Alexa and Me

I do not have a good relationship with Alexa. Mind you, I didn’t want her/it. An A.I. will doubtless be useful in old age, but at the moment I don’t care to converse with a Kindle Fire TV Stick.

The Schitts,” I said one day.

“I’d rather not,” Alexa said.

Turned out I had the title of this Canadian sitcom wrong: it is Schitts Creek.

Schitts Creek

I was unhappy from the moment my husband hooked up the Fire Stick to the flat screen TV. I didn’t even want a flat screen TV. The boxy one was easier.

I asked, “ Hasn’t Alexa recorded some private conversations? And shouldn’t we cover the camera and microphone on the TV with tape?”

“It would have to be duct tape.”

I used the other remote at first, but the Kindle Fire Stick voice thing is faster. That’s how they get you.

The language divide is my Rubicon. Alexa doesn’t understand me.

When I said, “I’m Sorry,” the title of a sitcom on Netflix, she said charmingly, “Don’t worry about it.”

I am flabbergasted by A.I. charm.

Then Alexa broke down when my husband changed the battery. A sad, sad moment in our household. He ordered another one immediately and was anxious… until I showed him how to use the remote that came with the TV.

“Then what do we have Alexa for?”

I don’t know.

The new Kindle  Fire TV Stick is more polite. It isn’t charming or flippant. And I heed the hints that flash across the screen: “Alexa, watch Schitts Creek,” etc.

So I’m supposed to say “Alexa” before I say the title?

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