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405 results for “SecondThought”
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And yes, _yesteryesterday_ was my shitty attempt at coining an #English word equivalent to the #Portuguese word _anteontem_ meaning the day before yesterday.
I did this to save characters.
But on a second thought foreyesterday and anteyesterday were probably better candidates.
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And yes, _yesteryesterday_ was my shitty attempt at coining an #English word equivalent to the #Portuguese word _anteontem_ meaning the day before yesterday.
I did this to save characters.
But on a second thought foreyesterday and anteyesterday were probably better candidates.
-
And yes, _yesteryesterday_ was my shitty attempt at coining an #English word equivalent to the #Portuguese word _anteontem_ meaning the day before yesterday.
I did this to save characters.
But on a second thought foreyesterday and anteyesterday were probably better candidates.
-
And yes, _yesteryesterday_ was my shitty attempt at coining an #English word equivalent to the #Portuguese word _anteontem_ meaning the day before yesterday.
I did this to save characters.
But on a second thought foreyesterday and anteyesterday were probably better candidates.
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@davidgerard @pikesley Wow. Because I saw this first on @MNNHNewsEnglish I just assumed the whole thing was a silly prank. On second thought, even if they are serious, it still won’t amount to much more than a prank. #YouCantMakeThisShitUp
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Let us behave like elders and intellectuals in this House of Elders, and give this sensitive issue a second thought : Jaya Bachchan, SP MP
#TransgenderBill -
Some personal thoughts from the #Blockstack event follow.
First, the internet doesn’t strip us of #privacy. It only makes it easy for you to broadcast your naked self, without any second thought, to be globally mirrored to CDNs for all eternity.
If we want more privacy, we need to make it easier for people to be translucent than transparent, make what we think is right the trivial option.
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I look at this photo of this Mar-A-Lago faced woman, and my first thought is, I'm ready for a remake of #Zoolander with #MAGA women in the lead, doing a Blue Steel pose. It would be anti-fascist, vicious, (in the way the #Onion is) and funny as could be. @AmandaMarcotte in recognition of her fantastic #Salon essay on the aesthetic (anti-aesthetic) of that face. My second thought is, of course, disgust.
#BenStiller, you listening?
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“Privacy is rarely lost in one fell swoop. It is usually eroded over time, little bits dissolving almost imperceptibly until we finally begin to notice how much is gone.”*…
… And now, indeed, we’re beginning to notice. Hana Lee Goldin surveys the state of play– who’s buying our personal information, what they’re using it for, and how the system works behind the screen– and considers our options…
Sometime in the mid-2000s, most of us started handing over pieces of ourselves to the internet without giving the exchange a second thought. We created email accounts, signed up for social media, bought things online, downloaded apps, swiped loyalty cards, connected fitness trackers, stored photos in the cloud, and agreed to terms of service that almost none of us have ever read in full. We did this thousands of times over two decades and counting, and each interaction felt small enough to be inconsequential.
But the accumulation is enormous. More than 6 billion people now use the internet, and each one makes an estimated 5,000 digital interactions per day. Most of those interactions happen without our conscious awareness: a GPS ping, a page load, an app opening, a browser cookie refreshing, a device checking in with a cell tower. The average person in 2010 made an estimated 298 digital interactions per day. In fifteen years, that number multiplied more than sixteenfold. Those digital interactions produce records that can persist indefinitely, stored, copied, indexed, bought, sold, and combined with other records to build profiles of extraordinary detail.
If we’ve been online since the late 1990s or early 2000s, our data footprint can include social media accounts we’ve created, online purchases we’ve made, forums we’ve posted in, loyalty cards we’ve used, and apps we’ve installed going back decades. Some of that information lives on platforms we’ve long forgotten. Some of it was collected by companies that have since been acquired or dissolved, with our data potentially passing to successor entities we’ve never heard of. The digital life most of us have been living for 15 to 25 years has produced a layered, evolving archive that only grows more valuable to the people who buy and sell it as time goes on.
Most of us sense that something is off about all of this. In a 2023 survey, Pew Research found that roughly eight in ten Americans feel they have little to no control over the data companies collect about them, 71% are concerned about government data use, and 67% say they understand little to nothing about what companies are doing with their personal information. The concern is real and widespread. And so is the feeling of helplessness: 60% of Americans believe it’s impossible to go through daily life without having their data tracked. The unease is there. What’s missing is a clear picture of what’s happening on the other side of the transaction…
[Goldin explains what data is being collected and shared, and by whom; how the data is managed and trafficked; how its being used (by insurance and financial companies, employers and landlords, retailers, AI companies, governments, and criminals); and how “inferred” data is used to augment the “hard” data. It’s chilling. She then puts the issue into context, and discusses we we can– and cannot– do about it…]
… The philosopher Helen Nissenbaum has a framework for what’s happening here: contextual integrity. The idea is that privacy isn’t about secrecy. We share information willingly all the time, when the context fits. We tell our doctor about a health condition because we expect that information to stay within the medical relationship. We search for symptoms on a health website because we assume that search won’t follow us into an insurance application. In the current data economy, that’s exactly the kind of boundary that dissolves, because the company collecting the data and the company buying it are operating in completely different contexts.
This is an information literacy problem as much as a privacy problem. Information literacy is usually framed around consumption: evaluating sources, questioning claims, recognizing bias in what we read and watch. But every time we interact with a digital service, we’re also producing information: generating a record that will be read, interpreted, scored, and acted on by organizations we may never interact with directly. Many of us have gotten better at questioning the information that comes at us: checking sources, noticing bias, and recognizing when something is trying to sell us a conclusion. But we haven’t developed equivalent habits around the information that flows from us: where it goes after we hand it over, who reads the record, what incentives they have, and what conclusions they draw. The gap between what we think we’re consenting to and what we’ve agreed to in practice is where the real exposure lives, and the system is designed to keep that gap invisible.
One of the reasons the “so what” question is hard to answer with action is that opting out of data collection often means opting out of participation. Declining a social media platform’s terms of service means not using the platform. Refusing location permissions can mean losing access to navigation, ride-sharing, weather, and delivery apps. Choosing not to create an account can mean paying more, seeing less, or being locked out of services that have become essential infrastructure for work, communication, healthcare, banking, and education.
The architecture of digital consent treats data sharing as a binary: agree to the terms or don’t use the product. There’s rarely a middle option that allows us to use a service while limiting what data gets collected and where it goes. The result is that the “choice” to share data often functions as a condition of entry into daily life rather than an informed negotiation. We’re not handing over data because we’ve weighed the tradeoff and decided it’s fair. We’re handing it over because the alternative is exclusion from services we rely on.
This is the structural context behind the Pew Research Center finding that more than half of Americans believe it’s impossible to go through daily life without being tracked. For many of us, it isn’t possible, at least not without significant inconvenience or sacrifice. The question isn’t whether we can avoid data collection entirely, because for the vast majority of people who participate in modern life, the answer is no. The question is whether we can make more informed decisions within the constraints we’re operating in, and whether the system can be pushed – through regulation, through market pressure, through better tools – toward something more transparent.
California’s Delete Act, which took effect in January 2026, is the strongest example of what’s emerging. It created a platform called DROP (Delete Request and Opt-Out Platform) that lets California residents submit a single deletion request to every registered data broker in the state. Brokers are required to process those requests, maintain suppression lists to prevent re-collection, and check the platform regularly for new requests. The European Union’s GDPR provides similar individual rights, and a handful of other U.S. states have enacted their own privacy laws with varying levels of protection. But the coverage is uneven: what’s available to a California or EU resident may not extend to someone in a state without comparable legislation.
Some services now automate parts of the opt-out process, submitting removal requests to dozens of brokers on our behalf. These can’t erase the data trail entirely, but they can narrow what’s actively available for sale.
Beyond deletion, there are smaller choices that reduce how much new data we generate. We can audit which apps have permission to track our location or access our contacts, since a surprising amount of behavioral data comes from apps that don’t need those permissions to function. We can treat “sign in with Google” and “sign in with Facebook” buttons as what they are: data-sharing agreements that can link a new service to an existing profile. And we can glance at the first few lines of a privacy policy before agreeing, looking for some version of “we may share your information with our partners,” where “partners” just means anyone willing to pay.
