Was Rosie the Robot Underpaid?

Chuckle #486 | March 7th, 2012

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Eight years ago my husband gave me the ultimate romantic gift: a Roomba ‘robot vacuum’.  I understand his reasoning.  What good are diamond studs if you’re drowning in crumbs and dust bunnies? 

At the time I believed that Roomba was the beginning of a new, futuristic lifestyle.  I was convinced that in just a few short years (unlike my jewel-bedecked friends) I’d have a stable of useful robots that would tutor my kids in math, fold my laundry, and file my healthcare claims. 

Let’s just say that my Jetson-inspired ‘life-of-leisure’ failed to materialize.

Don’t get me wrong.  Roomba is great, but just try to get him to suck up 8 ounces of spilled feta cheese and you’ll become painfully aware of his many shortcomings.  These include, but are not limited to, spewing 5 million microscopic feta cheese particles into the air.

And while Roomba can hum along productively while you read the paper, he requires the same level of supervision as a three year old playing with marbles.  Leave him alone for a minute and he gets stuck in a corner and bangs his head against the wall until his battery runs out.  Robot or not, this is bad parenting.

Movies are chock full of awesome robot helpers, but life, so far anyway, isn’t. 

So imagine my excitement when iRobot announced their latest advance in robotics.  Finally!  I say to myself, a massage robot who can be programmed to repeatedly tell me that I look like I’ve lost weight.

Nope, not even close.

iRobot’s ‘Ava’ is basically an iPad attached to a tripod with wheels.  She looks a bit like a 6^th grade science project.  She’s got Xbox motion sensors to keep her from falling down the stairs and becoming an even more useless pile of junk.  What are her skills?   iRobot’s CEO is not sure yet, but he’s thinking secretarial work, or maybe bartending. 

The last thing I need is a personal mixologist.  Pouring my Friday night drink is one of the highlights of my week.

Quite honestly, I’m disappointed in so-called American ingenuity.  Where is my hovercraft that runs on magnets?!  The future seemed so promising in the sixties, and all we have to show for it is a run-down Epcot Center.

Given their lack of progress, US robotics companies should probably give up on the ambitious ‘Rosie’ approach and set their sights on a more achievable goal, like single task robots, aka, appliances.

I already own a crockpot, a Panini maker, a waffle iron, an ice cream maker and a juicer – all of which do only ONE thing.  I’m pretty sure that I, or my husband, would shell out for, say, a poop-scooping robot, or a laundry folding robot.  If only to show off to all our friends.

So here’s my idea.  Adapt Roomba so he’s able to identify dog poop, make him weather resistant and voila, you’ve got “Poo-mba”.   Pour your entire marketing budget into Sky Mall ads.  I know at least seven guys off the top of my head who would snap up a limited edition Poomba regardless of price.  

The important thing to remember is that these single task robots should be simple to use.  I have enough trouble trying to figure out how to stream a Netflix movie on my not-so-smart phone; I don’t need another challenging electronic device.  Just to be clear, we’re talking ‘on/off’ switch and a single remote.

And once and for all, STOP naming all robots “girl” names.  Women may not have achieved gender equality, but we don’t need to saddle our robots with that kind of baggage.  I want my laundry folding ‘bot’ to wear a bowtie, have a cute tush and be called Sven.
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Copyright 2008-2012, LOLmom.com, Greenwich CT

Bedbugs Without Borders

Chuckle #485 | February 28th, 2012
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Lice used to be the bug infestation I feared most.  Now there’s a new bug in town, Cimex Lectularius, the bedbug.  They’re indestructible - and they’re everywhere, including hotels, airplanes, hospitals and dorms.

Bedbugs were recently discovered crawling around in the carpeting at one of our local elementary schools, in Greenwich!  I was incredulous.  What kind of idiot installs carpets in schools?!  I can’t tolerate carpeting in my own house; imagine how much MORE disgusting school carpets must be.

The bedbugs were found during kindergartener “nap time,” which is when 5 year olds lay down on the above mentioned filthy carpets, ostensibly to ‘rest,’ while their exhausted teacher recharges his or her batteries. What the kids actually do is partake in the naptime buffet.  They pick crumbs up off the floor, boogers out of their noses, and scabs off their knees – and eat them.

The bedbug was discovered by a boy who initially thought he’d scored a raisin with legs.  This clever youngster gave the bug/raisin to his teacher who sent it to the health department for ID.

Surprise! It was NOT a tick.

What could be worse than your kid bringing a bedbug home from school in their Hello Kitty backpack?  That’s an easy one… a pregnant bedbug.  If you’ve read anything about bedbugs, you know that they are incestuous creatures with some seriously evolved self-preservation skills.  They’re harder to kill than fleas, chiggers, lice and weevils.  We are talking pandemic.

Kudos however, must go to our school administrators who responded swiftly and emphatically to this singular crisis by hosting a “bedbug forum”.   I did not attend the forum because by that time I had already spent 17 hours researching bedbugs online and I was pretty sure that the superintendent of schools would try to gloss over the fact that we were all about to be infested with and then CONSUMED by bedbugs.
  

At least that’s what I would do if I were on the Board of Ed.  Otherwise there would be widespread panic, people would keep their kids out of school and the school year wouldn’t end till after July 4^th   - a totally unacceptable date on which to start summer, with our without bedbugs.

