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theconservativebrief · 6 years

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Dan Nosowitz was scrolling through Instagram when he saw it: an ad for a cooking device whose sole function was to heat up raclette cheese.

“I had to click through because I had no idea what it actually was,” he explains. “Finding out that an algorithm believed I would be interested in a discount ‘traditional Swiss-style electric cheese melter’ is sort of comfortably bumbling. It’s like watching a Roomba bonk into a wall.”

Whether the humor inherent in the ad comes from the fact that the gadget is so oddly specific, or because raclette is an incredibly high-maintenance cheese and therefore hardly a common grocery item for most people, is difficult to say. What we do know, however, is that the complicated set of algorithms that serve targeted ads on social media are the most brutal, most incisive owns of our time.

In Nosowitz’s case, he figures he likely saw the raclette warmer because he’s a food writer who Amazon surely knows has previously browsed cooking tools on its site. That’s because Amazon, Facebook, Instagram, and the rest of the internet track your every keystroke and will then use your history to show you things they think will make them money. So it’s no wonder that it feels so deeply personal when we get targeted ads for, say, “dressy sweatpants,” colonoscopies, underwear whose selling point is that they are easy to take off, preparing for your own funeral, or, somehow the biggest attack of all: tickets to Jagged Little Pill: The Musical.

The simplest explanation for why targeted ads are so creepily intimate: Your phone, your computer, and the internet in general contain a gargantuan amount of information about you. Google, for instance, knows essentially every website you have ever gone to in your life, and thanks to geolocation can tell where you live, where you work, and where you’ve traveled and when. Credit card companies know what you buy, and the brands that sell those items can use that data to predict the things you’ll buy in the future — in Target’s case, it can tell that you’re pregnant before even your family knows.

There are ways to prevent at least some of this, but the more the internet entrenches itself in our lives, the more difficult and time-consuming it is to opt out. The consequences are, of course, potentially democracy-shattering. For our purposes here, however, the thing in danger of being shattered is our self-esteem.

Seth Stephens-Davidowitz, who has written a book on how the internet uses your data, has himself experienced the strangeness of being targeted by a Facebook ad for hair loss cream despite never having posted anything about balding.

“It was a little like being in a Seinfeld episode,” he explains. “I had never worried about my hair and always thought hair products were a total waste of money. And now I had to wonder, ‘Am I crazy? Should I actually be taking a product for hair loss?’” (He, however, ended up deducing that it was probably because two-thirds of men start losing their hair by the time they’re 35, and that the ad simply targeted all men around that age.)

I just got a Facebook ad for hair loss product. Are they using my pictures to figure out I am balding? I am pretty sure there is no other way, using my internet behavior, for them to know that.

— Seth Stephens-Davidowitz (@SethS_D) March 29, 2018

Facebook, undoubtedly the platform with the worst and most prolific targeted ads, said in a memo this April that while it allows companies to target their ads to users that fit a certain profile, it keeps users’ actual identities private from them.

But companies are able to target specific people by other means, namely through sending Facebook a list of emails, which Facebook can then use to find associated accounts. If you’ve ever bought anything from, say, Urban Outfitters, the brand could use the email you used to either make the purchase online or the one you gave at the checkout counter to specifically target you. And if you happened to be browsing Glossier.com, while still logged into Facebook, you might return to the social media app to find ads for Boy Brow.

Plus, the blog post doesn’t mention the fact that marketers can take advantage of your data that isn’t simply demographic — it theoretically could, for instance, reach users who seem to match a specific personality type or emotional state, thereby taking advantage of already vulnerable people. So ads for funeral preparations or musicals about mid-’90s female angst could be more than just a coincidence and instead referendums on your actual current mood.

The most horrific item I have ever seen in a targeted Facebook ad was a sweatshirt emblazoned with a bunch of Celtic knots that implied the superiority of having “Jennings blood.” Ignoring the possible white supremacist connotations, the ad was ironic mostly because you can buy the exact same sweatshirt replaced with literally any last name that sounds vaguely Irish and about a zillion other versions, too. “God made the strongest and named them Rubin,” reads one. “Never underestimate the power of a person with name’s Brooke,” shouts another, despite the fact that this sentence does not make sense.

