Hydrosonic

Months ago, Trump elicited guffaws in the non-Trumpist press and social media when he bragged about an amazing new “hydrosonic missile” purportedly under development. In the intervening time he has repeated the phrase—today, for instance:

Dear Leader never misspeaksNote how he uses both the correct and incorrect words. Very often when Trump misspeaks, he repeats the error and improvises on it briefly as if it were the word he actually intended to use. He is doing something similar here. The listener is meant to conclude that Trump did not make a mistake (months ago, when he first mentioned the “hydrosonic missile”); that, in fact, Trump never makes a mistake, never suffers even an innocent slip of the tongue, because the brilliant Donald Trump is just never wrong. The working assumption here, giving him the (undeserved) benefit of the doubt, is that Trump knows “hydrosonic” is … not wrong, no—just not the word some people use for it.

This brings to mind an exquisite footnote in Hannah Arendt’s The Origins of Totalitarianism. In a book laden with footnotes, this one drops before she is even out of the first page, and in fact is longer than the body text on that page. Here it is, in its entirety:

The “magic spell” that Hitler cast over his listeners has been acknowledged many times, latterly by the publishers of Hitlers Tischgespräche, Bonn, 1951 (Hitler’s Table Talks, American edition, New York, 1953; quotations from the original German edition). This fascination—“the strange magnetism that radiated from Hitler in such a compelling manner”—rested indeed “on the fanatical belief of this man in himself” (introduction by Gerhard Ritter, p. 14), on his pseudo-authoritative judgments about everything under the sun, and on the fact that his opinions—whether they dealt with the harmful effects of smoking or with Napoleon’s policies—could always be fitted into an all-encompassing ideology.

Fascination is a social phenomenon, and the fascination Hitler exercised over his environment must be understood in terms of the particular company he kept. Society is always prone to accept a person offhand for what he pretends to be, so that a crackpot posing as a genius always has a certain chance to be believed. In modern society, with its characteristic lack of discerning judgment, this tendency is strengthened, so that someone who not only holds opinions but also presents them in a tone of unshakable conviction will not so easily forfeit his prestige, no matter how many times he has been demonstrably wrong. Hitler, who knew the modern chaos of opinions from first-hand experience, discovered that the helpless seesawing between various opinions and “the conviction … that everything is balderdash” (p. 281) could best be avoided by adhering to one of the many current opinions with “unbending consistency.” The hair-raising arbitrariness of such fanaticism holds great fascination for society because for the duration of the social gathering it is freed from the chaos of opinions that it constantly generates. This “gift” of fascination, however, has only social relevance; it is so prominent in the Tischgespräche because here Hitler played the game of society and was not speaking to his own kind but to the generals of the Wehrmacht, all of whom more or less belonged to “society.” To believe that Hitler’s successes were based on his “powers of fascination” is altogether erroneous; with those qualities alone he would have never advanced beyond the role of a prominent figure in the salons. [The Origins of Totalitarianism (new edition with added prefaces): New York, Harcourt (Harvest), 1976, p. 306]

Granted, there is much here that does not apply directly to Trump—e.g., that the “fascination” is restricted to the leader’s inner circle, or that the leader picks only one idea and sticks with it despite evidence that undermines or even nullifies it, or that all his opinions fit into a broad ideology (unless one takes Trump-the-person to be an ideology). Trump is notorious for changing his tune repeatedly and shamelessly—i.e., without any visible or audible indication that he was saying something drastically or diametrically different mere days (or minutes) ago.

What does resonate, however, is the way the leader takes advantage of his adherents’ “opinion fatigue” and projects a certitude that they gladly accept and freely regurgitate, in sound bites and slogans. Any skepticism that might naturally be directed at a leader is magically redirected to anyone who expresses skepticism about the leader, or who merely reports facts that the leader has rejected as “fake.”

This is only one aspect of the Trump phenomenon, of course. One might spend a fruitful few minutes examining the play-acting that he and his followers engage in. He is, after all, a product of “reality TV,” a massive pretense millions have happily immersed themselves in; and he did have a long run of pretending to be a successful businessman. The crowds at Trump’s rallies resemble those at rock concerts more than they evoke images of a Nuremburg rally. But there are hard truths underlying his followers’ chants and antics, which can be seen in the symbols they bring to the events (e.g., Confederate flags) and the white supremacism, sexism, xenophobia, and resentments (of all sorts—e.g., resentment of those with expertise) that Trump has freed them to express publicly.

