Dear Google,
Back up off a bitch. Seriously. You’re getting to be like the creepy uncle who wants to kiss on the lips. Get out of my personal bubble already.
So here’s the back story: I’m doing a little cursory web-searching for an article I have due, when at the bottom of the page I notice this:
One of the Google guys’ newest brainsurges, Social Search results. (Ed. note: Clearly the real buzz today is Google Buzz, but that’s not pissing me off — yet — so I’m running with this. Run with me.) Basically, below the “legitimate” results Google presents me, I now get this, a section of results from people in my “social circle.” And according to the web giant, this fellow, [name redacted], is a buddy of mine, who has germane information to share. Well, I beg to differ. Not only was this entirely unhelpful, but I have no fucking clue who this guy is. And I don’t care.
I’ve done a decent job of keeping the circumference of my social circle off the internet — you know, like actually social — so the fact that Google purports to have some insight into my personal life is presumptuous at best and unnerving at second best. OK, Google, I say. I’ll play your little reindeer games. Show me whom you think my social circle encompasses.
rhythms of a handful of emails. They were downright… poetic. Indeed, the subject heads and first lines seemed to form perfect lyrical couplets. Below, a selection that would give even Chaucer a chubby. Shake William’s spear. Thaw Robert’s Frost. Make ee cummings. I’ll stop, I’ll stop.
No Happy Medium 