I have an iPhone. Not the super cool new iPhone, but the recently sullied 3Gs that was once the literal Apple of my eye.
The thing is amazing. It does mail, movies, music, pinball, and a hundred other things that I have apps for that someday I’ll also have a need for.
So one day while I was typing out a quick email (and looking cool) the phone automatically fixed a spelling mistake for me. And when I needed directions to a store I’d been to some time ago, it remembered the address and filled it in. Then it hit me; my phone knows me really really well. Maybe too well.
If I were paranoid I might be worried that, knowing me as well as it does, my phone might someday become sentient and rise up against me, coordinating some sort of coup involving the vacuum, the toaster oven, and my electric toothbrush, quietly replacing me when no one’s looking.
If I were paranoid. . .