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Why I Don’t Believe In Voice Recognition

Technology

№95 ~3 minutes

    In which I try to see how far voice recognition technology has come only to realise, it hasn’t.

    I’m going out tonight, so instead of NOT posting something—which wasn’t really much of option given my recent challenge—I thought I would try the voice recognition on my phone. Turns out there doesn’t seem to be a way to get a (dot) at the end of a sentence. Which makes for pretty odd sentences. Have fun deciphering the paragraph after the jump.

    Shit eating breakfast this morning xiaoning to the zoo so glad I found you should read I called last night and told me you were the opera of course I wish you had left was really glad you had a dreadful evening ha3 1 tragedy followed by another think you might telegraph first I’ve heard of it quite a chance navigate to sing along club wiki what is miserable fine if you could tell you how heartbroken I am old no you must suffer where are you did you go down to the guys for a moment of halloween speak easy address p somewhere in houston listen free entry sorel snow white or woman what is she must be in the only child did she say about it my dear how do I was sitting in a little while delicate call venetian glass I’m looking to.

    Unless you were able to figure it out, the paragraph was the beginning of Chapter VII from “A Picture of Dorian Gray” by Oscar Wilde. Specifically, this paragraph:

    As he was sitting at breakfast next morning, Basil Hallward was shown into the room. “I am so glad I have found you, Dorian,” he said, gravely. “I called last night, and they told me you were at the Opera. Of course I knew that was impossible. But I wish you had left word where you had really gone to. I passed a dreadful evening, half afraid that one tragedy might be followed by another. I think you might have telegraphed for me when you heard of it first. I read of it quite by chance in a late edition of the Globe, that I picked up at the club. I came here at once, and was miserable at not finding you. I can’t tell you how heart-broken I am about the whole thing. I know what you must suffer. But where were you? Did you go down and see the girl’s mother? For a moment I thought of following you there. They gave the address in the paper. Somewhere in the Euston Road, isn’t it? But I was afraid of intruding upon a sorrow that I could not lighten. Poor woman! What a state she must be in! And her only child, too! What did she say about it all?” “My dear Basil, how do I know?” murmured Dorian, sipping some pale- yellow wine from a delicate gold-beaded bubble of Venetian glass, and looking dreadfully bored.

    See you tomorrow.

    Note: Post edited the following day for clarity.

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