I love Google. I love being able to type in anything I want and learn more.
I love being able to find a solution to the slugs in garden and how to mix up green foaming potions with kitchen chemistry.
In addition to the usefulness of Google, the search terms that lead other people here to this blog are a constant source of amusement for me.
A startling number of people search for the terms “angry goat” and “Cosby sweater.” Lots of people find me by looking for cupcakes or bulimia. I find this odd, because I’ve done exactly one post on cupcakes, and I’m pretty sure there is nothing, anywhere about bulimia. Then there are the odd ones – “auburn pajama pickle” and “golfing in housecoat and curlers.”
But I’ve never given much through to my entire search history – how my collection of questions could be considered when looked at as a whole.
A few days ago my son wanted to play a word game with his father that we’d found online. My husband came out to ask which website we were on. I couldn’t remember, so I told him to check the history.
The rest of the night passed quietly until finally, the boy was tucked in bed.
My husband came back downstairs and looked at me sideways before saying, “You Google weird shit.”
I laughed, as earlier in the day I’d looked up both Quantum String Theory and the recipe for beet juice hair dye.
“I’m interested in a lot of stuff.”
“No I mean really weird.”
“So I’m interested in a lot of weird stuff.”
“I mean budding serial killer weird.”
That one threw me. “What?”
“I was trying to find that website for Q, and your history, in order the other day was ‘how to stop a child from crying,’ ‘chainsaws’ and ‘how to remove blood.’
I laughed. “Q melts down so completely that I wondered if there was some sort of diversionary tactic to help reel him in. The dog’s bleeding all over everything, even with that stupid diaper thing, and I want to clean it thoroughly so we don’t have a parade of wild dogs attack our house in the future.”
” And we need a chainsaw.”
“In that order?”
“How about ‘taxidermy,” ‘curved knife’ and “‘security tags in hospital nursery?”
“Research. And I was looking for some pictures for a blog post.”
“You appear to be a psychopath. You know you’re on about a dozen FBI watch lists right now, right?”
Today, I skimmed through my history before I cleared it. Taken as a collective whole, it is a pretty damning list. Being a writer, looking up those strange little tics or random pieces of information I need to flesh out a character makes me look very shady indeed.
He’s totally right.
I’m being watched.