A modern-day Jonas Salk seeks a cure for movement.

Calling upon dwindling reserves of benevolence, I try to convince myself that Chris Harrison has the good of mankind at heart. I try to believe that he honestly believes he's advancing the human condition and that he believes his contribution will so improve life on Earth that he will earn a place alongside Salk, Edison, the Wright Brothers, and Crum (inventor of the honest-to-goodness randomly shaped, grease-fried potato chip, for those who slept through history class) in the pantheon of game-changers. He doesn't intend to nauseate me, I assure myself, but he does—like, well, a Pringle.

Harrison sees the human body not as the complex, mysterious, beautiful organism it is, but as the practical computer interface it could be (if only the creator had exercised a little more foresight and imagination). He envisions a world where the question "Are you PC or Mac?" creeps dangerously close to literal, where hands and forearms become computer keyboards and screens.

To that end, Harrison is developing a system he calls Skinput, which among other abominations would allow, through the use of a "pico-projector," individuals to "display an image of a digital keyboard on their forearm and send text messages by tapping their arm in certain places—without having to pull the phone out of a pocket or purse."

Gee, thanks Chris, that whole pulling-the-phone-out-of-my-pocket thing is beginning to take quite the physical and psychological toll. I can't wait to regale my little PC components—I mean, grandchildren—with tales of the hardscrabble days, pre-Chris Harrison, when people had to physically touch things and pick them up.

Question: If we're on the cusp of purging the word "effort" from our vocabulary, hasn't life officially gotten easy enough? Technological advance can stop now, don't you think? Mission accomplished.

I'm assuming ancient activities, such as reaching, gripping, lifting, throwing, and hugging are still acceptable to Harrison (as is patting himself on the back for conceiving so clever a name as "Skinput"). But I do suspect that he considers these actions mere grunt work, "legacy" functionalities screaming for modernization. "It's time," I can almost hear him say, "to demand better from our extremities!"

Through a set of armbands and braces lined with sensors, Skinput reads the sound waves produced when particular gestures are made or a particular finger taps another finger or palm or forearm. Impressive technology, for sure, until you realize that what Harrison uses it for is akin to using polio vaccine as toilet bowl cleaner.

Skinput relays the sound-wave information to the person's phone, enabling him or her to call, say, Uncle Skippy just by making the requisite Uncle Skippy hand and arm movements. I guess we're to assume this choreographed stupidity is easier than hitting the Uncle Skippy button on the phone's contact list. Whoops! I forgot! Doing that necessitates reaching into a pocket first in order to retrieve—and lift—the phone. That changes everything, doesn't it?

Ironically, as one justification for Skinput, Harrison cites (fabricates?) dissatisfaction with the iPhone: you remember, one of the more recent once-in-a-lifetime gadgets certain to simplify our existence. Well, in Harrison's estimation at least, the iPhone has fallen short on that front, leaving it to him to pick up the mantle and eradicate the blight of negligible inconvenience from the face of the Earth.

Quoted in a predictably uncritical story posted on CNN.com (written by yet another entranced disciple of technology's "new = good" axiom), Harrison dares to take on the iPhone. "People don't love the iPhone keyboard. They use them. But they don't love them. If you can make the iPhone keyboard as big as an arm—that would be huge."

So let me get this straight. The rationale for Skinput is that it's no longer enough for a keyboard to be functional? It must be loved? And love requires the surrender of an appendage? Yikes.

Harrison goes on, "The most profound achievement of Skinput is that the human body can be used as a sensor...literally, computing is always available. A person might walk toward their home, tap their palm to unlock the door and then tap some virtual buttons on their arms to turn on the TV and start flipping through the channels. It's almost like magic."

Magic, perhaps, but even in this utopian scenario, Harrison has left some work undone. First, there seems to be some sort of "walking" expectation. Really now. And after we "walk" to the front door, are we then expected to physically push it open? Do I look Amish? Then, there's all this tapping. Tapping must eventually be eliminated.

It is at that point when Harrison and his ilk will be truly satisfied: when we're all living a bland, intricately designed, and residue-free "Pringle" existence, and I'm perpetually nauseated.