Photo by David Zentz
Quite by accident, I've discovered the existence of a shadowy Other whose Google wanderings are mysteriously—and inappropriately—showing up in the web history of my Google account. His passage is marked by a trail of cyber-crumbs leading to searches for free pornography, dachshund/rat terrier puppies and unemployment benefits in Tuscon, Arizona. I got a minor frisson of amusement speculating on the back story that might be revealed through these searches— teacup chihuahuas and pit bull-rottweiler blends also figure into the mix, along with Debbie doing Dallas—until I realized the only story in which I should be interested is the one that explains just how in hell the Internet searches of an out-of-work, self-stimulating Arizonian aficianado of bizarre dog breeds wind up documented in my Google account.
The obvious explanation is that I must've logged into gmail on the computer being used by the Other and didn't sign out. The argument against this is that I could count on one maimed hand the number of computers I've been on in the past few months (the Other made his debut in early November), and they're private, squeaky clean and non-networked. I don't know anyone in Tuscon, have not been anywhere in Arizona for at least 2 years, and am careful-to-obsessive about signing out of accounts while on the road. The only other person who knows my account password is Answerjack. I do use an iPhone to check my email in airports and other public places.
I'm not completely freaked about this particular breach of the integrity of one of my accounts. There's a membrane of security protecting access to Google web history and email, and the Other appears to be a dolt with a very narrow range of interests, unaware, I think, that his (or her) Internet searches are being monitored, judged and now blogged about by a stranger. But the big picture is troubling. Darting along the shining surface of a vast ocean of information, we're all vulnerable: what's looking up at us from its unseen depths? A lot about the motion in this ocean is unknowable to the recreational surfer. Am I an Other on another machine, providing amusement about the nature of my searches and puzzlement about how and why I'm there? Are you? As I said, I found out about my Other inadvertently.
My chum Cliff has substantial tech creds and access to the high end of the Google food chain. He's on this, and I'm deeply interested in what Google might have to say about it. I've harvested an address in Tuscon (web history shows map searches, too) that may or may not be the location of the computer being used to research odd canine matings and even odder human sexual constructs. I'm not really interested in who the Other is, much less where he physically resides; I just want him out of my machine, and soon.
