Can You Love A Machine?

Is it possible to love a machine?

That sounds like the opening line from some romance-science fiction novel, doesn’t it? If you’re a fan of The Twilight Zone, you might remember the episode entitled, “The Lonely” where Jack Warden plays a convict serving time on a remote planet. His only company is a robot designed to look like a beautiful woman. When his sentence is up, he is devastated to learn that he has to leave his companion, “Alicia” behind, since there’s no room in the rocket ship for her. True, she’s only a machine, but the two had formed a deep, emotional bond.

I have similar sentiments about several machines in my life. At the top of the list is my new Saturn Aura. Of course, “my” is a relative term. Though my name is on the title and the insurance, it’s used primarily for my husband’s commute to Providence each day. Our last Saturn, a ’93 SL2, finally conked out after 16 years and 345,000 miles. And while I enjoyed that car, it’s nothing compared to the love I feel for our new Saturn: Leather seats, sunroof, XM radio (how did we survive with just AM/FM?), On-Star, MP3 jack and heated seats. Our last Saturn smelled like an old man and sounded like a New York City taxi. The new one still has that pristine-just-out-of-the-showroom smell and rides oh-so-smoothly. Though I only get to drive it on weekends, I revel in those few moments when I can open the sunroof, blast XM radio and forget that I’m actually a middle-aged, suburban soccer mom. The rock band Queen had it right when they sang “I’m in Love with My Car…got a feel for my automobile.” Really, as hard as I try, I just can’t form the same emotional attachment to my mini-van.

Running a close second on the list is my new Keurig coffee maker. I admit I resisted this one for quite a while. My husband and I had just converted from a French press to an automatic drip, when these single-cup, pod machines hit the stores. Too expensive, I thought, and those k-cups can’t be recycled. What would Al Gore say? Our grind and brew had a programmable timer and a carafe that would keep the coffee hot all day. Still, it was a pain to clean, and my husband and I were at odds over what type of coffee to brew (he loves extra bold, I like extra wimpy). Soon most of my friends had a Keurig in their kitchen and I couldn’t help but be impressed by the assortment of coffee pods available: Decaf, Mudslide, Buttered Toffee or Blueberry Crumble. (My resolve was starting to crumble). When my husband developed reflux and had to reduce his coffee intake to one cup a day, I took it as a sign. It was time to pull the trigger. The Keurig is now firmly ensconced on my counter and I’ve willingly joined the ranks of the pod people (sorry Al…)

Third place is a tie between my iPhone and my Tivo box (though I’d be hard pressed to decide which I could live more easily without). Prior to purchasing my iPhone, a friend and I went out one Friday night. Upon discovering that her iPhone was left at home, my friend immediately went into a panic. Though I assured her I had my cell phone, she responded “I’m crippled without the internet!” How could we check movie times, search restaurant reviews or Google pictures of Josh Holloway? At the time I chuckled and shook my head, but now I’m the one who can’t bear to be separated from my iPhone. No longer satisfied with just making and receiving phone calls. I have to fill every moment of downtime checking email, Facebook and surfing the internet. My Tivo box was a gift from my husband’s co-worker, and sat unused in our attic for nearly two years. When our ancient VCR finally bit the dust, I decided it was time to forgo videotape and head over to the digital side of town. Oh the wonders of watching one program while recording another. The joys of my season pass manager, which records all the episodes of my favorite programs with just one touch. The thrill of skipping over commercials, or instantly stepping back three seconds to catch that missed moment. Who came up with this brilliant idea, and how can I get in touch to thank him?

So yes, I guess to answer my original question, it is possible to love a machine. But as you know, love and hate go hand in hand. Therefore, with the capacity to love comes the potential to hate a machine as well.

Just ask anyone who owns a computer printer.