Operation Glasshole
A.J. Jacobs, who has done everything from attempting to become the world’s smartest person to living Biblically for a year, got ahold of Google Glass and used it the way that he was advised by Google not to. Jacobs used Glass to cheat at poker:
My cousin and I spend the day practicing our scheme. On his computer, he can see my cards. On my walnut-sized screen, I can see a teensy version of him holding up handwritten signs, like FOLD. Or RAISE TEN DOLLARS. Or CALL. I keep my cousin on mute for two reasons: First, I don’t want my fellow cardplayers to hear him. And second, he’s kind of a cocky bastard.
At 8:00 P.M. on a Thursday, my three unsuspecting friends come to my apartment. They know I’m testing Glass, but I tell them it’s only for e-mail. “Are you going to look up whether a straight beats a flush?” my friend Carl jokes. “Ha, ha,” I chuckle. “No, nothing like that.” (Though it’s true I barely know the rules.)
But he also uses it, Cyrano-style, to help a friend score with the ladies:
I’m married with three kids, and my wife has made it clear that Glass is not an aphrodisiac for her. So I figured I’d lend my device to a single twenty-six-year-old editor at Esquire. The plan: He’ll wear it to a downtown New York bar, and I’ll watch the live-stream video from home and tell him what to do. I’ll be his Cyrano. I’ll get a vicarious night on the town, all while eating my butternut-squash soup in the comfort of my home. I can’t wait.
I could imagine Glass Concierge becoming a future job title, basically a personal assistant who looks in on your Google Glass video feed to make helpful suggestions and advice, basically a rally co-driver for your life. (As long as your co-driver isn’t Vivek Ponnusamy.)
Stay Connected