For two days I’ve searched high and low and everywhere in between, and can’t find the cool, Velcro-like hair rollers that I stopped using five years ago and stashed away at least two years ago. I want them now, and they’re nowhere to be found. My house is small and so is my attic, and I’m absolutely positive I didn’t get rid of them. (Now would be the time for a neighbor to pop up and remember seeing them in my last yard sale.)
Often, nowadays, I reach for the radio remote so I can replay something particularly interesting or unintelligible (or both)—of course, no such thing exists, that useful device is reserved for TV. (Am I just spoiled by TiVo, or is my attention span dissolving?) Along the same lines, it’s increasingly frustrating that I can’t Google the inside of my house and find out where I put things. I’m convinced that it’s possible.
Intrusive, you say? Invasive, even? Oh, please. People I don’t even know I don’t know, have access to every boring factoid pertaining to my life: what I buy, where, when, and from whom, and how much I pay and where I have it shipped; every prescription I’ve filled since who-knows-when; everything any of my doctors recorded in my chart since time began; which websites I visit and how often; how much I owe to the mortgage company and anybody else I might be in hock to; when I had last had my car serviced; and even my cat’s private health records. And how am I benefiting from any of that meticulous record-keeping? In precious few ways, as far as I can tell.
I say, let’s bring Google inside the house where it can do all of us some good. Especially those of us with cats that consider anything that hits the floor to be a hockey puck. I really shouldn’t have to do extreme housecleaning, i.e., move the big sofa, to find my favorite gel pen or the knitting needle that disappeared last winter. (I still miss my dog. Sometimes she would tip me off by sniffing around the edges of the under-the-big-furniture black holes.) And what about that issue of The Atlantic that I hadn’t finished reading? And last year’s leftover Halloween candy? (I sealed it up really well, so it will be fine this year—if I can find it.) And my entire income tax folder for 2003—don’t ask me, all the other years are in the filing cabinet where they belong.
Yeah, yeah, I remember when a dial-up Internet connection was a magical thing….but when Google can tell me where I put the extra key to the back gate, that’s when I’ll be impressed.