I don’t really know where to start. It would be ridiculous to comment on the fact that I haven’t blogged here since almost a year ago. Ridiculous and unnecessary. I may do better in 2012. Let’s see. I have a good feeling about this year.

I wanted to write about Jonathan Harris, one of my favourite artists. He calls himself a storyteller, but the New York Times calls him “a renaissance man for the information age”. I think they’re probably both right.

You might have seen some of his work without realising it. His We Feel Fine project (co-created with Sep Kamvar) is maybe his best known work. You should take a look – it really is incredible, and a lot of fun to play with. The website is an exploration of human emotion, a database of millions of feelings and micro-stories pulled from the internet every few minutes – statements beginning ‘I feel’ or ‘I am feeling’ – published on millions of blogs, message boards and social media feeds all over the world. We Feel Fine identifies the emotion expressed in each sentence, as well as the age, location and gender of its author. Based on that information it extrapolates other data, such as the weather at the time the emotion was expressed. The playful, colourful interface lets you interact with the stories and understand the data in meaningful ways.

It’s basically brilliant.

Even better and more impressive – I think, anyway, in terms of ingenuity and user experience – is The Whale Hunt, another storytelling experiment that documents Jonathan’s experience with an ancient tradition in the Inupiat Eskimo community of Barrow, Alaska through a constant sequence of photographs taken at five-minute intervals over a seven-day period. The result is what he calls a “photographic heartbeat”, where at moments of adrenaline as many as 37 photographs were taken every five minutes, so that the rate of images increases to mimic the quickening of his own heart in those moments. Like most of his projects, The Whale Hunt is about data collection and interpretation. You can see the images in a linear fashion or apply filters to isolate sub-stories within the larger narrative. Jonathan describes The Whale Hunt as “a choose-your-own adventure book crossed with a data visualisation project crossed with a slideshow”.

It’s basically brilliant.

But one of my favourite Jonathan Harris projects might be the simplest one, called Today. When he turned 30, Jonathan began the ritual of taking one photo every day and posting it online with a short story. He continued for 440 days, ending up with a kind of tapestry-like portrait of his life at age 30. He describes the project as a “crutch for memory”.

I’ve had a few friends who have embarked on this sort of project and I’ve always found it a rather lovely idea. My friend Brusca took a photo on his iPhone every day for a year, embracing the Chase Jarvis philosophy that “the best camera is the one that’s with you”. I loved it – it’s nice having these little window insights into a friend’s life, just tiny snapshots of his day.

When I saw the short film Jonathan and his friend Scott Thrift made after the Today project ended, I just found it really moving. I love the simplicity of the idea, and the way that each image by itself is just an image, but put together and watched in a linear way, you get this kind of understanding of a person and their life. A shallow understanding, of course – it’s a bit like sneaking a peek at their family’s home movies. You’re never going to get the full story, but you do get an overall picture and a sense of forward movement, even though they’re just still frames – a microsecond out of a whole day.

Anyway, I loved it so much that I’m unashamedly ripping off the idea. I’d like to make a video of my own at the end of the year. I guess I’ll see how I go.

If you’d like to follow the unimaginatively titled Digressica Project, you’re very welcome to. I’m mostly doing it for my own satisfaction, really – a sort of experiment in memory – and maybe for my family and friends who might be interested. Maybe you’d like to do something similar yourself. Tell me if you do; I would love to come and nose into your world.

I won’t link to every photo on here because that would be absurd, but I might try to choose one every week. The one at the top of this post was taken at twilight at Currimundi Beach on New Year’s Day. Here’s one from today.

Photo courtesy of SummerTomato's photostream on Flickr

Every time I have ordered bruschetta in a restaurant or café – every single time in my entire life – I have had basically the exact same conversation with the waiter or waitress that served me.

It usually goes a bit like this:

Waitress: Hi, what can I get you today?
Me: Hi there. Can we please have two iced teas and… um, let’s see. I think we’ll share some broosketta too. Thanks!
Waitress: Blank look.
Me: Blank look.
Waitress: Sorry, what was the last thing?
Me: The broosketta, please.
Waitress: Sorry?
Me: Broosketta?
Waitress: Sorry, I didn’t quite… Holds up menu for me to point at.
Me: Pointing. The broosketta. Just there.
Waitress: Loudly, with barely contained laughter. OHHHHHHHH. You mean the BROOSHETTA!
Me: Silent, impotent rage. Um… yeah.

