I Wanna Be Bionic

My inner artist and my inner scientist have been duking it out inside my head for my whole life, so imagine my delight the other day when I read about this dude who designed the Einstein robot.  [Check him out here:  http://www.hansonrobotics.com/]  I soooo want to work for this guy.  He has the perfect job for someone with artist/scientist conflict issues.

This Hanson dude built a robot that looks like Albert Einstein.  What makes it so awesomer-than-awesome is that he invented this stuff called ‘frubber’ – a synthetic material that resembles human skin - which he used to make the face.  Inside the head are dozens of little motors attached to dozens of little wires that are configured exactly like the muscles of the human face, meaning that when Albert speaks, he furrows his forehead, raises his eyebrows, blinks, everything.

They plan on being able to mass-produce these babies within a year or two for a cost of only about two grand.

I want one.

But I want mine to scoop cat litter and do housework.  And I want mine to look like Johnny Depp.  Or maybe Jude Law, like in the movie “Artificial Intelligence”…but without the penchant for screwing nannies.  (Of course, this might not be a problem if you are a nanny…Okay, scratch that.  There was just so much ew in that sentence, I even grossed myself out…)

You can already get prosthetics that react to signals from the neural pathways, right?  So if I ever lose a limb (or hell, a face), I want these guys to make my replacement.  I mean, it’s all wonderful and miraculous what those doctors have done for folks whose faces were eaten by dogs or whatnot, but let’s face it – if given the choice between a scar-riddled face that may eventually be rejected by your immune system…or a totally life-like frubber face that could be sculpted into the design of your choice (I’m going with Angelina), which would you choose?  I mean…c’mon!

Maybe eventually, we will all just keep replacing bits as they wear out, until we are like, 80% bionic.  How frikkin’ cool would that be??  I’m totally onboard with that.  Screw all that ethical bullshit.  I’d kick ass as a bionic woman.

Think about it – the possibilities are endless.  You could even have a robot that looks like you for days when you feel a little rough around the edges – you know, to schmooze at work functions and stuff (they are working on emotional cognitive artificial intelligence, so supposedly this could be a reality someday!)

Well, the likelihood of being recruited to work at Hanson Robotics is probably slim.  But I can sculpt, and I like learning new things.  Screw them.

I’m gonna build my own damn robot.

Mysteries of the Universe

Sooo, I’ve not been blogging much lately, but…

Good news:  I’m back.

Bad news?  My mind has been a bit fractured lately, so this is all you get.  *smirk*

Random Questions Raised in the Dark Recesses of My Mind

Why doesn’t the romantically candlelit cavern in the sewers where the Phantom of the Opera lives smell like poo?

Why in movies and television, do they always take the duct tape off the mouth before untying the hands or legs?  Wouldn’t it make more sense to undo the feet and hands, and let them take the friggin’ duct tape off their own mouth as they run?

Junebugs.  Just their existence in general – I mean, just why?

Since moonlight is just reflected sunlight, why don’t vampires at least get sunburns from being outside at night?

The popularity of Dr. Phil – again…why??

Why does time go by slowly when you are a kid and can’t wait to escape the bullying, the braces, the difficulty in obtaining booze…and then speed up when you are an adult and need all the extra time you can get to try and accomplish all the crap you set out to do when you were younger?

Why did I see a man handing his child a Red Bull at the grocery store at 11 pm the other day?

Who ARE you, mystery blog-stalker who keeps accessing this page from a WordPress link that misspells my name as ‘Andea’?  Who aaaare you…I hate such mysteries.  But you must like me, because you visit several times a day.

They keep making Kraft macaroni and cheese easier and easier to make – why don’t they just skip right to making it for us?  Do we really need that small sense of accomplishment so much?  (*apparently*)

Why don’t I have a robot?

More Fascinating Lies About Meme

‘Kay, I’ve been tagged by a very cool blogger friend, Lea (go check out her blog) and I’ve been taking my good old time with it, but here we go:

Sometimes you can learn more about a person by what they don’t tell you. Sometimes you can learn a lot from the things they just make up. If you are tagged with this Meme, lie to me.

Then tag 7 other folks (one for each deadly sin) and hope they can lie.

Pride

What is your biggest contribution to the world?

My extensive research on the lethal dose (LD-50) of tabloid magazine exposure.  I confirmed that in sensitive individuals, a minimum exposure of three magazine cover sightings in supermarkets is all that is required to invoke instant and complete brain death.  For those with repeated and frequent exposure involving incremental increases in exposure severity, such as members of the paparazzi, massive amounts are required to slow them down (example:  close and prolonged proximity to persons such as Paris Hilton, Lindsay Lohan, etc.)  It is hypothesized that the public, armed with such knowledge, will be better equiped to cope should they be faced with such life-altering events as botched fertility treatments, unprecedented attention ensued after entering public singing competitions, or forgetting to wear panties when exiting a limousine.

Envy

What do your coworkers have that you wish was yours?

Huge expense accounts.  They are allowed to write off such work-related necessities as in-house shoulder-rubs, singing candygram deliveries, additional staff assigned to M&M colour-sorting, and big-screen office televisions, among many others.  It gives me something to strive for.

Gluttony

What did you eat last night?

Barbequed dinosaur.  It was delicious.

Lust

What really lights your fire?

When a man boasts to me of his hunting prowess, it drives me wild.  Also, I really don’t find it a turn-on for my man to have a terribly literate mind – the dumber the better.  And it’s very exciting when a guy is proud of his extensive study of how-to manuals such as the Kama Sutra – very hot…because you know, women are so much like cars, it only makes sense to learn about what pleases them from an instruction booklet.

