Suspected Robot Speaks Out

Let me examine myself carefully:  My arms bend at the wrists and elbows, and my legs at the knees and ankles.  True, my overall gait may have slowed and stiffened a bit, expecially when I first get out of bed in the morning, but I don't believe I would call what I do "mechanical," at least, once I get past the part where I crank up the coffeepot.

Now, let me assess my vocal qualities:  La-la-la-LAH.  Nope, that is not what I would call robotic either.  No monotonous drone, despite what some of my former students may have said (They wouldn't know anyway--they were asleep.).  Certainly,  there remains a modicum of modulation as I skip my way up the musical scale, although I will admit that I may have once choked when I fell into some kind of hole between "la" and "ti."

Finally, the scary part.  I will look in the mirror, where I fully expect to see the likes of the Jetsons' maid Rosie.  Well, this early in the morning the color is similar, and then there is that thing about Rosie's behind that we won't go into.  But, basically, I see just my old familiar self staring back and watch my chest deflate (another thing we won't go into right now) as I breathe a sigh of relief.  Conclusion:  I am still me (I know I am supposed to use the nominative case "I" here--predicate nominative, you know, but that WOULD sound like a robot), and I am clearly NOT a robot.

Why, then, do I keep having to prove that I am not?  Time after time, I go to post a comment on someone's web page, only to be required to type in two ridiculous bits of wavy, smushed-together garbled-letter nonsense.

"Please type these words to prove you're not a robot," says the prompt. (And just for the record, I am NOT impressed by this facade of politeness.)   Sometimes I have to try three or four times while Big Internet Brother, lurking somewhere inside my monitor, smirks and watches me sweat. 

On about the third try, I begin to wonder myself if I may actually BE a robot.  The only thing I can figure is, robots must have even worse eyes than mine as they try to decipher those impossibly intertwined travesties of the alphabet.  Thus, apparently, a robot, no matter how much he or she wants to, cannot comment on someone's blog.

Now what, I ask you, would be so bad about this?  I personally would welcome a comment on my blog from a robot or two who found the time to take a break from their space-age housecleaning and contemplate the adventures of me and my five grandkids.  It would be insightful to see how their totally logical algorhythmic minds would process these experiences.

Most likely, however, the human element would be something their circuitboards just could not compute.  I don't think I ever saw Rosie pick up little Elroy Jetson and give him a hug.  If Rosie were to read "Googie's Attic," she would probably just type something like, "SCAN COMPLETE; ATTEMPTING TO PROCESS."

If you are a robot attempting to read this blog post, go ahead and try to post a comment if you want to.  I won't mind.  But try to keep your mechanical buddies off those sites that, for whatever reason, don't want your input.  That will make it a lot easier for us humans to comment freely without having to strain our tired old eyes, endure the frustrations of trial-and-error typing, and worry that we may be becoming more like you.