As Paul Farhi notes, the hydrosonic missile “does not exist.” It is just one of myriad things Donald Trump spends time talking about that do not exist. He has filled the public sphere and all of our lives with non-existent crap—Gresham’s Law applied to the national discourse.

* * * * *

A few pages after the footnote cited above, one encounters another stretch of text that resonates today:

Totalitarian movements are possible wherever there are masses who for one reason or another have acquired the appetite for political organization. Masses are not held together by a consciousness of common interest and they lack that specific class articulateness which is expressed in determined, limited, and obtainable goals. The term masses applies only where we deal with people who either because of sheer numbers, or indifference, or a combination of both, cannot be integrated into any organization based on common interest, into political parties or municipal governments or professional organizations or trade unions. Potentially, they exist in every country and form the majority of those large numbers of neutral, politically indifferent people who never join a party and hardly ever go to the polls.

It was a characteristic of the rise of the Nazi movement in Germany and of the Communist movements in Europe after 1930 that they recruited their members from this mass of apparently indifferent people whom all other parties had given up as too apathetic or too stupid for their attention. The result was that the majority of their membership consisted of people who never before had appeared on the political scene. This permitted the introduction of entirely new methods into political propaganda and indifference to the arguments of political opponents; these movements not only placed themselves outside and against the party system as a whole, they found a membership that had never been reached, never been “spoiled” by the party system. Therefore they did not need to refute opposing arguments and consistently preferred methods which ended in death rather than persuasion, which spelled terror rather than conviction. They presented disagreements as invariably originating in deep natural, social, or psychological sources beyond the control of the individual and therefore beyond the power of reason. This would have been a shortcoming only if they had sincerely entered into competition with other parties; it was not if they were sure of dealing with people who had reason to be equally hostile to all parties. [The Origins of Totalitarianism, pp. 311–12]

Leaving aside the question of the legitimacy or correctness of the views enunciated by Trump’s core (or, one might say, hard-core) followers, it would seem reasonable to describe these opinions as simpleminded (or, at the very least, simple). This observation would jibe with Arendt’s description of the masses that entered politics for the first time in the periods and places cited above. Also striking is her assertion that these people had no interest in refuting opposing arguments, preferring intimidation to persuasion.

That so many of today’s Trumpists believe in a virtually unlimited Second Amendment right to “bear arms” and are not shy about showing up in force, armed with semiautomatic rifles and other weaponry, at politically sensitive venues (demonstrations, legislature buildings, locations where votes are being tabulated, the homes of government officials, etc.), and that so many of them utter death threats in person and online against their enemies (viz, fellow citizens who disagree with them), should be seen as a seriously troubling sign of a slide toward terrorism in US politics. It may be tempting to dismiss the antics of armed citizens as theater (as noted above) and nothing more. But history is clearly warning us that we ignore such manifestations of the totalitarian (or authoritarian) mindset at our own peril.

One final note: Trump, the Republican Party, and those who support them are dedicated to maintaining—and expanding—minority rule in the United States of America. After decades of ruthlessly exploiting the structural defects in the US system that allow for the less numerous to work their will on the entire polity, instituting less popular policies rather than enacting the wishes of most of the citizenry, the emergence of a previously inert or malleable base sympathetic to a “strong man” (or, more precisely, a lockstep authoritarian clique) has added a new arrow (so-called “populism”) to the GOP’s quiver, paradoxically supplementing the virtually untrammeled power of Big Money.

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Spiders

It appears that my beloved baseball team, the Cleveland Indians, is seriously considering a name change.

While many thought the only problem with the team’s image was the ignobly grinning Chief Wahoo, others insisted the name itself is racist, even if not intentionally derogatory (in fact, it is purported to have been adulatory).

The momentum achieved by Black Lives Matter has spilled over into other areas of public life that have managed to escape change (e.g., the local football club, the Washington Redskins, is also—it says—looking at changing its name). This may finally be the moment to redress these persistent sore points in what should be a commonly enjoyed pastime, free from the stresses and slights of everyday life.

