October 22, 2010

I dream that I am at a conference where a new technology, the Booth, is unveiled. The name is an ironic reference to the phone booth, a disappearing technology. 

The display is unusual: It hangs on the wall, like a life-sized flat-screen TV but vertical, like a half-length mirror, and it is a mirror (one of its many apps—and the default when the device is off). Other apps include TV of course, phone and video conferencing (who needs Skype?), a voice activated computer, and an unobtrusive home health and safety monitor. It can identify individuals and their body posture—so it’s a burglar alarm, and an automatic and passive accident alert transmitter (“I fell and I can’t get up!”). But what’s really exciting is that by monitoring skin, eyes and voice it maintains a running record of the health of each user—again automatically and non-invasively—and alerts people to hidden illness as well as gradual decline. Of course it also graphs weight and body fat index, which it senses through subtle changes in face and body contours—you need never again step on a scale.

I am in the audience, annoyed by the presentation which is as flat as the screen, disorderly and full of jargon. My description here is gleaned from hours of dreary explanation. When everyone moves to the basement for discussion I express my concern. I am told that if I don’t understand their language, I shouldn’t have come. I seem to be the only person with a problem but they let me stay because it is my house.