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[personal profile] childeric
Gmail 'targeted' ads are really anything but. They're a sort of reverse Royal Canadian Mounted Police: they almost never get their man. As a good No2ID member I should be being pleased, I suppose, at this utter abysmal failure of the burgeoning surveillance society, but mostly it makes me wonder exactly what it is that I've been saying in my emails that leads Google to imagine I'm in need of a product to prevent my urinating in the wetsuit I don't actually have. Apparently the device in question is a belt for warming the kidneys of surfers, so at least it's something fairly funky and youthful and it isn't just Google saying that the sort of nonsense I spout with such superlatively disinterested largesse in my emails is symptomatic of a more general micturatory weakness or anything. Still, I can't help but feel mildly aggrieved and as though I need to do something to prove somehow to the world in general that I Don't And Never Have Peed In My Wetsuit. Really, I don't. Or am I insisting on this too much now?

Talking of nefarious unknowns snooping on me, I was horrified, horrified yesterday to plumb the deplorable depths of my character and learn an awful truth about myself, namely that when I received a mailshot from Liberty in with my copy of this week's Private Eye, my first Pavlovian knee-jerk thought wasn't 'Ah yes, the splendid work that they have done in resisting the encroachments of an over-mighty state.' but actually turned out to be 'Cor, that Shami Chakrabarti is totally a bit of top-quality totty. It always brightens up whatever deathly dull item Channel Four News is going on about when they drag her on'. And that's my heavyweight, not-remotely-dumbed-down take on the threat to civil liberties, kids: my Politically Concerned super-ego has just packed up and gone home and it's id all the way down. Still, she really is a babe, isn't she? Intelligent, witty, committed and kinda foxy, too. Jon Snow always looks very pleased when she's on, and you can quite see why. You do wonder just how ahem liberal she might turn out to be, although maybe that's just me.

Anyway, enough of my goatish horridness: what this post is actually about is something that's only going to be remotely meaningful to about five people reading, namely Kalamazoo. From the programme sitting plumply on my desk I discover that my paper is consigned to a somewhat graveyard slot at 8.30 on Sunday morning somewhere completely unfashionable like Fetzer. Argh, the morning after the dance! I've scarcely made it to any Sunday 8.30s ever in all the time that I've been going to Kalamazoo, let alone actually been capable of coherent speech. I very much hope such audience as I have will be zombified too, or at the very least kind-hearted and forgiving. Anyway, I'm curious as to whom I should expect to see there, and when you're all on, so for that purpose there is a poll
[Poll #1368092]
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childeric

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