If you ever assumed that what you do on the Internet is private unless someone is looking over your shoulder, think again. The Electronic Frontier Foundation has recently published a series of articles about how easily people can be identified online even within the limits set by federal laws and typical web site privacy policies. Although these policies usually promise that any "personally-identifiable information" you share will be kept strictly confidential, they also make exceptions for the supposedly anonymous demographic information you reveal. This includes statistics like your birth date, gender, zip code, and the technical specifications of your computer and web browser. It would be impossible to identify you from just one of these anonymous bits of information. However, the EFF points out that these demographic facts, used in combination, are almost always enough to pinpoint individuals.

For example, in a September blog post, the EFF cited a study at Carnegie Mellon University to show that 87% of Americans have a unique combination of birth date, zip code, and gender. If you live in the United States, that means there is an 87% chance that these three supposedly "anonymous" facts, taken together, are enough to identify you. The less populous your zip code, the more likely that someone can link that data directly to your name. For a more detailed explanation of the mathematics of identifying unique individuals with this kind of demographic information, see the EFF's recent Primer on Information Theory and Privacy.

The technical information that your computer sends to each website you visit reduces your anonymity even further. Websites collect data on the configuration of your computer in order to optimize their own compatibility with your system. However, the high number of unique computer configurations means that few people are likely to be using exactly the same combination of operating system, screen resolution, web browser version, browser plug-ins, and fonts as you are. The EFF has launched a website called Panopticlick that can tell you just how unique your own setup is.

Like a fingerprint, a unique computer configuration can easily be tracked as it hops from web page to web page, even if you have cookies disabled and you have a dynamic IP address. If you share information as limited as your birth date, gender, and zip code at a website where someone connects it with your particular computer setup, that person could potentially track your movement online, gaining clues about your interests, your hobbies, your beliefs, your political opinions, and your friends, while linking this data directly to your name and address. Companies like Acxiom specialize in just this kind of data analysis in order to help advertisers develop targeted marketing campaigns, and to aid credit card and insurance companies in deciding whether or not to provide you their services and at what price.

You may think you have nothing to hide. Privacy isn't just about keeping dirty secrets, however. You can surely think of things in your life that you would be embarrassed to tell certain people. Is that wrong? How many people would tell their parents everything they tell their best friends, or tell their best friends everything they tell their parents, or tell either of these things to their children or their coworkers? The truth doesn't have to be "bad" to be uncomfortable. Think of the secrets you keep with good intentions, to surprise someone or protect someone. Is that wrong? Would you tell a random stranger where you live? Would you give away your email password or your bank account number?

We all have secrets. You have a right to privacy — a right to choose what the world should or should not know about you. Information is power, and information about you is the power to persuade you, to embarrass you, to manipulate you, to rob you, and even to predict you. Laws about privacy are defined by our expectations of privacy. What happens if you don't care what kind of information Google, Microsoft, Facebook, and Twitter collect from you? The U.S. Constitution only guarantees against "unreasonable searches and seizures." If you think it's reasonable to be spied on while you're on the web, then how much privacy does the law grant you?

I went for a walk this morning. It was -6° Fahrenheit. As I've stated before, I like the cold. Even so, I couldn't help but think back longingly to summer as I hurried down State Street, my fingers turning a rather pretty shade of blue. Summer was just a few months ago, but it seems as though it was a different world. We dressed differently, we spent our time differently, we saw entirely different scenes outside our doors. I took the photograph above on August 31. The pretty scene disguises a greater adventure, for to get that shot I had to hike a few miles, climb some tall rocks, and balance awkwardly with one foot on a steep slope, holding my camera overhead at just the right angle to cut past the weeds towards the lovely Asters you see. I realized later that these flowers were everywhere, and that I could have just taken a picture of them in someone's flowerbed — but summer wouldn't have been nearly as fun if I'd just stayed home.

The same thought applies to winter. It is easy on these frigid days of January to think back fondly to August, but I can't honestly say that winter is any less beautiful. Indeed, some places that are rather ugly in summer become quite aesthetic under a freshly fallen layer of snow. I could never spend winter hiding indoors waiting for the warm weather to return, because I would miss too much. Going through winter without admiring the ice and frost would be like passing the summer without appreciating flowers or thunderstorms. The joy of living in a place like Wisconsin is that we get to pass through all these remarkable worlds just by staying put.

"Pencil Drawing Its Shadow"

In this fine example of postmodern sketch, the artist demonstrates his meager skills by using a pencil to draw a pencil as it draws its own shadow. Freudians will be quick to see phallic symbols throughout the piece, but critics disagree over whether this stems from an intentional depiction of virility and creative energy or a subconscious sign of subdued masculinity and repressed lust. This drawing was drawn on a blank note card provided by Eric, who has also provided most of the comments on this blog.

I was perplexed today by a preponderance of pens. Everyone around me on my first day of College Algebra was holding a pen. I felt very insecure with my sharp number two pencil. Was I surrounded by math wizards who know they will never make an error to erase? I am prone to false starts in math; I would never attempt to calculate in ink. This is not merely a matter of my miserable mathematics, however. Any time I am to put words to paper, I need a pencil in hand — certainly wood, preferably cedar. Plastic pencils have too many pieces and tend to fall apart when I use them. Pens I use only to write checks and sign my name. Otherwise the permanence that pen-points effuse just doesn't suit me.

The pencil is an almost magical device, empowering creation at one end and destruction at the other. The two are inseparable with me, for my writing always implies erasing. This is a symptom of my inability to ever make up my mind. I am endlessly tweaking my statements, coordinating my conjunctions and canceling my commas, scheming up new tropes or repositioning a preposition. The right word often comes to me only after I have written the wrong one, and my most interesting thoughts tend to elude me until I get the dull ones out of the way. How would I manage without my eraser? Work is always in progress; a finished work isn't work at all.

I am also fond of the variation that pencils permit. I speak of shade, of tone, of nuance. With a pencil I have every shade of gray at my command. My lines can be bold or they can disguise themselves into the page. Ink is monochrome, and by extension monotonous.

Even so, it seems that others prefer their pens. I don't mean to put them down. I would not advocate that everyone do as I do or like as I like. I am simply curious as to what other people see in ink that I don't — not to make this a Rorschach test. Which do you prefer, pencil or pen?

My Christmas Tree

It has been a few days since my last post. When I wrote before, we were still savoring the last weeks of a cool Wisconsin summer. Now we're wading through a December mix of rain and snow, which has turned our White Christmas into a slushy, icy mess. The Christmas Tree in the front yard seems to be surviving all the same — and that's good, because it still has a lot of growing to do. I feel the same way about this blog.

Acceity lives, despite my lack of attention to it. Indeed, visitors have been trickling in daily from search engines, and there were even one or two new comments while I was away. It is good to know that my work is useful to a few people, occasionally. That is enough reason to press on, and now that I have an entire month free from school and other tedious obligations, I plan to post quite a lot in the coming weeks. There is a whole world to talk about, so I hope you'll join me here for the impending discussions. In the meantime, have a Merry Christmas!