But this is how it would go if this were an alternate universe in which I wasn’t irrationally afraid of making waitresses dislike me:

Waitress: Hi, what can I get you today?
Me: Hi there. Can we please have two iced teas and… um, let’s see. I think we’ll share some broosketta too. Thanks!
Waitress: Blank look.
Me: Blank look.
Waitress: Sorry, what was the last thing?
Me: The broosketta, please.
Waitress: Sorry?
Me: Broosketta?
Waitress: Sorry, I didn’t quite… Holds up menu for me to point at.
Me: Pointing. The broosketta. Just there.
Waitress: Loudly, with barely contained laughter. OHHHHHHHH. You mean the BROOSHETTA!
Me: Rising slowly from seat. No. No, I don’t mean ‘brooshetta’. I mean ‘broosketta’. You know why? Because it is YOU, feeble human child, who is pronouncing bruschetta incorrectly – not I, as your patronisingly instructive tone suggests. And maybe – just maybe – if you’re going to work in an ITALIAN restaurant, and serve ITALIAN dishes, and read out the ITALIAN specials, perhaps it would interest you to know that in the Italian language, the letters CH are pronounced as a HARD FUCKING CONSONANT, YOU SMUG PIECE OF SHIT.

Other oppressed diners in restaurant applaud. Music swells. Close up on me looking triumphant and a bit crazy.

We are going to die, and that makes us the lucky ones. Most people are never going to die because they are never going to be born. The potential people who could have been here in my place but who will in fact never see the light of day outnumber the sand grains of Arabia. Certainly those unborn ghosts include greater poets than Keats, scientists greater than Newton. We know this because the set of possible people allowed by our DNA so massively exceeds the set of actual people. In the teeth of these stupefying odds it is you and I, in our ordinariness, that are here.

I’ve found this, the opening paragraph of Richard Dawkins’ Unweaving the Rainbow, to be a source of unspeakable comfort and inspiration since the first day I read it. These are the words I want spoken at my funeral when I die, and they’re the words I try to carry around with me while I live. They bring a lump to my throat. They make me want to go further, see more, do better. They make me grateful that I showed up at all. They make me want to shake hands with everyone I see, congratulate them on just being here. Well done everyone, we made it.

Image courtesy of mcdlttx‘s photostream on Flickr.

Such was the best piece of advice I ever received, although I didn’t realise it at the time. My friend Polski told me one day that he won’t make offers or promises to anybody. If a mate is moving house, he won’t offer to help. If someone needs assistance in his particular area of expertise, he won’t volunteer. If an old friend is flying into his city, he won’t promise to pick them up from the airport.

At first I was appalled. How cold! How heartless!

It didn’t take long, however, to recognise the intelligence of this seemingly cruel policy. Polski’s reasoning is faultless. It’s game theory.

If he doesn’t offer and doesn’t deliver, he has broken no promise and nobody gets hurt.

If he does offer and doesn’t deliver, he has broken his promise and let somebody down.

If he does offer and does deliver, he has merely met expectations and fulfilled what is already anticipated.

If he doesn’t offer and does deliver, he has pleasantly surprised somebody and exceeded their expectations.

Although the idea of never offering to visit a friend in hospital, babysit their kid when needed, help them with a problem or take them out for dinner sort of makes me cringe a little bit, an honest review of the many broken promises that litter my past has actually got me thinking. This policy isn’t about being cruel or uncaring. It’s not about letting yourself off the hook and never helping your friends, it’s about striving to be the kind of friend who is reliable and helpful, but not feeling like a total deadbeat if you don’t always deliver.

Polski, I apologise for calling you a selfish jerk. You might actually be a genius.

Photo courtesy of Discoodoni‘s photostream on Flickr.

