Get Me Rewrite!

As a person who struggles daily with spelling and grammar, I'm hardly one to be throwing stones at that particular glass house. No matter how many times I check these weekly efforts, I (and others) find transgressions galore. It's not like I want to have misspellings, incorrect subjects and verbs that don't agree. It's not that I delight in typos that now seem obvious but which I didn't catch even on the third reading. That said, I welcome it when people point out my errors. One, I learn from them. And two, it proves that at the very least they are reading this space.

My excuse is that I am a one-man band. Once the writer (me) is done, it goes to the copy editor (me again) then to the style editor (yup, me) and finally to the executive editor (that would be me as well). In the wider world, where there are multiple skilled individuals and multiple sets of eyes scrutinizing the product, gaffes should be less common and are less forgivable.

Still, they do happen. Newspapers are particular susceptible to this. While there are multiple steps to insure accuracy, deadline pressures conspire to sometimes throw the train off the track. How else to explain a headline about the debut of the first baseball pitcher to throw with either arm rendered as "Amphibious Pitcher Make Debut." Or the science note "Human Brian Is Still Evolving." Or the continuation of a story about the NY Jets on another page:" Jets Patriots jumphead goes here barllskdjif fkdasd fg asdf." 

But the most egregious errors would seem to be ones that go through monumental proofing, and still slip through. The latest example comes courtesy of the Republic of Ireland. More specifically it comes from An Post, which is the state operator of postal services in the Emerald Isle. Along with their responsibility for collecting and delivering the mail, they issue stamps to affix to letters and packages. And when you are creating ones that will be seen and licked by an entire country you would think that they would be proofed into the ground. Then again.

Timed to coincide with the recent 50th anniversary of the Apollo 11 moon landing, a series of stamps was issued to commemorate spacepersons with Irish ancestry. The stamps feature images of various spacecraft along with the likeness of astronauts Cady Coleman, Neil Armstrong, Michael Collins and Eileen Collins. All good so far. But with Irish (or what we Yankees call Gaelic) being the official language of the country, the stamps bore their commemorative statements in both that and English. So under the "The 50th Anniversary of the First Moon Landing" was the phrase "Cothrom 50 Bliain na Chead Tuirlingthe ar an nGaelach."

Just one problem. The Irish word for moon is "gealach." But the stamp spelled it "gaelach." That transposition of letters changed the word from that thing orbiting our planet to a word meaning "attached to Irish or Irish culture." So effectively the stamp says in the country's native tongue "The 50th Anniversary of the First Landing on the Irish." The Sea of Tranquility was never so green.

At least it was caught early, and corrected in subsequent printings. Contrast that with what happened in Australia. In May it was revealed that on Australia's' new $50 banknote, which was released last year and bears a picture of Edith Cowan, the first female member of the Australian parliament, there was a misspelling in the background. What looks like a lawn behind Ms. Cowan is in actuality rows of text containing a quotation from her first speech to parliament. "It is a great responsibility to be the only woman here," is repeated numerous times. However each time the fifth word is rendered as "responsibilty" with a missing "i." Not a change in meaning, but an embarrassment to the national treasury, especially since the $50 bill is the most widely circulated denomination. And there are now 46 million copies of that error floating about the country.

Both errors, while embarrassing, aren't deal breakers. Still it is nice to get it right. After all, had Jackie Gleason made the same mistake as they did with the stamps, his famous come back to his wife would have taken on a different meaning: "Bang! Zoom! To the Irish, Alice!"

-END-

Marc Wollin of Bedford tries to catch errors, but sometimes he Mrs. 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.

"Death Calling"

They say it's the future. They say it makes things more efficient. They say it opens up whole new ways to control technology. And indeed, when it works, it is just this side of magic. Talk to your phone or your car or your home assistant, and its ability to listen, understand, respond in kind and do your bidding is truly remarkable. 

In fact, when you look at it in terms of its impact, speech recognition, and its more advanced cousin, voice transcription, has become perhaps the most important computing advance since the mouse. It fundamentally changes the way we interact with the technology that is embedded in our lives. It frees us from having to work on flat surfaces that support keyboards, and from even having to look at the devices whether on a desk or in our hands. Made possible by all the buzzwords of the moment – artificial intelligence, cloud computing, big data, neural nets – it has the potential to unlock access to almost infinite problem solving for all, even if you can't even read or write. 

