When Ted gave the example of a table connected to te Internet my mind immediately jumped to TRON the movie and their table tops. Then I thought about it and I've actually used a table connected to the Internet (see right).
I know that this isn't a valid example but it's what my mind first jumped to. (If anyone cares, the example is Touchmagix multitouch table computer which runs Apple Mac Mini OS. Another win for Apple!)
I love the cute definition of it: objects and appliances working together to make my life easier. It would be lovely to wake up in the morning to the TV playing a show I recorded last night, but hadn't had a chance to watch yet, the kettle on ready to make tea and the room being the perfect temperature from the automated aircon.
I can also see how it would be helpful: My brother, Sam, often walks around the house wearing his favourite pair of green footy shorts, he has been seen to be wearing them for 6 days in a row. My mum observed this and asked him how long it had been since he washed his shorts (I would estimate about 2 months), Sam just shrugged and walked away. If these shorts were connected to the internet they would have probably self-destructed, alternatively, they could have told my mum to wash them.
However, despite the convenience the Internet of things would create, I can't help but worry about the implications. After reading Julian Bleecker's article about blogjects I freaked out, and I mean really freaked out. I'm a private person, I hate it when anyone touches my phone or even looks at it over my shoulder, I respect other people's privacy, why don't I deserve the same? Blogjects goes against everything I believe in and hold dear.
Firstly, to be constantly tracked by my clothing, car and all other items I take with me is unsettling. I hate the idea that my whereabouts could be found by my clothing, I'd resort to leaving the house naked just to get a bit of privacy, and trust me, noone would want to see that.
Secondly, I shudder at some of the stories my objects would blog about. For example, the dress I wore (and ripped) on an extremely fun and messy night out. I find the memories funny despite the embarrassment, but if my mum read it she would promptly throw the dress away and disown me. Then throwing the dress away means that my story would be carried on to whoever finds it and I'm not cool with it becoming public and ruining my reputation.
Thirdly, I'm afraid of the computers turning on their owners. Simple as that.