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Marc B. Adin
Comment and thoughts concerning the nature of Archive.Org
Dear Sir/Madam:
Somehow, about thirty minutes ago I stumbled upon your site. At first, I thought little of it and then as I pondered the project a bit further, it struck me as a classic example of valuable time wasted by uncountable numbers of people who could do something more interesting, useful or fun to fill their time. I continued thinking about archive.org's ill-formed ideas as I mindlessly watched the the little circle turn and turn while attempting to find my birth date as its mysterious function. I know my birthday, at least what the records and anecdotal evidence informs me. The search machine/engine/silly/intrusive thing was getting nowhere, so I left it to its own devices. I really don't think it is intrusive, as everyone in the universe is allowed by me to know my birthday. I don't care. It may even turn out to be the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Just think. If 1 of any 1000 people searches for my address or phone number or email address, or simply locatesı me through a plethora of conduits, these lucky individuals may send me something to congratulate me for living one more year. That would be kind of them. Thoughtful, even. As I do not wish to stretch credulity or let this fantasy distract me any longer, I will leave it at this. If there are enough people who want to be a part of a mass movement, they could bestow upon me the moniker of billionaire, at the very least. It certaily would be a notable achievement in any obit.
The question is why would anyone embark upon this gathering, indexing, cross referencing, search methodologies, inane issues of privacy that has anything to do with the events it purports to invade. "Privacy" seems to me to be a construct of an individual's misguided belief that 1.) A person has such a "right" as in "who said so?" And so what? I would tell anyone anything they want to know about me, without fear or pride, although that may not be the perception of the investigator. Why should I care if my life is an (open bookı to the curious of the world? It does me no harm, nor brings me anything worthy, unless we consider my above described fantasy a distinct possibility of allowing me to pay my creditors. Or buy more things than I already have, which is clearly too many when I cannot find them. If I found what I cannot remember what I had, why would I want replace them? It is not even known to me if I "need" them or merely "want" them. In its most existential form this is the secret fuel of capitalism. 2.) Privacy has become an issue of our time. And if one were to believe everyone from the US Attorney General, to creators of (closed membership clubs, to the nature of celebrity to bathrooms, it is a very important issue. Really. Why? Will we be subject to whitemail or government snooping or neighborhood watch communities? I cannot answer why the public exposure of the minutiae of our lives to the public at large is so egregious. Should I be offended if someone says my take home pay is $67,566.30 a year. That figure explains why declaration of the sordid details of my life have no meaning; it is devoid of meaning to anyone for any reason, as it is not accurate. It does not reflect the truth because I do not know how much my net salary is. In addition, what comes of it when I come home and commingle my pay with other sources of income, whatever comes of it? I do not know. And it doesn't matter to me. If it doesnıt matter to me why should it matter to anyone else? Or perhaps I have fathered a child out of wedlock? Do I know I did? It may matter to the child at some psychological stage in his/her psychological development, but only for a moment until the child realizes that it has no importance to the childıs growth to adulthood. We are all fathers and mothers, even if we have no biological children. The old man down the street, who sits on his porch all day long may very well be a father to all the children who come to him for comfort, joy, and love.
I read that presidential heavyweight contendah, John Kerry, just found out that his grandmother (on either his motherıs side or fatherıs side...) was Jewish. Mr. Kerry did not know this fact, assuming it could be possible, and described the new knowledge to Kerry as, in his own words, if we believe "The Boston Globe" as "...heavy." Wow. So the erstwhile candidate is being scrutinized, his bloodlines are being analyzed at the lab as the media and its audiences learn of this new information just as the Senator from Massachusetts starts his quest for the golden ring. "So what," you ask? Why do I bring this up as a part of my thoughts regarding privacy? It demonstrates to me that there is no such thing or possession as privacy and if there were, it would have no currency. It might be "heavy" to Senator Kerry, but I think its heaviness will last as long as a short roll of toilet paper.
This image of the quickly vanishing roll of toilet paper brings me back to the archive of everything that has somehow found its way to the internet and the almighty web. It rapidly is becoming an academic, social, and cultural infinite library and industry of exponential proportions. We may be overwhelmed by the tsunami of information that is in the bytes, pixels and source headers which destroy our forests as the arc toward our future becomes a liberated paperless society. A society and economy which are consuming more trees and billions of tons of paper than ever before in the history of mankind.
As we reach one step closer to the unknown purpose of the Information Age, we must document these steps, we must archive them, so that we may...we may, what? Perhaps we will find ourselves, retrospectively, at the beginning of still a new shift in the great ages of mankinds steady evolution from wherever we came to wherever we may be going. Neither spot on the continuum matter to me. If it doesnıt matter to me, why does it matter to anyone? I donıt think it does. This conclusion of mine, after stumbling upon the archive.org website, leaves me even more befuddled than I was before my moment of satori at the portal of the web. I hope that you may walk from this archivistıs dream somewhat more enlightened about its importance than I.
I wish you good luck and Godspeed. Oh, and just in case, my birthday is 20 March of every year until I go to another place, which despite what anyone says, is I know not where. Temporarily, my address is out there somewhere.
Sincerely, Marc B. Adin.
NB. This small essay is dedicated to my wife, Kathy, who has put up with me for thirty-two years. Her occupation is Librarian.
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