1. When I listen to my iPod on the train or while studying in the library or while running or writing or working or whenever: approximately 70% of the time I’m listening to the Dixie Chicks. 20% of the time it’s Broadway musicals. You may not think so, because usually on public transport I have my hood up or I’m wearing dark sunglasses, and I tend to look a bit broody so as to frighten off any strangers who might try to mug me or – god forbid – engage me in light banter. But guess what? I’m listening to ‘Goodbye Earl’. And if it were socially acceptable I would be singing along. Loudly.
2. I have glow-in-the-dark stars on my bedroom ceiling. I’m 25. This has to end some time.
3. I don’t “club”. I don’t “go clubbing”. I never have. I probably never will. The thought of it makes me want to put the kettle on and look for my slippers.
4. I’m not obsessed with shoes. I know it’s meant to be cool for women to be obsessed with OMG SO FABULOUS shoes, but I’m not, and I can’t seem to manufacture a false interest. I like a nice pair of peep-toes, sure, and I prefer my footwear to look appropriate with the outfit I’m wearing – it’s not like I wander around in Ugg boots or those weird Forrest Gump-looking comfy clogs that old ladies buy from the pharmacy. But most of the time I’d just like to wear one of my many pairs of Chuck Taylors, or better yet, some Havaiana thongs*. IS THAT OKAY? Sheesh.
5. I have a Wizard of Oz poster on my bedroom wall. I didn’t even have the decency to frame it and surround it with minimalist white furniture. It’s laminated, and actually a bit crooked at the moment. I also own the Barbie special edition Dorothy Gale and Wicked Witch of the West dolls. Not from my childhood. They’re fairly recent acquisitions. I keep them in their boxes. (Gosh, if you’re reading this and you’re actually a friend of mine in real life, I’ll completely understand if you’d like to call it quits.)
6. Somewhere in the back of my brain, there’s a very stupid part of me that sort of subconsciously still believes that inanimate objects have feelings. Yes, intellectually I realise this is impossible, but my animal brain doesn’t. I blame all the TV shows and movies from my youth in which the child protagonist would leave his bedroom and all his toys would come to life… they’d just been pretending not to be real, but actually they all had little personalities and foibles and FEELINGS. (Pixar, you’ve got a lot to answer for.) Unfortunately, somewhere along the way this idea spilled over into objects other than dolls and teddy bears, and now if I use one of my toothbrushes more often than another one, I start to worry that I’m hurting some little toothbrushy feelings. Or if I take a book off a shelf in a bookstore but I take it from somewhere in the back, and not the first one in line (because the first one always has creases or dog-ears), I feel bad because I let the one from the back jump the queue when it was CLEARLY the turn of the one in front to be taken home by a nice customer. And if I don’t take the one at the front it will get self-esteem issues (which are only compounded by the fact that it’s already dog-eared and creased), and all the other books behind it will start to doubt its ability to lead. Oh look at Creasy, they’ll say. Passed over again. Right at the front of the queue and still can’t get picked up. And finally, when the umpteenth customer has failed to take Creasy to the cash register, the other books will rally behind his back and stage a coup d’etat. Books can be so cruel.
7. I love M*A*S*H. Like, I really love it. There may or may not be DVD box sets involved.

*Flip-flops, for those of you playing in Britishland.

There are some things that are cooler than all the other things. It’s undeniable, and if you disagree I will fight you.

Pirates. Pirates are cooler than most things. They have scars and eyepatches. They talk funny. They live on ships. They plunder.

Robots. Robots are awesome. Any kind of robot is awesome, whether it’s fictional, like C-3PO, or actually exists in real life, like R2-D2.

Dinosaurs are cool. Unicorns are REALLY COOL. Especially angry, vengeful unicorns that impale other creatures on their horns, e.g. Unicorn, Destroyer of Ponies.

Unicorn, Destroyer of Ponies (artwork by Devon McGrath)

But the  coolest of all these things by far is the zombie. Zombies are cooler than everything, including people. Including you.

So for the final assignment in my photography class last semester, which involved creating a 20-image narrative, I obviously had no choice but to stage my own zombie apocalypse. Anything else would be completely uncool.

It was kind of fortuitous that at the same time I was studying photography, my sister Sally was completing a make-up artistry course that involved a lot of special effects make-up (or SPFX as they call it in their fancy make-up business lingo). Zombie Apocalypse Day was a joint effort between me, Sally and Sally’s make-up artist friend Taryn. Sally and Taryn did a pretty amazeballs job on the SPFX make-up. If you ever need a make-up artist to gruesome you up, they are definitely the girls for the job. Be sure to check out Sal’s beauty blog, My Eyes Are Up Here.