It’s obvious why this specific ad showed up on my feed: Facebook knows that my last name is Jennings, and marketers can easily target users with such information. What’s more complicated is how the hell all those last names ended up on a sweatshirt.

To be clear, they didn’t. The reason so many T-shirts and sweatshirts with oddly specific phrases is because online clothing companies have tasked algorithms with the heavy lift of actually filling in the specifics and photoshopping those results onto digital images of clothing. The sweatshirts themselves don’t physically exist until you hit “purchase.”

Michael Fowler had been in the T-shirt business for 20 years before creating a simple computer code that would change his life in 2011. It took a common phrase, such as “Kiss Me, I’m a [blank],” compiled hundreds of thousands of words from digital dictionaries, created a list of phrase variations using those words, and then generated images of T-shirts with each phrase. According to The Hustle, Fowler’s company went from just 1,000 T-shirts that were designed by actual humans to more than 22 million code-generated ones. Through targeted Facebook ads, he was eventually able to sell 800 a day.

Unfortunately, his success was not the reason Fowler would make international headlines. Two years later his algorithm was responsible for shirts that read “Keep calm and rape a lot,” among other disturbing and misogynistic variations on the famous World War II slogan. Fowler said he had no knowledge of the items, and in fact, they’d been available for more than a year before anyone noticed. But even though he quickly deleted the offending shirts, his company still ended up folding.

Robot-written word salad T-shirts, however, have managed to become one of the internet’s purest inside jokes. On the subreddit r/TargetedShirts, members share the most egregious versions they come across, be they weirdly antagonistic (“Walk away, this forklift operator has anger issues and a serious dislike of stupid people”), uncomfortably sexual (“I don’t need therapy, I just need to get f#ed in public by fourteen werewolves”), birthday month-related (“Never underestimate an old man who is also an air force veteran and was born in November”), or utterly nonsensical (“Good girls go to heaven, January girl go hunting with Dean”).

The sub even has its own parody versions, like “These titties are protected by a skinny white guy in his mid-thirties who wears DC shoes, yells at me in public and is addicted to percs who was born in February,” or “Only heros with an IQ of 121, work as a pizza delivery driver, have 3 spoons of sugar in their coffee and love reptiles & mice, were born in March by C-section 2 weeks before their due date.”

Its founder, David Moreno, launched the subreddit just ten months ago, but it already has more than 40,000 subscribers. He explained to Vox that the first time he saw a targeted ad, back in 2011 or 2012, “it did fuck with my brain for a while because it had my last name and month of birth and at the time I didn’t realize what was going on.”

These days, however, the practice makes sense to him. “Funnily enough, I work in marketing, so while it might seem like a desperate strategy, it is actually a very good way to target a very specific group of people without spending too much cash,” he said.

The best versions, of course, are the ones seen in the wild. The sub is often populated by surreptitiously photographed people in the offending shirts, like this one, with comments that lightly roast the wearer. They’re the best because they are the saddest — the catalog of folks who were not only owned by the algorithm, but scammed by it.

That’s the other part of what it’s like to see a hyper-targeted ad for something incredibly on-brand: sometimes they read us more clearly than any actual humans. This is an inherently depressing thought, considering that this is sort of the job of the people we love and the society we live in. But the more intimate our phones and our data become in our lives, it might increasingly be the case.