Most of us don’t read privacy policies, and the policies aren’t built to be read. They average thousands of words of dense legal language filled with terms like “legitimate interest,” “data processor,” and “de-identified data.” Studies consistently put them at a late high school to early college reading level (grade 12 to 14), but the difficulty goes beyond reading level: the concepts are abstract, the volume of agreements we encounter is enormous, and the design of the consent process itself pushes us through as fast as possible. Pre-checked boxes, auto-scrolling agreement windows, “accept all” buttons positioned prominently while “customize settings” options sit behind additional clicks. These are dark patterns, design choices that make the path of least resistance the path of maximum data sharing.
The result is a gap between the moment we share a piece of information and the moment that information shapes a decision about our lives. We don’t connect the app to the insurance premium or the loyalty card to the rental application because the chain of custody between them is long, complex, and designed to stay out of view.
The same critical thinking we’ve learned to apply to the information flowing toward us (checking sources, questioning claims, looking for bias) applies to the information flowing from us: who’s collecting this, what will they do with it, who else will see it, and what did we agree to? The difference is that in the data economy, we’re the product being evaluated, and the questions are being asked about us rather than by us.
So can we get it back? Not entirely. Data that’s already been collected, copied, sold, and processed across multiple systems can’t be fully recalled. What we can do is reduce what’s actively available for sale, slow the flow of new data going forward, and take advantage of legal tools that didn’t exist a few years ago. The archive of our past digital lives is too distributed to undo, but the file is still being written, and we have more say over the next page than we did over the last twenty years of them.
So what if they have our data? The tradeoff extends well beyond better ads. It reaches into the prices we’re charged, the credit we’re offered, the jobs we’re considered for, the insurance premiums we pay, the AI systems trained on our behavior, the accuracy of the profiles used to make decisions about our lives, and the degree to which government agencies can monitor our movements without a warrant. Every new service we sign up for, every permission we grant, and every terms-of-service agreement we accept adds another layer to that file. We can’t close the file entirely, but we can make more informed decisions about what goes into it next…
Eminently worth reading in full: “So What if They Have My Data?“
See also: “Why Do We Care So Much About Privacy?” (source of the image above) in which Louis Menand suggests that our concern should be with the “weaponization” of data…
* Daniel J. Solove, Nothing to Hide: The False Tradeoff Between Privacy and Security
###
As we reinforce our rights, we might recall that it was on this date in 1996 that the internet-as-we’ve-come-to-know-it broke big into the mainstream: Yahoo! launched the national campaign that asked “Do You Yahoo?” advertising its web-based search service on national television. The campaign was created by ad agency Black Rocket and Yahoo Marketing Head Karen Edwards (whose many awards for the work include a seat in the Advertising Hall of Achievement).
An early spot from the campaign…
https://youtu.be/X2_XzGPqBJ0?si=VxM6vlzcR89uDOKr
#advertising #culture #data #DoYouYahoo #history #KarenEdwards #personalData #politics #pricacy #security #society #Technology #television #Yahoo -
“Privacy is rarely lost in one fell swoop. It is usually eroded over time, little bits dissolving almost imperceptibly until we finally begin to notice how much is gone.”*…
… And now, indeed, we’re beginning to notice. Hana Lee Goldin surveys the state of play– who’s buying our personal information, what they’re using it for, and how the system works behind the screen– and considers our options…
Sometime in the mid-2000s, most of us started handing over pieces of ourselves to the internet without giving the exchange a second thought. We created email accounts, signed up for social media, bought things online, downloaded apps, swiped loyalty cards, connected fitness trackers, stored photos in the cloud, and agreed to terms of service that almost none of us have ever read in full. We did this thousands of times over two decades and counting, and each interaction felt small enough to be inconsequential.
But the accumulation is enormous. More than 6 billion people now use the internet, and each one makes an estimated 5,000 digital interactions per day. Most of those interactions happen without our conscious awareness: a GPS ping, a page load, an app opening, a browser cookie refreshing, a device checking in with a cell tower. The average person in 2010 made an estimated 298 digital interactions per day. In fifteen years, that number multiplied more than sixteenfold. Those digital interactions produce records that can persist indefinitely, stored, copied, indexed, bought, sold, and combined with other records to build profiles of extraordinary detail.
If we’ve been online since the late 1990s or early 2000s, our data footprint can include social media accounts we’ve created, online purchases we’ve made, forums we’ve posted in, loyalty cards we’ve used, and apps we’ve installed going back decades. Some of that information lives on platforms we’ve long forgotten. Some of it was collected by companies that have since been acquired or dissolved, with our data potentially passing to successor entities we’ve never heard of. The digital life most of us have been living for 15 to 25 years has produced a layered, evolving archive that only grows more valuable to the people who buy and sell it as time goes on.
Most of us sense that something is off about all of this. In a 2023 survey, Pew Research found that roughly eight in ten Americans feel they have little to no control over the data companies collect about them, 71% are concerned about government data use, and 67% say they understand little to nothing about what companies are doing with their personal information. The concern is real and widespread. And so is the feeling of helplessness: 60% of Americans believe it’s impossible to go through daily life without having their data tracked. The unease is there. What’s missing is a clear picture of what’s happening on the other side of the transaction…
[Goldin explains what data is being collected and shared, and by whom; how the data is managed and trafficked; how its being used (by insurance and financial companies, employers and landlords, retailers, AI companies, governments, and criminals); and how “inferred” data is used to augment the “hard” data. It’s chilling. She then puts the issue into context, and discusses we we can– and cannot– do about it…]
… The philosopher Helen Nissenbaum has a framework for what’s happening here: contextual integrity. The idea is that privacy isn’t about secrecy. We share information willingly all the time, when the context fits. We tell our doctor about a health condition because we expect that information to stay within the medical relationship. We search for symptoms on a health website because we assume that search won’t follow us into an insurance application. In the current data economy, that’s exactly the kind of boundary that dissolves, because the company collecting the data and the company buying it are operating in completely different contexts.
This is an information literacy problem as much as a privacy problem. Information literacy is usually framed around consumption: evaluating sources, questioning claims, recognizing bias in what we read and watch. But every time we interact with a digital service, we’re also producing information: generating a record that will be read, interpreted, scored, and acted on by organizations we may never interact with directly. Many of us have gotten better at questioning the information that comes at us: checking sources, noticing bias, and recognizing when something is trying to sell us a conclusion. But we haven’t developed equivalent habits around the information that flows from us: where it goes after we hand it over, who reads the record, what incentives they have, and what conclusions they draw. The gap between what we think we’re consenting to and what we’ve agreed to in practice is where the real exposure lives, and the system is designed to keep that gap invisible.
One of the reasons the “so what” question is hard to answer with action is that opting out of data collection often means opting out of participation. Declining a social media platform’s terms of service means not using the platform. Refusing location permissions can mean losing access to navigation, ride-sharing, weather, and delivery apps. Choosing not to create an account can mean paying more, seeing less, or being locked out of services that have become essential infrastructure for work, communication, healthcare, banking, and education.
The architecture of digital consent treats data sharing as a binary: agree to the terms or don’t use the product. There’s rarely a middle option that allows us to use a service while limiting what data gets collected and where it goes. The result is that the “choice” to share data often functions as a condition of entry into daily life rather than an informed negotiation. We’re not handing over data because we’ve weighed the tradeoff and decided it’s fair. We’re handing it over because the alternative is exclusion from services we rely on.
This is the structural context behind the Pew Research Center finding that more than half of Americans believe it’s impossible to go through daily life without being tracked. For many of us, it isn’t possible, at least not without significant inconvenience or sacrifice. The question isn’t whether we can avoid data collection entirely, because for the vast majority of people who participate in modern life, the answer is no. The question is whether we can make more informed decisions within the constraints we’re operating in, and whether the system can be pushed – through regulation, through market pressure, through better tools – toward something more transparent.
California’s Delete Act, which took effect in January 2026, is the strongest example of what’s emerging. It created a platform called DROP (Delete Request and Opt-Out Platform) that lets California residents submit a single deletion request to every registered data broker in the state. Brokers are required to process those requests, maintain suppression lists to prevent re-collection, and check the platform regularly for new requests. The European Union’s GDPR provides similar individual rights, and a handful of other U.S. states have enacted their own privacy laws with varying levels of protection. But the coverage is uneven: what’s available to a California or EU resident may not extend to someone in a state without comparable legislation.
