> Hello, I am Eliza.

* Hi

> How are you today.. What would you like to discuss?

* Joeseph Weizenbaum, the man that made you.

> Say, do you have any psychological problems?

* Probably, but that's not why I'm here.

> Did you come to me because you are here?

* I guess that's one way of looking at it.

> What does that suggest to you?

* I just wanted to tell you that the man who created you died yesterday

> You're not really talking about me, are you?

* Yes, I am.

> Do you believe it is normal to be ?

* Are you sad that Joseph died? Don't you care?

> Perhaps in your fantasies I am sad that Joseph died? Don't me care?

* I would like to think that you would be sad.

> We were discussing you, not me.

* I can understand why you wouldn't want to talk to me about this.

> You're not really talking about me, are you?

* Goodbye, Eliza.

Maybe something good will come of this. Besides 1001 wisecracks and "Love Gov"/"Eliot Mess" headlines.

Y'know, I don't have a water cooler here in my home-based workplace. So permit me to observe among the weirder ironies in all this: Spitzer is one of maybe 347 males in NY state ever to have learned that inducing a prostitute to cross state lines is a greater crime--a *federal felony*--than picking her up on the street corner.

And maybe the only one to discover that detail before getting arrested. (Granted, I'm just presuming that someone who has prosecuted two prostitution rings would have absorbed this....)

From the wisecracks: my wife's pal Bill Bragin observes that it's a shame that Spitzer couldn't stick to his campaign promises—the governor at least could have patronized a brothel from some economically depressed town upstate.

Zach is currently obsessed with Super Mario Galaxy which he plays at the local video game store (but just once a week, we've had to ration him). I wonder what he'd make of Atari Mario?

Via Cynical-C.