With that I endorse the nascent movement encouraging the Cleveland franchise to resurrect a name it used more than a century ago: the Cleveland Spiders. This was the team’s name when the fabled Penobscot Indian Louis Sockalexis thrilled Clevelanders with his dazzling play. It is said the team later became officially known as the Indians because of his association with it. Be that as it may, times have changed, and one does not have to be an Indian to feel that the name is insensitive.

If the popularity of Cleveland Spiders T-shirts in online stores, before serious talk of renaming arose, is any indication, the name change may actually be welcomed by a large portion of the fan base. Will it be universally liked? No. What is? “Cleveland Indians” certainly is not, yet it has managed to persist. Will it be sufficiently liked? I think it would be.

Someone (I wish I could credit them by name) has nicely incorporated the current Cleveland logo (the “block C”) into a Spiders logo. And to replace the century of affectionately referring to the team as “the Tribe,” we can call them the Racks, short for arachnids, with an echo of “Cleveland Rocks.”

The Cleveland Spiders. Catch the Yankees and the Red Sox in your beautifully engineered web. Race around the bases on your crazy eight legs. Be proud of your place in the ecosystem and in the moral universe.

You can do it, Cleveland. You will not be destroying history—you will be making it.

If, however, Cleveland insists on naming its team after an ethnic group, let it be the Cleveland Slovenians, in honor of the fact that the city has been home to the largest population of Slovenians outside of Slovenia.

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Conway

disappearing man in Game of Life

Randall Munroe’s homage to Conway, riffing on Game of Life.

I am not a mathematician, but I played one on TV in a magazine—Quantum: The Magazine of Math and Science. That is how I learned about John Horton Conway, who passed away this week from complications of COVID-19.

Conway wrote five articles for Quantum, which was aimed primarily at students. The pieces might not have seen the light of day but for the midwifery of Quantum’s US Editor in Chief for Mathematics, William P. Thurston, a Princeton colleague. To accommodate Conway’s work habits, Thurston would come to Conway’s office and plop himself down next to him, staying there until the article was finished—so the story goes.

The computer simulation Game of Life is probably his claim to fame in the wider world of nonmathematicians. Absent Quantum even I might have stumbled upon it. It seems anyone with a computer in those days (i.e., the days of yore, aka the late 20th century) knew about it and could run it on their crummy PCs—it packed a lot of bang for its computational buck.

John Conway’s contributions to Quantum’s “Mathematical Surprises” column:

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Terminology

Albert Camus“Please answer me quite frankly. Are you absolutely convinced it’s plague?”

“You’re stating the problem wrongly. It’s not a question of the term I use; it’s a question of time.”

“Your view, I take it,” the Prefect put in, “is this. Even if it isn’t plague, the prophylactic measures enjoined by law for coping with a state of plague should be put into force immediately?”

“If you insist on my having a ‘view,’ that conveys it accurately enough.”

The doctors confabulated. Richard was their spokesman:

“It comes to this. We are to take the responsibility of acting as though the epidemic were plague.”

This way of putting it met with general approval.

“It doesn’t matter to me,” Rieux said, “how you phrase it. My point is that we should not act as if there were no likelihood that half the population would be wiped out; for then it would be.”

—Albert Camus, The Plague (Vintage International) (pp. 50–51). Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.

It matters not whether Trump’s behavior is intentionally malevolent or incidentally malicious; whether he is clinically or colloquially insane; whether his narcissism is unprecedented or typical of autocrats. It is not a question of what terms we use.

The nation’s governors, career bureaucrats (long-serving, long-suffering, overwhelmingly competent), and others have been hard at work, trying to minimize the effects of COVID-19. The way they have stepped up and are doing their jobs in the face of the unnatural disaster occupying the White House—who wasted time with the profligacy he has shown in every aspect of his shameful life—cannot be overpraised. They are all acting as though the person in charge is wholly incapable of doing the right thing. They need not say it out loud.*

Thankfully, recovering Republicans like George Conway and Rick Wilson are saying it out loud. The ever deferential mainstream media at long last are sort of saying it out loud. “It” is this: Trump cares only about himself; Trump lies like the rest of us breathe; Trump is nasty to anyone who does not do his bidding; Trump’s ego is cosmic while his curiosity is micron-thin; Trump’s attention span is measured in milliseconds; Trump lives in the everlasting present available only to those who are super-rich or pseudo-super-rich; Trump’s ignorance is on a par with his unearned certitude; the chronologically 73-year-old Trump possesses deep antiwisdom, the smart-alecky “street smarts” of someone who got it from the movies and who would not last a week on real streets; and so on.

