7 March 2018

Goodbye Surveillance, Google Analytics

by Andrew

I had to Google the word surveillance. My damn spelling is so terrible. I had no idea how to spell it.

Which, I've recognized, is my main use of Google, searching for definitions and spellings of words. It's like a little pocket dictionary, my phone, a computer in my pocket, access to the entire knowledge of man in my hand. But otherwise, I hate Google.

The reasons are many. And they're all equally stupid. And Google and Facebook are in the same camp, not the friendly companies you imagined.

But so, I've had Google Analytics on this site since I first began it, just about over a year ago now. Which was interesting to use at first, these analytics,—their ease-of-use especially—experimenting and such, mainly for search engine optimization, SEO. And I can see the number of visitors either growing or not, coming and going.

But who cares anyway? Regardless, I'm going to write. What's it matter who sees or not? And why tailor my message only in order to appear higher on the results of a search engine I don't even like, for more readers I don't even care if I get?

So goodbye, Google.

Of course I was inspired by this, to remove Google Analytics from the site, from a tweet on Twitter. Lovely Twitter. I swear by it,—for now anyway—that if you tailor your timeline, it's incredibly beneficial, lovely Twitter.

Had to Google "incredibly."

As Facebook topples, however,—which it's already begun, hearing Carol at work, even, asking Noel just last night, "How do you deactivate Facebook?"—Twitter will become more and more populated. And eventually, it'll have its day to topple too.

So if I want any "analytics" in the future, I'm going to have to build them myself. Which isn't even so difficult really, I imagine. Or I know what I'd need to do at least. Only, it's quite a little project. And I'm running all week back and forth to the job, back and forth,—walking actually—my comforting rationalization, an excuse.

Another damn tweet, I just saw today, to speak to my itchy feet. Go to the Mecca of your creative activity. Damnit. More and more difficult it gets to drag myself to the job every day too. And I know what comes next. Which I dread—always having no money, out in that rain. But I'm persuading myself for now, that to stay home and work the job and get a shelter of my own I can always run back to, that's the hardest path. And it's the hardest path we should follow always.

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