Tues., June 29, 1999REMINDER: Federal regulations prohibit the reading of this journal for more than 13 hours at a stretch if you are a truck driver on the road for more than 20 hours a day.
I've been in the mood to fiddle with buttons today. Since it's my misfortune today to be wearing a buttonless T-shirt and buttonless shorts, I've been fiddling with the buttons on my thermostat instead. Had I known how much fun that was going to be, I would have thrown one of those little boxes on my back before I headed off to school as a kid instead of any of that dorky attire I settled for in my ignorance.
Really, it's a wonder I ever made it out of the '70s alive with nothing better to keep my fingers busy than a blue-and-white striped button-down shirt with poofy sleeves and French cuffs....As mentioned previously, I had central air conditioning installed last month. What I didn't discover until fiddling with the buttons just now, however, is that they also installed central thinking.
A few minutes spent reading the instruction book that the installers left behind reveals that central thinking is designed to keep the "intellectual atmosphere" of your house within your comfort zone.
Here's how it works:1) Microphones in the thermostat constantly monitor the words being spoken in your residence.
2) A microprocessor mounted next to your blower motor analyzes these words and determines the apparent IQ level of the conversation.
3) The microprocessor compares that IQ value with the desired value you've set your thermostat at.
4) If the IQ level of the actual conversation in your house is lower than that desired, the central thinking unit sends bigger words about more sophisticated subjects throughout your house via loudspeakers mounted immediately behind all the vents.
5) If the IQ level of the actual conversation is higher than that desired, shorter words on less sophisticated subjects are sent instead.
6) When the actual conversation is brought into balance with the type of conversation you desire, the unit shuts off the loudspeakers but continues to monitor the overall intellectual ambiance of the house and makes further adjustments as necessary.
7) In the event raging stupidity erupts or an explosion of outright genius occurs, sensors in the Crisis Detectors mounted on ceilings in every room send an emergency alert to your local Humane Department of Thought Control, then flood your residence with high-volume white noise guaranteed to drown out all conversation until help arrives.Sure, it sounds fine in theory, but does it actually work?
I set the thermostat at "100 IQ" and sat down to see.
"Meow," my cat, Jester, opined.
"Meow," came the reply from my ductwork.
"Meow!" Jester declared, somewhat startled.
"Meow!" the ductwork replied, rather too self-assuredly for the new kid on the block.
"Hiss!" Jester attempted to conclude the discussion.
"Well, honey, that's why I told you to buy the single-piece bathing suit," the ductwork responded sympathetically.
I got up and reset the thermostat to "120 IQ" before things got ugly.
"Purrrrr," Jester jumped up on my lap and thanked me.
"La purrrr purrrr purrrrrr, mon chéri" the ductwork cooed back seductively.
"GRRRRRRR...!"
"Hé! Dunt bee un pussy snottette!!"
I quickly pried the remains of a loudspeaker out from between Jester's claws, locked him up in the laundry room, then returned to continue my experiment in relative peace and quiet.
"Meow," I said in a clear voice in the middle of my kitchen, having taken care to turn my thermostat down to "80 IQ."
"WOOF! WOOF!" came the unexpected reply.
As wild clawing shook my laundry room door, I raced to the thermostat and reset it for "25 IQ."
"Meow?" I tried one last time, speaking as softly and as calmly as the tense circumstances permitted.
"I did NOT have sex with that woman - Miss Lewinsky!" a booming voice knocked my autographed picture of Zippy the Pinhead off the wall.
The installers are supposed to come out tomorrow and make a few adjustments....
Back To A Simpler Past Home Where You Can Claw
At The Exits For Yourself
(All Material Not Already Buried In The Litterbox ©1999 by Dan Birtcher)
Note: From time to time I get asked, "Do you really have a cat or is Jester just one more of your imaginary friends?" The simple fact is that I DO have a cat named Jester and here's what I hope will pass for proof. Enjoy it if you can, feed it if you're able, run like hell if you must.
The Beast Himself
(refusing, as usual, to let me read my morning paper before I pay the "milk tax")
