Name that Disease

Nothing fancy for these scientists, nothing that smacks of marketing or focus groups or a movie tie-in. "We now have a name for the disease and it's COVID-19," World Health Organization Chief Tedros Adhanom Ghebreyesus told reporters in Geneva. So there was no chance of confusion, he continued: "I'll spell it: C-O-V-I-D hyphen one nine. COVID-19." He broke it down as follows: "co" stands for "corona," "vi" for "virus" and "d" for "disease," while "19" was for the year it was identified. No Coop-V, no Co-Viddy, it's about as utilitarian a name as you can get. 

That's because the folks in charge don't want anything potentially problematic or stigmatizing in the designation. Tedros said the name had been chosen to avoid references to a specific geographical location, animal species or group of people. After all, past experience is littered with catchy names that caught the public's fancy only to unfairly tarnish that to which it was linked. After all, would you rethink your vacation to the Middle East if there was an outbreak of West Nile Virus? Think twice of going hiking out west because of Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever? Or change your diet if there's a surge in Swine Flu or Mad Cow Disease? And let's not even talk about taking a cruise down the Ebola River. 

The same happens with Atlantic hurricanes. The World Meteorological Organization has six lists of names which they rotate through. They work their way through the alphabet in succession with a few exceptions: the list contains no names beginning with Q, U X , Y or Z. That means that every half dozen years you can expect to see a storm named Bill or Emily, or heaven help us if the season is that active, William. They repeat unless a storm is particularly destructive, as they don't want to people to associate the name with the possible severity of the event. In that case they retire that name from the list and add a new variant of the letter. That's why there will never again be a hurricane called Harvey, Camille or Sandy. 

The Weather Channel took a different tack when they started naming winter storms in 2012. It's important to note that their nomenclature is unofficial, and is not endorsed by any government agencies. That's because independent meteorologists say that unlike hurricanes, which are singular well-organized systems, snowstorms are broad and unorganized, causing varying weather conditions from location to location. One region can have blizzard conditions while another may only get rain. So ascribing a unique name and a common outcome to a storm can be misleading. 

Still, TWC, its Weather Underground offspring and NBC parent persist as it's a good marketing gimmick. For a while their list of names was created each year by the Latin Club at Bozeman High School in Bozeman, Montana. As part of a project to encourage more use of the dead language in everyday life, Ms. Shupe's class proposed a list of classical names taken from Greek and Roman culture, mythology and language which led to storms Athena, Brutus and Caesar. Most recently the list was made up of retro names, including Caleb, Mabel and Upton. 

If you want to get in on the act, The Free University of Berlin allows individuals to "Adopt a Vortex." You can pick a High for 299 euros, a Low for 199, with the money going to help fund the school's Meteorological Institute. As of this writing, the next nice day over Berlin will be known as Helge (sponsored by Helge Gutting) and next bout of rain will be known as Yulia (sponsored by Yulia Kozlova). 

So the researchers at the WHO have a dilemma. They have to balance not offending anyone or thing, while at the same time coming up with a catchy moniker that will resonate with the public enough to draw attention. Perhaps they should try TED Fellow Janelle Shane's experiment using a recursive neural net to generate disease names. She seeded it with 3,765 common names for conditions, and generated things you don't want to get. So if the threat of COVID-19 isn't making you wash your hands more often, perhaps you will if you chance catching Fumple Chronosis, Bacterial Fradular Syndrome or Hurtical Electrochondropathy. I for one would hate to come down with Gumpetic Surpical Escesion. Now, that could make me wear a mask.

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Marc Wollin of Bedford feels fine, at least right now. 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.

Things We Can't Do Anymore

If the Iowa caucuses taught us anything, it's not about politics: Lord knows that picture is as murky as ever. Even after New Hampshire, even after Nevada and South Carolina, even after Super Tuesday, the odds of the Democratic nominating process being definitely decided are somewhere between slim and none. When the June 2 Guam vote and the June 6 Virgin Islands contest may be the difference makers, you know you have to reevaluate your system. 

No, what it taught us is that we can take even the easiest thing and make it hard. After all, what could be easier than having a group of people picking among a bunch of choices? You put them all together in a room, and ask folks to raise their hands for each. If you want to make it private, you ask each to write their choice on a slip of paper, then you tabulate the results. The one with the most votes is declared the winner. As Ed Norton says to the Chef of the Future, "Zip, Zip and it's done!" Simplicity itself. 

