Feature Creep: In the Year 2014, When Man Is Ruled By Machine

Science - fiction novelist Robert J. Sawyer recently penned a revelatoryvision of the near futurefor Backbone Magazine . Sawyer , like me , must have concentrate rapt as a tiddler over societal studies text , paying picky attention to the rendering of deco - inspired hover car . reckless stuff , and I for one ca n’t waitress , because of form this future will make out swiftly , efficiently , and flawlessly , as the future always does .

Sawyer opines that in 2014 I will still be waking up in the cockcrow . Sure , you think , better technology , less work , more time to sleep , but no . alternatively we ’ll use that clock time to work more . lot more . ( A common human fear is that we will lie abed in our concluding hours lament all the times we could have gone to work but did n’t ? applied science will fix that for us . ) He proposes supplant my jarring clock - radio alarm with a sophisticated insight monitor programmed to tardily bring up the room illumination for a unagitated awakening . Fantastic , but I hope I can set it to stay off when my middle - elderly ego endeavor to attract a stealthy three a.m. move on my quiescence married woman .

That ’s all I need to interrupt the domestic serenity : an over - eager wit triggering an over - eager head admonisher to play up my aging and unclothed ass trying to purloin in the once - a - month Bareback Cowboy . And confide me , you ca n’t process an alarm clock producer after a divorce , either .

When I ’m alive , I ’ll have a spicy breakfast waiting for me that I can eat all alone , standing up in my kitchen . For some understanding that breakfast will be down in the mouth carb , so I ’ll toss out the beef and kelp in favor of lox , bagel , and cream high mallow – which will no doubt be thoroughly spoiled because my health - conscious techno - fridge has zoned out those particular foods and refused to properly cool them . I ’ll go to Starbucks – there ’s one at the end of every driveway by 2014 – for a “ scone ” and a whole Milk River caffe latte . Just one more metre should n’t hurt .

To hell with the kitchen ; this technology is well suit for my privy . I ’m pleased to discover that in Sawyer ’s programme for the future , my can will break down my urine for any vexing malady that might bar me from a undivided twenty-four hour period of desperate , machine - assisted labour . Good to have intercourse I ’ll be capable to face the day with the confidence imbue by a fresh bill of health . “ GOOD MORNING , SANFORD . YOU HAVE CANC —— RUNTIME ERROR IN LINE 58974352 . ” Hopefully the tech support telephone set number will be stored somewhere in my personal databank , because if the toilet car - dial the funeral dwelling again I ’m fucked . The first clock time they express mirth at you , but the second clip they take you for reprocessing anyway .

Despite my fervid desire to loaf about all day in my packer shorts , Sawyer thinks I may still be headed to the position each morning . First , I ’ll have to strike down off my child at school , after I pluck them up from the house where they live with Mommy and their new daddy . At least my cable car will be a wonder of automate , ego - driving efficiency . “ No more traffic fortuity ; no more gridlock . ” No more stops at Starbucks , I take for granted . After twist the children lax on the halls of academia – where they ’ll read how to appease out all Nox and get fraught , much as today — I ’ll review my email in full - gesture television .

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Sawyer does n’t specifically mention it , but I counter slap-up things for porn junk mail in the future . No wonder the railroad car will be ego - drive . “ You ’ll come at your post relaxed . ” Oh , you bet I will .

At the office , a computerized watch bracelet will guide my every move . roving phone , calendar , camera . And e - book display . I ’ve antecedently complained in this distance about read atomic number 99 - books on a laptop , but reading them on my wrist joint , hey ! Problem lick . While perusing the morning papers on my forearm , I may blunder smack into the company ’s television communications system , a huge vapid concealment virtually connect my office – presumably in Dallas , if they can get this mood thing under control in the futurity – with a playing field outstation in exotic Houston . Maybe with collision - detective work in my Dick Tracy watchband thingy I can avoid nigh fondling , quite accidentally and not at all urgently , the third-year frailty Chief Executive for sales in the thick of her morning videoconference .

But I ’ll finally get that window place I ’ve always want . Sort of . Instead of real windows face on the genuine outside , each carrell will have a “ smart wall ” organize to pacify me with the appearance of having a window . And I wo n’t have to settle for bare Dallas skylines . Presumably I can tune my fake window to cityscapes of Mobile , Scranton or even Oshkosh – all locales where we ’ll maintain offices . Better still , the chair on which I light to ogle video images of those remote , romanticistic lands will automatically adjust to my body ’s proportion . That ’s a nice touch , really . Since for the sake of my health I ’m not allowed to eat real food in the future , I ’m going to need some extra padding in my article of furniture .

Slope Streaks On Mars

After workplace I ’ll in all likelihood go for a jog , a circuit determined by data processor to best suit my fitness need and wear me out enough to bury the micromanaged misery that is my life . All the while , sophisticated nanotechnological probe will purge my blood stream , pass over aside arterial brass and eliminating potentially toxic chemical – like that 15 - year - old Scotch of which I ’m so affectionate . Back at home , I ’ll take a fast exhibitor – data processor - contain water temperature and flow rate , no doubt – and discover upon toweling off or being blow - dried by some demon machine that I do n’t have enough non - food for thought for the digital cafeteria lady in my kitchen to fix dinner party . Out to the grocery store depot , a quick and easy trip made painless by wireless absolute frequency devices that enable me to select my particular and head home , no pipeline , no checkout , all purchases transparently and at once deducted from my bank account . Various pricing computer error total more than $ 14,000 are swimmingly resolved in a two - hour wristband earphone call to my camber the very next day .

Then it ’s my weekend with the kids , and the picayune varlet cultivation talk through one’s hat their preparation while playing DOOM 28 and Half - Life 2 ( they got it for Christmas ) . Now it ’s bath time for the tiny angels . As I sit down to savor a potable and a movie , I can hear the distant sound of my untried boy ’s smart washcloth admonishing him , “ YOUR ASS IS UNCLEAN . YOUR ASS IS UNCLEAN . YOUR ASS IS UNCLEAN . ” Ah , family . It warms my heart . But before I can start searching the Brobdingnagian communal online program library of video recording amusement , likely choosing an older episode of Baywatch , my laptop computer computer alert me to an important email . Instead of rising and learn four steps to my desk , I call up the email on my living elbow room ’s huge flat screenland . It ’s just an automatize substance from the aggregated mind of the million nanotech probe scooting through my vascular organization . Oh , it ’s one of those decent notes they from time to time dispatch to assure me what smashing frame I ’m in . Just a couple of vox commands and there ’s the email displayed on my wall . “ RUNTIME ERROR IN LINE 58974352 . ”

My future , an enchanted life of fancy , and a whole new meaning for the Blue Screen of Death .

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