The Scannable You

"Scan me baby!"
This time next year that little phrase is going to be the ‘What's your sign?’ of the new millennium. No one's going to waste time asking for such analog stuff like a phone number or its more digital cousin the e-mail address. Nor for that matter, will you ever have to give out your name, rank, serial number, mother's maiden name or DNA markers. Nope. All anyone is going to ask is "May I scan you?" This latest evolution in the information age took its first tentative "Pong" step on Friday. The Jacobs family of Boca Raton Florida: Jeff, Leslie and their teenage son Derek joined the brave new world in less than a minute. Each had a tiny capsule the size of a grain of rice injected into an arm. It's called the VeriChip and it's like those ear tags the khaki clad adventurers of the Animal Channel staple onto sedated rhinos. Only in this case no dart guns or wrestling is involved.

Imbedded in the VeriChip is a phone number that has to be read by a by a special scanner. So, basically the Jacobs are like a jar of jam or a can of Spam. Their lives are nothing more than the sum of their bar code. The scanner reads the bar code that is linked up to VeriChip's operators, standing by at headquarters. There the operator reports back emergency phone numbers and medical history.

Here's my first problem. Have the Jacobs' called any operator lately? For their sake here's hoping that the folks at the other end of the VeriChip line are more like Julie, the perky Time/Life operator than the folks who dole out 411 information. Calling for directory assistance is more like a game of fiber optic Russian Roulette. You have better odds of getting a return on an Enron 401K than getting the right phone number.

The Jacobs happily agreed to be the guinea pigs because Jeff unfortunately seems to be a walking medical disaster area. At 48 years old, he's survived cancer, has a degenerative spinal condition, endured abdominal operations and has chronic eye degeneration. Oh, he also survived a car crash. His wife Leslie wants him to have the chip in case something happens to him. What's left? Frankly, why is she even letting him out of the house? Maybe VeriChip is betting on his stellar history of misfortune to prove the worth of their product. Let's hope not.

Son Derek is armed too. What kid doesn't want the coolest and newest gadget? But, if I were Derek I'd be having second thoughts. He might want to follow the lead of Aimee Osbourne. She's Ozzy Osbourne's oldest daughter, the one who decided not to make her every personal disaster a Reality TV fest. The problem is VeriChip is promising to include a personal GPS in the updated model. Bad news for any teenager, although a blessing for the directionally challenged like me. Call the VeriChip operator, and she'll show you the way. They say it will be great for zeroing in on wandering Alzheimer's patients or parents out of patience tracking down their teenagers.

Here's the warning Derek! Your VeriChip could be like having a personal Lo-Jack. Mom and Dad will become a much more effective version of Donald Rumsfeld hunting down Osama. With one phone call they'll know exactly where you are. At all times. When you're smoking in the boy's room. Catch you ditching school. And the worst, “Techno-Interuptus” with your girlfriend.

Sure, you can tell them you're studying at Norman's house. But one quick call to VeriChip and you're busted. "Yes Mrs. Jacob's our equipment puts your son at 25° Latitude 80° Longitude -that's clothing optional South Beach. Distinctly not Norman's rumpus room in Boca.

Identity theft is another potential hazard. Show me a hacker who won't want to break though the ultimate in firewalls - the epidermis. For now VeriChip is limiting its information to medical history and phone numbers. But, you can bet they'll be branching out to all sorts of personal information like shoe size and credit card number, preferred hotels and floor (linoleum please) and favorite website and favorite Baldwin Brother. Protecting all that imbedded info could spawn a whole new fashion trend: high-tech low-weight body armor. "Don't leave home without it," will have a new meaning. Picture this. I'm a slightly daft Nobel Laureate completely engrossed in an intense diatribe about the flexational frequencies of fractional quarkiness. Suddenly someone slaps him on the back with a chip-sucker and the next thing you know a beautiful chip is zapped. Actually sounds like the beginnings of a good movie. Get Russell Crowe on the line.

Here's another chip dilemma. Remember how annoying those laser pens were about two years ago? Step it up a notch and answer this perplexing question: As guaranteed by the Second Amendment, does everyone have the right to bear arm-chip-scanners? Should they only be available to fully licensed and trained professionals? Should children have the same scanning rights as adults? Will people with more salacious chip information need to have warning labels tattooed onto their foreheads? These fundamental questions could fuel months of TV talk-show babble. "Tonight on Gerald-Crossfire-O'Reilly-Hardball: The Scannable You."

In case you didn't notice, I'm not big on the idea of inserting foreign objects in anyone's body. I've had no chin, breast or nose augmentation. But despite my rather negative reaction I do see the rice-sized implant as a revolutionary step in dating. It could dispense with the whole awkward opening line quandary. No words need be spoken as chippies just beam at that stranger across the room. I'd open up a whole line of singles bars - Chip-n-dates. Only chippers admitted and everyone would be equipped with a scanner. All lives would be revealed in the time it takes to download - where you grew up, went to college, where you work, favorite food groups, websites. And I'd put in a little something extra in my imbedded capsule - a jpeg photo of my Mom. Let them know what they are in store for - at aged 62 she's a hot little number. So boys, scan me, cause I got one hell of an implant.

by Stephanie Becker, Mass Distractions columnist for BestStuff.com