Jackie

By design, I know next to nothing about Jackie and wasn't supposed to ask. She lives 1700 miles away in Texas, we haven't met and likely never would. Our interactions started 3 months ago with a boilerplate exchange: a request from her for help on an essay, and a willingness from me to take a look.

The vehicle that connected us was an online site called UStrive. Aimed at high school seniors, it offers a virtual mentoring platform which pairs up students with adults willing to help them navigate the college admissions process. Students need merely to sign up; adults have to undergo a background check on their own dime to go into the pool. Students then shop through the available profiles. If they think they have a match, they send out a feeler and see if they get a response, which is how Jackie made my acquaintance.

To protect both parties, all interactions are supposed to be done through the site. It has its own chat and phone system, as well as the ability to swap documents. Jackie's first request was to edit an essay she wrote about leadership. In reading it I learned she was a student at a magnet school in Dallas which focused on young women. She wrote about her experience working with friends to create a documentary about teen pregnancy, a film which won a number of awards. I may have broken protocol, but I went online and watched it and read some local articles about it and her.

Like our own kid's essays for college, hers had good bones but needed some nips and tucks. I made some trims and sent it back, along with a suggestion to rewrite the last paragraph to be more in her voice. She quickly responded, and I touched that up as well. I sent it off, and assumed that would be the end of it.

Then a few weeks later came another request to look at another submission, one highlighting her life and educational goals. In this essay she talked about her father's furniture business, and how she sometimes accompanied him on deliveries. This took her to some upscale neighborhoods in Dallas. As she went in and out of grand homes she began to wonder why her neighborhood looked so different, and why it couldn't look better. That started her on her desire to be an architect, with the goal of learning how to make better looking low cost housing.

Like many young adults her age, she tried a little too hard with this one. It contained lots of big words that sounded inauthentic. I sent a note back to that effect, saying it would be more impactful if she simplified it and wrote from the heart rather than from a thesaurus. After I sent it I wondered if she might just ignore my comments as too much trouble. But several hours later a new draft hit my inbox, one that sounded more like her, filled with heart and passion and conviction. I polished that one and sent it back, and she agreed it was better.

A week or so later another request, this essay focusing on her community service activities. She described her work as a museum volunteer working with little kids. She talked about how their enthusiasm for learning helped to inspire her. Again, a few commas put in, a few taken out and some misplaced modifiers replaced. We volleyed some ideas back and forth to improve it. And by then she was no longer anonymous to me, but rather a smart, deserving, committed young woman.

Radio silence for a bit, then a final contact of a different type: "Hi, I received good news today. I earned a $6000 Texas State Fair Scholarship and a renewable $2000 scholarship for four years. But the best news is I was named a Terry Scholar for University of Texas at Arlington, giving me a full ride!"

It's been years since own kids got into school, but I felt like Jackie was my own daughter. I couldn't be prouder. From the picture I gleaned from her essays, this young woman deserves every accolade she earns. And I couldn't be more thrilled to be able to play a small part in her triumph, even if the only hug I can give her is a virtual one.

-END-

Marc Wollin of Bedford is happy to be a mentor, virtual or otherwise. His column appears regularly in The Record-Review, The Scarsdale Inquirer and online at http://www.glancingaskance.blogspot.com/, as well as via Facebook, LinkedIn and Twitter.

Eaves-Everything

You don't have to be a spy with a glass against the wall to eavesdrop these days. In fact, you have a harder time not overhearing conversations. People are so wrapped up in their own worlds that they don't seem to care that others are listening. Could be the next table at Starbucks, or the people on the street, or the guy on his cell phone with the earbuds screwed in tight. They all act as if they were alone, and carry on regardless of you standing next to them. 

That enables you to be either annoyed or amused by the show. OverheardEverywhere.com posts some of the choicest bits. The high school girl, ranting to a friend about biology class: "It's so annoying - I hate evolution! I'm like 'God created it' and that's all we need to know. We don't have to go all hi-def into it!" Or the guy on the cell phone: "So what are we doing after bible study? Beers? Ladies?" Or the couple breaking up on a street corner. She: "I can't believe you're ditching me! You will never, never, never find a girl like me in your entire life again!" He: "And THAT is the point." 

These days it's a situation that occurs even in your own home. Not by your family, though they might have an ear cocked as well. Apple's HomePod, Amazon's Echo and Google's Home listen for their wakeup word or phrase, then set your kitchen timers or cue up your music or turn on your lights. But it's just a trigger, right? It's not actually "listening" to you, right? Well, no, it is, and unless you opt out, likely recording it as well. Each company has your permission for that buried in the fine print of their devices and services. They say it is only for R&D and to make their systems better. But where there is personal data there is potential for abuse. And judges have been known to allow subpoenas for those recordings for use in criminal investigations. Like Kelsey Grammar used to say on "Frasier," a sitcom about a psychologist with a radio show, "Good afternoon, Seattle. I'm listening." 

