I Fired Google

One of the most irritating developments of modern life is the way companies keep improving things that were already working. Nobody asked for New Coke.

Nobody asked for cars that require IT support and 3 sub-menus to lower the air conditioning. (Screens are cheaper to install than buttons and knobs.)

Nobody asked for a monthly subscription to access heated seats. (No seriously, BMW did it. Fully equipped the car with heated seats which you could only use if you paid a subscription fee.)

So here we are.

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Google Home used to be one of my favourite things. It sat on my kitchen counter and answered questions. That's all it did and that's all I wanted it to do. I could be making soup, planting dahlias, watching television or standing in the backyard wondering what bird was making that noise, and Google would tell me whatever I wanted to know.

How many tablespoons are in half a cup?

What song is this?

What's the score of the baseball game?

How old is Geena Davis?

Simple questions. Simple answers.

That was the arrangement and it suited us both fine.

The Improvement

Then Google improved it. This is always where things go wrong.

Google Home became Gemini, which appears to have been designed by a committee that has never once needed to know how many tablespoons are in half a cup.

Now when I ask a medical question, I get a warning.

Not an answer. A warning because Gemini assumes every question I ask is a potential medical emergency.

I can ask whether dehydration causes headaches and Gemini responds with the kind of caution usually reserved for chainsaw demonstrations. It gently explains that it isn't a medical professional and that I should seek advice from a qualified healthcare provider.

I know.

If I wanted a qualified healthcare provider I wouldn't be shouting questions at a hockey puck while unloading the dishwasher.

The other problem is that Gemini talks too much.

I don't need a four-minute explanation. I don't need context. I don't need a balanced discussion that considers multiple viewpoints and concludes with a summary.

I need a FACT.

The fact is the entire reason I interrupted my day to ask the question.

When I ask how many tablespoons are in half a cup, I don't need to learn about the history of measurements or to be told I'm very clever for measuring in tablespoons. (Gemini is also a sycophant)

I need the number eight. That's the whole transaction.

We Remember Events Differently

The baseball scores have also become adventurous. A few weeks ago I asked Google for the score of a Blue Jays baseball game because I had stepped away from the television for a moment.

Google gave me the score from five innings earlier. The historical score you might say.

Imagine asking someone for directions to Toronto and having them confidently tell you how to get to Toronto in 1987.

The thing has somehow become both more sophisticated and less useful at the same time. That's not easy to accomplish without a lot of planning amongst a lot of people.

Then there are the things it no longer does.

Would you like to save this stuff?

We'll email you this post, so you can refer to it later.

For years I could ask Google what song was playing and it would identify it. It was one of the most useful features it had. You'd hear a song in a store, on television or drifting over from a neighbour's backyard and Google would identify it in seconds.

Not anymore.

That feature has wandered off and died in a field somewhere.

Hold My Coffee

The final straw arrived in the form of Geena Davis.

I was watching a television show and wondered how old she is.

So I asked "Hey Google, how old is Geena Davis?".

Not a philosophical question. Not a medical question. Not a legal question. Just a woman on television whose age I happened to be curious about because I was watching her in the series The Burroughs and she looks 12. A wise 12.

Google told me "It doesn't supply facts like this."

Google Home, a machine connected to the entirety of human knowledge, could not tell me how old Geena Davis is.

I snapped and I pulled the plug.

One second Google Home was sitting on the counter. The next second it was unplugged, and flipped upside down with me wondering how it got so dirty on the back.

Then I went directly to Amazon and ordered an Alexa.

It was not a carefully considered decision, it was a primal gut reaction. The closest I could get to punching Google in the ear and ripping out its nose hairs.

The Rebound Relationship

The Alexa arrived a few days later because I think Amazon is morally superior.

HAHAHAHA. Oh God. Choked on my own spit over that one.

I ordered it because when one superpower fails you, eventually you have to try the other one before they eventually ruin the thing that was working perfectly well before they tried to improve it in order to make enough money to be a trio of planets.

This Alexa relationship has every chance of ending with another gut reaction.

For now though, Alexa answers questions. Not perfectly. But well enough. And she doesn't want to have long philosophical discussions about anything.

She's busy. She has shit to do.

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There was a time when technological progress felt exciting. A new invention would arrive and it would do something no one had ever seen before. The telephone. The microwave. The Internet.

Then somewhere along the line we entered a different era of innovation. One where products aren't updated because they're broken, but because a room full of executives haven't hit their quarterly improvement targets.

This is how a perfectly functional thing becomes a less functional thing with a new logo.

Google Home used to be one of my favourite gadgets.

Not because it was smart.

Because it was useful.

We're rapidly approaching the point where it would be easier to hire a guy to stand in the corner of your kitchen and shout answers at you.

The downside is you'll have to provide meals and probably a chair.

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Award winning actress Geena Davis is 70 years old.