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Mar. 15th, 2004
(no subject)
Mar. 15th, 2004 05:12 pmI'm putting together a research proposal that, among other things, is going to involve an analysis of the emotional content of writing samples. I'm planning to use techniques that are developed by a Texas psychologist named James Pennebaker.
On his website, he's posted reprints of several of his research articles. I was scrolling through them, looking for titles which might be relevant to my study, when something I moused over brought up a URL in the status bar that contained the words "LiveJournal." Surprised, I looked up and saw the article title "Linguistic markers of psychological change surrounding September 11, 2001," and a note that they studied language use in 1000 LiveJournals for the period around September 11.
I felt an immediate surge of revulsion and violation. My stomach churned. All I could think was, "But I keep a LiveJournal." I was completely taken aback by the strength of the sense of utter violation.
It lasted until I got far enough into actually reading the article to realize that my LJ wasn't included in the sample. (They only included people who gave permission for their LJs to be spidered by web browsers. They didn't, however, individually ask people for permission to analyze their LJs.) Then it slowly subsided, especially as I realized that no one's journal was actually quoted. The negative emotions didn't dissipate entirely until I went on and read another article, a dry technical one.
Here's what I want to know: am I weird? Or does this seem like a violation of privacy, an intrusion, to anyone else?
On his website, he's posted reprints of several of his research articles. I was scrolling through them, looking for titles which might be relevant to my study, when something I moused over brought up a URL in the status bar that contained the words "LiveJournal." Surprised, I looked up and saw the article title "Linguistic markers of psychological change surrounding September 11, 2001," and a note that they studied language use in 1000 LiveJournals for the period around September 11.
I felt an immediate surge of revulsion and violation. My stomach churned. All I could think was, "But I keep a LiveJournal." I was completely taken aback by the strength of the sense of utter violation.
It lasted until I got far enough into actually reading the article to realize that my LJ wasn't included in the sample. (They only included people who gave permission for their LJs to be spidered by web browsers. They didn't, however, individually ask people for permission to analyze their LJs.) Then it slowly subsided, especially as I realized that no one's journal was actually quoted. The negative emotions didn't dissipate entirely until I went on and read another article, a dry technical one.
Here's what I want to know: am I weird? Or does this seem like a violation of privacy, an intrusion, to anyone else?
This post is entirely for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
therealjae.
Mar. 15th, 2004 07:08 pmI stopped at the grocery store on my way home from the bus stop. We're having buffalo burgers for dinner, and I needed some buns to serve them on. I also picked up a sixpack of Clipper City (because what are burgers without beer), and a toothbrush, and a box of raspberry fruit-and-grain bars.
I waited in line at the checkout stand with my credit card in my hand. As she rang up my groceries, the cashier asked me, "Have I seen your ID before?"
I looked at her in total incomprehension. She tapped her finger against the sixpack of beer. Light dawned.
"Um. No. No, you haven't," I said, fishing out my driver's license. "Because I'm thirty."
I've been legally able to purchase alcohol for nine years! I have white hairs! I have a Ph.D.! I thought all of these things, but did not say them.
I also thought and did not say: Sheesh. Just when am I going to start looking like a grownup?
I waited in line at the checkout stand with my credit card in my hand. As she rang up my groceries, the cashier asked me, "Have I seen your ID before?"
I looked at her in total incomprehension. She tapped her finger against the sixpack of beer. Light dawned.
"Um. No. No, you haven't," I said, fishing out my driver's license. "Because I'm thirty."
I've been legally able to purchase alcohol for nine years! I have white hairs! I have a Ph.D.! I thought all of these things, but did not say them.
I also thought and did not say: Sheesh. Just when am I going to start looking like a grownup?