It was an awesome day, mostly because I had the most enthusiastic and hilarious zombie models who donated their time to groan, moan and shuffle spookily for me and my camera. Big thanks to Jeremy, Chloe, Nick, Bruce, Jan, Michelle, Teena, Jewels, Adam, Roxy and my little nephew Jonah (who played Cute Little Boy Running Away From Big Scary Zombies – BRILLIANTLY, I might add. Four stars). And of course thanks to Sally and Taryn for their behind-camera artistic genius. Can’t wait for Brisbane Zombie Walk – we are going to be the best zombies in Brisvegas.

Er… slightly worried about the election next week, especially given results of last UK election. Choice seems to have been: smug Tory nobody particularly wanted, or boring, squishy Scot nobody particularly wanted*. Similarly, Australia’s current choice seems to be: creepy, completely unfunny, old-fashioned chap of questionable bathing suit preferences, or Australia’s first female Prime Minister, whom people unfortunately perceive to be a bit of a two-faced bizatch** for her mutiny of K-Rudd.

So I was thinking, perhaps for next week’s Australian federal election, in the spirit of true democracy, we could all nominate whomever we please to be our Prime Minister, and then choose between the people who get the most nominations. That seems a far fairer and more democratic process than being presented with only two people to choose from, especially when they’re both politicians. (Honestly, who really wants a politician running the country?)

Here are my nominations:

John Farnham

“What about the aaaage… of ree-hee-eeason?”

When the world is in crisis, when the threat of terrorism lurks ever nearer our shores, when the economy is a mess and we’re all floundering helplessly in a sinkhole of credit card debt and unemployment (we’re not really though)… what we need is a leader with a three-octave range who can belt out a high F.

John from Play School

“Tutti Frutti, oh Rudy…” I really used to love John when I was a kid. He had a very reassuring, grandfatherly sort of presence, and yet he was wildly funny (to four-year-old me, at least) and wasn’t above playing with rag dolls or making sailboats out of toilet roll holders. That’s the kind of down-home DIY ingenuity this country needs. I also quite liked Philip (Quast, who went on to be a super huge West End star, playing Javert in Les Miserables) and Benita. And Noni Hazlehurst. Look, I think anyone from Play School would do a great job.

David & Margaret from The Movie Show

You couldn’t separate these two, because I think they only really work as a double act. David would be the deputy, obviously, because Margaret’s a bit more hip and down with the kids. And, you know… awesome earrings.

Doctor Who

Yes, I know he’s British. Yes, I know he’s a 907-year-old timelord. Yes, I know he’s fictional. Still a better candidate than Tony Abbott.

(Also, yes… this was just an excuse to post an image of David tennant on my blog. *swoon*)

Alf Stewart

Stone the flamin’ crows! As Kevin “Fair Shake of the Sauce Bottle” Rudd has shown us, every Prime Minister needs a catchphrase or two. Get off the grass. Don’t come the raw prawn with me. Etc.

John Jarratt

Nobody – and I mean NOBODY – is going to mess with a country whose leader is that guy from Wolf Creek.

I’m painfully aware there is a severe shortage of female candidates listed here. Sorry. Post ‘em if you’ve got ‘em.

*Sorry, Mr Brown. I actually quite liked you. If I were a UK citizen, you’d have had my vote. Although I think I’d vote for a jacket potato if it had a Scottish accent.

** I actually quite like Julia Gillard also. I’m just a bit bummed out that our first ever female PM was sort unceremoniously dumped on us overnight, depriving us all of the opportunity to rally behind a decent female candidate and feel some sense of communal ownership of this big, historic moment for our country. Where’s our Obama moment, Julia? WHERE IS IT?!

I know I’m a bit late to the party on this one. That’s because I’ve been trying to hold in the frustration. Can’t.

First of all, let me start by listing the NON-REASONS, just to fend off any foreseeable accusations from squealing fangirls.

1. It’s NOT because I haven’t read the books and am criticising something I’m not even familiar with, like print journalists who moan about Twitter when it’s quite obvious they’ve never used it, are only abstractly familiar with the world of the interwebz and still file their pieces on slate tablet.

I have actually read Twilight, New Moon and Eclipse. After glowing reviews from friends and strangers, I bought all three of them at once to read on a 28-hour flight from London to Brisbane. I didn’t read Breaking Dawn, because judging by what I could glean from the army of 14-year-old girls who apparently ALL have their own channels on YouTube, Breaking Dawn was a whopping great disappointment to even the most hardcore Twilight fans.

