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expectations of the robots
Tuesday, February 5 2002
Neither Gretchen nor I maintain a conventional work schedule. I stay home all day collecting unemployment and she works, well, irregularly. Consequently, we're often both home in the middle of the working day when the world expects us to be gone. Even the robots that quietly manage our affairs behind the scenes have this expectation. For instance, the heating system for our brownstone is programmed to abstain from heating the house between the hours of 9am and 5pm. Unfortunately, today was a miserably cold and windy, and, as I sat at my computer, I could feel little drafts blowing on me from all directions, particularly from the narrow gap beneath the window where an ethernet cable thanklessly snakes its way up to Ernie's apartment to provide him free broadband. We tried putting some doughy weather-stripping in the worst-offending cracks, but the only thing that made me feel comfortable was a protracted hot shower. After that, I had enough body warmth to last me until 5pm. After that, I warmed myself for awhile by sitting on a cushion atop a steam heat radiator.
Our neighbor Rachæl came to visit around that time and she and Gretchen had a long, rambling discussion that can best be characterized as girltalk. What I mean by this is that it concerned subjects that men never discuss; not among themselves, not with their girlfriends. Men don't sit around talking about the various skinny and fat phases they've experienced in their lives. Similarly, they rarely discuss the suffering they've endured from different species of acne. And then there's the characteristic gossip that interests women. Don't get me wrong, men gossip about as much as women do, but it never lingers for long on the compatibilities of the halves of various romantic couples. When men gossip, it's all about sex: the people who are having it, glorious conquests of yore, the depressing lack of it of late, and the likelihood of having some tonight.
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