I must be a dumb woman because I live in a dumb house. Well, not dumb, maybe, but definitely not smart, probably just average.

I lie awake at night and imagine how different my life would be if I did live in a smart house. For one thing I wouldn’t have to be woken up every morning by these noisy birds. If I had a smart house it could zap the birds and I could lie in bed and listen to environmental tapes but that is not to be.

If I had a smart house I would simply roll over in the morning, turn on the intercom and tell my Cuisinart to start the coffee. When I got downstairs my coffee would be waiting.

“Hey, where’s the coffee?” I say when I walk in the kitchen. And because this house is so smart it responds immediately. “Your choice of Zimbabwean coffee, which you bought because it was on sale, was not only politically incorrect but is also, far too acidic for someone with your particular ph balance,” it informs me.

My smart house has a smart mouth it turns out. Not only does my house think I am cheap it thinks I am stupid. I attempt to disconnect but that has been anticipated. Plugs and sockets are a thing of the past. There ‘s no turning it off or shutting it up so I attempt to tune it out.

I saunter out towards the back porch, clapping my hands as I go. And the house responds by turning lights off and on as I enter endless rooms clapping my hands and turning lights on and off wherever I go. (This house is really smart. It is twice as big and worth four times as much as my dumb house) Wow, I’m having more fun that the people in TV commercials.

I go to the back porch, where I see Cashmere, the cat, sitting on the windowsill watching a bird. Hey noodle head, what’s up? She gives me a barely detectable nod, which is her gentle way of saying, “Hey, shut up, will you?” Bird watching is serious stuff to Cashmere.

I can’t help but notice the cameras in the corner of this room. Like all savvy consumers of the smart house era I have installed cameras in all the rooms, though now that I think about it I’m not sure why. Is it to keep an eye on the cat? Or is it to see that my friends don’t make off with the silverware? “Watching me, watching you,” I tell Cashmere, but she pretends to ignore me. I wonder how many of our frankly somewhat limited conversations have made it into the files of Echelon and the National Security Agency. And I wonder why. Cashmere is a smart cat. Smart enough to pick a human that gives her a choice between tuna, sardines or chicken. But not smart enough to be a threat to national security. At least I don’t think she is. Maybe I better put in a citizen’s call to the NSA.

I wander back to the living room. The TV turns on automatically without so much as a nod let alone a clap. Man I tell you technology has really taken all the hassle out of our lives. It is so totally cool!.

My wide screen TV gets 365 channels 24 hours a day, 365 days a year forever. Wow--information soo-ciety! Tom Hanks is telling us all about D-Day. “Hey I thought that was over!,” I think to myself and pick up the remote. I want to know what’s going on today so I click to the next channel. There he is again! To the next channel and there he is again, and again, and again. Then I surf past toilet bowls singing and dancing their way into my heart but I don’t stop. Next stop is an interview by Mike Wallacwithof a senior citizen who is describing how her Serenity Pads have given her outer comfort and inner peace. I realize I have reached the low end of the market when I get to the knives tap-dancing across the kitchen counter to the music of Fame. “I want to slice forever, I want to slice till I die” sings one little knive off -key.

And then I strike pay dirt. Tom Brokaw is looking me square in the eye.. He is smack in the middle of his nightly Saddam Hussein report. I listen and learn that Saddam Hussein, has been determined by four psychiatrists of out of five to be the most psychopathic sociopath who has ever lived on the planet. I want to find out why but Tom is in the midst of his interview with the second psychiatrist who is agreeing with the first psychiatrist on Saddam’s psychological profile. I go to the next channel where the first psychiatrist is agreeing with an expert from NIH on the need to genetically clone Saddam Hussein in order to more fully determine how he got that way so they can more fully understand the evil machinations of his mind. A special panel will be called and televised on the Leher Report later this evening on the scientific and ethical questions surrounding the proposed study. Dolly Pardon has been asked her opinion and she agrees that the medical procedures should probably be done as her experience tells her that two tits are better than whatever it is she had before. The whole thing is beginning to lose me. It is all too creepy which is why I am glad that there are experts who can deal with this sort of thing but what I need is some entertainment.

I surf around till I find Access Hollywood. Looks like it’s time to quit surfing for a while. Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman are talking about the excruciating experience of having sex in front of Stanley Kubrick while filming “Eyes Wide Shut” and how it was so traumatic but has actually made their marriage so much stronger. Then former Bad Boy Richard Gere describes how cocaine and sex with small rodents has brought him closer to God. These stories are so inspiring but still I’m worried about the cat connection. I call the NSA and listen to their menu and leave my message being careful to speak slowly and clearly.

I make a few other calls and leave my messages. It seems like forever since I’ve actually talked to anyone on the phone. I do have a memory of an actual human being coming on the line once but its dim, and anyway the messages and the music are much better than they used to be. I try to remember whether it’s been longer since I talked to human being on the phone than it has been since I went outside. The temps have been way over a hundred and fifty degrees Fahrenheit for longer than anyone can remember so nobody goes out anymore, I mean nobody. I mean that would be totally uncool!

They had a special on National Geographic on the weather changes in the 20th and 21st centuries and how scientists have been working on a failsafe way to bring the temps down so people can go outside again. Temperamental Temps has been one of the most highly funded projects of NASA and it’s their top priority right now. When Tom Hanks isn’t talking about Normandy Beach he is talking about all the incredibly hard work our scientists are doing to get this thing under control. Sometimes I think it’s really sad I can’t go outside but then I remember bugs and humidity and sunburns and shit and then I think, it’s like no big deal. Anyway I still have Cashmere. And that point she walks in the room. And I try to remember how long I have had her because it seems like forever. But then I go, wow, that’s right you, little kitty cat, are a clone - a perfect genetic replica. Well, not all that perfect. She stills pees on the landing. I can’t believe they couldn’t take the peeing gene out when they did the clone. Time to put in a call. I am not a satisfied customer.

Oh well, whatever. RockFusion is on in ten minutes. All I have to do is snap my fingers and the lights dim, and Mel Gibson appears and promises to come right back, after the Special Report on the new improved and totally safe Prozac.