THE CLOISTER—Two-thousand-and- fifteen will be the year of the drone. Drones will be everywhere. Former VH1 exposé architect Jeff Gaspin will use them to create a reality show of live feeds shot surreptitiously throughout backyards on major barbecue holidays, when Americans are at their most intimate with canned beer.
Anyone who even thinks about suing will be held hostage by threat of exposure over that extremely inappropriate email they sent about the boss three years ago, but lawsuits won’t be a problem because the national appetite for television “fame” will have reached its apex. Preferring not to appear on television will be added to the “Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders.” TV Aversion Syndrome will be treated through the forced application of pancake make-up and Spanx.
In 2015, 10-year-old Willow Harkendorrf of Agar, S.D. will create a solar technology that will make power cords obsolete. Silicon Valley will not believe it and therefore not fund it because she is a girl.
Two-thousand-fifteen will mark the end of all eye contact between human beings, who will interact exclusively through smart eyewear. People who are unpleasant, challenging or annoyingly attractive will simply be dispatched with a sideways glance. For real.
Google will introduce an implant in 2015 that will conduct Boolean searches in the brain, but it will not be able to crack the code for finding where I laid those keys that I swear were right here.
Also in 2015—at least through March—I will write “2014” whenever I date something. Of this, one can rest assured.
It is also a reasonably safe bet that I will not self-sensor my electronic correspondence, despite all logic to the contrary. When it is finally divulged in a sweeping offshore hack orchestrated by FCC Chairman Tom Wheeler, I will be exposed as the mad genius I am, and still, no one will notice.
Have a good one.