However anyone who has ever tried it knows that the future isn't always now. While the systems have gotten much better, with error rates approaching the same as human transcribers, they seem to fail spectacularly as often as not. Add in noisy environments, like cars and trains and sidewalks, and the results can be downright comical, if not exasperating. Or as Gerald Friedland, a Principal Data Scientist at the Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory noted, "Depending who you ask, speech recognition is either solved or impossible." 

Just try asking your phone to do something for you. If you hit it just right, if the background sound isn't too much, if you have a solid connection, if you speak clearly and distinctly, the results can be impressive. "OK, Google, send an email to Brian Jones." In seconds, she responds: "Sure, what's the message?" You dictate, "Please call me about the Boston job." She parrots that back to you, adding a final, "Do you want to send it or change it?" You reply the former, and off it goes. HAL 9000 would be impressed. 

But note the many "ifs." The potential points of failure add up to as many misses as hits. How often have you asked it to call a person you speak to often and it comes back with "I'm sorry, I can't locate that person in your contacts." Try again, saying it slower and louder, and you get "I'm sorry, there is no one in your contacts with that name." Try it a third time, and it will either repeat the familiar refrain again, or just as likely, "Millard Fillmore was the 13th president of the United States." Well, let's not waste this moment of triumph: get him on phone. 

Numerous postings online show just how far afield the process can go. For every success there is an epic fail that makes you wonder what the underlying original request or statement could possibly have been, "Hi again This is Michael. So calling from Ralph there. Volkswagen lasagna." Well, sure. I guess better than Chevy tacos. Or how about, "I just wanted to let you know so that you weren't surprised if you come back for shower tomorrow that my cousin is girlfriend, maybe." That will be an awkward Thanksgiving dinner. 

The systems seem to have better success when the universe of words involved is in its original wheelhouse. Ask Alexa to set an oven timer and it never misses. Tell Siri to dial a series of digits, and you almost always get through. But then again, sometimes she (and yes, the voices are all female by default) seems like she's just messing with you. How else to explain a transcription like this: "Hi Allen my name is White and my number is area code (626) 523-8023 once again the number is (562) 652-3808." 

Then again, there are times when you want to avoid a call and not talk to the other party. In that case perhaps it is better that you let it go to voicemail and not get engaged. Or at least that would seem to be the case for the following. One wonders who was really calling. But if it was transcribed correctly? Then better to have not answered, "Hi Kelly. Death calling."

-END-

Marc Wollin of Bedford has yelled at his phone many times. 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.

Spreading the Wealth

In the many idle chats we've had on the road, Brian has learned about my favorite foods and I about his. Two areas we have in common are barbeque and peanut butter. And indeed, on our last trip, he located a good ‘que place near the hotel. But he topped that bit of foodie acumen when he showed up on site, reached into his luggage and pulled out a jar for me of his favorite PB from Peanut Butter and Co. He had been waxing rhapsodically about the taste, the various favors and texture. On a recent shopping trip he picked up an extra jar for me, a very thoughtful and generous thing to do. 

There was only one issue: we were in Dallas. As with many road warriors, I have a familiar routine to make the frequent travel easier. I know where to park at the airport and where to sit on the plane. As for luggage, it's always carryon; checking is a cardinal sin. That's 20 minutes at the other end I'll never get back, assuming they don't lose my luggage in the first place. So I weed out any non-essentials, buy little tubes and bottles of whatever I need, and make sure it will fit into the overhead bin above my seat. 

Indeed, I had flown in the night before, and carried on my luggage as I usually do. I thanked Brian profusely, but had a forbidding feeling. Sure enough, a check of the TSA website confirmed that they treat peanut butter as a liquid. That means you can't have any more than 4 ounces in your bag, or else it has to go in the hold. And this jar was most assuredly bigger than a mini shampoo bottle. 

I figured I had several options. I could give it back to him, explaining I couldn't carry it home in my preferred configuration. I could spend our remaining night in my hotel room eating the entire jar. Or I could simply dispose it, and tell him how good it was, knowing he would never be the wiser. 

