Misdirection

"I see dead people." So says Haley Joel Osment in the 1999 film "Sixth Sense," where he plays a kid who sees ghosts all around him. In that respect I am exactly like him, except I see underwear. Or toothpaste. Or rocksalt, glass cleaner or light bulbs. And all because at some point in the last few days I punched up a search page to see the best place and price to get said items, and the cookies took notice.

Neither chocolate chip nor peanut butter, computer cookies are little pieces of code that get generated when you poke around online. Like a dog marking its territory, each web site you visit asks your browser to make note that you've been there and what you looked at, and then reports back to its online masters. That enables you to be treated as a well-known customer, and not have to retype your password every time you visit, create wish lists, and get recommendations and deals based on your shopping habits. 

These days they are hiding in plain sight, though it wasn't always that way. Invented in the mid 1990's by computer engineer Lou Montulli as part of his work for the company that became Netscape, at first they were primarily used for electronic shopping carts, enabling a site to remember what you were browsing for the last time you stopped by. Seemed benign enough, until privacy experts pointed out that they were gathering information about you and your habits without your permission.

Despite the fact that Google is mentioned in neither the Bible nor the Constitution, that led to a groundswell of protests about our God-given right to shop for Preparation H without anyone knowing. And so web sites were forced to ask for permission to make a note that you had stopped by. However, since we're lazy and we hate to be SO inconvenienced as to retype our password one more time, we howled loudly but then clicked "OK" anyways, and we were right back to where we started.

As the online world has gotten more interconnected and central to our everyday lives, those cookies became more useful. And now, instead of just keeping note of the 2 cans of shaving cream in your shopping cart, that info gets sold to any and all comers. And so as you are browsing movie reviews or restaurants or places to go on vacation, up pops banner ads for that shaving cream languishing in your cart back on aisle B. It makes you feel as if someone is watching your every move and reporting back, which is exactly what's happening.

The result is a constant barrage of targeted ads as you wander around. Check on the latest news about Ukraine? Right next to the picture of Putin is a Fruit of the Loom promotion. Browse possible warm weather destinations as a winter antidote? The sun in the beach photo is less bright than the rechargeable closet light that's on sale. Poke around for a recipe for dinner? While you might need oregano and cumin, unlikely you need the promoted rocksalt, which is better used on your walk than your sheet pan chicken. 

Yes, you could use a different browser which purports to keep you anonymous. Or decline the requested permissions as they are presented to you. Or you can practice a little bit of misdirection. I tried that by taking a moment when I was done, and typing "chocolate eclair" into the search bar. While that led me to multiple recipes, it also brought me to a number of bakeries than sold the goodies. I clicked one, then another, and admired the confections. I even added a few samples to my virtual cart, then signed off for the night.

Lo and behold, the next time I signed on, next to Vladimir was a carrot cake. The suggestions for closet upgrades had a great looking key lime pie as an accent. And my portfolio report was accompanied by a pecan pie. I effectively wore a hat and dark glasses as I strolled the virtual aisle. Not that it means much in the big scheme of things: Uber and its ilk still know where I am standing at any given moment. But at least in that particular online session my persona was less boxer briefs, and more chocolate babka.

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Marc Wollin of Bedford knows "they" are tracking him and is more embarrassed than worried. His column appears regularly in The Record-Review, The Scarsdale Inquirer and online a, as well as via Facebook, LinkedIn and Twitter.