البـــــوابـــة
Once upon a time, there was a little rice cooker. His name was Hiro. He lived in a dusty box in the "Super Oriental Big Super Store," in Elizabeth, New Jersey. He was a rather expensive rice cooker, and his box was on a high shelf. No one ever seemed to notice him there. Fortunately, Hiro was not an ambitous rice cooker. He was the sort of person who would be content no matter what happened to him.
He liked to do mental arithmetic, and he found his box a pleasant home. The styrofoam was custom-made to fit around the contours of his sides, which was cozy. In sum, he was satisfied with his lot in life.
But one day, unbeknownst to Hiro, a new model of rice cooker was released by the company who had made him. It was known as the ADVANCED Fuzzy Logic Easy-Select Many Menu Option Rice Cooker Model. Hiro was a Fuzzy Logic Easy-Select Many Menu Option Rice Cooker. He was not ADVANCED.
The owner of the Super Oriental Big Super Store decided that now was the time to clear some space on the rice cooker shelf. So, naturally enough, she put Hiro on sale. She moved him to a new spot on the clearance table. He did not notice the change, because he was inside his box, and engrossed in working out the cube root of 97336.
The very next day, a weedy young man with a small, tidy Afro came into the Super Oriental Big Super Store. He selected a few blocks of fresh tofu, a package of dried shiitake mushrooms, some pak choi, a few flavors of rice seasoning, and a large bottle of dark soy sauce. He browsed among the teapots but decided that he already owned enough teapots. Then he came to the clearance table. Well, you know what happened next, because I would not have mentioned this young man if he were not going to have an important effect on the life of Hiro the rice cooker.
This young man (whose name was Franklin Holmes) could not really afford Hiro, even at his greatly reduced price. But he could not resist the bargain. And he did, after all, eat a great deal of rice. So Franklin Holmes bought Hiro, along with his tofu and his mushrooms and his furikake and his soy sauce.
This time Hiro noticed that something was up. He was jostled and jumbled, and despite his custom styrofoam, he was quite shaken up. He became carsick, in an electronic sort of way. None of this was pleasing to our friend the rice cooker. He felt out of sorts. He was far too rattled to do any mental arithmetic. This was definitely a bad day. Hiro could not remember the last time he had had a bad day.
Eventually Franklin Holmes arrived at his little apartment. He put his groceries away and then removed Hiro from his box. Hiro was aghast. His custom styrofoam!
And then Franklin Holmes threw Hiro's box away.
Hiro hated Franklin Holmes.
Franklin Holmes made many batches of rice. If he could, Hiro would have made the rice soggy or burnt, but he was not made that way. Every time he turned out another pot of perfect rice, Hiro's irritation grew. He reckoned that it was exponential in its growth, but he could not tell for sure, because it had been a long time since he had had the peace of mind to engage in any mental arithmetic.
Hiro hated Franklin Holmes with every circuit in his body. But eventually, after even more nights of perfect batch after perfect batch of rice, Hiro got tired. His hate was getting a little stale. He discovered that he was more bored than angry, these days. So, out of desperate tedium, he began to pay attention to Franklin Holmes and his habits.
It appeared that Franklin Holmes did other things with his time than forcing Hiro to make rice, be it white or brown or mixed with other grains. He spent a lot of time writing and chewing on a pencil and squinting into space. Despite himself, Hiro was becoming curious about the nature of the endeavors of Franklin Holmes.
While Hiro tried to decipher these activites, he noticed that Franklin also played the violin. And much as Hiro wanted to be able to think that Franklin was not good, he had to admit that he enjoyed the music. It facilitated the doing of mental arithmetic. And it was also true that Franklin Holmes seemed to appreciate the rice that Hiro made. Sometimes he would even invite other people to his apartment and make a special point of showing Hiro off to them.
The next time Franklin had guests, Hiro listened very carefully. At first, everyone just talked about how tasty the food was. Hiro felt this was sensible and appropriate, though he was impatient to learn something new. Finally, someone said to Franklin, "How is the work?"
And they cleared off the table and sat down to look at some of the pieces of paper. Everyone talked at once. They were talking about exponents! And factorials! Hiro began to look at Franklin in a different light. He was really a very good looking fellow, especially now that he had been fattening up on so much good rice.
And the equations they were talking about were strangely familar to Hiro. Slowly he realized that they were talking about him! Franklin Holmes was writing a paper about fuzzy logic, and he had been working on it all this time, even as Hiro had been burning with fuzzy, logical hate.
Hiro was filled with remorse. He had been unjust.
