Alexa echo rocks ages of generations!

Alexa echo rocks ages of generations! The species and genus known as *****sapiens predominated across the webbed wide world for tens of thousands of years until many brain children teamed together, (though nevertheless select individuals such as Fred Flintstone and Barney Rubble contributed, the initial vision and much of the core technology from Amazon's internal development efforts) birthing Alexa Echo. I got my hands on one courtesy Bill Thurman, a genuine bluebeard and outlier of the rough and tumble sort now residing at Highland Manor Apartments. Matter of fact his generosity legion and legends of his good samaritan dirty deeds done dirt cheap prevail across the Deep South of the United States. I do not know how we (either as individuals or collectively humankind) managed to flourish without the voice-controlled computer concept. Technology in general and key innovations in particular witnessed a quantum leap within the artificial intelligence realm fostered by Jeff Bezos at the helm, which billionaire financed the (ahem) artificial insemination of Alexa. Though Amazon never revealed who provided the default female voice that responds to commands and questions given to Alexa, the author Brad Stone said he identified the voice as Rolle’s after “canvasing the professional voiceover community” for his new book, Amazon Unbound: Jeff Bezos and the Invention of a Global Empire. The above sentence courtesy the Guardian and aired here cuz yours truly considers the synthesized voice (though linkedin and principally associated to Nina Rolle, who must be rolling in the legally tendered green), an extremely pleasing aural experience. Time and again after I asked her a question, she most often responded with articulation, enunciation, intonation, optimization, pronunciation, amd utilization of vowels and consonants, which sounded like music to my ears more literate than yours truly (me) an avid wordsmith and 'po witless Caucasian, latitudinarian, nonestablishmentarian, sexagenarian, and Unitarian, who refined his chops courtesy self sequestration reading a gamut of material that spanned a range of genres and authors (considered the greatest works of English literature), and he painstakingly practiced hearing himself speak out loud in front of a large audience of Norwegian Bachelor Farmers while they enjoyed eating a batch of homemade powder milk biscuits a recipe handed down from mother to daughter since time immemorial. Ax chilly (actually), a quirk of fate that found me (one of countless chaps named Matthew Scott Harris - cuz I did a Google search of said first, middle and surname, and wrote a poem to boot) listening to the Prairie Home Companion (aired within my hometown from six to eight o'clock on a Saturday night, and rebroadcast that new Sunday) religiously and chuckling to myself at homespun humor of Garrison Keillor, a paper thin soothing voice, especially delightful when a hush descended upon thee imagined audience, and his extemporaneous news from Lake Wobegon spoken sotto voce. Language draws my fancy, and cobbling together words without extensive forethought and if there could be part time paid employment regarding threading appealing nouns, verbs, direct object(s), et cetera, no matter whether the wage far less than a storied author, one poor baby boomer, (who currently lives hand to mouth within Schwenksville, Pennsylvania with the wife) would be in an atheist version and slice of heaven.