As I scroll through the 700 emails in my inbox, I mumble the prayer to St. Anthony, patron saint of missing things.

I’m giving a speech next month and the organizers need my picture to include in the conference program. I’m positive that the photo, a mid-life version of my high school yearbook picture - is in here, buried under an avalanche of emails. I’ve realized that Gmail has become my personal bunker - the endless vault where I greedily stockpile thousands of emails and files, rationalizing my electronic hoarding with the Just In Case theory. That is, “just in case I spill diet coke on my laptop again”… or “just in case my dog chews up my memory key”… or “just in case planetary sunspots cause freak electrical storms and my hard drive is fried like an egg”. Given any of these scenarios, thanks to Gmail’s unlimited storage space, I’ll be able to recover all of the emails, files and digital photos which make up the electronic anthology of my life. Such as picture I’m looking for.

Which I still can’t find. I’ve searched dozens of keywords - “picture” “michele” “speeches”. Nothing. Thirty-two agonizing minutes later I find it. Of course, it’s not labeled something simple, something obvious - Michele’s Picture, for example. Instead, in a fit of fuzzy logic, I apparently chose to name this particular file “MB Headshot.”

So goes the paradox of the ?information’ age. To effectively navigate the web, I have to name what I’m looking for, which is a little like saying “I could find the sweater I lost if I just remembered where I put it.” Despite Google’s ability to searchthree gazillion websites before I can finish typing the query; in spite of the plethora of social media tagging sites such as digg.comand del.icio.us, search is still somewhat of a crap shoot. This is because the underlying search function works on the assumption that my mental filing system makes sense, which often it does not.

When it comes to searching effectively, we’re still stuck in the Middle Ages, that is, the purgatory between Web 1.0 and 2.0. Search today is conceptual and one-dimensional, it relies on abstract concepts and clumsy language constructs; do a search for “toast” and you’ll likely get as many hits for clever wedding speeches as you do for breakfast food.

And the problem will only get worse. The most prominent language in the world today isn’t English or Spanish or even Mandarin - it’s binary code. The language of 1s and 0s is dematerializing our world. Physical objects are increasingly transmogrified from atoms to bits. Who needs Blockbuster when you can get the streaming bits - minus the plastic packaging, the late fees and the obsolete DVD player - from YouTube??

As we overpopulate the planet with bits and bytes, the ability to understand and explore our world will depend on new approaches to search and rescue (or search and destroy, as the case may be). Current strategies to improving search have centered on inventing increasingly complex algorithms, but a simpler answer might (literally) be right under our nose.

Researchers at the University of Glasgow have created a computer program which allows users to attach distinctive smells to digital photos. Called Olfoto, the program uses an array of cube-shaped capsules, similar to an ink jet printer cartridge, each of which contain a unique smell - the scent of an open wood fire, for example, or the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. The capsules release a different fragrance when activated electronically so that when a particular image appears on-screen a user can “tag” it with a scent. They can then sort through their image collections simply by sniffing.

The idea - pardon the pun - a potent one. Humans can smell approximately 10,000 odors. Scents are powerful memory tags. While I remember next to nothing from 3 years of Japanese classes, one whiff of Jagermeister triggers a gag reflex that instantly reminds me of the most important lesson I learned in college (which is of course, that one should never, ever drink Jagermeister).

In the future, we’ll need a multi-sensory approach to navigate the dematerialized world. In this way, Olfoto may ultimately become an important social and business tool, adding another dimension to our ability to communicate. Emails from your ex may smell like skunk. The quarterly finance reports might exude the aroma of champagne or sour milk, depending on the market results. And just so you know, if you want me to read your email, make it smell like freshly baked cookies.

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