Wednesday, February 01, 2012

Google Knows Where I Live

So, apparently Google has been collecting data on me since nitrogen formed in the atmosphere and plans to use it to properly tailor my web experience.

I'm not sanguine about this for two reasons:

a) I have been refusing Google Chrome since the nagware for it debuted and they haven't yet figured out that my tailored web experience is a Chrome-free one

2) Job one upon loading Google's splash page is to turn off the ridiculously nasty one-character-at-a-time attempt to jump the gun and pre-guess what I'm trying to search for while shielding my eyes from the psychedelic cascade of gibberish happening on my computer screen. If Google were the data interpretation geniuses they believe themselves to be they would have figured out long ago that this is not so much "enhancing" my web experience as "annoying the living piss out of me" and they would have stopped delivering the search page with the settings set to "stupid".

รพ) Amazon's attempts to enhance my purchasing experience by tailoring it according to what they know about me is laughably off-the-mark, leading me to believe that the clever young things in charge of the web are still under the daft impression that data is information. Accordingly, I have been widening my browsing habits in order to add as much entropy to the process as I can.

Each evening I spread my search terms to land me on monster trucks, clerical garb, pony play accessories, roller derby games in Brooklyn, flower arranging supplies, hammers, male enhancement supplements, Google (for a dash of recursion), egg and spoon racing, cross dresser footwear retailers, plywood, solar power, global warming denial sites, extruded aluminum wholesalers, air bottle recharging specialists, telescope and binocular suppliers and erotic piercing forums. It's exhausting. I imagine the Google database on me must resemble this picture.

Sadly this has backfired somewhat in that when I'm signed on I can only search sites in Bellarus dedicated to nun-heavy industrial dungeon pron.

Or that is what I'm telling Mrs Stevie.

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