That’s right, according to some people the last Twilight book was just TOO crap. (In my view this is akin to saying the latest episode of Lost is just TOO cryptic, the latest Marian Keyes book is just TOO female-centric, the latest Paris Hilton reality series/album/cosmetics line/cameo film appearance smacks just TOO much of her desperation to find a market in which people will finally see her as more than an embarrassing waste of the planet’s dwindling resources… and so forth.)

In the interest of total fairness, I probably will read Breaking Dawn at some point, but it’s something I’m going to have to work myself up to, like an MMR needle or the apocalypse.

2. It’s NOT because I am just a hater. I’m not. I’m a lover. See these insanely gushy blog posts: here, here, here, here and here.

(In fact, it actually pains me to write a diatribe about the lovingly crafted wordbaby of a hard-working author – especially a YA author, because I think it’s bloody marvellous that YA fiction is such a pumping genre these days. I love that it’s being taken seriously, and I love that kids and teenagers are reading perhaps more than they ever have, what with Harry Potter and Twilight and Zac Efron’s Twitter account and everything. Let me say it again so there can be no misunderstanding: I LOVE young adult fiction, and I’m not ashamed to say that when I walk into a bookstore I always make a beeline for the YA shelves. There is some seriously good, exciting stuff out there.)

3. It’s NOT because I think all vampire stories suck (terrible pun absolutely intended). I happen to be an old school Buffy and Angel fan. I also quite like what I’ve seen of True Blood. I liked Anne Rice books when I was younger, and Interview With the Vampire was the only film in which I ever found Tom Cruise attractive. Belieeeeeve me, I get the sexy vampire thing. (Who doesn’t like pale, wealthy older men with cardiac vulnerabilities?)

4. It’s not because I’m a literary snob. So not. My favourite book in the whole world is Little Women, ferchrissakes. It’s (essentially, and if we’re talking absolute-bare-bones) about a bunch of teenage girls mooning over boys, fighting with their siblings and wishing they could update their wardrobes more often. I’m currently reading Six Months in Sudan, about a young doctor who spends – that’s right – six months in Sudan, with Medecins Sans Frontieres. I’m also reading The Girl Who Could Fly. It’s about a girl who can fly. I am a book whore and I will read almost anything.

So now that I’ve laid my caveats on the table, here are my main issues with the series.

Bella undoes a lot of fine work

Maybe it’s because I’m a child of the nineties, and we were spoiled for strong female role models in entertainment (Buffy, Willow, Xena, Scully, Ripley, Sarah Connor, Ellie Linton, Hermione Granger, etc), but I actually find Bella Swan so repulsive as a female protagonist that I want to punch myself for having a vagina.

I’m not even going to talk about the fact that Bella is a Mary Sue. (Although if I were to mention it, I would mostly discuss the multiple boys who fall in love with her on her first day at her new school. I might also mention the girls she unwittingly enrages merely by being the object of said boys’ affections (the same girls who OMG totally want to be her BFF because, like, she’s so new and interesting). And the fact that her only discernable flaw is that she’s clumsy and seems to “attract trouble” (which only serves to further endear her to the LEGION of overprotective males in her life). And that she is apparently wildly attractive and fascinating to all the good people of Forks and yet has zero self-regard and is the most infuriatingly modest, self-effacing character ever written. Oh, and to round things off I might mention all the attempts to align her character and Edward’s with Cathy and Heathcliff, and with Romeo and Juliet, in what could possibly be the most facepalmingly unsubtle literary allusions in history. But I’m not going to talk about that, and you can’t make me.)

No. These are the things that really irk me about Bella Swan:

