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January
25, 2001 STATE
OF THE ART
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In fact, it does little more
than play on the carpet. Nonetheless, this new machine is among the most
impressive pieces of circuitry to come along in years.
Most people think of this
genuine, walking, autonomous robot as a dog, but it has the size, weight and
moodiness of a cat. It responds to the name Aibo (EYE-bo), which is Japanese
for "companion" or "pal."
(Sony said Aibo also stood
for Artificial Intelligence Robot. Well, maybe if you're really tired.)
Clad in metallic black,
silver or gold plastic, this virtual pet resembles an armored terrier in a
space helmet. It costs $1,500 (the first version was $2,500) and has 32
megabytes of memory and a 90- minute battery.
Twenty motors provide
realistic if slightly arthritic motion to the leg joints, tail, ears, head,
neck and jaw. A 32-bit RISC processor and 32 megabytes of memory serve as its
brain. It has a color camera for eyes, stereo microphones for ears, touch
sensors, a synthesizer for sound and internal gyroscopes for balance. It even
has an infrared transceiver in its muzzle to help it avoid slamming into a
wall, which is always an embarrassing moment for a robot.
But you do not think robot
once you turn on Aibo; you think dog, or possibly Disney lion cub.
The software that drives this
puppy is astoundingly sophisticated, constantly topping itself by offering
new tricks. Through cleverly programmed body language, Aibo does an effective
impersonation of a cute and frisky puppy.
For example, Aibo exhibits
what its makers call emotions — six different ones — responds to praise and
punishment and shows off a never-ending array of doggy gestures, from yawning
and scratching to lifting a leg. It expresses moods visually (its eyes and
tail light up in different colors) and sonically, using melodies and chirps
that make R2-D2 from "Star Wars" sound noncommunicative.
Aibo's best trick is eyeing,
chasing and then kicking a pink plastic ball (which comes with the dog),
although it responds with equal enthusiasm to almost anything made of red or
pink plastic. My Aibo, for example, was especially intrigued by my son's toy
fire helmet. (If you are using Internet Explorer for Windows, you can visit
www.aibo.com to view some movies of the Aibo in action.)
It is important to note that
the $1,500 buys (exclusively from Sony or The Sharper Image) little more than
a dog- shaped doorstop; to savor the full thrill, you must also buy at least
one of Sony's four personality modules, which cost $90 each. The modules come
on Memory Sticks (about half the size of a stick of gum) that slip into slots
on the dog's belly.
For example, with the Aibo
Life module, your virtual pet starts as a helpless newborn; only after about
40 hours of time and attention does it learn to walk, respond and do tricks.
If you stroke its head and
say "Good boy" to reinforce good behavior, or swat it after
witnessing something you would like to discourage, you can shape its manners
as the weeks pass.
Over time, each Aibo can
develop a personality; in fact, Sony said that at one Aibo get-together,
owners were able to distinguish their pets from other Aibo dogs.
The Hello Aibo module, on the other hand, offers a "fully grown" robot without the quality-time requirement. It lets your Aibo respond to a name of your choosing and understands the spoken command "Take a picture." (You can view the resulting dog's- eye-view photo by inserting the robot's Memory Stick into a reader, about $80, attached to a Windows PC.)
"Take a picture" is one of about 40 voice commands Aibo understands; the others include standard commands like "Sit," "Shake" and "Lay down." But that's just the beginning. Saying "Let's play" triggers a round of mimic the master, in which the dog's robotic whistles hilariously duplicates the rise and fall of the speaker's voice.
Hearing "Let's dance," Aibo turns itself into a one-dog disco, providing its own lights and music.
But Aibo doesn't always respond. Sony says these displays of attitude heighten the robot's realism, although in this case "attitude" is scarcely distinguishable from "not working." You will have the best results speaking to your robot in a quiet room. (That means you can't show off your robot's obedience at parties, unless your guests are particularly poor conversationalists.)
If you are wondering who would spend $1,500 for a walking PC with no obvious utility, you're not alone; Aibo is clearly a polarizing product, inspiring in every observer either overwhelming desire or utter befuddlement.
Some Aibo buyers are apartment dwellers without the time or permission to care for real dogs; they appreciate a pet that seems to offer the affection of a live dog but few of the drawbacks. (Insert your own joke here about finding AA batteries on the rug.)
But most Aibo buyers are not looking for an alternative to a "fuzzy dog" (as Aibo devotees call real pets). Instead, they seem to be driven by something far more emotional — parental instinct — a phenomenon first visible last year when an earlier, limited-edition (and limited-function) model went on sale. Sony sold 3,000 of them in the first half hour, and today these original Aibos fetch astronomical prices on eBay. Sony said it had sold 42,000 of the new model since it went on sale on Nov. 16.
Aibo owners are a decidedly passionate lot; they have their own Web sites, conduct weekly Internet chats and even hold regional get-togethers. Their bulletin boards (at clubaibo.com, for one) are filled with eyebrow-raising commentary and (at the unauthorized aibopet.com) hacker tools for extracting data from your pet's Memory Stick.
Sony is even preparing for release in March a Windows software kit that would allow Aibo fans to program new movements, sounds and melodies, which could then be shared online. The kit would also let you command Aibo from the PC by remote control, using a wireless networking card that fit into a slot on the dog.
As I reluctantly packed up my
Aibo review unit to return him — I mean return it — to Sony, I could not deny
that my little
guy had stimulated a lot of thought and
discussion about some of life's larger lessons.
First, Aibo teaches that our hearts do not always listen to our brains. You are perfectly aware that this thing is nothing but circuitry and software, and yet it is hard to keep your own emotional responses in check. When I smacked my dog's forehead (to discourage a behavior, as the manual suggested), it hung its head in shame, its tail turned orange and its spirit visibly sagged. I felt so guilty that I wondered if I should buy it a steak, or maybe send it to one of those Manhattan doggie shrinks.
The Aibo also provided a reassuring reminder that not all megalithic corporations stamp out the idealism and passion of its resident eccentrics. It would have been fascinating to eavesdrop on that fateful meeting at Sony's robot division: "Oh, it'll be great, boss — a $1,500 plastic dog. Just give me a few million yen to get started." Yet some Sony executive was open-minded enough to give the go-ahead to Aibo, and it is proving to be a hit. (And Sony won't run out of the new model; unlike the first model, the ERS-210 is a mass-produced mutt.)
It's tantalizing to imagine where Sony's robot team will be in five years. But already, the second-generation Aibo is an impressive, entertaining and often joyous little beast.
Just note that it is not a toy (at least, not for children); in fact, Sony warns that adults should keep this extremely sophisticated piece of electronics away from children. With this dog, "getting fixed" takes on a whole new meaning.