The Association for the Advancement of Advanced Intelligence report . . . will also grapple . . . [with] probable changes in human-computer relationships. How would it be, for example, to relate to a machine that is as intelligent as your spouse? —The Times.

Don’t get me wrong; my wife is great. I bristle when I overhear someone say that my DVR is smarter than she is. Chloe went to SUNY-Binghamton. She’s plenty smart. My DVR knows French, but so what? It’s not like I go to French restaurants with my DVR. . . . O.K., one time I went to Le Pescadou with my DVR. Chloe and I were going through a weird time. I was hungry. There was nothing on TV. No, that last part about TV is a joke. Get it? Because I was with my DVR? Doesn’t matter. Point is— No, actually, it does matter. My DVR would have got it.

My DVR is very funny. Not funny ha-ha, not like my A.T.M., but funny. It loves that movie “My Dinner with Andre.” Between you and me, I have no idea if that movie is funny or not. I try to laugh in the right places, but who knows? And, well, sometimes it’s nice to not always be the person who “knows” when to laugh, to be with someone—O.K., not someone, your DVR, or a G.P.S. system—and learn something.

I’m not being fair. Chloe can walk; she reads constantly. Mostly manuals, but still. Over all, she’s very . . . present. Anyone who says she’s not more intelligent, or at least more emotionally intelligent, than most of my appliances doesn’t know her. Chloe knows to give me some space when I’m having a bad day. Not like the copy machine at work. That thing is such a bitch. It is sharp, though. Last year, during the primaries, when everyone was talking politics all the time, I admit I’d kind of wait to know what it was thinking before I’d offer my own opinion. Without it, I’m not sure if I’d have supported Obama.

Chloe gave money to Chris Dodd.

So, funny story, not meant to be a dig at Chloe, but funny (full disclosure: my DVR told it to me). The other night, she’s home watching “Gossip Girl.” My DVR wants to turn to Jim Lehrer but agrees to give Chloe’s show a shot. After a few minutes, my DVR comments that it’s “high camp.” Chloe chuckles, says the show has nothing to do with summer camp and “most of the kids are not high.” Classic.

I know it can be hard for her. There are certain types of machines out there—retina scanners, those really complex remote controls—that, to be honest, can be pretty caustic. I don’t think Chloe will ever forget the time she said “irregardless” in front of the ticket kiosk at the Angelika. But, on the upside, she won’t make that mistake again. And, I admit it, I get a charge (non-electrical) just from being around the really clever ones, hearing their opinions about the world, about places they’ve been. Like China, and Taiwan. These machines have expanded my world. I wouldn’t have started doing yoga if it hadn’t been for my toaster. Now I do yoga with my toaster.

Chloe, though, can be inflexible. A few weeks ago, my smartphone and I wanted to take a drive up the coast, just the two of us. There’s a clam bar we both like, and Chloe is allergic to shellfish anyway. But she got upset. My phone gave me a look like “This is all you, bro.” So, just to calm her down, I told her she probably didn’t want to come, because there’d been a spate of attacks by giant prehistoric coastal birds. Then my phone, so quick, made up some name for the birds. After we left, Chloe went on Wikipedia and pieced together the truth. I blamed my phone for everything, tried to make a joke, something like “So much for having a smartphone, right? No pun intended.”

She didn’t get the pun.

I’ll always love her, though. Can’t imagine life without her smile. Of course, now I don’t have to, because of my new digital camera. It’s feather light (unlike Chloe), cynical but still somehow idealistic, and has ten megapixels. Chloe has, what, maybe one? ♦