Computer Telephone Game
Tonight I continued working on the speakable commands on the Mac (Open Safari, Switch to iChat, Enter, Tell Me A Joke, or the one I created: I Hate You), and my roommate got interested in it, and checking to see if his laptop has it. It does, and he trained it to his voice.
Then he went to Word, and had it type what he said. I would also talk, and we developed the telephone game. We copied and pasted a paragraph from somewhere, and David would read the paragraph, and the computer would type what it thought he said. Then I would read what it wrote from what David dictated, and then David would read what I dictated... and in a very short time, it had nothing at all to do with the original statement.
First: When a show succeeds, especially if it involves a collaboration, the story of its origins becomes the greatest fiction of all. Bernstein called “West Side Story” “my baby”; Robbins, to whom no one was speaking by opening night, signalled his imperialism over the enterprise by contractually requiring a box around his billing in every production of the show.
End: Sixteen-one, $19.00 and cents per year, most recent ones are scenes that is, saying he was senior has been sterilized seems as soon as
Yes, the former paragraph became the latter sentence.
Oh, and I killed three mice in the past week without even being here (except the last, which I heard the snap and saw its bitter end). The last one I set caught a mouse within an hour (I set it right outside its hole with peanut butter). I think that was the last of them. In case it's not, I'm leaving the body just outside the hole overnight because I'm not sure it's dead as a warning to any other would-be scavengers. I hate vermin. Unless they're in cages and not running around in my gorram apartment.
By the way, I spent the last several days (since Thursday) in Boston. IT WAS AMAZING. More details upon request.
TO BED!
Then he went to Word, and had it type what he said. I would also talk, and we developed the telephone game. We copied and pasted a paragraph from somewhere, and David would read the paragraph, and the computer would type what it thought he said. Then I would read what it wrote from what David dictated, and then David would read what I dictated... and in a very short time, it had nothing at all to do with the original statement.
First: When a show succeeds, especially if it involves a collaboration, the story of its origins becomes the greatest fiction of all. Bernstein called “West Side Story” “my baby”; Robbins, to whom no one was speaking by opening night, signalled his imperialism over the enterprise by contractually requiring a box around his billing in every production of the show.
End: Sixteen-one, $19.00 and cents per year, most recent ones are scenes that is, saying he was senior has been sterilized seems as soon as
Yes, the former paragraph became the latter sentence.
Oh, and I killed three mice in the past week without even being here (except the last, which I heard the snap and saw its bitter end). The last one I set caught a mouse within an hour (I set it right outside its hole with peanut butter). I think that was the last of them. In case it's not, I'm leaving the body just outside the hole overnight because I'm not sure it's dead as a warning to any other would-be scavengers. I hate vermin. Unless they're in cages and not running around in my gorram apartment.
By the way, I spent the last several days (since Thursday) in Boston. IT WAS AMAZING. More details upon request.
TO BED!