Don’t get me wrong. I’m not some privacy conspiracy theorist. I have nothing to hide (kind of). I will trade private data for information like a blind lemming going over Mt. Everest. Especially if the wonderful Internet machine delivers me information or offers or entertainment that I really like. Unfortunately, it’s not really working out like that. Instead of getting news about a new Sun Ra album coming in to a record store I’ve never heard of that’s just six miles from my home, I get more Facebook feeds alerting me to the wonders of Bonobos. Instead of getting an update on a new Indian restaurant that has hand made mango chutney and a reasonable all you can eat curry lunch, I get more news about Bonobos. Instead of big brother telling me about a cheap flight to a great family vacation spot in Martinique, you get it — Bonobos.
The Facebook has become like watching Days of Our Lives in 1982. Full of ads for stuff I hate. That makes me hate both The Facebook and Days of Our Lives.
And makes me wonder how much more I’m going to be willing to open my kimono wide to every data mining pirate out there who has the galleons to buy, beg, or steal my clicks?
Can they just toss me something that is remotely relevant — news, say, of a free-form uke jam session at a bar with single malt whisky?
Oh, and by the way, what is a Bonobo?