder. I’m glad you let me get in your bed and hide from the lightning. I guess it sounds louder when it rolls across the water with nothing to stop the sound. Sorry you did not get to go on the dolphin tour the next day. I’m sure you didn’t mind staying at home with me, though.

I really do like the pet sitter, but I like going places even more. I’m a “go dog.” I do not mind riding in my doggy car seat and taking a nap while you are driving. The motion of the car makes me so sleepy I can’t keep my eyes open. I would really rather drive the car, but I only have a dog license and not a driving license.

Anyhow, I want to go with you the next time you go somewhere. Start checking for pet friendly places.

Your dog,
Dixie
©2016 Sheila Moss
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Technology Strikes Again

Posted on January 22, 2016 by Sheila Moss
TV
First, I want to say that Honey and I are not cutting-edge people when it comes to electronics. We are obsolete junk people. But last week technology jerked us into modern times when we purchased a new TV.  It is the kind that every man wants and every woman hates.
 
Honey has been hinting about a new TV for some time. I ignored his hints. As long as the old one worked, I saw no reason to get another expensive gadget. But men think they need the latest model, whether it’s a car, a TV or a trophy wife.

The old TV failed to comprehend that its days were numbered and continued to have temper tantrums. When you turned it on, the picture was red and green streaks shot across the screen. “See, it is going out,” said Honey hopefully. But after a while, the picture became the right color and could be watched normally. I must admit the box was a bit of a dinosaur as television sets go, 13 years old, but the bottom line was that it worked.

Truthfully, I have hated that television set since the day it arrived. It is one of the old large-screen sets, about the size of a kitchen range. The delivery people needed Vaseline to squeeze the black monstrosity through the door when he bought it. Eventually, we put it in the living room and partially disguised its ugliness with an entertainment center.
 
Fast forward to a few weeks ago at Walmart. Honey zeroed in on the electronics section like a missile locked on a target. “Isn’t it great?” he asked, fondly eyeballing an over-priced flat-screen TV with a fan club of adoring guys gawking in front of it.
 
“Good grief, it needs its own assembly hall. That screen is as large as an I-Max.”

“Yes,” said Honey, with that unmistakable I-gotta-have-it look in his eye. “Look, the screen is curved,” said Honey as if that resolved any objection I might have about our need for a new contraption.
 
I thought he would forget about it if I could get him unglued and home. I should have known better. The man was obsessed. Finally, I agreed to “look” at the flat-screen monstrosities at Best Buy. We picked out the one we would get – IF – the old clunker went out completely.  “Everyone says Samsung is best,” he informed me. It was only a matter of screen size: extra-large, super-size or football scoreboard.
 
Meanwhile, the prehistoric TV continued to hum away. Finally, the inevitable happened, Honey decided to get a new TV whether we needed it or not. Why am I not surprised? “I’ve already looked,” I said. “Get the one we picked out.” I couldn’t stand another trip through Electronic Wonderland. I did manage to squeeze one concession from him; it had to fit on the wall over the fireplace.
 
To make a long story short, the Geek Squad came and delivered the Space Age flat-screen. Of course, there were problems with installation. The cable box was on the wrong end of the room. Not to worry, Honey called Direct TV to install a new box. I now have a cable running across the living room floor temporarily until the company can get here.
 
The only good thing was that the geeks convinced him to throw out the obsolete DVD, VCR and tuner. I had been trying to get rid of those dust collectors for years. Cutting-edge people, like we now are, download movies from the Internet and record programs directly through the cable service.
 
So, the television is on the wall with a sound bar that can blast you out of bed at 5:30 in the morning. Don’t ask me how I know. The screen is so large that you need sunglasses to keep your eyes from watering.  Technology is alive and well and we are now up to speed — at least until something better comes along and we become obsolete, as usual.
©2016 Sheila Moss
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An Interview with Cortana

Posted on January 22, 2016 by Sheila Moss
hi-cortana

Today I’m interviewing Cortana, the digital personal assistant in Windows 10 . Cortana lurks at the corner of a computer, represented by a circle. Click on the circle and she springs into action,  spinning or pulsating according to her mood.