The prevailing cynical attitude towards targeted ads — tweets that say things like, “i just got an ad for preparing for your own funeral, what are you trying to say to me youtube” — can sort of be compared to the FBI agent meme of the past year and a half or so. The idea is that every internet user has their own personal agent monitoring their behavior through their devices, but instead of this being incredibly creepy, the joke is that the agent acts as a friend or frustrated mentor to the subject.

me: (sitting back down on my bed with a bowl of chips ready to binge a new series) hey so what does “fbi” stand for anyway

fbi agent inside my computer: uh Faraway.. Buddy.. Insideyourcomputer

me: cool. so what do u wanna watch next

fbi agent: i heard grace and frankie is fun

— jonny sun (@jonnysun) February 1, 2018

A Mashable article earlier this year explored the surprising poignance of the meme: “The agent wants the best for their subject,” writes its author Chloe Bryan. “The narrator, conscious of how boring their life must be to observe, tries to entertain the FBI agent. They have pleasant conversations. They develop a forbidden friendship. They become quiet, lightly subversive allies.”

In both cases, we’re taking our deepest technological anxieties — that the internet stores and sells our data and that the government is spying on us — and turning them into lighthearted jokes. Which is fair! It’s a lot more fun to pretend Big Data is actually just there to dunk on our most embarrassing shopping habits instead of manipulating U.S. elections or contributing to the rising wealth of the world’s richest people.

Which means there will probably come a day when an ad on Instagram for an enormous cheese-warming gadget targeted specifically to a person using a complex set of his internet data will no longer be funny. But we may as well laugh while it still is.

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Original Source -> The joy and horror of targeted Facebook ads

via The Conservative Brief

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fic-dreamin · 6 years

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Buy For Knightfall, Stay For Prodigal The final ending to the Knightfall Saga was built up over so many issues to be a giant fight between Bruce Wayne and Azrael for the mantle of the bat but we never get to see that. While the ending of Knightfall is a huge let down, the story continues with the "Prodigal" storyline which is the reason I bought the book. Dick Grayson takes over for Bruce Wayne as Batman while the latter figures some things out on his own and the result makes for some cool (albeit useless in the end) stories. This isn't even remotely close to the better Batman stories, but it's pretty important in the overall timeline so if you're a die hard Bat-Fan, you need this one in your collection Go to Amazon

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A must-read for all Batman fans! In this 3rd and final collection of the story of Knightfall, we see a previously crippled Bruce Wayne regain his mobility, regain his strength, and regain his resolve to set things right in Gotham. Jean-Paul Valley, as the new Batman, has completely lost control. He has alienated all of Gotham City P. D., even Commissioner Gordon. He has chased off, scared off, or grounded down all of Bruce Wayne's family of vigilantes, and worst of all, Jean-Paul has committed the murder of a criminal, with no regret or remorse. Bruce Wayne, finally recovered enough mentally & physically to again don the mantle of the Bat, must put an end to Jean-Paul's sadistic reign as the new, crazed Batman. Wayne must also regain the trust of Gordon & the G.C.P.D., and finally, he must publicly defeating, yet not killing, the man-monster who crippled him, Bane. Go to Amazon

Batman: Knightfall Vol. 3 I enjoyed this as the conclusion to the story. Even when tempted by Lady Shiva and given the opportunity, Batman still does not break his vow to never kill. That is why Batman is my favourite DC hero. Love how Batman returns to take back the cape and cowl. His defeat of Jean-Paul Valley is psychological and I liked that strategy. It is clear that Valley was dillusional and his increasing mental breakdown made him too violent and unworthy of the role Bruce Wayne gave him. Volumes 1, 2 and 3 are a great collection for anyone getting into Batman or even for veteran fans who want the comics in a complete collection. Took over a year to complete this story line and lot's of room to develop the characters and Bruce's journey leading up to and after Bane breaks his back. Great read great art and hard to put down!! Go to Amazon

Best in the trilogy Batman knightsend is a very good book. It includes knightsend and prodigal knightsend is about Bruce's revenge on jean Paul the final fight is very and I mean very anticlimactic and if any one knows how azraels suit gets red all of a sudden please tell it doesn't make any sence. Prodigal is nightwing as batman when Bruce is away nightwing is an uneasy batman and is nervous about many things and is scared about facing two face. Prodigal ends on a cliffhanger and I recommend getting four troika arch books, batman 515, shadow of the bat 35, detective comics 682, and robin 14. I only spent 16 dollars on all of them. I think the trilogy gets better with every volume and that is great. Go to Amazon

