Do you ever feel like your cat can read your mind? Mine can, but that’s beside the point. I think this “technology” that they’re calling “T9” is actually a lot more sophisticated than I’ve given it credit for. In fact I would go so far as to say that “T9” isn’t “predictive,” it’s “mind reading.”
A little bit of background at this point would help. I hate eggs. Don’t get me wrong, I love to bake and I’ll even eat french toast, but the sight, smell and texture of cooked eggs has always made me gag. I have distinct childhood memories of being given eggs and wanting to yack. My mom even says that I used to spit them out as a baby (before the memories started). And I’m not militant about it—I have nothing against people who like to eat unborn fetuses.
Another piece of context that might be relevant to the story (it’s coming, I swear) is that while in Ireland recently I became a pretty skilled text messager. I’m not quitting my job as a grad student just yet, but I can walk down the street, write text messages without looking, and avoid traffic, all while juggling and eating ice cream. But seriously, I don’t look at the phone anymore, I just proof let T9 do it’s business and proof the message before I send it.
So I’m walking home today and a friend sends me a message that she’s looking for some eggs. Of course I keep eggs around for baking purposes, but I don’t really use them that often, and I don’t know how old they are. So I write her a message to convey this information, and this is what I got:
Which of course is not what I meant to write, but by golly, it was nearly coherent and pretty much true. The real message, after a couple of corrections:
I’ve come into some pretty funny T9 substitutions in the process of writing messages, but this is the god darndest, most stupifying experience I’ve ever had. T9 people, I bow down to you.