1. When Edward leaves her in New Moon (for “her own good”… *gag*), she goes mental. Not the good kind, either. It would be absolutely cool with me if she flipped out, tore up his photographs, scratched his CDs, cut up his t-shirts or whatever girls do when boys break up with them. Or even if she decided to really have at it and wallow… like, proper wallow, for a week or two weeks or you know, three or four weeks if she wanted to do a good job. But to totally break down, stop talking to your friends and family, stop going out and generally have the world’s biggest meltdown because your boyfriend has left you and therefore your life is no longer worth living… seriously, WTF? (Just to indulge my inner Whedon geek for a moment: Buffy had to kill her boyfriend and send him to hell in order to save the world. She took a couple of months to get over it and then got back on the motherloving Hellmouth to kill some demons. Get it together, Swan.)
2. Then, when she finally gets a grip and starts behaving like a normal teenage girl again, she decides to endanger her life by doing things like speeding on a motorcycle without a helmet and jumping off a cliff into the ocean. Not because she has discovered an interest in extreme sports (which would at least have meant she’d gotten a HOBBY), but because… wait for it… it makes her hear the sparkly boyfriend’s voice inside her head, telling her what a fucking moron she is. That’s right, girls… when your boyfriend dumps you and life is no longer worth living, try to get his attention by doing some REALLY FUCKED-UP SHIT.
3. She blames herself for everything that goes wrong.
4. She is constantly questioning how anyone as fabulously shiny as Edward could possibly fall for plain old her who apparently has nothing to offer. Her self-flagellation actually gets to the point of absurdity. Any concept of her own self worth is completely tied up in her relationship with Edward and how he feels about her.
5. This is more of a book irk than a Bella irk. The “love” between Bella and Edward that is shoved down the reader’s throat ad nauseum is told, not shown (my pet peeve in fiction), and actually bears no real resemblance to love. What it does look like is obsession. SO not the same thing.

Edward is one misdemeanour short of a restraining order

I hate to sound like a Middle American conservative librarian soccer “mom”, but if I had a teenage daughter I would be H-O-R-R-I-F-I-E-D to learn that her fictional crush was Edward “Emotional Abuser” Cullen. And yet I have learned there are mothers (plural! Lots of ‘em!) in the world who not only encourage their daughters to read the Twilight series and coo over their precocious spawn developing sweet little literary crushes; they actually read the series themselves and, creepily, share their teenagers’ love of the Sparkly One. This is such a widespread phenomenon that there is actually a name for these women – they call themselves ‘Twimoms’.

Let’s tally up Edward’s transgressions.

1. He sneaks into Bella’s room and watches her sleep. All the time. Even in the beginning, when he barely knows her. That’s creepy even if you aren’t a sparkly vampire lusting after your stalkee’s blood. It’s just creepy, okay? It’s creepy.
2. He follows her around EVERYWHERE and watches her CONSTANTLY. He can also read minds, conveniently, which helps him to monitor what Bella’s up to through the thoughts of her family and friends (since he’s unable read the thoughts of Bella herself… although he totally would if he could). Slight invasion of privacy, really.
3. He has his family keep tabs on her also. Since he has a psychic sister, he can even keep an eye on what she might do in the future. So that’s a pretty comprehensive stalker file he’s compiling.
4. He is possessive and controlling in really overt ways. He slashes her tyres so that she can’t go visit her shirtless wolfy friend. Of course, it’s all done under the banner of boyfriendly protectiveness, so that somehow makes it acceptable. Except that it’s bad and icky and TOTALLY UNACCEPTABLE.
5. He tells her who she’s allowed to be friends with, going so far as to forbid her from seeing Jacob. Are we starting to form a realistic picture of this relationship? Edward is a BAD BOYFRIEND.
6. This last one is probably a bit picky, since we are in fact talking about a vampire story, but… he’s so old. He’s like 108 years old. This wouldn’t be a problem except that he acts it. I mean he doesn’t clutch his back when he walks or keep his teeth in a glass of water on the bedside table, but he has very old-fashioned ideas and can be quite condescending toward Bella. I am totally into older men, but my limit is like a decade, a decade and a half, maybe two at a push… not ninety of them.

If I don’t stop here, I’ll go on forever, and this is already a hell of a long post. Congrats if you made it to the end.

So, I’ve had my rant. Over to you. Is it love? Obsession? Creepy, weird and setting  the foundations for the world’s first domestic abuse charges laid against a 108-year-old non-human? Or am I missing some vital message?

Flickr image from Shutterpillar‘s photostream.

Of course, it’s Telly who actually gets the best line in this. “It must be those angles put a smile on your face… not to mention the hypotenuse.” Brilliant.

• Funny cat photos 20%
• Funny cat videos 20%
• Stephen Fry 3%
• Ninjas who give advice 8%
• Porn 19%
• OMG TWILIGHT IS SO KEWL LOL 12%
• Creepy personal ads 5%
• Life coaches 11%
• Your gran facebooking you 2%