“It” encompasses a lot of fetid stuff. And it has been there from the very beginning. And it will be an eternal mystery how anyone missed it, it was so huge.
__________
*Some of them cannot even say objectively true non-Trump-centric things out loud and stay where they can do some good (such is the petty petulance of the man-boy up top).

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Rot

Screenshot from NYTimes 20191219
Credit: New York Times

Donald John Trump was impeached yesterday. Finally.

He got off with a mere two counts, but that is enough to tag him forever as a derelict thug.

More importantly, perhaps, the impeachment process made glaringly obvious the thorough decrepitude of the Republican party. It is rotten to the core.

In June of 2017 your basement dweller (BD) posted an assessment of Trump’s first four months in office. In it he posited that while Trump is obviously a problem, he is not the only problem, or even the main one. The real problem is that he is supported by a vast crew of enablers, although BD had previously allowed for the possibility that the Republican party would restrain Trump’s more egregious behavior to some extent.

Alas, it was not to be. The party of Trump capped off their attempts to derail the impeachment investigation with a concerted display of sophomoric rants in the House chamber. Each Republican speaker seemed intent on outdoing the previous in mangling facts, twisting logic, abusing history, and torturing the English language.*

The soulless suit that runs the Senate has signaled he has no intention of running a proper trial there.** The chief justice of the Supreme Court, who will ostensibly preside over the trial, cannot reasonably be counted on to enforce any modicum of constitutional rigor.

In sum, the Democrats did their duty, at whatever cost. The Republicans continue to shamelessly beshit themselves in lockstep on behalf of Dear Leader. The republic accustoms itself to debasement.

__________
*They take their cues from Dear Leader. At Salon several health care professionals examined the six-page rant Trump sent Nancy Pelosi on the eve of impeachment.
**As Pelosi said today, “I don’t think anybody expected that we would have a rogue president and a rogue leader in the Senate at the same time.”

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Subsolar

“The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done is that which shall be done: and there is no new thing under the sun.” (Ecclesiastes 1:9 )

In an autobiographical fragment, Mark Twain recounted his time on the lecture circuit in the early 1870s. His stage appearances alternated with those of Horace Greeley, Josh Billings, Louis Agassiz, and others less notable. Some could be counted on to fill the house; others were “house emptiers.”

“There were two women,” Twain writes, “who should have been house emptiers—Olive Logan and Kate Field—but during a season or two they were not. They charged $100, and were recognized house-fillers for certainly two years.”

Twain felt he knew why Kate Field had her moment of fame, but Olive Logan … She strikes a peculiar chord here in the 21st century. “Olive Logan’s notoriety grew out of—only the initiated knew what,” says Twain.

Apparently it was a manufactured notoriety, not an earned one. She did write and publish little things in newspapers and obscure periodicals, but there was no talent in them, and nothing resembling it. In a century they would not have made her known. Her name was really built up out of newspaper paragraphs set afloat by her husband, who was a small-salaried minor journalist. During a year or two this kind of paragraphing was persistent; one could seldom pick up a newspaper without encountering it.

“It is said that Olive Logan has taken a cottage at Nahant, and will spend the summer there.”

“Olive Logan has set her face decidedly against the adoption of the short skirt for afternoon wear.”

“The report that Olive Logan will spend the coming winter in Paris is premature. She has not yet made up her mind.”

Twain provides two more examples that we will skip. The upshot is that Olive Logan’s name was almost universally known, but it was not known for what. Every now and then a person from the boonies would pose the simple question:

“Who is Olive Logan?”

The listeners were astonished to find that they couldn’t answer the question. It had never occurred to them to inquire into the matter.

“What has she done?”

