She doesn't say it, but Alexa thinks she's better than me

We have, I think, five or six Amazon Echo/Dot devices scattered around our house. They can do a lot of different things, but I interact with them in only three ways:

• To turn the lights on and off in our bedroom
• To play background music when I'm engaged in a particularly tedious or time-consuming task
• To play the Question of the Day trivia game

These little "digital assistants" do a great job with the first two items. I particularly like the way they seamlessly integrate with your streaming music service, which in our case is Apple Music.

As for the Question of the Day, that usually goes off without a hitch, too. I play it most days and do fairly well, as I'm somewhat of a trivia guy. (Some might also say I'm somewhat of a "trivial" guy, but that's another discussion for another day.)

My only complaint is the passive-aggressive way Alexa – the default name of the disembodied Echo/Dot voice – sometimes treats me when I'm trying to answer that day's question.

For instance, almost invariably when I fire up the app, Alexa will try and get me to subscribe to the Question of the Day Trivia Club, which costs money.

My response to her offer is always "no."

I don't mind these commercial pitches, by the way. Question of the Day is free to play, and I feel the Amazon people are within their rights to try and upsell me if they so choose.

It's just that, when I tell her no, Alexa usually responds with a cheery "No worries!"

"No worries" implies that I've inconvenienced her and that Alexa herself is magnanimously forgiving me. Which isn't the case at all. I'm allowed to say no, Alexa. I've done nothing wrong.

Even worse is when I finish the game and then she tries to sell me on something. Again I'll say "no," but instead of an irritating "No worries!", Alexa will often simply say nothing. The game just ends without even a "Goodbye!"

I interpret this silence as disappointment or outright contempt. And again, I deserve neither. It is my right to turn down her offers of a subscription or an additional game without having to feel guilty about it.

At least that's what I tell myself. As the silence between us lingers and becomes increasingly awkward, I find myself inwardly defending the decision to say no to an electronic device. As if I need validation that I'm still a good person.

I appreciate Alexa's constant readiness to serve. But her smug superiority and utter disdain for me as a person cancel out anything she does right.

I will not let you shame me, Alexa.

Or maybe I will.

Either way, please stop it.

Everyone is pretty much over Alexa except me

An increasing number of us have smart speakers (like Amazon Echos and Dots, and Google Homes) and virtual assistants (like Alexa) in their houses.

We actually have a small-but-growing army of such devices. There's one in our kitchen, one in our living room, one in our master bedroom, and one up in Terry's craft room/office.

At first I thought they were more about having fun than really doing anything useful.

As I've mentioned, I play Question of the Day trivia through our kitchen Echo, and sometimes I'll switch to blackjack or Song Quiz.

And of course if you ask Alexa to tell you a joke or recite a poem, she will do so, be it sometimes ever so cringeworthy.

But then we got a set of those smart lights in our bedroom. Every night when Terry and I are ready to go to sleep, one of us will say, "Alexa, turn out the lights."

And she does. Everything goes immediately dark.

This is, by now, old technology. But I am endlessly fascinated by it.

I tell Alexa to "turn on the lights to 53%," and she will turn on the lights to what I can only assume is exactly 53% of their maximum brightness.

It helps that I am easily amused. I just am. If you give me a fork and a string, I can find ways to amuse myself for hours. I laugh at almost anything and am impressed by the simplest tricks. I find life to to be a series of fun and enchanting events and experiences.

Which is why the act of being able to turn out my lights just by voicing it into existence blows me away. I will never get bored of this technology.

Alexa, give me the definition of "simple minded."

Alexa, what's the Question of the Day?

If, like me, you own an Amazon smart speaker like an Echo or a Dot, you may have, at one time or another, played "Question of the Day."

Actually, you probably haven't. It seems like one of the more obscure little trivia games buried within the Alexa virtual assistant software.

I happen to play it almost every day, usually in the morning when I'm emptying the dishwasher.

Unlike the headline to this post, though, I never call it the Question of the Day. I always say, "Alexa, what's my Question of the Day," as if the people at Amazon spend countless hours coming up with trivia questions to ask me specifically.

I choose to believe this is true.

Anyway, as you might imagine, the Question of the Day can pertain to just about anything, from Disney movies to obscure African countries. The questions range in difficulty based on the number of points they're worth, from 1 to 8.

If you get the initial Question of the Day right, Alexa congratulates you and tells you you've earned a bonus question. Very politely, she asks, "Would you like to answer it now?"

I cannot imagine a scenario where the answer is "no, I'm good." Of course I want to answer the bonus question now, Alexa. And I also want to know how many days in a row I've played the game, and how many points I've accumulated all time (she will tell you both).

Whether or not you earn a bonus question, you're then treated to a little two-minute Question of the Day podcast in which hosts Murray Horowitz and Tamika Smith give you more detail around that day's main question. It's always interesting, and their corny jokes and awkwardly forced banter make it even better.

Why do I bring this all up? Well, for one thing, when you're blogging every day, you're liable to touch on just about anything about which you may know a little something. But it's also to point out that I take an illogical amount of pride in answering these little questions.

Because I do answer most of them correctly. And when I get one wrong, I don't even want to hear Murray and Tamika's podcast. "Alexa, stop!" I'm snap at her when I answer incorrectly and grumpily finish the task of putting silverware back into the drawer.

I hate, hate, hate getting the Question of the Day wrong.

This is dumb, I know, but it is my personality. I am competitive, and the person with whom I am most competitive is myself.

I can't stand losing to me.

All of which suggests that maybe the Question of the Day is not the healthiest activity for me. But I will continue playing, and I will continue taking unwarranted joy when I nail an answer.

It's the little things in life, folks.