I'm sorry, she's domperidone motilium mims Aray’s entry for the Glass Explorers contest read: “#ifihadglass I would show the behind-the-scenes world of our organization working on bettering our region through the arts.” Aray works for Proctors Theatre, an elegant, marble-clad former vaudeville house built in the nineteen-twenties. As we walk through the theatre’s swank, modernized lobby, recording our journey, we run into one of Aray’s co-workers. “I was quite reluctant at first,” she says of Aray’s venture into Google Glass. “But she explained it to me a little more. What it records, and where it goes. And I actually think it’s kind of cool now.” Before Aray brought the device to work, there was a conversation with the theatre’s staff and an e-mail was sent letting people know they could opt out of being recorded. None did. In New York City, during some of my nights out with Glass, I would approach bar-goers and tell them I was from the N.S.A. and that I was pilfering their data with my spectacles. Perhaps I do not much resemble an N.S.A. employee, but the replies were quite jovial. “You can read all my e-mails,” one young man said. “No one ever reads my e-mails.”
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