I didn't like how the story ended with Azrael becoming a homeless ... Concludes the story to Knightfall. I didn't like how the story ended with Azrael becoming a homeless man in Gotham city. Go to Amazon

The Knight Almost Comes To An End...But Close Enough. 4.5 Score After all of the build up and attention it received, THE DARK KNIGHT RISES finally hit the movie theaters this past summer, which I'm sure just about everyone has gone and seen for themselves by now. And how fitting that the wait finally came to an end, that the last new volume of Knighfall--or more appropriately Knightsend--has finally come out after this long. We waited and read the exquisite first volume Go to Amazon

I only use the star system to rate movies and ... Five Stars Five Stars Gteat story! It isn't that I wanted to, but I needed ... Five Stars Great Books and Gift!! Four Stars Five Stars Five Stars

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thesassybooskter · 6 years

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NO EARLS ALLOWED by Shana Galen: Excerpt & Giveaway

NOW AVAILABLE / SOURCEBOOKS CASABLANCA

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a lady can do anything a man can do: backwards and in high-heeled dancing slippers.

Lady Juliana, daughter of the Earl of St. Maur, needs all the help she can get. She’s running a ramshackle orphanage, London’s worst slumlord has illicit designs on her, and her father has suddenly become determined to marry her off.

Enter Major Neil Wraxall, bastard son of the Marquess of Kensington, sent to assist Lady Juliana in any way he can. Lucky for her, he’s handy with repairs, knows how to keep her and the orphans safe, and is a natural leader of men.

Unfortunately for both of them, the scandal that ensues from their mutual attraction is going to lead them a merry dance…

Buy Online: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | iBooks

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Excerpt

His hand came down hard on her shoulder, and she flinched from the feel of his leather gloves on her bare skin. “Allow me to remind you, Lady Juliana. I offered you my protection.”

“Thank you very much.” She slid out of his grip. “Now, if you will excuse—”

“Stop playing games. I am a man of business, and you are not a stupid woman. There are dangerous men about, and you and the children who live here need a protector.”

Julia didn’t need to translate his words. He was the dangerous man.

“I am offering you my protection for a small fee.”

Small fee? “I do believe you mentioned one thousand pounds, Mr. Slag. That is no small fee.”

“Your father is an earl.”

“Yes, and most of his money is tied up in lands.”

“There is another option.” He moved closer, his round belly brushing against her dress. “You can pay the fee by offering me a place in your bed. You’re an attractive woman.” His gaze slid to her breasts, making her skin itch. “And even the gentry like a bit of slap and tickle. What do you say, Julia?”

Though abhorrent to her, he made the proposal in earnest. He probably thought it more than fair, and if she had been another woman she might have agreed without blinking an eye. Her father had tried to marry her off to men ranging from elderly to lecherous. What did Slag propose but a similar arrangement without the permanence of the vows?

But Julia had not come to Spitalfields to end up some man’s plaything. She could have stayed home in Mayfair and become a kept woman. Which meant her answer to Slag was an unqualified, Never. No! Not ever.

But one did not say such things to Mr. Slag and walk away with one’s brains intact. Julia liked her head round, not smashed flat on the carpet. And so she smiled and chose one of the many phrases she knew and had used in the past on the sons of dukes and viscounts and lowly barons. “Sir, you flatter me with your proposal, but this is all so sudden.”

“Then maybe you just need a bit of persuading.” He reached for her, and she took a step back. Dear God. She dearly hoped this would not turn into him chasing her about the parlor. And why hadn’t she seen this coming? The problem was that she spent only part of the week within the walls of the St. Dismas Home for Wayward Youth—er, rather Sunnybrooke Home for Boys, as she had renamed it. And during that time she was so absorbed with the problems of the boys and running the orphanage, she had no time to consider how to deal with Mr. Slag. And when she might have snatched a moment to deal with the problem, she had to return to Mayfair to be thrust into the world of the ton, and then Slag and Sunnybrooke seemed so far away.

