An Open Letter to Google

You came to power on the same wave that gave us Web 2.0, the one built on user-provided content.  As it turns out, people were a lot more interested in each other than we were in pretty much anything else (okay, except for porn).  One of the reasons many of us were comfortable sharing content was because it was not necessarily linked to our meatspace identity.  We could be different people on different sites (there are things said on this site that would not be said on sites linked with my meatspace identity -- in turn, information on my meatspace life here tends to be descriptive but not specific).

Has there been a single instance since the inception of Web 2.0 that users have reacted positively to post hoc information sharing without explicit consent?  Or has there been massive outrage until users were permitted to limit data sharing in accordance with individual comfort level?  IT HAPPENS EVERY FUCKING TIME.

And yet you don't seem to learn.  So here we go again.

Google, you provide some wonderful services; I've had a gmail account since the first round of invites.  Last time I checked I have... eight separate log ins.  But I'm gonna have to limit my use of them now.  Announcing a sweeping privacy reform while not permitting users to choose which of your services they want to use?  Does not count as asking for our permission.  (Completely abandoning google just isn't convenient at this time, especially given the dearth of alternatives without equally troublesome privacy issues of their own)

I won't miss google+ (although given that it's been several hours since I deleted the google+ accounts, those profiles really ought to be gone by now).  No more browsing while logged in.  No more personalized news.  I now have to delete your cookie EVERY DAMN DAY.  Basically, chrome is now my google docs viewer and nothing more. And no more logging in to gmail unless I need to search for a conversation-- thunderbird is go.   I'll log in to gchat using the less reliable gchat widget, and I'll be annoyed about it.  But you really haven't given me much choice, have you? 

Moral of the story: Take an inch: watch me pull back a mile.

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