But throwing out perfectly good food, especially a jar of peanut butter, seemed wrong. I also couldn't down an entire jar in my room (actually I probably could, but I resisted the temptation). The next day as we grabbed a car to the airport, I considered fessing up and returning it to him, but that just seemed rude and ungrateful. And as just stated emphatically, checking it went against my very core. It was beginning to look like disposal was the most likely last resort. 

We were flying on different airlines, so the car dropped him off first. After we said goodbye and pulled back out to head to my terminal, I had a thought. I said to my Uber driver, "This is kind of as strange out-of-left-field question, but do you like peanut butter?" He confessed that he did. I told him of Brian's kind gift and my dilemma. Of course, he asked why I didn't just check my luggage, but I demurred, citing my bias. "This might sound strange," I said, "but have you ever been tipped in peanut butter?" He laughed and asked if I was serious. I indicated I was. Sure, he said, he was game. I added just one proviso: he had to drop me a line as to how it was. He agreed, and took the jar. 

When I landed a little after midnight, the first thing that popped up on my phone was a text: "This is Nick, your Uber driver." Strange, I thought. I had driven to the airport, so no car should be waiting for me. But then I read on: "The peanut butter is AMAZING! It's buttery smooth with no thick aftertaste and tastes very fresh. I am definitely hooked!" And as for me, I was able to concur. When I got home I found a jar sitting on the counter, courtesy of my wife who had picked one up after I related Brian's recommendation. 

To Brian: thank you for your generosity. I was touched by your thoughtfulness, and hope you will forgive me for giving away your gift and spreading the wealth. To Nick: thanks for the ride to the airport and for the note. And to Peanut Butter and Co: you have one – no, two – new fans.

-END-

Marc Wollin of Bedford loves all things peanutty. 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.

On Deadline

What motivates you to get something done? Maybe it's money: finish the job at hand, and you get compensated for it. For some, it's recognition: never underestimate the power of an "attaboy" to drive people to complete something. Then there's fear: the consequence of not getting it done pushes a lot of people across the finish line. But for many, myself included, perhaps the most compelling motivator is a deadline. 

That's the driver behind the 48 Hour Film Project. Since starting out in 2001, the program has expanded to 130 cities and involved nearly 400,000 people. Filmmaking teams gather for a kickoff event, and are given the 3 elements they have to include in their movie: a character, a prop and a line of dialogue. Each then draws a genre from a hat: horror, sci fi, etc. They then have just 48 hours to conceptualize, script, shoot and finish a 4 to 7 minute movie. 

When you think about it, it seems counterintuitive. Filmmakers are generally obsessive types, fussing over creative details far beyond what audiences see or care about. Stanley Kubrick, Wes Anderson and Akira Kurosawa are legendary for their attention to the details in their movies. Michael Cimino shot more than 1.3 million feet of film totaling nearly 220 hours of footage for "Heaven's Gate," pushing the movie millions of dollars overbudget. Forget 48 hours: he was five days behind schedule by the sixth day of shooting. 

Yet some thrive on tight deadlines, and it can actually be a powerful creative stimulus. Take Guy Olivieri. Guy is an actor, writer and filmmaker. While he is working on more traditional projects, like a TV pilot and other scripts, he has been participating in the 48 Hour Project for with his partners at Giant Cookie Films for 4 years, and in fact has won the New York division two of those years. Still, considering the lack of financial reward and the limited accolades that can be gained, why put himself through this particular meat grinder? "Well, the best advice I've ever gotten as a filmmaker (and maybe as a human) is ‘Finish.' Having things you want to make, and never finishing them because they're not perfect is my absolute least favorite feeling. With this project, it just has to get done. So, it gets done. With the unexpected requirements, I find myself pushed into corners I didn't know I could find stories in. We, as a group, find ourselves with technical issues: we just have to address them and shoot. And then in a few days, it's done. Love it or hate it, it's done." 

To some that might sound more like a forced march than a fun and creative exercise. Guy sees it differently, as on the job training for him and his filmmaking partners. "It keeps us sharp. None of us went to film school. We're mostly actors who have decided to start making things for ourselves because no one was casting us in mainstream showbiz. So this is like film school. And like school, the pressure is low. If we mess it up, eh, so what? It's only one lost weekend." 

