E-mail from the Twilight Zone

IT WAS time to change e-mail addresses. I'd kept the old one for 15 years, through stays in three cities, and had stuck with it because everybody knew it. But e-mail addresses, unlike cheeses, do not improve with age. My old provider was outdated. Its dowdy domain name evoked fanny packs and Beanie Babies. And I'd come to dread logging in, because of that voice declaring, for the hundred millionth time, "You've got mail!"

So I finally broke down a few weeks back, and followed the herd to the newer, sleeker, nimbler Gmail. It's a clear improvement. But every advance in technology also opens up whole new vistas of absurdity.

While America Online calls attention to itself by forcing sound effects and histrionic news stories on its users, the low-hassle Gmail, owned by Google, makes money by tailoring ads to individuals. At first, these ads feel intrusive, for they're triggered by the contents of a user's e-mail. When one friend wrote to make dinner plans, for instance, his message arrived with a plug for Crate & Barrel table linens. Not a bad guess, though we were eating out.

But any connection to reality breaks down quickly. When another friend canceled drinks after falling sick while traveling, an accompanying ad spoke darkly of "what's really coming out of your kitchen faucet." A third friend wrote to tell me about an upcoming road race, and an ad to the right promised to "prevent runner's diarrhea."

It gets weirder from there. I didn't take it personally when a message reminding me of a routine dentist's appointment prompted an ad for a gutter cleaning service. More curious was a message that mentioned a friend with a common Jewish name; the ad on the side touted the prophetic teachings of Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel. I wondered: Which search keywords did Heschel's followers buy? Is one of them "Berkowitz"? If not, what secret algorithm placed this ad next to that e-mail?

Internet users are a fickle bunch, and yesterday's charming quirk is today's cliche that can be borne no longer. (Once more with feeling: "You've got mail!") And as Google, the search firm with the "don't be evil" ethos, flexes its muscle across the Internet, users may turn against the off-kilter ads for Yorkie puppies that show up alongside e-mails about walking around a city.

But then, free riders can't be choosers. Gmail costs nothing. If its ads were targeted any more closely, the service's 100-odd million users might feel as if under surveillance. For now, at least, it's entertaining to read ads that form a portrait of one's own world - as seen through the eyes of a robot built by space aliens.

DANTE RAMOS