And it doesn't stop with just audio. All those other connected devices in your life are effectively listening to your actions. Your connected garage door opener knows what time you leave and when you come home. Your connected lights know when you turn in for the night and what time you wake up. And your connected GPS knows where you go and how you get there. In short, listening is not just about sound, it's what about what you do. And the picture of you fills in a little more with each thing you add, if someone cares enough to take a look. 

You can try and safeguard your life, but it's likely a losing battle. As the internet of things expands, there are more and more opportunities to track your comings and goings, and for others to learn about them. If you're a staunch defender of privacy, you might well be alarmed. And this is indeed one of those times that being paranoid doesn't mean you are wrong. 

Then again, all it takes is a little caution sometimes to prevent prying eyes. On a recent flight, I took my seat next to an older woman. She smiled at me, and then very distinctly put her elbows on the armrest. When I leaned on it a bit as well, she moved hers forward, staking her claim in no uncertain terms. Not wanting to deal with it I drew back, pulled out my book and ceded the space. Some things aren't worth fighting over. 

A bit later she pulled out a large journal and began writing in it. As we hit cruising altitude, she gazed out the window, closed her eyes and fell asleep. The journal, open in her lap, was too tempting a target for me. I glanced over to see a comment about the flight attendant, one about the weather, then this: "Skirmished successfully for the armrest with the moderately bulky gentlemen on the aisle." 

Moderately bulky? I'm trying to watch what I eat. Still, the moral is that you eavesdrop (or in this case, eavesread) at your own peril. You might just find out inconvenient truths not about another, but about yourself.

 -END-

Marc Wollin of Bedford loves to listen as he walks down the street. His column appears regularly in The Record-Review, The Scarsdale Inquirer and online at http://www.glancingaskance.blogspot.com/, as well as via Facebook, LinkedIn and Twitter.

Flight of the Blizzards

Two guys walk into a bar and can't decide what to drink. No, it's not the start of a joke; they just don't know what to have. One is a wine lover, and can't decide if he wants a Malbec or a cab, a pinot or a Syrah. The other is a beer aficionado, and is torn between an IPA, a stout and a pilsner. Luckily they don't have to decide, because each can order a flight. 

A flight is an assortment of the available choices. Sometimes organized around a theme or a taste, they are generally smaller samples of the current options. The price is usually more than a single drink but less than the multiple you order, making them a good way to try out the offerings without breaking the bank. You pick the ones that interest you, and the barkeep sets them out in small glasses for you to enjoy. 

It's a concept that could be applied to other courses besides drinks. After all, there are often multiple things on a menu that look good, and it's hard to decide. It would be great to be able to order few bites of the grilled octopus, some hanger steak and a half a piece of the house sausage. But no can do. Spanish Tapas or Kaiten Sushi are kind of the same idea, but with a flight you know what you are getting going in, as opposed to adding up 37 plates at the end and wondering why you feel so full. 

When eating out with friends we often try and create our own flights. With appetizers we order multiple dishes and share them around the table. If it's Thai it might be lettuce wraps and dumplings, if Italian maybe fried calamari and some meatballs. Everybody gets a bite or two of everything, enabling us to taste it all and not fill up before dinner. Certain cuisines lend themselves to the same concept for the main course as well. Chinese food is particularly adaptable: get an order of lo mein, one of chicken and peanuts, another of dry sautéed beef, and pass them all around. Everybody gets to try everything, take seconds (or thirds) of what they really like, and walk away happy. It's the same story for desserts: a piece of cake, a plate of the fruit cobbler and multiple forks, and all get a sample. When we have dinner this way, there are rarely leftovers. 

But this only works when the number of eaters is more than one. As a person who often dines alone when on business, I can't tell you the number of times I am torn as to what to order, and have to settle for one thing when another looks equally appealing. With no other person with whom to go halfsies, I go back to my hotel wondering if I should had picked that other thing that looked so good. Order-ers remorse, call it. 

In that light it seems that Dairy Queen has my number. They've just announced their summer flavor line up, and among other goodies it has 3 new varieties of Blizzards, their signature blend of ice cream and other stuff. These include Caramel Cannonball, featuring caramel coated truffles, crunchy toffee pieces and caramel topping; Cookie Jar, with cookie pieces, chocolate chip cookie dough and fudge; and Brownie Dough, with brownie dough pieces, choco chunks and cocoa fudge. As a person with a serious sugar jones, making me pick just one is a Sophie's Choice situation. 