Anger

What is the last thing that pissed you off?

I don’t get angry.  People try to piss me off.  But I am a rock.  I am Switzerland.  I am a white dove flying over a peaceful sea.

Greed

Name something you hoard and keep from others.

Knowledge.  I refuse to tell anyone anything.  Knowledge is power and it is mine – ALL MINE!

Sloth

What’s the laziest thing you ever did?

Completely slack my way through my university degree.  I slept through lectures and labs, I cheated on exams, I never did any of the extra assignments for bonus points.  I thumbed my nose at the Dean’s List.  I could have cared less about my grades.

Okay, your turn.

I know you’re clever.

Lie to Meme!

(P.S.  If you are reading this, consider yourself tagged!  Link back to me or message me to let me know so I can check out your answers…)

Broken Heart Rescue Balm – A Home Remedy

Before Broken Heart Rescue Balm

Now, I myself am not capable of incurring a broken heart (because I’m, you know, a superhero and all), but it occurred to me that perhaps some of you might need a fix for this particularly annoying human ailment.

Because sometimes the universe does things like, say, dump a person in your lap that seems to be super-special and you think, “Gosh, the universe isn’t so bad after all!  I should send a gift basket with a nice thank-you card tucked inside!”  But sometimes this seemingly kind gesture is tempered by the fact that the universe – being the sick little pulling-wings-off-flies little fucker that it is – also chose to dump a big fat ocean in between you and that special person and things just don’t work out.  (In the movies, this wouldn’t slow things down, of course, but instead would inspire a cinematic climax involving a bouquet of flowers being waved out the sunroof of a limo, or at the very least, a boombox serenade.  But alas, that universe is actually a parallel one, one that is less of an asshole than your own.)

So should you find yourself in the blue zone (not me, because of course, my own heart – yes, I have one…a tiny one – is made of high-grade titanium wrapped in Kevlar with a thick coating of Teflon, thus I am impenetrable by such weak emotions as anything resembling this ‘heartbreak’ that I have heard so much about), I have a few suggestions for you.

First of all – it is important to make the most of your wallowing.  It is like sweating out toxins.

Ingredients to have on hand:

1.  A plentiful supply of tissues (or for the environmentally friendly, a pillow that you don’t mind getting snot and tears all over).  A cat will also do.

2.  Chocolate.  This likely won’t help a whole lot, but it won’t hurt, either.

3.  Ice cream.  Ditto.  (And what the fuck if you get fat, you’re never going near anyone ever again anyway.)

4.  A large stack of trash magazines with a high volume of articles about LiLo, Britney, Jon and Kate Plus Eight, etc.  This will serve to show you that somebody else’s life probably sucks more than your own.

5.  The phone – for when your best friend calls repeatedly to offer condolences.

6.  Sleepy drugs that you can’t OD on, like Nyquil or Benedryl.  Feeling drowsy will help you feel vulnerable and sorry for yourself.  This is a good thing – if you can count on no one else to pity you, at least you can pity yourself.  Plus, you are probably sleep-deprived from all the being-in-love crap.  But under no circumstances should you indulge in alcohol or other recreational drugs just yet.  You don’t want to numb the pain or risk a drunk-dial.  So spoon yourself around that box of Kleenex and give in.

7.  Soft, comfy clothes (even better if you have one of his old sweaters to wrap yourself in.  But improvise if you must.  Just make sure you don’t coordinate.  You need to look as bad as possible.)

8.  Hot showers – though you don’t want to waste any wallowing time on grooming, you will need to periodically rinse the salt out of your eyes or you will risk going totally insane from the burning.  Even better if you can manage to actually cry in the shower.  This is another one of those cinematic acts that will make you feel like a tragic heroine, which is a highly desired state and a key ingredient in Broken Heart Rescue Balm.

9.  A box in which to put everything that reminds you of him – pictures, letters, gifts, anything and everything.  It all goes in.  You might think this goes against the rule of wallowing, but it doesn’t.  You see, you have been living with his photo next to your bed/on your fridge/on your computer for so long that the absence of them now will be more tear-jerking than if you just left them where they always were.   You may replace these items with other things, just make sure the substitutes will not, under any circumstances, make you laugh.  For example, replace his photo with a photo of a sad-looking puppy.  (Not a puppy you actually know, or else your angst will be re-directed, forcing you to begin the process of wallowing over him all over again once you finish crying over the puppy.)

10.  Male friends who think you are fabulous.  Surround yourself with them.  Don’t under any circumstances let them kiss you, though – at this point, you will just be reminded of the person you wish you were kissing and this may lead to contaminating a perfectly good friend with the broken heart virus.  Perhaps later you can come to some sort of friends-with-benefits kind of arrangement, but right now it is too soon….far, far too soon.

11.  Caller ID.  You do NOT want to have to deal with mothers or telemarketers right now.  They do not deserve to feel the burn you are giving the universe right now.

Take all ingredients in any combination desired or required, as quickly as possible before scar tissue begins to develop.  (For those of you with hearts, you really want to keep it as young and healthy and flexible as possible.  It’s good for the circulation.)

The next day, shovel all those used tissues into the compost, put on your hottest shoes  – with the highest, sharpest heels possible, all the better to drop-kick that asshole of a universe – and go back to planning your summer vacation.  Go somewhere fabulous, like Paris.

After Broken Heart Rescue Balm*

*Results not typical