One day, some years back, the mailperson delivered a copy of a wildly expensive catalogue store in Manhattan. For more than $3000. they were offering a full-size version of Robbie the Robot.
The catalogue model was bigger than a normal human and featured the robotic performer — statuesque — who was a top draw on one TV show I never watched as well as the dearly beloved movie “Forbidden Planet,” a feature that fits neatly into my guilty pleasure film genre.
I believe Robbie also did a few other performances in other science fiction movies.
At that price, he was completely out of the question and he was huge. We can barely fit our existing stuff into this house, which is much too big for us, yet is simultaneously not big enough.
I love him anyway. He is my favorite robot. He is my robot.
About a month after I overpaid for this vintage Robbie. His date of manufacture is on the box — which is put away somewhere safe. I’m pretty sure I know where the box is. I am pretty sure where the box is, but this is n0t the same as really sure. My memory is only 15 seconds long these days.
Robbie is always with us. He stands on the coffee table much of the time, on the top of the huge dog crate and occasionally on some other surface, but he is always out where I can see him. No safe place for HIM. He lives with us. Our guy.
Garry went to turn off the “night-light” we leave on in the living room overnight and knocked him over. He’s not hard to knock over because his balance is bad, but at least Garry could deliver him for a few extra shots of Robbie in all his glory.
Our own Robbie. He can’t do anything much, but he not much of a robot, either. But I love, love, love him.