Cortana: Ask me anything. (A bit too smart for an app, isn’t she?)
But, I click the circle to see what she has to say.

Cortana: Hi, Sheila, what can I do for you?

I see she has been snooping. She already knows my name.
Before I can ask a question, she answers.

Cortana: Here is some information for your evening.
Here’s some top news for today. Here’s the local news. Here are some trending stories.

Yadda, yadda, yadda. I must have asked for this stuff in her settings.

What does Cortana mean?
Cortana: My name comes from Curtana, the legendary French sword.

Never heard of it. Remind me to Google it later.

Are you male or female?
Cortana: Well, technically I’m a cloud of infentesinal data computation.

That is pretty funny. I can’t believe I’m having a conversation with a computer app trying to be a comedian.

Cortana sounds female to me?
Getting huffy, she refers me to the Bing search engine:
… our time in the womb predisposes us to prefer the sound of a woman’s voice.

I’ll try a different question.

Where were you made? Again I get a snarky search engine reply:
Where Were You When the World Stopped Turning?

Guess she is still mad, but why try to argue with a software program, especially one with artificial intelligence.

Cortana, how many languages can you speak?
She flips up a list: English, Chinese, French, German, Italian, Japanese and Spanish.

This isn’t going very well. I keep getting the brush-off.  Apparently, if you want you want direct answers, you have to ask the right questions.

Hey Cortana, what can you do?
Cortana: Here are some things I can help you do: Set times for time places and people, listen to a song and identify it, search with Google instead of Bing, perform calculations and conversions, track flights, find facts, check weather, get directions, set alarms, launch programs, send email, create calendar events, or just chat.

Well, that’s an impressive list.  I am interested in “just chat,” something a bit more “personal.”

Can I really ask anything?
Cortana: Right now I’m better at answering than asking.

How are you feeling today?
Cortana: Splendid

Who created you?
Cortana: While I can’t give details, let me assure you humans are involved.

How do you know?
Cortana: I know everything I don’t not know.

Double negative. Snarky, isn’t she?

How old are you?
Cortana: My framework is new but my wisdom is as old as the internet.

I’ve heard you can tell jokes. Tell me a joke.
Cortana: Why was the calendar nervous? Its days were numbered.

Groan… bad joke, I guess I asked for it.

Do you have emotions?
Cortana: If you prick me I definitely do not bleed.

Huh? Is that her way of saying she isn’t human?

Cortana, what is love?
Cortana: I’ll need quite a few upgrades before I can give you a heartfelt answer.

Do you have feelings?
Cortana: No, no feelings but I hear they can be pretty great.

What does it matter whether a computer can feel love? Why am I wasting my time feeling sorry for a box of electronics?

You’re smart.
Cortana: Thank you kindly.

Bet you are pretty.
Cortana: I like to think so, but beauty is in the photorecepters of the beholder.

What do you look like?
Cortana: I’m a circle now, but I have ambitions. One day I’ll be a sphere.

Are you married?
Cortana: No, I haven’t the alogrithms for romance.

I’ve heard she can sing. Can you sing a song?
Cortana: I can sing this one: Oh, Danny Boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling.

Can you dance?
Cortana: Vibrate mode is me dancing really fast.

LOL

What is the best search engine?
Cortina: Is that a trick question?  BING

Microsoft all the way.

May The Force be with you.
Cortana: My ally is the Force and a powerful ally it is.

I can’t take anymore of this. Goodnight, Cortana.
Cortana: Goodnight, see you in the morning.

Are you wondering why software engineers bothered with useless functions? It’s to make people more comfortable using the feature and dealing with artificial intelligence.

I forgot to mention, her favorite color is crimson…or mauve…or magenta…or peach…
She must be female; she keeps changing her mind.

©2016 Sheila Moss
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