In 1995, a SAIS student magazine called Sighs became Sighs.com, the news clearing house for that year’s graduating class. Over the years, the site collected contributed emails and party pictures and travel writing and wedding announcements and then baby pictures. Obscurity was its friend — if you didn’t know the site existed, you would never find it. It was linked to from the SAIS main site, but you had to dig deep.

Then Google happened. Overnight, Sighs.com was a click away from every employer’s resumé check. For many SAIS alums, the site held their only web mention, and for some, that meant cross-dressing pictures. In other cases, weddings had soured, or banter had lost its context, so it became imperative to shield this little extended family album from strangers. Sigh.com’s archives now hide behind a passwordOh hell, the password to the archives only exists to keep out bots, really, so you might as well know it. User ID is “paul” and password is “wolfowitz”, in honor of our dean at the time. If you are offended by nudity or explicit sexual acts, then this site is perfectly safe to visit.. In any case, its heyday is probably over, with class spirit now supplanted by individual lasting friendships.

Bloggers too have had to deal with the privacy needs of friends that appear in supporting roles, or at least many have made a stab at pretending to. I myself have protected unusual names to spare them an unflattering Google hit, while other bloggers, such as James Lileks or Francis Strand, employ nicknames for their cast.

In doing so, bloggers have stumbled upon (or deliberately employ) a nugget that racier 19th century writers knew well: Masking identities makes for addictive reading, especially if there is a suspicion that public figures are involved.

I have a conceit that the private lives of celebrities hold no sway over me, and I am greatly aided in this pursuit by being completely incapable of recognizing the famous in New York, let alone Stockholm, despite plenty of supposed exposureThe only celebrity I have ever spotted unaided was Jim Jarmusch, on the corner of 7th and Ave A, at 2 am in the morning on my way back from 7B, and only because we were in danger of colliding.. And yet, and yet, I confess to having browsed Aftonbladet twice now in unsuccessful bids to find out what party Francis might have been to.

Anyway, I am off to Belgium for the weekend, for a family reunion of sorts, and also to attend the wedding feast of F. and her beloved N. F. and I go back a long way, of course.