Friday, January 26, 2001

Here is what happens in the morning at my house

At around 6:30 a.m., the digital timekeeping device at my bedside signals me by beeping that it is time to begin the day, rousing me from unconsciousness while giving me the opportunity to quiet it and slumber for an additional nine minutes. At the same time, an immensely powerful computer sitting a few feet away on my desk starts itself automatically and joins itself to a massive worldwide network of similar machines. Thus connected, it gathers messages from distant correspondents which have been transmitted to me throughout the night and then assembles an "electronic newspaper" for my review, paying particular attention to those topics in which I have, in the past, demonstrated an interest or fascination.

An hour before, a smaller computer on the second floor of my house has communicated with the furnace in the basement, instructing it to raise the ambient temperature of my home by approximately 10 degrees in preparation for my wakefulness. In the kitchen on the first floor, a still smaller computer begins -- with one half hour remaining before I awake -- to direct the activities which will brew my morning coffee. Nearby, an even smaller electronic device, switches off the incandescent lamps which have, throughout the night, illuminated the front and back porches.

Three flights upstairs, it is now 6:45 a.m. and the massive 32" video screen in my bedroom automatically comes to life, instructed by the digital video recorder to which it is attached to show me the morning weather and traffic forecast and, in the event I am still too bleary-eyed to make sense of this information, provides me with the means to rewind and review the information at my leisure. Likewise, throughout the night, this electronic servant, apprised of my tastes and preferences, has sought out and preserved entertainment and information programming I will perhaps enjoy viewing at another time.

I stumble down the stairs to retrieve a cup of the aforementioned coffee before ascending again to review the messages gathered earlier by my desktop computer and to read the custom newspaper assembled for me. This completed, I press the tiny button on a nearby "cradle" and, moments later, remove and consult a translucent blue device which contains a complete list of my friends and business associates along with their contact information and a complete schedule of my appointments and obligations for the coming four years. I briefly scan the latter list to determine I am to meet a friend for breakfast and, following a workday during which I must return two telephone calls and attend three meetings, meet a second friend to exercise at a gymnasium.

The computer on my desk, using the voice of a character in one of my favorite entertainment television programs, informs me that it is now 7:45 a.m. and time for me to descend the stairs and begin my preparations to face the day scrubbed, tubbed and suitably dressed.

I live in the fucking future, man! And I am not alone.