One of the soccer dads was telling me for 20 minutes how his FitBit worked. How he could sync it up to his computer. How it counted every every calorie and every step. How it factored in whether he was running or walking, high-stepping or low-stepping, shambling or ambling, loping or moping. How it all went up into the Cloud where St. Peter could keep track of it so he'd know what a good boy you've been before you ever even got there.
"Does it keep track of when your lips are moving?" I finally asked him.
Then I told him a story my grandfather used to tell on himself. Back in the 1930s, he had a self-winding watch, which was new technology back then. With a series of springs, the mechanism wound itself with the natural movement of the wearer.
But my grandfather's fancy new self-winding Hamilton kept stopping. So he took it back to the watch shop. The man took it apart, looked it all over, put it back together and broke the news to my grandfather.
"I'm sorry Mr. Murray. I'm afraid you're just not moving around enough."