Every time I read an article by stale (but darling!) old-media technocrat John C. Dvorak, I think about the time several years ago when I was sure that I saw him in an Italian restaurant; I stared him down, silently considering the propriety of approaching someone who may have just been an mildy-doughy, middle-aged, bespectacled, white nobody for an autograph, and finally decided to leave him be as I realized that he looked incredibly frightened of the wide-eyed, less-doughy, young-aged, bespectacled, black nobody who wouldn’t look away.