We had just come in from dinner downtown, happy to leave the usual Friday night mid-town Manhattan traffic congestion behind us, when Garth who had complained of being attacked by his stomach, had run up the steps, two at a time, with break neck speed for the bathroom.

We had been going out for only four months and this was my first time in his apart-ment. I tried to make myself at home downstairs as I waited for him, and went into the kitchen in search of drinking glasses and something to drink. I opened one of the two cupboards above the shinny aluminum sink, and was struck by how neatly arranged all the canned items inside were. The next cupboard contained the drinking glasses, and I poured beers and took them into the livingroom. Everything was spotless and I tried not to leave anything messy or out of place, thinking how cool it was to be dating a neat freak.

I sunk down into the lumpy leather-looking sofa, inhaling the puff of leathery air and dust that spewed out through the invisible pores. Curling my legs into the sofa, I sipped my beer in silence until the glass was half empty and then glanced at my watch. It was eight forty five. Garth had been up there for almost thirty minutes. What the hell was he doing? It was then that I really got worried and decided to go check on him.

Secretly, I couldn't wait to see what his bedroom was like. I could imagine how neat it was, with nothing out of place. I hurried up the steps calling, "Garth,! Garth are you okay?" No answer.

I had reached the top of the stairs and walked down the short hallway to my right and pushed the door open. I had stepped into his bedroom and was shocked. The room reeked of the scent of cigarette smoke and vomit. Empty beer bottles were scattered all over the floor against the far right corner of the room.

A queen sized bed occupied the far left, and was strewn all over with clothes but something else caught my eyes, which sent a shiver up my spine and stopped my voice from uttering another word. Unsure of what I'd seen, I edged closer to the bed, all the while looking over my shoulders for I felt as if I was being watched.

A woman whose face I could not see, for she had the covers drawn all the way up with her head was buried into them, lay fast asleep on the bed. I could see the form of her huge breasts and slender body under the covers, and her jet-black hair was strewn over the pillow with parts of it covering her face. "Shit!" I whispered. What the hell has Garth gotten me into? and where the hell is he anyway?

The thought of finding him distracted me from the woman for awhile, and I tiptoed on the carpet in the direction of the bathroom door a few steps away from the bed. Garth, still dressed in his blue jeans and white dressy shirt, was lying on the bathroom floor in the fetal position with his hands clutching his chest. His face swam in a pool of his own vomit.

He was asleep, snoring deeply. Even like that he still looked cute I thought for an instant, but what deep dark secrets he seem to be hiding. I have to get the hell out of here. A warm bath back at my place on Riverside Drive will put me back to normal, I thought, and in the morning I'll just wake up and pretend this never happened...// ©

Part 2 Soon.

Just What is a "Bot?"

I had seen the name used time and again on my tours around the Web, but never was never quite sure what "bot" meant. However, a year back I happened upon the SearchBots website during one of my Web searches, and was pleasantly surprised at what I found there...an animated robotic web software that performs the searches you tell it to perform and which it sets out to do, only returning when it is through, to give you the desired results.

Naturally, I followed the instructions, entered the keywords of my search and sent the bot on its way. It returned a few minutes later to report that it was unable to find the particular information I had requested, and that if I preferred, it would continue it's search until such time that it found the information, or until I commanded it to it cease searching. Well...you guessed it, I sent it on its way again.

It was a few months afterwards (myself having forgotten the whole adventure by this time), that Max checked back with me. ( Oh! Did I mention that you can customize the bot to your liking--dress it up any way you like depending on your mood, or even give it a name ?)

But what exactly is it? (Who or What really is my bot--Max?)

According to the team at BotSpot.com : "A bot is a software tool for digging through data. You give a bot directions and it brings back answers." It's parent name they explain, originates from the Czech word "robota" which means "work," and therefore bots are robotic software that labors continuously in the background, I might add, to find information. There are many kinds of bots on the web and you'll find a large listing of them on the BotSpot site.

Now that would be something!)

Intelligent?

Well you decide. For instance, consider other bots I've used such as the Reader's Bot . It will find the books you love to read and will even recommend other books it "thinks," or rather deduce, you might want to read.

Then there was Virtual Dog . You get to adopt your very own virtual pup which you can raise all by yourself and play with time and time again. The site displays images of the pups who need homes, and you'll even get a complete description of the breed of the pup you have choosen and how to raise it, before you decide to adopt. It is a great site, and I'm almost sure your kids or the kid in you, will adore this site. (Remember those Giga Pets?) Well, raising the pup is based on the same premise--It requires special care and your constant attention. It will begin to act poorly if it "feels" you've ignored it and may even die.

For a film buff such as myself, the Movie Critic is fun as well. It allows you to rate the movies you have seen and maintains a list of your own personal selection of movies or those it "figure" you might like.

Well of course we know that bots do not actually think, afterall it is just software, but I think the case is made that they are amazing intelligent.

Lastly, I had to mention the Microsoft Agents: Merlin, Genie, and Robby. These cuties are also fun bots, sort of like desk top toys that will hang around your desktop all day if you let them. They are also versatile in the Internet environment--reading emails or any tidbits of words you might have lurking on your clipboard that you had forgotten about.

These guys are something else. They communicate effectively and are capable of using non-verbal communication as well--rolling their eyes if they are bored, yawning, appearing disinterested if you ignore them, falling asleep and they can also respond to your voice via microphone. Of course, sometimes they can't hear you and they will tell you so in no uncertain terms. Voice-Recognition technology abounds in that respect, but most of all they really are fun and will tell jokes once in a while if you ask-- nicely.

These agents are available for free download at microsoft.com **Better yet, jump over to Shadisoft and get free down-loadable trials of the speaking characters and have fun!

Sometimes I cannot make sense of my reality. It boggles my mind till in the end I wonder if it really matters at all.

Is "reality" worth making sense of? Besides, there is always the off-chance that what may be real to me may not be real to you.

Shit happens and life goes on. But sometimes "shit" throws me for a loop and I have to stop and take a step back to see it for what it really is. At such moments [take the events of 9/11 for instance], numbed from shock and fear & blinded by rage, in the moment of stunning disbelief I asked myself over and over "is this shit for real?"

Over time, TIME being the operative word here, for what may seem like an eternity is actually the few seconds it takes before it sinks in, that this shit is Real. Shit happens. Irreversably, irrevokably so at times.

"Nothing surprises me anymore" I usually say, and even then, reality has a way of serving things up that keeps throwing me for a loop. So in the end it does it really matter--this business of trying to make sense of reality? What do you think?