I don’t care much. I know, I know, I am just like my son, Jack, who blogged recently that he’s not bothered by the revelation that he is being tracked by his own iPhone. He posted a map of all the places he’s been in the past year, carefully pinned by Apple, and he said he doesn’t mind that his privacy is being stormed by a corporate giant, or that everyone now knows he got lost looking for the oral surgeon’s office last winter and, according to the map, drove like a drunken fly all over south Florida. He was taken to task by an online commenter who was extremely upset that Jack was not more upset about Big Brother. He called my son a liberal Nazi. (I’m not even sure what that means, but I don’t think he meant those two things cancel each other out.)
I love when people get mad about other people not getting mad enough. If I’m speeding up my own death because of worry and anger, it’s not fair that you aren’t, too!
What’s to be upset about? If Apple wants to track me back and forth to the grocery store and Panera, have at it, media giant. And don’t tell me there’s a larger issue here, one of privacy and freedom and individual rights. I know that. Don’t think I don’t know that.
People who freak out about their email addresses being posted on Facebook remind me of this guy who used to show up at public meetings in the ‘80s in Ohio. He was a budding conspiracy theorist who was forever getting up at public forums and yelling that the government was taking over our lives. During one hearing he claimed that enhanced 911 instant address notification was just a way for the “government to get our phone numbers.”
I think it was a county commissioner who said, “Uh, sir, the government already has your phone number. Shoot, I even have your phone number.”
I continue to be fascinated by how much The Man knows about me and that he even cares. I’m slightly flattered when an ad shows up on my Facebook page for something that I was just thinking of buying. Creepy, yes. But also useful.
And entertaining. Sometimes when I’m looking for a diversion between Facebook posts (don’t want people to think I have nothing better to do than update my status every 15 minutes) I look at the Google Analytics for this blog. Did you know that when you type in keywords into a search engine, it’s reported to the person who maintains the site where you eventually end up.
Because of The Man and non-governmental privacy invasion, I know that people have gotten to my blog using the following keywords:
- bachelors beans barney and beany
- can i bring a craft show tent to the infield at the kentucky derby
- can you change it from “so and so just poked you” to something you wanna say?
- cars disney snot rod christmas
- chinese verson song i can still remember lyric
- do starletts wear pantyhose anymore
- does everyone have hair growing from corner of eye
- does lexington legends games sell beer
- how messy are normal peoples homes
- leave it to beaver & outdoor grilling
- le leche league militant bitches
- mall easter bunny overheat
- mammogram run car 10 humor list
- man eat
- movies putting on whalebone girtles
- my husband likes my square dance dress
- old ugly toenail picture
- once you mentally get over a fear of flying, what is next
- pictures of people with lots of toes
- skype skype me grandma
- what if you really have something to cry about?
- what i’m wearing underneath my jeans is none of your business, mister
- what wearing pantyhose means
- what would be a reason for approaching a sharp curve slowly
- where is michael caine that used to play on then came bronson
- where is needle placed when nose is numbed to remove a wart
- who block me
I actually have blogged about all these topics in one way or another, so they rightly ended up on my site. (Except for cars disney snot rod christmas. I have no idea where that came from.) Knowing what people searched for in the privacy of their own homes or offices, I feel like I’m eavesdropping on strangers.
I even the score by using my real name in my blog and not giving nicknames or false identities to my family. If you want to look up my phone number and find out how many times I went to Panera last month, knock yourself out. Call me if you want to. But don’t call me a liberal Nazi.