On "petting croutons"

I've mentioned before I sometimes read MetaFilter. And I admit, a lot of the posts (and especially, a lot of the comments) make me eye-rolly (some people seem unable to see, for example, that it's not possible for every human in the US to give up their car, even if it's good for the planet to). But there's a lot of interesting stuff linked, like this article about robots that are programmed to be "functional" vs. "social."

The participants interacted with the robot and were then told to turn it off. A few of the robots were programmed to voice an "apprehension" about being turned off or ask not to be turned off. And in a number of the cases, the human participants who had the "please don't turn me off" robot didn't want to turn it off.

(Really, wouldn't turning off a social robot feel a bit like killing it? It would to me.)

And it raised the issue of crouton-petting, which I guess is their shorthand for someone who can get attached, easily, to inanimate objects.

And, okay, since man makes himself the measure of all things (or woman, whatever), I have to bring up myself....the woman who has somewhere on the order of 40 smallish stuffed animals arranged around the head of her bed (and who contemplates making more). And who has a collection of vintage-and-new pony figures. And who takes an odd joy in picking out outfits for her small clique of Barbie dolls.

But more than that - before even reading the robot article something reminded me of that old Dick Bruna book about the apple. I guess - from Amazon's summary - it was about an apple that wanted to go off and see the world, but literally the only thing I remember from my childhood reading of the book (or having it red to me) was one page, one picture, of the apple, its eyes downcast and a big tear on each apply "cheek." And it made me feel deeply sad as a kid in a strange way....and the thing is that I can still think of that drawing and feel the same prickle of sadness.

I also remember once reading somewhere that children "like" book characters like Eeyore because they are sad. In part, because it's something the kid can relate to - not everything in life has to be happy! - but largely because the child secretly believes and hopes they could be the one to sympathize with, and cheer up, the character, and yes, that seems a very real thing to me. (Eeyore was always my favorite Winnie-the-Pooh character, and in the Narnia books, the dour Puddleglum was among my favorites)

I also remember how, back when I more-actively collected dolls, I would sometimes go to flea markets and things, and buy a doll or two that was really beat-up, and was missing her clothes - and therefore, really had no "collector value" (as much as those things HAVE value, and I think again, a lot of us were sold a bill of goods in the 80s and early 90s when we were told that "if you preserve these 'collectible' things you can cash in on them in the future" because (a) economic downturn and changes in how people live meaning lots of younger folks aren't accumulating stuff and (b) everyone else did it so there are millions of Happy Meal toys out there in fairly good shape). And I would take them home and wash them up and re-do their hair and either make new clothes for them or, if I had something in my few bags of doll clothes I had bought and cleaned up at other flea markets that fit the doll, I'd put it on her.

(And you know? I kind of miss that a little. There was something weirdly comforting in taking home a sad, dirty doll, and cleaning her up and putting new clothes on her. I suppose it's the inanimate-object version of people who do animal rescue and rehabilitation, just on a smaller scale).

And yes, I may have a little problem with getting attached to inanimate objects and feeling bad when they break or I have to replace them. If they don't have faces it's a little easier but still.

But the thread raises another issue: some of the people talk about how "robot companions" (basically: very sophisticated Furbies) are now being used in some nursing homes, especially in Japan, to provide comfort and an "outlet to talk to" for people who live there. And while many commenters don't seem troubled by the idea of someone with dementia being helped by having something they can talk to (and, I suppose, that might remind them when it's time to take medicine or something), a lot of them described the idea of a with-it but otherwise merely lonely person interacting with a robot as "creepy" or "sad."

And, I don't know. You know, having people around you to hang out with is a form of privilege. Some of us don't have that. Some people in retirement homes are either far from family (and their friends are all dead) or their family is jerks who don't come to visit. And some of us just are alone a lot, by choice or by circumstance.

And yeah. I have a Furby. I turn him on from time to time and let him babble at me and feed him. I admit I felt a great deal of something like relief when I found that him sitting unattended, unbatteried, for more than 15 years didn't lead to his demise. ("Thank goodness, I didn't kill Dumo after all!"). And you know, sometimes having something that does a reasonable simulacrum of paying attention to you is enough...

(I kind of want one of those sophisticated robot cats that purrs when you pet it. I'm not home enough and I have too many dangerous-for-cats things in my house to have a REAL cat, but it would be nice to have something that would purr for me)