Some services now automate parts of the opt-out process, submitting removal requests to dozens of brokers on our behalf. These can’t erase the data trail entirely, but they can narrow what’s actively available for sale.
Beyond deletion, there are smaller choices that reduce how much new data we generate. We can audit which apps have permission to track our location or access our contacts, since a surprising amount of behavioral data comes from apps that don’t need those permissions to function. We can treat “sign in with Google” and “sign in with Facebook” buttons as what they are: data-sharing agreements that can link a new service to an existing profile. And we can glance at the first few lines of a privacy policy before agreeing, looking for some version of “we may share your information with our partners,” where “partners” just means anyone willing to pay.
Most of us don’t read privacy policies, and the policies aren’t built to be read. They average thousands of words of dense legal language filled with terms like “legitimate interest,” “data processor,” and “de-identified data.” Studies consistently put them at a late high school to early college reading level (grade 12 to 14), but the difficulty goes beyond reading level: the concepts are abstract, the volume of agreements we encounter is enormous, and the design of the consent process itself pushes us through as fast as possible. Pre-checked boxes, auto-scrolling agreement windows, “accept all” buttons positioned prominently while “customize settings” options sit behind additional clicks. These are dark patterns, design choices that make the path of least resistance the path of maximum data sharing.
The result is a gap between the moment we share a piece of information and the moment that information shapes a decision about our lives. We don’t connect the app to the insurance premium or the loyalty card to the rental application because the chain of custody between them is long, complex, and designed to stay out of view.
The same critical thinking we’ve learned to apply to the information flowing toward us (checking sources, questioning claims, looking for bias) applies to the information flowing from us: who’s collecting this, what will they do with it, who else will see it, and what did we agree to? The difference is that in the data economy, we’re the product being evaluated, and the questions are being asked about us rather than by us.
So can we get it back? Not entirely. Data that’s already been collected, copied, sold, and processed across multiple systems can’t be fully recalled. What we can do is reduce what’s actively available for sale, slow the flow of new data going forward, and take advantage of legal tools that didn’t exist a few years ago. The archive of our past digital lives is too distributed to undo, but the file is still being written, and we have more say over the next page than we did over the last twenty years of them.
So what if they have our data? The tradeoff extends well beyond better ads. It reaches into the prices we’re charged, the credit we’re offered, the jobs we’re considered for, the insurance premiums we pay, the AI systems trained on our behavior, the accuracy of the profiles used to make decisions about our lives, and the degree to which government agencies can monitor our movements without a warrant. Every new service we sign up for, every permission we grant, and every terms-of-service agreement we accept adds another layer to that file. We can’t close the file entirely, but we can make more informed decisions about what goes into it next…
Eminently worth reading in full: “So What if They Have My Data?“
See also: “Why Do We Care So Much About Privacy?” (source of the image above) in which Louis Menand suggests that our concern should be with the “weaponization” of data…
* Daniel J. Solove, Nothing to Hide: The False Tradeoff Between Privacy and Security
###
As we reinforce our rights, we might recall that it was on this date in 1996 that the internet-as-we’ve-come-to-know-it broke big into the mainstream: Yahoo! launched the national campaign that asked “Do You Yahoo?” advertising its web-based search service on national television. The campaign was created by ad agency Black Rocket and Yahoo Marketing Head Karen Edwards (whose many awards for the work include a seat in the Advertising Hall of Achievement).
An early spot from the campaign…
https://youtu.be/X2_XzGPqBJ0?si=VxM6vlzcR89uDOKr
#advertising #culture #data #DoYouYahoo #history #KarenEdwards #personalData #politics #pricacy #security #society #Technology #television #Yahoo -
“Privacy is rarely lost in one fell swoop. It is usually eroded over time, little bits dissolving almost imperceptibly until we finally begin to notice how much is gone.”*…
… And now, indeed, we’re beginning to notice. Hana Lee Goldin surveys the state of play– who’s buying our personal information, what they’re using it for, and how the system works behind the screen– and considers our options…
Sometime in the mid-2000s, most of us started handing over pieces of ourselves to the internet without giving the exchange a second thought. We created email accounts, signed up for social media, bought things online, downloaded apps, swiped loyalty cards, connected fitness trackers, stored photos in the cloud, and agreed to terms of service that almost none of us have ever read in full. We did this thousands of times over two decades and counting, and each interaction felt small enough to be inconsequential.
But the accumulation is enormous. More than 6 billion people now use the internet, and each one makes an estimated 5,000 digital interactions per day. Most of those interactions happen without our conscious awareness: a GPS ping, a page load, an app opening, a browser cookie refreshing, a device checking in with a cell tower. The average person in 2010 made an estimated 298 digital interactions per day. In fifteen years, that number multiplied more than sixteenfold. Those digital interactions produce records that can persist indefinitely, stored, copied, indexed, bought, sold, and combined with other records to build profiles of extraordinary detail.
If we’ve been online since the late 1990s or early 2000s, our data footprint can include social media accounts we’ve created, online purchases we’ve made, forums we’ve posted in, loyalty cards we’ve used, and apps we’ve installed going back decades. Some of that information lives on platforms we’ve long forgotten. Some of it was collected by companies that have since been acquired or dissolved, with our data potentially passing to successor entities we’ve never heard of. The digital life most of us have been living for 15 to 25 years has produced a layered, evolving archive that only grows more valuable to the people who buy and sell it as time goes on.
Most of us sense that something is off about all of this. In a 2023 survey, Pew Research found that roughly eight in ten Americans feel they have little to no control over the data companies collect about them, 71% are concerned about government data use, and 67% say they understand little to nothing about what companies are doing with their personal information. The concern is real and widespread. And so is the feeling of helplessness: 60% of Americans believe it’s impossible to go through daily life without having their data tracked. The unease is there. What’s missing is a clear picture of what’s happening on the other side of the transaction…
[Goldin explains what data is being collected and shared, and by whom; how the data is managed and trafficked; how its being used (by insurance and financial companies, employers and landlords, retailers, AI companies, governments, and criminals); and how “inferred” data is used to augment the “hard” data. It’s chilling. She then puts the issue into context, and discusses we we can– and cannot– do about it…]
… The philosopher Helen Nissenbaum has a framework for what’s happening here: contextual integrity. The idea is that privacy isn’t about secrecy. We share information willingly all the time, when the context fits. We tell our doctor about a health condition because we expect that information to stay within the medical relationship. We search for symptoms on a health website because we assume that search won’t follow us into an insurance application. In the current data economy, that’s exactly the kind of boundary that dissolves, because the company collecting the data and the company buying it are operating in completely different contexts.
This is an information literacy problem as much as a privacy problem. Information literacy is usually framed around consumption: evaluating sources, questioning claims, recognizing bias in what we read and watch. But every time we interact with a digital service, we’re also producing information: generating a record that will be read, interpreted, scored, and acted on by organizations we may never interact with directly. Many of us have gotten better at questioning the information that comes at us: checking sources, noticing bias, and recognizing when something is trying to sell us a conclusion. But we haven’t developed equivalent habits around the information that flows from us: where it goes after we hand it over, who reads the record, what incentives they have, and what conclusions they draw. The gap between what we think we’re consenting to and what we’ve agreed to in practice is where the real exposure lives, and the system is designed to keep that gap invisible.
One of the reasons the “so what” question is hard to answer with action is that opting out of data collection often means opting out of participation. Declining a social media platform’s terms of service means not using the platform. Refusing location permissions can mean losing access to navigation, ride-sharing, weather, and delivery apps. Choosing not to create an account can mean paying more, seeing less, or being locked out of services that have become essential infrastructure for work, communication, healthcare, banking, and education.
The architecture of digital consent treats data sharing as a binary: agree to the terms or don’t use the product. There’s rarely a middle option that allows us to use a service while limiting what data gets collected and where it goes. The result is that the “choice” to share data often functions as a condition of entry into daily life rather than an informed negotiation. We’re not handing over data because we’ve weighed the tradeoff and decided it’s fair. We’re handing it over because the alternative is exclusion from services we rely on.