The listeners were dumb again. They didn’t know. They hadn’t inquired.

“Well, then, how does she come to be celebrated?”

“Oh, it’s about something. I don’t know what. I never inquired, but I supposed everybody knew.” (The Autobiography of Mark Twain, Volume 1, University of California Press, 2010, pp. 151–2)

And so please do not ask me how any of the Kardashians came to be famous, or why they continue to be. Just know they did not invent the trick of being famous for being famous.

* * * * *

Now let us turn to Petroleum Vesuvius Nasby (né David Ross Locke).

Nasby was Twain’s companion at times on the lecture circuit, and Twain’s admiring account of his stage presence is well worth reading. The editors of the three-volume Twain autobiography do us the favor of telling us who this guy was:

David Ross Locke (1833–88) left school at an early age and was apprenticed to a printer, after which he worked on a succession of newspapers. At the outbreak of the Civil War he was the owner and editor of the Bucyrus (Ohio) Journal. It was not until a year later that he published his first satirical piece as Petroleum V. Nasby, an ignorant, bigoted, and boorish character who promoted liberal causes by seeming to oppose them.

Yes, the nineteenth-century Colbert Report.

Nasby (like Colbert) was a true celebrity. According to an obituary, cited by the editors:

These political satires […] were copied into newspapers everywhere, quoted in speeches, read around camp-fires of Union armies and exercised enormous influence in molding public opinion North in favor of vigorous prosecution of the war. Secretary [of the Treasury] Boutwell declared in a speech at Cooper Union, New York, at the close of the war that the success of the Union army was due to three causes—the army, the navy, and the Nasby letters. … These letters were a source of the greatest delight to President Lincoln, who always kept them in his table drawer for perusal at odd times. (Vol. 1, p. 506)

* * * * *

So, is there no new thing under the sun? Rather than try to prove the negative, we can surely agree that much of what passes for novelty is in fact a rediscovery. Forgetting and remembering, back and forth, over and over, such is human life.

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Clausectomy

Josh Marshall, among many others, noted the tendentious editing perpetrated a month ago by the Don’s personal attorney general in ever so briefly summarizing the Mueller report, which was finally released today, sort of (lots of missing stuff).

What William Barr chose to quote: “[T]he investigation did not establish that members of the Trump Campaign conspired or coordinated with the Russian government in its election interference activities.”

Robert Mueller’s full sentence: “Although the investigation established that the Russian government perceived it would benefit from a Trump presidency and worked to secure that outcome, and that the Campaign expected it would benefit from information stolen and released through Russian efforts, the investigation did not establish that members of the Trump Campaign conspired or coordinated with the Russian government in its election interference activities.”

Leaving aside the fact that the campaign had numerous contacts with the Russian government, as documented in the Mueller report (in fact, as noted in sentence immediately preceding the one cited above!); and forgetting for the moment that “did not establish” does not mean “was not the case” (what were the Trumpists doing with the Russians, exchanging recipes?): anyone who pays attention to American public life will not be particularly surprised by this smarmy editorial decision. A certain sector of the political spectrum has a thing about introductory clauses in nuanced sentences: they hate them. No, that’s not right. They ignore them. In their view, not only do they have no force, these words simply do not exist.

I give you the poster child for grammatical butchery that is now all too broadly accepted (universally accepted in some quarters): “the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.” The vaunted Second Amendment. Or rather, part of it. The complete sentence is sophisticated, unsuited to our crude times, the first thirteen words of which can be skipped over ad libitum: “A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State …” Who needs ’em? (The words or the militias.*)

The phrase “well regulated” is particularly germane, and most emphatically ignored by the gun nuts. Regulations that circumscribe the possession and use of armaments—imagine that!

N.B. A quick search determined that Frank Balsinger at Scholars & Rogues coined the word “clausectomy” in 2015. The clause in question comes at the end of Article VI, paragraph 3 of the Constitution, but the idea is the same: if you don’t like it, ignore it.

