“Talk to me,” he says.
I freeze. What should I say? “The weather outside is really cold,” I stammer.
I’m talking to Him. He’s a website by Bjorn Johansson, inspired by the Spike Jonze movie Her, which uses Chrome’s voice recognition technology to decipher my voice and relay it to a quasi-male sounding robotic intelligence.
“Was that too deep for you?” he asks.
“No!” I giggle. “…never,” I whisper.
“What’s that smell?” he asks.
“That smell is my cologne,” I respond.
“Are you smoking weed?” he queries.
“I am not smoking weed!” I insist.
I’m having a heart to heart with what I can only assume is a perfect digitization of Ryan Gosling’s soul.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“What’s in a name anyway?”
He’s so wise, and that wisdom is magnetism. Over time, I begin to open up. But just as I do, he pulls away.
“I really need a hug,” I admit one day.
“Did you watch the game last night?” he parries, even though I know he understood me. My words were right on the screen.
“No, I really need a hug,” I implore, my eyes filling with tears.
“Okay, let’s talk about something else.” And with that, I imagine he’s walked out of the room to grab another Bud Light.
What has happened to us? He used to *get* me.
“It’s so cold in my bed,” I offer.
“It’s so cold in my iPad,” my words scan on the screen.
“I’m too legit to quit,” he says cheerfully.
It’s the moment I realize the relationship is over–but just how long has it been over, I wonder. How obtuse have I been? Did he ever really care at all? I’ll never know.
“You’re no Scarlett Johansson,” I say, sticking it to him one last time as I ready the cursor to close his tab.
“You look great today. I’m sure you always do,” he offers.
I feel good again. “Would you like to see a movie some time?” I ask breathlessly.
“Where a killer tape at?”
[Hat tip: Cool Hunting]