This is the structural context behind the Pew Research Center finding that more than half of Americans believe it’s impossible to go through daily life without being tracked. For many of us, it isn’t possible, at least not without significant inconvenience or sacrifice. The question isn’t whether we can avoid data collection entirely, because for the vast majority of people who participate in modern life, the answer is no. The question is whether we can make more informed decisions within the constraints we’re operating in, and whether the system can be pushed – through regulation, through market pressure, through better tools – toward something more transparent.
California’s Delete Act, which took effect in January 2026, is the strongest example of what’s emerging. It created a platform called DROP (Delete Request and Opt-Out Platform) that lets California residents submit a single deletion request to every registered data broker in the state. Brokers are required to process those requests, maintain suppression lists to prevent re-collection, and check the platform regularly for new requests. The European Union’s GDPR provides similar individual rights, and a handful of other U.S. states have enacted their own privacy laws with varying levels of protection. But the coverage is uneven: what’s available to a California or EU resident may not extend to someone in a state without comparable legislation.
Some services now automate parts of the opt-out process, submitting removal requests to dozens of brokers on our behalf. These can’t erase the data trail entirely, but they can narrow what’s actively available for sale.
Beyond deletion, there are smaller choices that reduce how much new data we generate. We can audit which apps have permission to track our location or access our contacts, since a surprising amount of behavioral data comes from apps that don’t need those permissions to function. We can treat “sign in with Google” and “sign in with Facebook” buttons as what they are: data-sharing agreements that can link a new service to an existing profile. And we can glance at the first few lines of a privacy policy before agreeing, looking for some version of “we may share your information with our partners,” where “partners” just means anyone willing to pay.
Most of us don’t read privacy policies, and the policies aren’t built to be read. They average thousands of words of dense legal language filled with terms like “legitimate interest,” “data processor,” and “de-identified data.” Studies consistently put them at a late high school to early college reading level (grade 12 to 14), but the difficulty goes beyond reading level: the concepts are abstract, the volume of agreements we encounter is enormous, and the design of the consent process itself pushes us through as fast as possible. Pre-checked boxes, auto-scrolling agreement windows, “accept all” buttons positioned prominently while “customize settings” options sit behind additional clicks. These are dark patterns, design choices that make the path of least resistance the path of maximum data sharing.
The result is a gap between the moment we share a piece of information and the moment that information shapes a decision about our lives. We don’t connect the app to the insurance premium or the loyalty card to the rental application because the chain of custody between them is long, complex, and designed to stay out of view.
The same critical thinking we’ve learned to apply to the information flowing toward us (checking sources, questioning claims, looking for bias) applies to the information flowing from us: who’s collecting this, what will they do with it, who else will see it, and what did we agree to? The difference is that in the data economy, we’re the product being evaluated, and the questions are being asked about us rather than by us.
So can we get it back? Not entirely. Data that’s already been collected, copied, sold, and processed across multiple systems can’t be fully recalled. What we can do is reduce what’s actively available for sale, slow the flow of new data going forward, and take advantage of legal tools that didn’t exist a few years ago. The archive of our past digital lives is too distributed to undo, but the file is still being written, and we have more say over the next page than we did over the last twenty years of them.
So what if they have our data? The tradeoff extends well beyond better ads. It reaches into the prices we’re charged, the credit we’re offered, the jobs we’re considered for, the insurance premiums we pay, the AI systems trained on our behavior, the accuracy of the profiles used to make decisions about our lives, and the degree to which government agencies can monitor our movements without a warrant. Every new service we sign up for, every permission we grant, and every terms-of-service agreement we accept adds another layer to that file. We can’t close the file entirely, but we can make more informed decisions about what goes into it next…
Eminently worth reading in full: “So What if They Have My Data?“
See also: “Why Do We Care So Much About Privacy?” (source of the image above) in which Louis Menand suggests that our concern should be with the “weaponization” of data…
* Daniel J. Solove, Nothing to Hide: The False Tradeoff Between Privacy and Security
###
As we reinforce our rights, we might recall that it was on this date in 1996 that the internet-as-we’ve-come-to-know-it broke big into the mainstream: Yahoo! launched the national campaign that asked “Do You Yahoo?” advertising its web-based search service on national television. The campaign was created by ad agency Black Rocket and Yahoo Marketing Head Karen Edwards (whose many awards for the work include a seat in the Advertising Hall of Achievement).
An early spot from the campaign…
https://youtu.be/X2_XzGPqBJ0?si=VxM6vlzcR89uDOKr
#advertising #culture #data #DoYouYahoo #history #KarenEdwards #personalData #politics #privacy #security #society #Technology #television #Yahoo -
“Privacy is rarely lost in one fell swoop. It is usually eroded over time, little bits dissolving almost imperceptibly until we finally begin to notice how much is gone.”*…
… And now, indeed, we’re beginning to notice. Hana Lee Goldin surveys the state of play– who’s buying our personal information, what they’re using it for, and how the system works behind the screen– and considers our options…
Sometime in the mid-2000s, most of us started handing over pieces of ourselves to the internet without giving the exchange a second thought. We created email accounts, signed up for social media, bought things online, downloaded apps, swiped loyalty cards, connected fitness trackers, stored photos in the cloud, and agreed to terms of service that almost none of us have ever read in full. We did this thousands of times over two decades and counting, and each interaction felt small enough to be inconsequential.
But the accumulation is enormous. More than 6 billion people now use the internet, and each one makes an estimated 5,000 digital interactions per day. Most of those interactions happen without our conscious awareness: a GPS ping, a page load, an app opening, a browser cookie refreshing, a device checking in with a cell tower. The average person in 2010 made an estimated 298 digital interactions per day. In fifteen years, that number multiplied more than sixteenfold. Those digital interactions produce records that can persist indefinitely, stored, copied, indexed, bought, sold, and combined with other records to build profiles of extraordinary detail.
If we’ve been online since the late 1990s or early 2000s, our data footprint can include social media accounts we’ve created, online purchases we’ve made, forums we’ve posted in, loyalty cards we’ve used, and apps we’ve installed going back decades. Some of that information lives on platforms we’ve long forgotten. Some of it was collected by companies that have since been acquired or dissolved, with our data potentially passing to successor entities we’ve never heard of. The digital life most of us have been living for 15 to 25 years has produced a layered, evolving archive that only grows more valuable to the people who buy and sell it as time goes on.
Most of us sense that something is off about all of this. In a 2023 survey, Pew Research found that roughly eight in ten Americans feel they have little to no control over the data companies collect about them, 71% are concerned about government data use, and 67% say they understand little to nothing about what companies are doing with their personal information. The concern is real and widespread. And so is the feeling of helplessness: 60% of Americans believe it’s impossible to go through daily life without having their data tracked. The unease is there. What’s missing is a clear picture of what’s happening on the other side of the transaction…
[Goldin explains what data is being collected and shared, and by whom; how the data is managed and trafficked; how its being used (by insurance and financial companies, employers and landlords, retailers, AI companies, governments, and criminals); and how “inferred” data is used to augment the “hard” data. It’s chilling. She then puts the issue into context, and discusses we we can– and cannot– do about it…]
… The philosopher Helen Nissenbaum has a framework for what’s happening here: contextual integrity. The idea is that privacy isn’t about secrecy. We share information willingly all the time, when the context fits. We tell our doctor about a health condition because we expect that information to stay within the medical relationship. We search for symptoms on a health website because we assume that search won’t follow us into an insurance application. In the current data economy, that’s exactly the kind of boundary that dissolves, because the company collecting the data and the company buying it are operating in completely different contexts.
This is an information literacy problem as much as a privacy problem. Information literacy is usually framed around consumption: evaluating sources, questioning claims, recognizing bias in what we read and watch. But every time we interact with a digital service, we’re also producing information: generating a record that will be read, interpreted, scored, and acted on by organizations we may never interact with directly. Many of us have gotten better at questioning the information that comes at us: checking sources, noticing bias, and recognizing when something is trying to sell us a conclusion. But we haven’t developed equivalent habits around the information that flows from us: where it goes after we hand it over, who reads the record, what incentives they have, and what conclusions they draw. The gap between what we think we’re consenting to and what we’ve agreed to in practice is where the real exposure lives, and the system is designed to keep that gap invisible.
