A while ago, I faulted the annual letter that some folks send to update their friends and relatives about the year they experienced. Several people explained that they like receiving an annual letter from relatives and friends because it helps them stay in touch. My argument was not with the idea of an annual letter. I am all for sharing our lives. I disparaged the annual missive for two reasons. First, the annual letters/emails I receive are generic. Second, they do not include either negative happenings or the mundane. Certainly, people suffer from diseases, economic set backs, and painful emotional situations. Our daily circumstances constitute the bulk of our lives. However, annual letters that I receive are perpetually joyful...like receiving Christmas tree news. I am tempted to respond with my own year in review that would read something like:

Dear [insert recipient's name], I am writing especially to let you know what occur ed this year with our family. Our oldest entered [insert name of prestigious, Ivy League college]. He also won the [insert name of prestigious award], achieved outstanding grades, played several instruments, and avoided acne. Our other children, unfortunately, are TV-watching, game- playing slackers. In all modesty, our family contributed toward solving world hunger this year by again overeating. We also watched TV, microwaved frozen dinners, and tried to finish cross word puzzles. [Insert recipient's name], I am sure you and your family are also doing well. If not, please do not ruin our holiday season by sharing negative news. We will write again next year with another cheery, annual letter. Toodles.

I don't actually respond. Mostly because the brief pleasure I would experience would not justify the meanness. I much prefer receiving a holiday card that contains a brief message that wishes us good tidings. "Hi, I am thinking of you this holiday. Bye."

I recently agreed to label acquaintances, colleagues, neighbors and actual friends as my friends. After completing a Facebook profile that required my treating practical strangers as pals, I realized that I had also divulged a lot of personal information. I finally figured out how to limit shared information. Then a distant relative found me by performing a name search. She too is now my friend. Then I learned that by signing on with a profile group, I could receive alerts about who had searched my profile. Hmm. That put a real damper on my willingness to search names from my past --'good for the gander.' Joining also forced me to consider just how much of myself I am willing to share on the internet. I decided that I am comfortable giving up de-identified information where I am treated merely as a statistic. My reading habits are not okay for collection because, frankly, I believe they are susceptible to abuse. I recall my Mom telling me that during the 1950's she purchased a subscription to the Daily Worker for one of her brothers after he vehemently disputed her criticism that we Americans do not enjoy all our guaranteed freedoms. She won the argument after he lost his government job. I recently resisted signing up for free, online access to the New York Times because registration requires providng personal information --I suppose I could just make stuff up. Despite privacy promised by the Times', data can be accessed by accident or through hacking, litigation, or because the information collector decides to change the rules. I also am fearful of the slippery slope. We get used to giving up some information and then some more and more. I am finally reconciled to calling acquintances friends on Facebook since the term means anyone I accept or who accepts me through Facebook. However, I am not yet reconciled to my life being an Openbook.

Postscript: After writing this observation, I realized that should I choose to fly screening technology will result in my private parts not being so private.