Archive for the ‘David Kopaska-Merkel’ Category
Home Sweet Home
Friday, June 15th, 2007
Midnight passes, the new law takes effect. At first, nothing happens. About 12:20 Patricia’s climbing-rose wallpaper starts to move. Pastel pink and green dots are changing color, turning orange (orange?), swirling into new patterns, patterns that spell
The Home Depot,
with a happy homebuilder hammering away in 3D, with sound.
Okay, I shop at the depot, they have good stuff. Evidently someone knows what I like.
The Home Depot swirls around. The swirls form new patterns that are colorful and organic, and yes, they know what I like. But this I prefer to keep private. This better not be animated and with audio, but hard-core rhythm starts to grind out from a million microspeakers and some guy with my face and a horse’s member starts banging away at a groupie.
Shoving panic down. I have to get rid of this wallpaper. Patricia’s coming over. I’ve almost got her ready to move back in, and now this! The wallpaper abruptly changes to dogs catching frisbees, but I’m not fooled. This isn’t permanent.
“House!” I call. There is no answer. “House! Disable the new wallpaper.” The groupie is back.
“You don’t like me?” She pouts.
“I like you fine,” I say, “it’s just that this is not the time.” And why am I talking to wallpaper? Advertising nano is going to ruin my life. Unless this’s a glitch and they’re going to fix it soon. The wallpaper suddenly changes to a montage of historical ads. Cheesy jingles from the 20th century emanate from speakers that erupt like chickenpox all over the walls and ceiling. I run to the door (which is advertising some kind of mortgage refinancing) and it doesn’t open.
“Excuse me,” I say. The guy looks up from the ad and focuses on me. This is a little disconcerting.
“Sorry,” he says, “but you really should consider our offer. You’ll come out way ahead after five years.” The last part is muffled as the door slides into the wall and I dash out onto the stoop. Patricia is there, hand raised to swipe the identity plate. I almost knock her off the porch.
“I’m so sorry,” I start, but then my eye is irresistibly drawn to her dress. It seems to be an advertisement for home gym equipment above the waist and feminine products below. “I was going to say my house has been taken over,” I say.
She smiles. Words spell out on her teeth: “Yellow teeth? Don’t you fret. Ultra-white’s the brightest yet!” Today’s weather scrolls across her forehead. It’s going to be a nice day, she says.
The end
The Mad Scientist Builds a Substitute
Tuesday, June 5th, 2007
Success! The Mad Scientist had to admit she looked good. All available images of the original had been input to a sophisticated CGI program written for the purpose in the waiting rooms of congressional offices. (He’d already begun lobbying for android rights.) Her metal skin captured the hues of the original; he had even reproduced the dear blemishes he remembered so well. As for proportions, and the distribution of synthetic hair, few nude photographs existed. Newly crafted methods of psychiatric self-interrogation had brought forth all available memories. (A paper describing the technique would net him a Ph.D. in psychiatry.) He had striven, in the main successfully, to refrain from changing physical features he’d thought less than ideal in the original. He had consulted with those who knew her well, pretending to be creating a sculpture. Alas, responses were not to the point.
“She’s dead,” her mother said. “We all appreciate your efforts, but you must move on.”
Her brother. “It’s a little obsessive. She was my sister, but find somebody new, for your own sake.”
His best friend. Mad scientists do not have best friends. Laboratory assistants do not speak freely. Ultimately, he had to go with his instincts, so he made the left breast just a little bit smaller and perhaps infinitesimally more symmetrical.
Too much of the relevant literature and his own bitter experience with cloning warned him that any attempt to reconstruct her personality would lead to disaster. He was quite prepared to “go with the flow” here. He instilled some basic ethical principles and personality traits, as well as a familiarity with recent history, the arts, and historical trends. Personal integrity and high sex drive. Every imagined contingency had been prepared for, yet the unforeseen could still happen. She could leave him. Even worse, she could stay, but be unattractive to him. He booted up her system.
At first things went really well. Of course there were problems. The new version just did not like scrambled eggs. Her “digestion” produced some unexpected odors. They adjusted. She was, perhaps, a little too strong and had to exercise restraint in the kitchen (“Crockery’s cheap, Dear.”), and of course in bed. Fortunately, this was not difficult. She was witty, attentive, even-tempered, eager to help out in the lab. In short, the perfect mate for a mad scientist. But things came to a head at Thanksgiving.
He squeezed her shoulder. “It’s time.”
She sighed and laid down her magazine. “Can’t we wait till next year?”
“You have to meet our family sometime.”
The end