One of the reasons the “so what” question is hard to answer with action is that opting out of data collection often means opting out of participation. Declining a social media platform’s terms of service means not using the platform. Refusing location permissions can mean losing access to navigation, ride-sharing, weather, and delivery apps. Choosing not to create an account can mean paying more, seeing less, or being locked out of services that have become essential infrastructure for work, communication, healthcare, banking, and education.
The architecture of digital consent treats data sharing as a binary: agree to the terms or don’t use the product. There’s rarely a middle option that allows us to use a service while limiting what data gets collected and where it goes. The result is that the “choice” to share data often functions as a condition of entry into daily life rather than an informed negotiation. We’re not handing over data because we’ve weighed the tradeoff and decided it’s fair. We’re handing it over because the alternative is exclusion from services we rely on.
This is the structural context behind the Pew Research Center finding that more than half of Americans believe it’s impossible to go through daily life without being tracked. For many of us, it isn’t possible, at least not without significant inconvenience or sacrifice. The question isn’t whether we can avoid data collection entirely, because for the vast majority of people who participate in modern life, the answer is no. The question is whether we can make more informed decisions within the constraints we’re operating in, and whether the system can be pushed – through regulation, through market pressure, through better tools – toward something more transparent.
California’s Delete Act, which took effect in January 2026, is the strongest example of what’s emerging. It created a platform called DROP (Delete Request and Opt-Out Platform) that lets California residents submit a single deletion request to every registered data broker in the state. Brokers are required to process those requests, maintain suppression lists to prevent re-collection, and check the platform regularly for new requests. The European Union’s GDPR provides similar individual rights, and a handful of other U.S. states have enacted their own privacy laws with varying levels of protection. But the coverage is uneven: what’s available to a California or EU resident may not extend to someone in a state without comparable legislation.
Some services now automate parts of the opt-out process, submitting removal requests to dozens of brokers on our behalf. These can’t erase the data trail entirely, but they can narrow what’s actively available for sale.
Beyond deletion, there are smaller choices that reduce how much new data we generate. We can audit which apps have permission to track our location or access our contacts, since a surprising amount of behavioral data comes from apps that don’t need those permissions to function. We can treat “sign in with Google” and “sign in with Facebook” buttons as what they are: data-sharing agreements that can link a new service to an existing profile. And we can glance at the first few lines of a privacy policy before agreeing, looking for some version of “we may share your information with our partners,” where “partners” just means anyone willing to pay.
Most of us don’t read privacy policies, and the policies aren’t built to be read. They average thousands of words of dense legal language filled with terms like “legitimate interest,” “data processor,” and “de-identified data.” Studies consistently put them at a late high school to early college reading level (grade 12 to 14), but the difficulty goes beyond reading level: the concepts are abstract, the volume of agreements we encounter is enormous, and the design of the consent process itself pushes us through as fast as possible. Pre-checked boxes, auto-scrolling agreement windows, “accept all” buttons positioned prominently while “customize settings” options sit behind additional clicks. These are dark patterns, design choices that make the path of least resistance the path of maximum data sharing.
The result is a gap between the moment we share a piece of information and the moment that information shapes a decision about our lives. We don’t connect the app to the insurance premium or the loyalty card to the rental application because the chain of custody between them is long, complex, and designed to stay out of view.
The same critical thinking we’ve learned to apply to the information flowing toward us (checking sources, questioning claims, looking for bias) applies to the information flowing from us: who’s collecting this, what will they do with it, who else will see it, and what did we agree to? The difference is that in the data economy, we’re the product being evaluated, and the questions are being asked about us rather than by us.
So can we get it back? Not entirely. Data that’s already been collected, copied, sold, and processed across multiple systems can’t be fully recalled. What we can do is reduce what’s actively available for sale, slow the flow of new data going forward, and take advantage of legal tools that didn’t exist a few years ago. The archive of our past digital lives is too distributed to undo, but the file is still being written, and we have more say over the next page than we did over the last twenty years of them.
So what if they have our data? The tradeoff extends well beyond better ads. It reaches into the prices we’re charged, the credit we’re offered, the jobs we’re considered for, the insurance premiums we pay, the AI systems trained on our behavior, the accuracy of the profiles used to make decisions about our lives, and the degree to which government agencies can monitor our movements without a warrant. Every new service we sign up for, every permission we grant, and every terms-of-service agreement we accept adds another layer to that file. We can’t close the file entirely, but we can make more informed decisions about what goes into it next…
Eminently worth reading in full: “So What if They Have My Data?“
See also: “Why Do We Care So Much About Privacy?” (source of the image above) in which Louis Menand suggests that our concern should be with the “weaponization” of data…
* Daniel J. Solove, Nothing to Hide: The False Tradeoff Between Privacy and Security
###
As we reinforce our rights, we might recall that it was on this date in 1996 that the internet-as-we’ve-come-to-know-it broke big into the mainstream: Yahoo! launched the national campaign that asked “Do You Yahoo?” advertising its web-based search service on national television. The campaign was created by ad agency Black Rocket and Yahoo Marketing Head Karen Edwards (whose many awards for the work include a seat in the Advertising Hall of Achievement).
An early spot from the campaign…
https://youtu.be/X2_XzGPqBJ0?si=VxM6vlzcR89uDOKr
#advertising #culture #data #DoYouYahoo #history #KarenEdwards #personalData #politics #privacy #security #society #Technology #television #Yahoo -
“Privacy is rarely lost in one fell swoop. It is usually eroded over time, little bits dissolving almost imperceptibly until we finally begin to notice how much is gone.”*…
… And now, indeed, we’re beginning to notice. Hana Lee Goldin surveys the state of play– who’s buying our personal information, what they’re using it for, and how the system works behind the screen– and considers our options…
Sometime in the mid-2000s, most of us started handing over pieces of ourselves to the internet without giving the exchange a second thought. We created email accounts, signed up for social media, bought things online, downloaded apps, swiped loyalty cards, connected fitness trackers, stored photos in the cloud, and agreed to terms of service that almost none of us have ever read in full. We did this thousands of times over two decades and counting, and each interaction felt small enough to be inconsequential.
But the accumulation is enormous. More than 6 billion people now use the internet, and each one makes an estimated 5,000 digital interactions per day. Most of those interactions happen without our conscious awareness: a GPS ping, a page load, an app opening, a browser cookie refreshing, a device checking in with a cell tower. The average person in 2010 made an estimated 298 digital interactions per day. In fifteen years, that number multiplied more than sixteenfold. Those digital interactions produce records that can persist indefinitely, stored, copied, indexed, bought, sold, and combined with other records to build profiles of extraordinary detail.
If we’ve been online since the late 1990s or early 2000s, our data footprint can include social media accounts we’ve created, online purchases we’ve made, forums we’ve posted in, loyalty cards we’ve used, and apps we’ve installed going back decades. Some of that information lives on platforms we’ve long forgotten. Some of it was collected by companies that have since been acquired or dissolved, with our data potentially passing to successor entities we’ve never heard of. The digital life most of us have been living for 15 to 25 years has produced a layered, evolving archive that only grows more valuable to the people who buy and sell it as time goes on.
Most of us sense that something is off about all of this. In a 2023 survey, Pew Research found that roughly eight in ten Americans feel they have little to no control over the data companies collect about them, 71% are concerned about government data use, and 67% say they understand little to nothing about what companies are doing with their personal information. The concern is real and widespread. And so is the feeling of helplessness: 60% of Americans believe it’s impossible to go through daily life without having their data tracked. The unease is there. What’s missing is a clear picture of what’s happening on the other side of the transaction…
[Goldin explains what data is being collected and shared, and by whom; how the data is managed and trafficked; how its being used (by insurance and financial companies, employers and landlords, retailers, AI companies, governments, and criminals); and how “inferred” data is used to augment the “hard” data. It’s chilling. She then puts the issue into context, and discusses we we can– and cannot– do about it…]
… The philosopher Helen Nissenbaum has a framework for what’s happening here: contextual integrity. The idea is that privacy isn’t about secrecy. We share information willingly all the time, when the context fits. We tell our doctor about a health condition because we expect that information to stay within the medical relationship. We search for symptoms on a health website because we assume that search won’t follow us into an insurance application. In the current data economy, that’s exactly the kind of boundary that dissolves, because the company collecting the data and the company buying it are operating in completely different contexts.
