Stalking in the Amazon

A few weeks ago while engaging in my Sunday morning ritual (or would-be ritual if I could pull myself out of bed on a more regular basis) of people watching and eavesdropping under the guise of reading, I came across an article in The New York Times Magazine written by Wendy McClure. Had it not been written by McClure, upon whom I have a total girl crush, I probably would have kept flipping in search of pretty things and listening to the hilarious convo about Charnock going on a few tables to the left. Anway, in the piece McClure confesses that she is a "compulsive Wish List Lurker," looking up the Amazon wish lists of "crushes, dates, boyfriends and exes." The piece had me laughing, but it also made me a little paranoid. I'll cop to searching Amazon wish lists of people I know from time to time and, on occasion, making certain discoveries I'd wished I had not. These discoveries are what keep me from searching on a more regular basis. I have a wish list, but I use it more or less as a reminder for myself. Things I'd like to purchase, but will surely forget unless I add them. But now Wendy has me wondering: And what does mine say about me, anyway? Am I going to think twice before adding the pantless Homer hanging air freshener, the Best of George Michael or Patricia Cornwell's newest book? What would my boss think if he saw that I wanted Cunt: A Declaration of Indepedence? Or, worse, what would he think if he knew that I'd seen his wish list. And what if no one even thinks enough to Amazon stalk me? I'll be honest, though, the Amazon wish list search option kept me from going out with a guy who had this book AND this one on the same list. So, I guess I should be saying, "Thank you Amazon.com," and wondering just what kind of church this guy was planning to start. And you know what? Screw it - until a few days ago, I had Breakin' and Breakin' 2: Electric Boogaloo on my list, too.