[W]hat’s the big deal about flying cars? The future is certainly living up to my expectations without them. I carry over 7k songs around in my pocket in something smaller than a pack of cigarettes that’s every CD I’ve bought since 1985. I talk for free every other day to my buddy George Mann in the UK, on a “videophone” called Skype, and I read all my news off the same screen, and the pictures next to the columns of words all move. If I want to know the complete lyrics to a song that’s rattling around in my head and I can only remember three or four words, I can call it up within 30 seconds on something called “Google” (and “google it” is an SFnal neologism if there ever was one), and just about anything else I need to know too. And I never get lost because my car, which admittedly doesn’t fly, plots out all my guidance routes and then tells me where to go. It also tells me when it needs service and when the air pressure in my tires gets low. My television records things it thinks I might like without being asked, and it forwards them to my laptop. There’s an International Space Station over my head right now. Meanwhile, when they aren’t trying to sell me my next communicator, there are hard-&-software billionaires falling over themselves to commercialize space tourism.
And one of our staffers at 42nd and Treadmill, turning into the corporate lot, was rear-ended this week by a trash truck on its way to our Dumpster. Had these vehicles been airborne at the time, the outcome would have been much, much worse. Damn gravity.
(Via Lynn S.)