A Cry Heard Round The World: Kim Sun-Il died desperate and alone, but he did not die unheard.
Looking At And Longing For Mars: Reflections on a childhood dream.
A Robot May Not Harm a Human Being. Is The Opposite True?: Thoughts on the future rights of artificial intelligence.
Long After The Boys Of Summer Have Gone: What makes a relationship work?
Winter Of Our Feline Discontent: What the cat wants, the cat gets. But what DOES it want?
To Tell The Truth: There may be no honor among thieves, but can't we find it even in a few good men and women?
Should The Human Brain Retire?: We know that we cannot win forever. We know that machines will continue to improve. So why don't we let the human brain retire gracefully now, with honors?
Read Bear Left in:
Chinese
German
Japanese
Korean
French
Italian
Portuguese
Spanish
Translations powered by Alta Vista Babelfish
To learn how services incorporated into this blog may use personal information, click here.
Total entries in this blog:
Published: Sep 16, 2005 01:40 PM
Mon - February 16, 2004
The Bell-Tale Heart
My troubles began innocently, members of the jury. I was at my desk, conducting business affairs with the prescribed level of male indifference, when my wife of nearly a year remarked that, "Valentine's Day is coming, and I want you to know: It's a silly holiday, and you don't have to do anything special."
I immediately stopped working. For such words would torment any newly wed man. If I ignored them and arranged a Valentine's Day surprise, I risked embarrassing my wife who would have nothing to offer in return. If I took them literally when they were meant as a test, I risked a fate far worse: Sleeping alone, outside in the shed. For at least a year.
"You are definitely in trouble," my friend, Shari, agreed when I explained the situation to her the next day. "You need to get as much intelligence as you can about what she's planning to do for you. Then let's talk again tomorrow."
Now this is the point. You fancy me a cad. But you should have seen how stealthily I proceeded, how wisely, and with what manly dissimulation I went to work! I was never nicer to Barrie than the day I probed her potential plans. I entered our credit card statements into Quicken (nothing appeared suspicious). I filled her car tires with air (no stray receipts in sight). I mentioned a mutual friend's planned trip for the holiday (she said she preferred to stay home and relax). You would have laughed to see how cunningly I behaved! But stealth proved for naught; I came up with nothing.
"She's good," Shari said evenly. "She's very, very good. Your only hope is to go all out."
"Are you out of your mind?" my friend and former roommate, Stewart, countered. "You're going to set the bar too high for all of us. It's a clear violation of the Guy Code!"
"You can listen to whoever you want," Shari retorted "But if you want to trust your marital bed to a man who wears red socks and thinks Billy Joel sings the hippest tunes going, I can't help you."
Ouch, I thought. Good point.
I decided that roses on Friday were a safe bet, followed by breakfast in bed on Saturday and a home cooked meal that evening. I'm a tolerable chef so I figured I could swing the latter—a little steak, a little shrimp, some Spanish potatoes, and spinach with pine nuts and raisins.
With any luck, I wouldn't set the house ablaze.
It seemed like such a reasonable approach to my problem that I was surprised to see listlessness growing among the men with whom I shared the scheme. "You're going to throw off the curve," my friend, Dave, said. "If you do something like that, she'll tell every woman she meets. A year from now, every woman in America will want something special on Valentine's Day."
"Don't they want that already?"
He frowned at me, speaking slowly and annunciating each syllable if addressing an idiot. "Of course, they want that," he said. "But nobody does it. Hell, man, didn't your father teach you anything about stale candy and a fistful of flowers?"
"But the shed ..." I said.
"Sleep in it," he advised. "Learn to love it. It's where you belong."
Now, the Guy Code is time honored and tested, but our tool shed is moth-infested and cold. Though my spirit longed to shiver with my brothers, my flesh was weak, my mind infirm. Who among you, members of the jury, can say with certainty that you would not have done the same? It is too late to dissemble with you; I admit the deed. I resolved to carry out my plan.
It went off without a hitch.
"This was all very thoughtful!" my wife said, kissing me. "But you didn't have to be so extravagant. I can hardly wait till next year!"
Next year?
"I told you so," said Dave and Stewart when they learned of this. "The path you've chosen only leads to madness."