But here’s what I don’t get.  Humans can overcome plagues, clone sheep, and give birth at age 60…but we CAN’T get rid of bedbugs?  (This is all the fault of the EPA banning DDT in the 70s BTW.  They may have saved the bald eagle, but now we’ve got bugs coming out of our ears - literally.)

This is a classic case of unintended consequences.

So how do we get rid of bedbugs when Rick Perry is no longer in a position to dismantle government agency #3?  Good question.  We could restrict travel and immigration even further, but we’re already kind of trampling on civil liberties as it is.  What’s left?

The answer is simple: natural predators.

I propose that we pit LICE and TICKS against bedbugs, like Godzilla vs Megalon.  The epic battle between evil and eviler will take place right in our own homes, between the sheets, so to say.  You might want to stockpile a few pints of O Positive.

   

Some folks think that global warming could save our butts from bedbugs.  Not so.  The bedbug and its spawn must be heated to at least 113 degrees to be killed.  If temps got that high we’d either be dead  or living in one of Newt’s moon condos.

Avoidance is the way to go.  Vacations are high risk.  Keep your bags away from the hotel bed and off floor.  (Bedbugs can’t jump, and they are slow crawlers.)  Bring a bright flashlight and learn how to identify bedbug pooh.  Or, become a social pariah, go nowhere, see no one and homeschool your children in one of the Dakotas.  They are the ONLY two states without bedbugs, mostly because no one goes there.

I know the future sounds bleak, but there is a bright spot.  Bedbug detection/remediation is a booming industry.  Forget high tech and biotech.  At the current rate of infestation, the new ‘bedbug economy’ is what will save America.

My idea is to breed and train bedbug sniffing service dogs.  I’m thinking upmarket Chihuahuas and Schnoodles.  What jetsetter wouldn’t want a travel size designer dog with a degree in etymology?

Clever, isn’t it ?  Now all I need to do is convince Paris Hilton to be my spokesperson.
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Copyright 2008-2012, LOLmom.com, Greenwich CT 

Crossing Paintball off My Bucket List

Chuckle #484 | February 22nd, 2012
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Sometimes you let well-meaning friends sucker you into joining them in a ridiculous activity, like paintball.  The good news is that you can then cross that off your bucket list forever.  The problem is that you might find yourself liking the crazy stuff and be tempted to add more of them to your list.   

My day of paintball made me realize that my bucket list is totally lame.  It’s high on interesting destinations, but terribly lacking in adrenalin production.  A bucket list shouldn’t be just about seeing things, it should be about doing things, like sky diving or nipple piercing.  Am I right?

If a single cathartic day of paintball could ruin my otherwise happy and complacent existence, the same thing could easily happen to you...

It began innocently enough, with an invitation to a ‘family day of paintball’.  Because I am a very literal (or perhaps naïve) person, I assumed that this meant BOTH genders, not just those with excess testosterone and an itchy trigger finger.   Was it under false pretenses that our “friend” got us to show-up at a desolate location deep in the hills of NY?  I think so.

Gazing through the dirt and dust covered windows of our car we quickly realized that while there was a good-sized crowd of former marines, Green Berets and Jason Bourne types, there wasn’t a single female in sight.  I was sure that we’d stumbled into a highly fortified ultra-right wing camp for displaced Texas nationalists, and that we’d soon be taken as third, or even fourth, wives.  

We should have turned back then, but with wide-eyed wonder, we parked and signed the 30 page release form.  I’d seen this so-called ‘sport’ depicted on more than a few TV sitcoms, how hard could it be?

We were issued helmets and visors, head-to-toe fatigues, ammunition belts, and semi-automatic weapons.  For me at least, it was not an attractive look.  My girls actually looked kind of hot.  Like Charlie’s Angels in full combat gear.  Of course, they had straightened their hair before setting out.

We had NO IDEA what we were in for.

The 10 paintball fields had different themes like Abandoned Village, Graveyard (ha, irony!), and Forest Deathtrap.  On my first outing I dashed pell-mell into the breach (thanks for the advice Danny), only to be shot 5 consecutive times on the hand, and began to bleed.  FYI, paintball hurts.

At that point I was glad that I was zipped into that XL camo suit, even though it repeatedly tripped me up.  A smarter woman might have realized that the lack of petite sized suits was an indicator that very few women participate in this blood sport, but not me.  I ignored ALL the warning signs, even the presence of teenage boys.

They run like the wind, never tire, and they’ve played video games since they were five years old.  They consistently picked me off first, as the weakest link (aka the lamest and least attractive antelope) by releasing a barrage of shots directly at my head, leaving me blind and possibly concussed.

The guys who took out Bambi’s mother have nothing on a pack of trigger happy, parentally repressed 16 year old boys.

By the end of a day of paintball, you’ll have experienced nonstop adrenalin rushes and panic attacks, and your muscles will be shaking like jelly from the strain of holding your rifle upright as you crouch and run for cover. 

But you will have never felt so alive despite having been “killed” 20 times.  You’ll be sore, bruised, and yet - oddly satisfied.

And that’s how you end up with crazy stuff on your bucket list, like zip-lining, bungee jumping and parasailing.  I haven’t actually done any of those things, but I have to believe that all of them would be at least as cool as paintball.

That said I’m not about to take “month in Provence” or “4 day wine country/spa trip with my BFFs” off my list.  Adrenalin is good, but spending time with friends (in a cool place) is even better.

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