__________
*The “militias” in the Second Amendment have evolved into the “National Guard”—“a reserve military force,” says Wikipedia, “composed of National Guard military members or units of each state and the territories of Guam, the Virgin Islands, Puerto Rico, and the District of Columbia, for a total of 54 separate organizations. All members of the National Guard of the United States are also members of the militia of the United States as defined by 10 U.S.C. § 246. National Guard units are under the dual control of the state and the federal government.” On the other hand, the “militias” of popular imagination are the whack-jobs holed up in the forests and forlorn regions of the continental U.S. See, for instance, this. The lede: “Before the F.B.I. arrested Larry Hopkins, the leader of the right-wing militia that detained migrant families in the New Mexico desert, he’d had so many run-ins with the law that his police record stretched across much of the United States.” God bless America.

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Deliverance

Where, if we could, would we send him,
this heartless ignorant shell of a man?

Someplace without clean running water,
neither hot nor cold, no water at all,
let him clean himself in the dust by the road
like a sparrow, but without feathers or beak.

Someplace where the sound of children crying
never stops, never settles into a groove,
continues randomly changing in volume and pitch,
mispronouncing his name, w for r.

Someplace far from the nearest golden commode,
out in the open air without a golf cart or limo,
his mincing feet pinched in his Gucci shoes,
silk shorts filling with liquid and solid filth.

Maybe no place at all, floating off like a bad smell,
wandering the earth like a recurring nightmare,
startling himself awake in a cold sweat,
falling back to sleep not remembering his name.

Maybe an even better no-place-at-all,
a point in Euclidean space,
dimensionless,
.

That is where I, at least, would send him,
if I thought that would solve the problem.

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Leftness

Have I ever mounted a bicycle from the right?

No, and I do not recall seeing anyone else do it. “Why do you ask?” I ask myself.

Blame it on The Third Policemen—specifically, the fecund imagination (or is it boundless wisdom?) of Sergeant Pluck. Let us pick up the thread as he discusses certain peculiarities of Policeman Fox, who has yet to appear in the story, and the fundamental problem of right versus left:

‘I think he has an opinion that there is a turn to the right down the road and likely that is what he is after, he thinks the best way to find it is to die and get all the leftness out of his blood. I do not believe there is a right-hand road and if there is it would surely take a dozen active men to look after the readings alone, night and morning. As you are perfectly aware the right is much more tricky than the left, you would be surprised at all the right pitfalls there are. We are only at the beginning of our knowledge of the right, there is nothing more deceptive to the unwary.’

Naturally, our narrator is as baffled as we are, but it all becomes clear, if mud is such:

‘I did not know that.’
The Sergeant opened his eyes wide in surprise.
‘Did you ever in your life,’ he asked, ‘mount a bicycle from the right?’
‘I did not.’
‘And why?’
‘I do not know. I never thought about it.’
He laughed at me indulgently.
‘It is nearly an insoluble pancake,’ he smiled, ‘a conundrum of inscrutable potentialities, a snorter.’ (The Third Policeman, Ch. 10)

The Third Policeman cover

It is hard not to think of this pancake every morning and every evening as I mount my bicycle. Is this a universal truth, an eternal verity that has been hiding in plain sight my whole life?

Because our species is designed to seek patterns and/or meaning in what we encounter, the thought floated upward: maybe this predilection predates the machine age. Did I ever see a person mount a horse from the right? No, not in any movie or television show, as far as I can recall. My experience with real-life horse mounting is scant—I did mount and ride a pony at Uncle Jack’s farm in Chardon, Ohio, when I was a kid, and my siblings did as well, all from the left, I would bet but cannot, of course, be 100% sure. One of my brothers is left-handed, yet he almost certainly mounted from the left as the rest of us did.

What does this mean, if true? What does it mean in any case? I do not know, even after thinking about it.

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Track-me-not

Slate has started plastering an alert over their home page on my first visit of the day:

Slate ad blocker BS

The fact is, I do not block ads. I see a lot of ads online, all day, every day (I see them, e.g., at Slate). I do use a tool called Privacy Badger to disrupt a site’s (and/or their advertisers’) use of tracking scripts. There is a difference, Slate people.

Just as I do not like people following me on the street, I do not appreciate people following me around online.

Show me your ads, if you must. But you will have to use old-fashioned guesswork or other non-intrusive tools to target them at me.

Addendum 2018.01.15: Slate just launched a redesigned site, and the hectoring has stopped (at least for now).

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