Zen and the Art of a Smart Home
"Hey. Google. I. Am. Home." The words felt stilted, broken, as if I was recovering from some kind of cranial disaster that Lifetime Movies seem to make a killing on. When the sentence was done, the lighting switched, the television came on low, and the bedroom lit up just enough on this rainy afternoon that I could change into my gym clothes without loss of valuable time. I didn't want to go to the gym too late. The youth would arrive and hog the machines and make me horribly self-conscious. As I dressed, I spoke to the Google Mini in my bedroom, but, this time, with a pace that was a bit more languid, I bit more natural. "Okay, Google, message husOtter, that I'm on the way to the gym and the dogs have been fed." "Sending message." "Hey Google, play some dance music." I need to move my feet more, being all tired from work. But I was not truly tired. I was able to finish all those afternoon productivity chores that real...