This is an information literacy problem as much as a privacy problem. Information literacy is usually framed around consumption: evaluating sources, questioning claims, recognizing bias in what we read and watch. But every time we interact with a digital service, we’re also producing information: generating a record that will be read, interpreted, scored, and acted on by organizations we may never interact with directly. Many of us have gotten better at questioning the information that comes at us: checking sources, noticing bias, and recognizing when something is trying to sell us a conclusion. But we haven’t developed equivalent habits around the information that flows from us: where it goes after we hand it over, who reads the record, what incentives they have, and what conclusions they draw. The gap between what we think we’re consenting to and what we’ve agreed to in practice is where the real exposure lives, and the system is designed to keep that gap invisible.
One of the reasons the “so what” question is hard to answer with action is that opting out of data collection often means opting out of participation. Declining a social media platform’s terms of service means not using the platform. Refusing location permissions can mean losing access to navigation, ride-sharing, weather, and delivery apps. Choosing not to create an account can mean paying more, seeing less, or being locked out of services that have become essential infrastructure for work, communication, healthcare, banking, and education.
The architecture of digital consent treats data sharing as a binary: agree to the terms or don’t use the product. There’s rarely a middle option that allows us to use a service while limiting what data gets collected and where it goes. The result is that the “choice” to share data often functions as a condition of entry into daily life rather than an informed negotiation. We’re not handing over data because we’ve weighed the tradeoff and decided it’s fair. We’re handing it over because the alternative is exclusion from services we rely on.
This is the structural context behind the Pew Research Center finding that more than half of Americans believe it’s impossible to go through daily life without being tracked. For many of us, it isn’t possible, at least not without significant inconvenience or sacrifice. The question isn’t whether we can avoid data collection entirely, because for the vast majority of people who participate in modern life, the answer is no. The question is whether we can make more informed decisions within the constraints we’re operating in, and whether the system can be pushed – through regulation, through market pressure, through better tools – toward something more transparent.
California’s Delete Act, which took effect in January 2026, is the strongest example of what’s emerging. It created a platform called DROP (Delete Request and Opt-Out Platform) that lets California residents submit a single deletion request to every registered data broker in the state. Brokers are required to process those requests, maintain suppression lists to prevent re-collection, and check the platform regularly for new requests. The European Union’s GDPR provides similar individual rights, and a handful of other U.S. states have enacted their own privacy laws with varying levels of protection. But the coverage is uneven: what’s available to a California or EU resident may not extend to someone in a state without comparable legislation.
Some services now automate parts of the opt-out process, submitting removal requests to dozens of brokers on our behalf. These can’t erase the data trail entirely, but they can narrow what’s actively available for sale.
Beyond deletion, there are smaller choices that reduce how much new data we generate. We can audit which apps have permission to track our location or access our contacts, since a surprising amount of behavioral data comes from apps that don’t need those permissions to function. We can treat “sign in with Google” and “sign in with Facebook” buttons as what they are: data-sharing agreements that can link a new service to an existing profile. And we can glance at the first few lines of a privacy policy before agreeing, looking for some version of “we may share your information with our partners,” where “partners” just means anyone willing to pay.
Most of us don’t read privacy policies, and the policies aren’t built to be read. They average thousands of words of dense legal language filled with terms like “legitimate interest,” “data processor,” and “de-identified data.” Studies consistently put them at a late high school to early college reading level (grade 12 to 14), but the difficulty goes beyond reading level: the concepts are abstract, the volume of agreements we encounter is enormous, and the design of the consent process itself pushes us through as fast as possible. Pre-checked boxes, auto-scrolling agreement windows, “accept all” buttons positioned prominently while “customize settings” options sit behind additional clicks. These are dark patterns, design choices that make the path of least resistance the path of maximum data sharing.
The result is a gap between the moment we share a piece of information and the moment that information shapes a decision about our lives. We don’t connect the app to the insurance premium or the loyalty card to the rental application because the chain of custody between them is long, complex, and designed to stay out of view.
The same critical thinking we’ve learned to apply to the information flowing toward us (checking sources, questioning claims, looking for bias) applies to the information flowing from us: who’s collecting this, what will they do with it, who else will see it, and what did we agree to? The difference is that in the data economy, we’re the product being evaluated, and the questions are being asked about us rather than by us.
So can we get it back? Not entirely. Data that’s already been collected, copied, sold, and processed across multiple systems can’t be fully recalled. What we can do is reduce what’s actively available for sale, slow the flow of new data going forward, and take advantage of legal tools that didn’t exist a few years ago. The archive of our past digital lives is too distributed to undo, but the file is still being written, and we have more say over the next page than we did over the last twenty years of them.
So what if they have our data? The tradeoff extends well beyond better ads. It reaches into the prices we’re charged, the credit we’re offered, the jobs we’re considered for, the insurance premiums we pay, the AI systems trained on our behavior, the accuracy of the profiles used to make decisions about our lives, and the degree to which government agencies can monitor our movements without a warrant. Every new service we sign up for, every permission we grant, and every terms-of-service agreement we accept adds another layer to that file. We can’t close the file entirely, but we can make more informed decisions about what goes into it next…
Eminently worth reading in full: “So What if They Have My Data?“
See also: “Why Do We Care So Much About Privacy?” (source of the image above) in which Louis Menand suggests that our concern should be with the “weaponization” of data…
* Daniel J. Solove, Nothing to Hide: The False Tradeoff Between Privacy and Security
###
As we reinforce our rights, we might recall that it was on this date in 1996 that the internet-as-we’ve-come-to-know-it broke big into the mainstream: Yahoo! launched the national campaign that asked “Do You Yahoo?” advertising its web-based search service on national television. The campaign was created by ad agency Black Rocket and Yahoo Marketing Head Karen Edwards (whose many awards for the work include a seat in the Advertising Hall of Achievement).
An early spot from the campaign…
https://youtu.be/X2_XzGPqBJ0?si=VxM6vlzcR89uDOKr
#advertising #culture #data #DoYouYahoo #history #KarenEdwards #personalData #politics #privacy #security #society #Technology #television #Yahoo -
One of the problems with #American pseudo-democracy is that it's a #gerontocracy - rule by the old. The average #Congresscritter is late-middle-age, and the average #Senator is dead. Young people are frustrated at their lack of voice.
#Canada isn't nearly as bad, but I fear it could trend in the same direction, so I've been thinking about solutions to the problem. I think I've got one that's better than the oft-floated fix of just imposing term limits on #elected office, because you'll probably still be first electing middle-aged people.
Instead, for each chamber, set a ceiling *average* age for members of that chamber. Maybe for the Canadian House of #Commons and the US House of #Representatives you want something like 40, while permitting the #Senate of each to be the "older, wiser house of sober second thought" by setting a number like 50.
Each day, the system automatically calculates the average age of members in that class, to account for birthdays etc. If birthday(s) suddenly push that average above the ceiling value, the oldest person in that class is automatically dismissed, leaving the position vacant to be filled by by-election / special election. Repeat until ceiling value achieved.
Here's the important bit: anyone turfed automatically this way does not receive a pension or other benefits; they're just gone. This gives them the incentive to resign before automatic expulsion; otherwise there's no reason for them to do so.
1/2
-
The book 'Qualityland' from Marc-Uwe Kling is realy a must-read.
It brings a futuristic story (in a funny way) about how a few corporations rule everybodies live. Where people get 'status points' on which they are judged in their daily lives, wrong or not.
At first I though 'nice futuristic story' , but then on a second thought, seeing the powers of american amazon, facebook, google etc in europe I though 'oh... it looks acurate now'.
Go check it out.
-
I'm not sure what to think about an #infosec company, specifically #BitSight, running a web crawler (see https://internet-census.org/) which lies in its user-agent string and doesn't provide instructions for blocking it via robots.txt (which presumably means that it ignores robots.txt).
Actually on second thought, I _am_ sure what to think about this: it's shitty behavior and suggests that BitSight is a shitty company. -
I'm not sure what to think about an #infosec company, specifically #BitSight, running a web crawler (see https://internet-census.org/) which lies in its user-agent string and doesn't provide instructions for blocking it via robots.txt (which presumably means that it ignores robots.txt).