In the months that followed, Hiro's respect for Franklin grew and grew. Eventually, the paper was published, and they celebrated together over an enormous pilaf. Hiro wished that he could apologize for the injustice that he had done. He wished that he could express the deep affection that he now felt for Franklin. But there were only four spaces on his display, and all he could say was d0nE.
The End.
He liked to do mental arithmetic, and he found his box a pleasant home. The styrofoam was custom-made to fit around the contours of his sides, which was cozy. In sum, he was satisfied with his lot in life.
But one day, unbeknownst to Hiro, a new model of rice cooker was released by the company who had made him. It was known as the ADVANCED Fuzzy Logic Easy-Select Many Menu Option Rice Cooker Model. Hiro was a Fuzzy Logic Easy-Select Many Menu Option Rice Cooker. He was not ADVANCED.
The owner of the Super Oriental Big Super Store decided that now was the time to clear some space on the rice cooker shelf. So, naturally enough, she put Hiro on sale. She moved him to a new spot on the clearance table. He did not notice the change, because he was inside his box, and engrossed in working out the cube root of 97336.
The very next day, a weedy young man with a small, tidy Afro came into the Super Oriental Big Super Store. He selected a few blocks of fresh tofu, a package of dried shiitake mushrooms, some pak choi, a few flavors of rice seasoning, and a large bottle of dark soy sauce. He browsed among the teapots but decided that he already owned enough teapots. Then he came to the clearance table. Well, you know what happened next, because I would not have mentioned this young man if he were not going to have an important effect on the life of Hiro the rice cooker.
This young man (whose name was Franklin Holmes) could not really afford Hiro, even at his greatly reduced price. But he could not resist the bargain. And he did, after all, eat a great deal of rice. So Franklin Holmes bought Hiro, along with his tofu and his mushrooms and his furikake and his soy sauce.
This time Hiro noticed that something was up. He was jostled and jumbled, and despite his custom styrofoam, he was quite shaken up. He became carsick, in an electronic sort of way. None of this was pleasing to our friend the rice cooker. He felt out of sorts. He was far too rattled to do any mental arithmetic. This was definitely a bad day. Hiro could not remember the last time he had had a bad day.
Eventually Franklin Holmes arrived at his little apartment. He put his groceries away and then removed Hiro from his box. Hiro was aghast. His custom styrofoam!
And then Franklin Holmes threw Hiro's box away.
Hiro hated Franklin Holmes.
Franklin Holmes made many batches of rice. If he could, Hiro would have made the rice soggy or burnt, but he was not made that way. Every time he turned out another pot of perfect rice, Hiro's irritation grew. He reckoned that it was exponential in its growth, but he could not tell for sure, because it had been a long time since he had had the peace of mind to engage in any mental arithmetic.
Hiro hated Franklin Holmes with every circuit in his body. But eventually, after even more nights of perfect batch after perfect batch of rice, Hiro got tired. His hate was getting a little stale. He discovered that he was more bored than angry, these days. So, out of desperate tedium, he began to pay attention to Franklin Holmes and his habits.
It appeared that Franklin Holmes did other things with his time than forcing Hiro to make rice, be it white or brown or mixed with other grains. He spent a lot of time writing and chewing on a pencil and squinting into space. Despite himself, Hiro was becoming curious about the nature of the endeavors of Franklin Holmes.
While Hiro tried to decipher these activites, he noticed that Franklin also played the violin. And much as Hiro wanted to be able to think that Franklin was not good, he had to admit that he enjoyed the music. It facilitated the doing of mental arithmetic. And it was also true that Franklin Holmes seemed to appreciate the rice that Hiro made. Sometimes he would even invite other people to his apartment and make a special point of showing Hiro off to them.
The next time Franklin had guests, Hiro listened very carefully. At first, everyone just talked about how tasty the food was. Hiro felt this was sensible and appropriate, though he was impatient to learn something new. Finally, someone said to Franklin, "How is the work?"
And they cleared off the table and sat down to look at some of the pieces of paper. Everyone talked at once. They were talking about exponents! And factorials! Hiro began to look at Franklin in a different light. He was really a very good looking fellow, especially now that he had been fattening up on so much good rice.
And the equations they were talking about were strangely familar to Hiro. Slowly he realized that they were talking about him! Franklin Holmes was writing a paper about fuzzy logic, and he had been working on it all this time, even as Hiro had been burning with fuzzy, logical hate.
Hiro was filled with remorse. He had been unjust.
In the months that followed, Hiro's respect for Franklin grew and grew. Eventually, the paper was published, and they celebrated together over an enormous pilaf. Hiro wished that he could apologize for the injustice that he had done. He wished that he could express the deep affection that he now felt for Franklin. But there were only four spaces on his display, and all he could say was d0nE.
The End.