But for the month of May, the chain is offering a Flight of Blizzards. Customers can pick three to sample, selecting from the aforementioned new flavors as well as returning blends like S'mores, Cotton Candy and Summer Berry Cheesecake. Each flight serves up the chosen flavors in mini cups on a cardboard tray, enabling even solo diners to graze and sample to their belly's content. 

If your pallet is sophisticated, go and order a flight of wines. Savor the differences between cabernets from Dominus, Justin and Ramey. Meanwhile I will be in line at DQ, also tasting hints of chocolate, touches of caramel and top notes of berry. However I'll be dealing not in sips but in scoops. And mine comes with a cherry on top.

-END-

Marc Wollin of Bedford could eat ice cream every night, but he doesn't. His column appears regularly in The Record-Review, The Scarsdale Inquirer and online at http://www.glancingaskance.blogspot.com/, as well as via Facebook, LinkedIn and Twitter.

Striking Out

Never has so much been written about so little. Or actually about nothing. For all that is in the Mueller report, at least as much has been written, discussed, analyzed, speculated and dismissed about not what is there, but what is not. Out of 448 pages, there are 946 unique redactions and 1,657 redacted lines. At 46 lines per page, that means that 36 pages or 8% of the total is black, black, black. And that has vaulted the word "redaction" to the top of the charts. 

In the case of the Mueller report, the withheld information falls into 4 categories: secret grand jury information, classified data, information relating to other continuing investigations, and data on "peripheral" people. But in the words of the National Security Archive, redaction is "an art not a science." And just as one man's ceiling is another man's floor, one man's redaction is another's really juicy tidbit that might be embarrassing, but is hardly going to bring down the government. 

Consider the Central Intelligence Agency. By executive order, they are required to automatically declassify nonexempt historically valuable records 25 years or older, and make them available to the public. To facilitate that they created the Central Record Search Tool, known by the acronym CREST. Since 2000, the CIA has maintained CREST as an electronic full-text searchable system, and in 2017 they put the whole thing online. At last count there were some 13 million documents available for the general public to peruse. 

Of course, being an agency of secrets, they weren't wild about doing this. While Muller has just four classifications of stuff you can't see, the CIA has 126 tripwires that fall under the heading of "source and methods" and so can be redacted. Must be super sensitive stuff, you might think. Well, how about the brand of two cases of beer?  A 1981 letter to an unidentified Ambassador from former CIA Director William Casey says "What a pleasant surprise to discover two cases of delicious (REDACTED) beer awaiting us when we returned home!" Code name, perhaps? 

It is also well known that one's recipe for meatloaf is a state secret. And so it only makes sense that knowing where it is kept is also sensitive information. How else to explain a 1988 update on the construction of a cafeteria facility at CIA HQ. You would think that's the kind of routine, harmless information that could readily be shared. You would be wrong. "(REDACTED) Cafeteria opened with limited service on 13 Jan." Don't even think of asking about the "egg salad." 

While selecting what should be redacted may be an art versus a science, the method to do so has certainly gotten more sophisticated over time. In the days of typewritten pages, heavy black markers were used, then the documents were photocopied. Unfortunately for the redactors, often just holding the page up to the light could sometimes reveal the underlying text. Others resorted to using a razor blade to physically remove the offending words or phrases, resulting in a document that resembled swiss cheese or the line of dignitaries atop Lenin's Tomb. 

More recently electronic word processing has been both a boon and a curse. Just using a black highlighter or masking box doesn't destroy the underlying text, it just covers it. Unless the redactor merges the document and creates a new one, it can be no harder to reveal the original text than cutting and pasting. 

As an example, Facebook has sworn up and down that they would never sell your data without your permission. Then came documents filed in a lawsuit in November between Facebook and a bikini-photo app called Six4Three. The documents were heavily redacted, but The Wall Street Journal took the blacked-out portions and pasted them into a new document, revealing the underlying text. Among other thing, they found that FB doth protest too much: they suggested a charge of up to $250,000 to share your beach vacation. 

In George Orwell's "1984," Newspeaker Syme is chatting with Winston in the cafeteria at work. Proud of the progress they are making in reducing the language to its essence, Syme notes "It's a beautiful thing, the destruction of words." Mueller et al. haven't gone that far, but it's a slippery slope. In words Orwell would surely appreciate, there is a sign posted in the FBI's unit charged with fulfilling Freedom of Information requests: "When In Doubt, Cut it Out."

-END-

Marc Wollin of Bedford loves (REDACTED.) His column appears regularly in The Record-Review, The Scarsdale Inquirer and online at http://www.glancingaskance.blogspot.com/, as well as via Facebook, LinkedIn and Twitter.