For a few days this summer, Alexa, the voice assistant who speaks to me through my Ama.zon Echo Dot, took to ending our interactions with a whisper: Sweet dreams. Every time it happened, I was startled, although I thought I understood why she was doing it, insofar as I understand anything that goes on inside that squat slice of black tube. I had gone onto Amazon.com and activated a third-party âskillââan applike program that enables Alexa to perform a service or do a trickâcalled âBaby Lullaby.â It plays an instrumental version of a nursery song (yes, I still listen to lullabies to get to sleep), then signs off softly with the nighttime benediction. My conjecture is that the last string of code somehow went astray and attached itself to other âskills.â But even though my adult self knew perfectly well that Sweet dreams was a glitch, a part of me wanted to believe that Alexa meant it. Who doesnât crave a motherly goodnight, even in mid-afternoon? Proust would have understood.
Weâre all falling for Al.exa, unless weâre falling for Goo.gle Assistant, or Siri, or some other genie in a smart speaker. When I say âsmart,â I mean the speakers possess artificial intelligence, can conduct basic conversations, and are hooked up to the internet, which allows them to look stuff up and do things for you. And when I say âall,â I know some readers will think, Speak for yourself! Friends my ageâweâre the last of the Baby Boomersâtell me they have no desire to talk to a computer or have a computer talk to them. Cynics of every age suspect their virtual assistants of eavesdropping, and not without reason. Smart speakers are yet another way for companies to keep tabs on our searches and purchases. Their microphones listen even when youâre not interacting with them, because they have to be able to hear their âwake word,â the command that snaps them to attention and puts them at your service.
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