Big Google

Nick and I sit down to some beers at a pub half a block from the apartment. We know each other from Ottawa and Nick is staying here with his girlfriend (who is doing her Masters) while work is slow. After all, as long as he has his computer, it doesn't matter where he's writing grants, he tells me.

He rants a bit about Vancouver: that despite how expensive it is to live in the city and the large amounts of poverty, it never fails that mid-afternoon, people are out jogging, shopping, pushing strollers.
"What is going on? Doesn't anyone have to work?! Have you noticed that most of the shops on this street are closed one day mid-week? What kind of business doesn't open on a Wednesday?!"
(My cousin joked the next day as we wandered passed multiple closed shops -- Tuesday -- that they needed time to go to yoga.)

As we talk, Nick occasionally breaks into a bit of seated dancing. He tosses his scarf over his shoulder.
"Nice scarf"
"Yeah, it's so I don't get a sore throat."
A little more dancing.
And with affected accent, "I look ar-teest." Slight smirk. "I don't have a problem with it."
More dancing.

***

I've been making good use of Google Maps. I especially appreciate the additional option of walking and transit directions. But it's kind of creepy. For instance, on my first night in Vancouver, Google said it would be an hour & 20 minute walk to Barb's. I walk at a decent pace, so I told her I'd be there in a little over an hour. She buzzes me up an hour & 20 minutes later on the dot.

Google was consistently accurate, even with transit, even when I missed the transfer, or got distracted by a shop or band posters on poles (which happened a lot and is a whole other post).
I speculated to Nick that maybe Google was familiar enough with me and my habits through searches and gmail to know exactly the speed at which I walked (not completely improbable).
Nick's theory was that it all came down to a complex series of algorithms, with one guy factoring in all the details, that everyone will stop somewhere along the way -- whether coffee shop, toy store, or poster-reading -- and averages it all out to essentially distill human beings to zeros and ones. Which we decide is more disturbing than Google stalking our every move.

***

After we leave the pub, we pass a shiny red car in a parking lot.

Nick: "Bet if I touch this car, the alarm will go off."
I keep walking.
Nick stops beside the car, pauses, touches it, and runs a few steps to catch up to me.

Nothing happens.