October 11 – Nucular Autocorrect

People complain about autocorrect, but that’s because they aren’t paying attention. It’s like people who follow GPS blindly. I find autocorrect fascinating. I like the written forms of communication, emailing and texting, and am not real big on chatting on the phone. So I watch in awe as autocorrect tries to predict my next word, which it often does. Yes, there are those frustrating times when it should be obvious, like if I type “I’d like another piece of p”, porcupine would not even be close to what anyone, except maybe another porcupine, would ever be thinking. Or the fact that I have to type in five of the eight letters of my first name before it guesses it’s me. And yes, those times it changes your word to something that makes no sense because it doesn’t understand what you wrote and after all, it knows better, doesn’t it – and then you hit send before you notice. I’ve done it once or twice, no more really as I am fascinated with the talents of this little slab of stuff I’ll never understand, that I can hold in my hand and do so many amazing things with. For someone my age, I am living the futuristic future of my childhood. I ponder, often, with wonder and dread what we’re going to come up with next, and are we going to rely too much on autocorrects and GPS to tell us where to go and say.

I’m sure you’re wondering what brought this on. You recall my former Manhattan friend that no longer lives in the state, who stays with me once a month or so and to whom we are now referring as Gilda? Good.

Gilda and I are both fans of those true crime stories, like the ones on the Investigative Discovery and other channels. I look forward to the CBS show 48 Hours at 10:00 on Saturday night’s (I know, sad, isn’t it). In fact, one time Vicki and I were hanging out at Gilda’s tiny studio on the upper east side, and rather than background music, Gilda had her TV set on a Snapped marathon, during which we would chat about a certain episode we’d both seen, until poor Vickie cried out “Do we have to keep watching this?” Of course, we did not.

Gilda and I also both love Lt. Joe Kenda, even though I was horribly dismayed last year when I heard him say “nucular” instead of nuclear. As we know, I find that irksome. So, working backward, as neither Gilda nor I are working tomorrow, she will be staying with me Tuesday, the night Joe Kenda’s show is on. She texted me that she would love to stay over on lends Tuesday, which took me a short while to figure out she meant Kenda Tuesday, but autocorrect decided it knew better. Then I sat down and wrote this, because autocorrect, and all that is to come, good or bad, fascinates me.

BTW – In a reverse “Hey Nineteen” moment, I was in Whole Foods yesterday, which I find to be a wholly unenjoyable necessity, trying to balance an open plastic bag in one hand, the scoop for the unsalted pistachio nuts in the other hand while holding up the lid to the nuts with my third hand so I could scoop up the half pound of pistachios that will take me no more than an hour to eat once I get them home, a nine or ten year old boy wearing his horned backback and jabbering away as he following his mother, suddenly blurted out “I love this song.” (That was one sentence) I listened hard above the din and recognized Elvis Costello’s “Pump It Up”, my favorite Costello song, and felt a wee bit heartened that there may be hope for future generations.

B&BTW-I can now pull off my size 12 jeans without unbuttoning and unzipping them. Too bad Letterman’s not on anymore as I could audition for stupid human tricks.