Actually on second thought, I _am_ sure what to think about this: it's shitty behavior and suggests that BitSight is a shitty company. -
I'm not sure what to think about an #infosec company, specifically #BitSight, running a web crawler (see https://internet-census.org/) which lies in its user-agent string and doesn't provide instructions for blocking it via robots.txt (which presumably means that it ignores robots.txt).
Actually on second thought, I _am_ sure what to think about this: it's shitty behavior and suggests that BitSight is a shitty company. -
I'm not sure what to think about an #infosec company, specifically #BitSight, running a web crawler (see https://internet-census.org/) which lies in its user-agent string and doesn't provide instructions for blocking it via robots.txt (which presumably means that it ignores robots.txt).
Actually on second thought, I _am_ sure what to think about this: it's shitty behavior and suggests that BitSight is a shitty company. -
I'm not sure what to think about an #infosec company, specifically #BitSight, running a web crawler (see https://internet-census.org/) which lies in its user-agent string and doesn't provide instructions for blocking it via robots.txt (which presumably means that it ignores robots.txt).
Actually on second thought, I _am_ sure what to think about this: it's shitty behavior and suggests that BitSight is a shitty company. -
#MurderEveryMonday title hints to something not visible
Today’s #MurderEveryMonday is a “crime fiction title which hints that something has disappeared or is not visible”.
I went through my shelves and the majority of books I could find were about someone disappearing, instead of something, but I decided to go with it.
My first thought went to The Invisible Host by Gwen Bristol and Bruce Manning, published in 1930, with a close setting where people start dying. Later, Agatha Christie worked the same idea for And Then There Were None. Loved both books, and I thank Dean Street Press (check the link to see their crime fiction titles) to republished the Host so we could read it today. Do you know other books with a similar idea? Let me know in the comments, I would love to read them.
My second thought was The Moving Toyshop by Edmund Crispin because while maybe “moving” doesn’t hint to a disappearance, the blurb at the back is very clear: this toyshop vanishes during the night. How and why would a toyshop vanish? Read the book, it’s a good one and the Oxford Professor Gervase Fen is on the case. It’s also the only book that hints at something instead of someone.
Then, I thought of “Poirot loses a Client” (the book in the middle, same title both in Portuguese and American English). Mainly because this Christie Portuguese publisher used already made translations from Brazil, back in the 1950/60s, probably cheaper than to get a translation from scratch, and I also have this idea that Brazil would use the American editions to translate, maybe because they were closer and was easier to negotiate with the American publishers than with the UK ones. But this one is the UK’s Dumb’s Witness. And it reminded me that John Curran published in his Secret Notebooks, for the first time, a similar short story that was later found in Agatha Christie papers, called The Incident of the Dog’s Ball (albeit the culprit is different).
You know I love Poirot, but it does seem he’s a little bit careless sometimes with this thing of loosing clients. And while the titles don’t hint at it, it also happens in the short stories A Cornish Mystery and How does Your Garden Grow?, both from the Poirot’s Early Cases (first book in the photo) and also in the novel Murder on the Links.
Someone engages Poirot to look into or do something and then, they’re gone. Where did his clients go or why? I’m not spilling it. Read the books :-)
Finally, I found The Phantom Lady by William Irish that starts with a man talking to a woman in a bar, without catching her name. When he returns home something happens and then he needs to find the woman of the bar to do something, but she vanished.
The Raymond Chandler one is translated as A Woman was Lost, and is in fact Farewell, My Lovely. With Chandler, I’m never sure if I know Philip Marlowe (the detective) from the movies, the old time radio shows, or the books. This is the melancholic, cynic, private eye, whiskey, guns, and the femme fatale. If you like the sub-genre hardboiled, Chandler is always a good option.
#BookLook #books #ColecçãoVampiro #CrimeFiction #livros #MurderEveryMonday #Policiais
-
#MurderEveryMonday title hints to something not visible
Today’s #MurderEveryMonday is a “crime fiction title which hints that something has disappeared or is not visible”.
I went through my shelves and the majority of books I could find were about someone disappearing, instead of something, but I decided to go with it.
My first thought went to The Invisible Host by Gwen Bristol and Bruce Manning, published in 1930, with a close setting where people start dying. Later, Agatha Christie worked the same idea for And Then There Were None. Loved both books, and I thank Dean Street Press (check the link to see their crime fiction titles) to republished the Host so we could read it today. Do you know other books with a similar idea? Let me know in the comments, I would love to read them.
My second thought was The Moving Toyshop by Edmund Crispin because while maybe “moving” doesn’t hint to a disappearance, the blurb at the back is very clear: this toyshop vanishes during the night. How and why would a toyshop vanish? Read the book, it’s a good one and the Oxford Professor Gervase Fen is on the case. It’s also the only book that hints at something instead of someone.
Then, I thought of “Poirot loses a Client” (the book in the middle, same title both in Portuguese and American English). Mainly because this Christie Portuguese publisher used already made translations from Brazil, back in the 1950/60s, probably cheaper than to get a translation from scratch, and I also have this idea that Brazil would use the American editions to translate, maybe because they were closer and was easier to negotiate with the American publishers than with the UK ones. But this one is the UK’s Dumb’s Witness. And it reminded me that John Curran published in his Secret Notebooks, for the first time, a similar short story that was later found in Agatha Christie papers, called The Incident of the Dog’s Ball (albeit the culprit is different).
You know I love Poirot, but it does seem he’s a little bit careless sometimes with this thing of loosing clients. And while the titles don’t hint at it, it also happens in the short stories A Cornish Mystery and How does Your Garden Grow?, both from the Poirot’s Early Cases (first book in the photo) and also in the novel Murder on the Links.
Someone engages Poirot to look into or do something and then, they’re gone. Where did his clients go or why? I’m not spilling it. Read the books :-)
Finally, I found The Phantom Lady by William Irish that starts with a man talking to a woman in a bar, without catching her name. When he returns home something happens and then he needs to find the woman of the bar to do something, but she vanished.
The Raymond Chandler one is translated as A Woman was Lost, and is in fact Farewell, My Lovely. With Chandler, I’m never sure if I know Philip Marlowe (the detective) from the movies, the old time radio shows, or the books. This is the melancholic, cynic, private eye, whiskey, guns, and the femme fatale. If you like the sub-genre hardboiled, Chandler is always a good option.
#BookLook #books #ColecçãoVampiro #CrimeFiction #livros #MurderEveryMonday #Policiais
-
#MurderEveryMonday title hints to something not visible
Today’s #MurderEveryMonday is a “crime fiction title which hints that something has disappeared or is not visible”.
I went through my shelves and the majority of books I could find were about someone disappearing, instead of something, but I decided to go with it.
My first thought went to The Invisible Host by Gwen Bristol and Bruce Manning, published in 1930, with a close setting where people start dying. Later, Agatha Christie worked the same idea for And Then There Were None. Loved both books, and I thank Dean Street Press (check the link to see their crime fiction titles) to republished the Host so we could read it today. Do you know other books with a similar idea? Let me know in the comments, I would love to read them.
My second thought was The Moving Toyshop by Edmund Crispin because while maybe “moving” doesn’t hint to a disappearance, the blurb at the back is very clear: this toyshop vanishes during the night. How and why would a toyshop vanish? Read the book, it’s a good one and the Oxford Professor Gervase Fen is on the case. It’s also the only book that hints at something instead of someone.
Then, I thought of “Poirot loses a Client” (the book in the middle, same title both in Portuguese and American English). Mainly because this Christie Portuguese publisher used already made translations from Brazil, back in the 1950/60s, probably cheaper than to get a translation from scratch, and I also have this idea that Brazil would use the American editions to translate, maybe because they were closer and was easier to negotiate with the American publishers than with the UK ones. But this one is the UK’s Dumb’s Witness. And it reminded me that John Curran published in his Secret Notebooks, for the first time, a similar short story that was later found in Agatha Christie papers, called The Incident of the Dog’s Ball (albeit the culprit is different).
You know I love Poirot, but it does seem he’s a little bit careless sometimes with this thing of loosing clients. And while the titles don’t hint at it, it also happens in the short stories A Cornish Mystery and How does Your Garden Grow?, both from the Poirot’s Early Cases (first book in the photo) and also in the novel Murder on the Links.
