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Recently, I've been using Gmail, Google's Web-based e-mail service, to the exclusion
of all other accounts. I dusted it off a few months ago when I joined the Internet
dating crowd, as I needed a moderately anonymous way to protect myself from any
crackpots that may emerge.
But it soon became my preferred information pipe, for its convenience, superior
message organization and spam filtering. I didn't even notice the ads, which
occasionally popped up on the right-hand side of the screen.
That is, until a few nights ago when I was discussing mystery novels with a
correspondent, and mentioned that Tony Hillerman was one of my faves. A little
bit later I glanced at an ad that promised discounts on Hillerman books and
memorabilia. I noted the event, although I didn't click through.
A few days later I saw some ads/links to dating sites that I had not tried.
Again, I didn't click through although it creeped me out.
I attributed it to one of those modern technological phenomena, like how the
light changes when you approach or how an iPod will play consecutive songs by
Elvis, Lennon, Dylan and Manilow.
But when my sister sent along an itinerary that had airline discount sites
referenced it was all too weird.
These are not coincidences. Google has a feature it calls AdSense, which scans
messages for content and then links the user with targeted advertising. As I've
been discussing online dating, it sends me links about how to tell when a woman
wants to be kissed (OK, I did click there, but don't tell anyone).
I just sent a message that mentioned "Star Wars" six times; maybe
they'll send me a link to where I can buy the Darth Tater incarnation of Mr.
Potato Head.
There are a lot of reasons some people will hate this, on principle. It is
an invasion of privacy, a sneaky way to sell you something, proof that no matter
how hip a company may seem, when they get a little success, they start acting
like Big Brother. Or Darth Vader.
Get over it. Google is providing a "free" service to millions of
people that took years of development and is in a state of constant evolution.
How are they supposed to pay for this?
The folks there owe us nothing; in fact we are in their debt. For what we are
getting, we should be willing to be guinea pigs for their technology. If this
bothers us, we can go elsewhere (after all, it is explained in the fine print).
It also bears notice that the same scanning technology is what separates out
the spam. And it's not like an actual person is reading our messages, sitting
in a dark room and saying, "Charlie is writing about leather, so I'll just
hook him up with the Coach Web page." It's done by a machine at the speed
of light that doesn't take the time to examine daily minutiae.
The real reason this is a molehill in a teapot relates to what I've tried to
hammer into readers for the past six years. No e-mail is really private. There
is no assurance that a message will reach only its intended target.
With dozens of servers and satellites, people can read your messages if they
expend the effort. I don't believe they do, only that they can.
So I don't mind if Google scans my mail to clean out the detritus and sends
along some potentially interesting links. Maybe I'll even learn what to bring
along on my next first date.
If you have questions or suggestions for Charles Bermant, you can contact him
by e-mail at cbermant@seattletimes.com.