But Slag was not far away now. He was far too near and her strategy of ignoring him and hoping he’d go away would not work this time.

She took another step back, and he followed, but she was saved from running behind her desk when someone tapped on the parlor door.

“Come in!” she yelled. “Please!”

The door opened to reveal Mr. Goring. “Sorry to interrupt, my lady.”

“Not at all, Mr. Goring. Come in.” She crossed to him and pulled him inside. “You should join us.”

He frowned at her as though the ways of the upper classes were foreign and mysterious to him. “You have another caller, my lady.”

Julia frowned. Another caller? Who on earth would be calling on her here? “Do you know the caller?”

“No, my lady. He says it’s a matter of—what was the word?—urgency.”

He? Then the thought struck her. It was a representative from the bank. Perhaps the board had made good on its threat not to pay the mortgage and the bank had come to close her down.

“Tell him to come back later,” Slag ordered.

“No!” Bank representative or no, whoever it was would be an improvement on Slag. “Show him in, Mr. Goring.”

Goring looked from her to Slag.

“Go on, Mr. Goring,” she said as forcefully as she could. “Show him in.”

“Maybe I should come back at a more opportune time,” Slag said.

“Please do, Mr. Slag. I am so sorry we were interrupted.”

“May I call on you tonight?”

“Tonight? No. I’m very, very busy tonight.”

He lifted his stick then crossed to her and took her hand. At some point during their little dance, he’d removed his gloves, and as she’d removed hers in the kitchen, the press of his bare fingers on hers made her throat tighten.

“You can’t put me off forever, Lady Juliana,” he said softly. “Lest you forget, I’m a man who gets what I want. And the longer you make me wait, the more I want.”

With that he strolled out of the room, jostling the man entering. The two stopped, looked each other up and down, and then with a warning glare, Slag went on his way.

The other man watched him, then strode into the room. “Friend of yours?” he asked.

Julia let out a breath then caught it again. She blinked at the man before her, but she had not dreamed him. He was better than any dream her mind might have conjured. It was as though he had just stepped out of a painting depicting a god or an angel. He was tall but not so tall she had to crane her neck to look up at him, and he had olive skin with a touch of gold. His thickly lashed eyes were the most beautiful shade of blue she had ever seen. She had never been to the Mediterranean Sea, but this was what she imagined the waters would look like. His hair brushed his collar, the thick waves falling about his face. With a cupped hand, he brushed them back in what must have been a habitual gesture, then seeming to remember his manners, bowed to her.

His bow and the attention it drew to his clothing told her everything she needed to know. This man was no crime lord. He was of her father’s ilk. Her ilk, when she was playing the part of Lady Juliana in Mayfair drawing rooms. His dark coat fit snugly over broad shoulders, his cravat was snowy white against bronze skin, and his breeches strained quite nicely over muscled thighs…

She tried to speak over the pounding of her heart. “You will forgive me, sir, if I do not recall having met you before.” She hadn’t met him. If she’d met him, she would not have forgotten.

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About Shana Galen

Shana Galen is the bestselling author of fast-paced adventurous Regency historicals, including the RT Reviewers' Choice The Making of a Gentleman. Booklist says, "Galen expertly entwines espionage-flavored intrigue with sizzling passion," and RT Bookreviews calls her "a grand mistress of the action/adventure subgenre." She taught English at the middle and high school level off and on for eleven years. Most of those years were spent working in Houston's inner city. Now she writes full time. She's happily married and has a daughter who is most definitely a romance heroine in the making. Shana loves to hear from readers, so send her an email or see what she's up to daily on Facebook and Twitter.

Website | Twitter | Facebook | Goodreads | Instagram

NO EARLS ALLOWED by Shana Galen: Excerpt & Giveaway was originally published on The Sassy Bookster

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