Someone engages Poirot to look into or do something and then, they’re gone. Where did his clients go or why? I’m not spilling it. Read the books :-)
Finally, I found The Phantom Lady by William Irish that starts with a man talking to a woman in a bar, without catching her name. When he returns home something happens and then he needs to find the woman of the bar to do something, but she vanished.
The Raymond Chandler one is translated as A Woman was Lost, and is in fact Farewell, My Lovely. With Chandler, I’m never sure if I know Philip Marlowe (the detective) from the movies, the old time radio shows, or the books. This is the melancholic, cynic, private eye, whiskey, guns, and the femme fatale. If you like the sub-genre hardboiled, Chandler is always a good option.
#BookLook #books #ColecçãoVampiro #CrimeFiction #livros #MurderEveryMonday #Policiais
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#MurderEveryMonday title hints to something not visible
Today’s #MurderEveryMonday is a “crime fiction title which hints that something has disappeared or is not visible”.
I went through my shelves and the majority of books I could find were about someone disappearing, instead of something, but I decided to go with it.
My first thought went to The Invisible Host by Gwen Bristol and Bruce Manning, published in 1930, with a close setting where people start dying. Later, Agatha Christie worked the same idea for And Then There Were None. Loved both books, and I thank Dean Street Press (check the link to see their crime fiction titles) to republished the Host so we could read it today. Do you know other books with a similar idea? Let me know in the comments, I would love to read them.
My second thought was The Moving Toyshop by Edmund Crispin because while maybe “moving” doesn’t hint to a disappearance, the blurb at the back is very clear: this toyshop vanishes during the night. How and why would a toyshop vanish? Read the book, it’s a good one and the Oxford Professor Gervase Fen is on the case. It’s also the only book that hints at something instead of someone.
Then, I thought of “Poirot loses a Client” (the book in the middle, same title both in Portuguese and American English). Mainly because this Christie Portuguese publisher used already made translations from Brazil, back in the 1950/60s, probably cheaper than to get a translation from scratch, and I also have this idea that Brazil would use the American editions to translate, maybe because they were closer and was easier to negotiate with the American publishers than with the UK ones. But this one is the UK’s Dumb’s Witness. And it reminded me that John Curran published in his Secret Notebooks, for the first time, a similar short story that was later found in Agatha Christie papers, called The Incident of the Dog’s Ball (albeit the culprit is different).
You know I love Poirot, but it does seem he’s a little bit careless sometimes with this thing of loosing clients. And while the titles don’t hint at it, it also happens in the short stories A Cornish Mystery and How does Your Garden Grow?, both from the Poirot’s Early Cases (first book in the photo) and also in the novel Murder on the Links.
Someone engages Poirot to look into or do something and then, they’re gone. Where did his clients go or why? I’m not spilling it. Read the books :-)
Finally, I found The Phantom Lady by William Irish that starts with a man talking to a woman in a bar, without catching her name. When he returns home something happens and then he needs to find the woman of the bar to do something, but she vanished.
The Raymond Chandler one is translated as A Woman was Lost, and is in fact Farewell, My Lovely. With Chandler, I’m never sure if I know Philip Marlowe (the detective) from the movies, the old time radio shows, or the books. This is the melancholic, cynic, private eye, whiskey, guns, and the femme fatale. If you like the sub-genre hardboiled, Chandler is always a good option.
#BookLook #books #ColecçãoVampiro #CrimeFiction #livros #MurderEveryMonday #Policiais
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#MurderEveryMonday title hints to something not visible
Today’s #MurderEveryMonday is a “crime fiction title which hints that something has disappeared or is not visible”.
I went through my shelves and the majority of books I could find were about someone disappearing, instead of something, but I decided to go with it.
My first thought went to The Invisible Host by Gwen Bristol and Bruce Manning, published in 1930, with a close setting where people start dying. Later, Agatha Christie worked the same idea for And Then There Were None. Loved both books, and I thank Dean Street Press (check the link to see their crime fiction titles) to republished the Host so we could read it today. Do you know other books with a similar idea? Let me know in the comments, I would love to read them.
My second thought was The Moving Toyshop by Edmund Crispin because while maybe “moving” doesn’t hint to a disappearance, the blurb at the back is very clear: this toyshop vanishes during the night. How and why would a toyshop vanish? Read the book, it’s a good one and the Oxford Professor Gervase Fen is on the case. It’s also the only book that hints at something instead of someone.
Then, I thought of “Poirot loses a Client” (the book in the middle, same title both in Portuguese and American English). Mainly because this Christie Portuguese publisher used already made translations from Brazil, back in the 1950/60s, probably cheaper than to get a translation from scratch, and I also have this idea that Brazil would use the American editions to translate, maybe because they were closer and was easier to negotiate with the American publishers than with the UK ones. But this one is the UK’s Dumb’s Witness. And it reminded me that John Curran published in his Secret Notebooks, for the first time, a similar short story that was later found in Agatha Christie papers, called The Incident of the Dog’s Ball (albeit the culprit is different).
You know I love Poirot, but it does seem he’s a little bit careless sometimes with this thing of loosing clients. And while the titles don’t hint at it, it also happens in the short stories A Cornish Mystery and How does Your Garden Grow?, both from the Poirot’s Early Cases (first book in the photo) and also in the novel Murder on the Links.
Someone engages Poirot to look into or do something and then, they’re gone. Where did his clients go or why? I’m not spilling it. Read the books :-)
Finally, I found The Phantom Lady by William Irish that starts with a man talking to a woman in a bar, without catching her name. When he returns home something happens and then he needs to find the woman of the bar to do something, but she vanished.
The Raymond Chandler one is translated as A Woman was Lost, and is in fact Farewell, My Lovely. With Chandler, I’m never sure if I know Philip Marlowe (the detective) from the movies, the old time radio shows, or the books. This is the melancholic, cynic, private eye, whiskey, guns, and the femme fatale. If you like the sub-genre hardboiled, Chandler is always a good option.
#BookLook #books #ColecçãoVampiro #CrimeFiction #livros #MurderEveryMonday #Policiais
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My brothers and sisters in Christ, let me tell you a story about what it's like to drive 500 miles to visit your aging parents for the holidays and because you are a devoted child and parent and there's no way you can stay with them you and your spouse therefore have to stay in a motel (it's clean! It was updated in the 1960s! It's convenient! There are only a couple of peeled paint spots on the walls! The television is a fire hazard! It's not expensive!) for 4 nights.
On second thought I will just let you all imagine it.
Merry christmakwanzakkah to those celebrating.
#goodnight #sayaprayerforme
#lightacandleforme #holidaycheer #payingoffkarma -
My brothers and sisters in Christ, let me tell you a story about what it's like to drive 500 miles to visit your aging parents for the holidays and because you are a devoted child and parent and there's no way you can stay with them you and your spouse therefore have to stay in a motel (it's clean! It was updated in the 1960s! It's convenient! There are only a couple of peeled paint spots on the walls! The television is a fire hazard! It's not expensive!) for 4 nights.
On second thought I will just let you all imagine it.
Merry christmakwanzakkah to those celebrating.
#goodnight #sayaprayerforme
#lightacandleforme #holidaycheer #payingoffkarma -
My brothers and sisters in Christ, let me tell you a story about what it's like to drive 500 miles to visit your aging parents for the holidays and because you are a devoted child and parent and there's no way you can stay with them you and your spouse therefore have to stay in a motel (it's clean! It was updated in the 1960s! It's convenient! There are only a couple of peeled paint spots on the walls! The television is a fire hazard! It's not expensive!) for 4 nights.
On second thought I will just let you all imagine it.
Merry christmakwanzakkah to those celebrating.
#goodnight #sayaprayerforme
#lightacandleforme #holidaycheer #payingoffkarma -
My brothers and sisters in Christ, let me tell you a story about what it's like to drive 500 miles to visit your aging parents for the holidays and because you are a devoted child and parent and there's no way you can stay with them you and your spouse therefore have to stay in a motel (it's clean! It was updated in the 1960s! It's convenient! There are only a couple of peeled paint spots on the walls! The television is a fire hazard! It's not expensive!) for 4 nights.
On second thought I will just let you all imagine it.
Merry christmakwanzakkah to those celebrating.
#goodnight #sayaprayerforme
#lightacandleforme #holidaycheer #payingoffkarma