As to this year's lost weekend, Guy and his pals pulled the genre "Family Film." Added to that were the other requirements for those competing in New York. The prop that had to be included was a dog leash. There had to be a character named John or Joan who was an architect. And the script had to include the line "Life is all about a relationships."  How did Giant Cookie do? Judges are reviewing the entries, so they'll have to wait to see if they win and are invited to the global finals in Rotterdam next year. 

If you're a filmmaker (or a musician or a painter or even a column writer) you look for opportunities to ply your trade, pay and payoff be dammed. Guy again: "Creative people are just dying to work - myself included. One thing that I notice about this project is that I'm always really nervous to ask people to do it, because there's no pay, the hours are awful, and (for the actors) there's a chance we might not use you at all. But no one ever says no. Bottom line is I love giving people a chance to do what they want to do. Again, myself included."

-END-

Marc Wollin of Bedford hasn't missed the deadline for this column in 24 years. 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.

The Heat is On

Most people would kill for the chance to be in Paris, home to art and crepes and romance. But this year is different. Records were shattered as the French capital hit the highest temperature ever recorded there with a mercury-popping 108.7 Fahrenheit. As a point of comparison, at the same time in Tucson it was 102, El Paso was 98, and Miami was a comparatively chilly 91. 

Like much of the continent, the heat (or more specifically, relief from it) was made worse by the dearth of air conditioning. According to a 2018 report by the International Energy Agency, while more than 90% of the households in the US have air conditioning, that number plummets to 10% in Europe as a whole, and down below 2% in Germany.  Indeed, one could speculate that that lack of cool helps to explain the Germanic temperament. 

The only other country that has AC penetration rates as high as we do is Japan. And in some respects they go one better. Remember, it was the land of the Rising Sun that brought the world the Walkman and instant noodles and karaoke. They have a reputation for taking existing technology and twisting it in some unexpected way to give us all something new we never even knew we needed. So while Willis Carrier may have invented air conditioning in 1902 so that the colored inks used to print the humor magazine Judge would line up and dry properly, it took the Japanese to adapt that technology to your pants. 

Since being developed back in 2005, Kuchofuku, which translates as "air-conditioned clothing," has gained a small but devoted following. Alibaba, the Chinese online retailing behemoth, now features goods from 11 different manufacturers. While the first products were shirts, you can now get jackets, pants and beyond. There are air conditioned seat cushions, motorcycle helmets, or a cooling pad that fits between your backpack and your back. You can even buy a standalone unit that clips onto your belt and aims up at your back, enabling you to retrofit that favorite Black Sabbath tee shirt. 

All the products on the market today function essentially the same way. They don't lower the temperature of the air around you so much as keep it moving, effectively making you feel cooler. As described in a Japanese technology blog, "Small fans about 10 centimeters in diameter are attached to the right and left sides of the back of the clothing. The fans draw in a large amount of air and help to vaporize sweat. As the perspiration evaporates, heat is dissipated, bringing down the wearer's body temperature. Sweating is the human body's natural air conditioner, and air-conditioned clothes are designed to give this mechanism a boost." Effectively it's like taking a shower, then laying down on the couch and having a fan blow you, minus the shower and the couch. 

Taking a different approach, a startup accelerator program backed by Sony is crowdfunding something called the Reon Pocket. About the size a deck of cards, it fits in a pocket on a specially made tee shirt, and is designed to be worn under your regular clothing. Rather than pump air about you as do the other devices, it gets hot or cold, and is supposed to make you feel warmer or colder through the Peltier effect. This thermodynamic principle used in refrigeration is based on transferring cool or warmth to adjacent areas. It's the same idea as holding an ice cube your neck, and letting that feeling spread over your entire back. The Rocket can be controlled by your cell phone, and has a battery that last for about 90 minutes. It will cost about $130, though it will only be available in Japan when it begins production next year. 

Whether you believe it's a natural cycle, or that we humans have something to do with it, there is no doubt that planet is getting warmer. Just as elevators made tall buildings possible, air conditioning has enabled us to expand our presence in places less hospitable than more. But until it gets more widespread, perhaps we have to think about carrying our personal cooling solutions. A cold drink certainly helps, but air-conditioned pants may be the answer. Otherwise, with apologies to Rick and Ilsa, we may not always have Paris.

-END-

Marc Wollin of Bedford likes to be cool, temperature wise. 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.