But just like that famous Honeymooner episode, sometimes the modern way isn't the better way. Sometimes it complicates the situation, adding complexity where none is needed. Or as Bret Stephens wrote in The New York Times, "In Iowa, someone had the remarkable idea that an app could make things easier, and instead it did precisely the opposite. We'll have to add this to the list of things we used to be able to do as a country but no longer can: fly to the moon; build highway intersections in under a decade; and teach long division in a comprehensible fashion." 

In fact, there is a laundry list of things that we have either forgotten how to do or have been obsoleted by "the modern way." In some case the improvement is for the best. In others, it's just another way of doings things: not necessarily better, just different. And in still others, as in a better way to "core a apple," one has to wonder if it is an improvement at all. 

Take getting somewhere. My dad taught me how to read a map back in my Boy Scout days, and I have loved them every since. When I learned to drive, I began to collect road maps, and looked forward to passing them onto our boys. I wanted to show them the tips and tricks I had learned, including how to refold them when done. 

Then GPS happened. No longer do you need to pour over an outdated piece of paper to plot your route. All you need to do is say "I'm here and I want to go there" and the best route is computed almost instantly. Now even the most directionally challenged among us (Honey, I'm looking at you) can get from any one to place to any other. 

The same situation exists for remembering phone numbers (your phone), looking at houses for sale (Zillow), math(calculator), programming a VCR (Netflix), using a travel agent (Expedia) and on and on. Once you experience the current equivalent, it's hard to imagine ever doing it any other way. That said, the new method is not always superior: making a Spotify playlist is the not the same as making a mixtape, and it will never rise to the level of Jackson Browne singing "The Load Out" and plunging right into "Stay." 

But as Iowa demonstrated and Stephens noted, it can also go the other direction. The new math is harder than the old math.  You can't repair even the simplest of appliances anymore with a pliers and a screwdriver. And when was the last time you picked up a phone to be pleasantly surprised by an old friend calling? Now you never pick it up unless you recognize the caller ID as your kids, your mother or your spouse. And even then voicemail can be a godsend. 

It's a matter of picking and choosing, of deciding when a pencil is better than a keyboard, when a conversation is better than a text. You have to balance what works for you with the tools and tricks of the digital age. Or as George Carlin put it "I'm new wave, but I'm old school and my inner child is outward bound."

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Marc Wollin of Bedford still has a pencil sharpener on his desk. 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.

Dress for Success

It was a meeting like any other, indeed, like a thousand others. There were three groups represented: the client, a design firm and a production firm, not to mention the venue we were charged with checking out. Our goal was to survey the space, one of the finer clubs in the city, and develop an appropriate plan for the upcoming event. Emails had gone back and forth, trying to find a time that would work: after all, we each had schedules and commitments, and playing Tetris with those is always one of the hardest parts of any project. 

Finally we found a time slot that worked, and agreed to rendezvous in the lobby at a day and time certain.  I got there a little early, recognizing one of the representatives from the other firm. We sat in the ornate lobby and chatted a bit, waiting for the others to arrive. Another associate joined us, followed shortly thereafter by the clients. We greeted each other and made small talk while we waited for the venue manager to join us. In short order she appeared, and said hello while casting a critical eye over us. Her next comment stopped us all in our tracks: "Sorry, you can't come in." 

We all looked at each other, puzzled. We were there for one reason, and one reason only: to survey the space. And yet we weren't allowed to enter? She continued: "We have a strict dress code. No jeans, no sneakers, no spandex. It was in the email I sent." Indeed, 4 of the 5 of us had on athletic footwear, 3 had on jeans, 1 had on leggings, and that included both clients. She looked at us stone faced, the guardian of her gate fending off we barbarians. 

Dressing for a business meeting these days has never been both easier and more difficult. It's a continuum that starts at Brooks Brothers, makes stops along the way at J Crew and the Gap, and eventually terminates at WalMart. Along that line there is business, cocktail, smart casual, business casual, neat casual, casual, jeans and what can generically be called "tech." What you wear depends on the day of the week, the type of meeting, the people involved and the activity taking place, not to mention the personalities and organizations involved, and the impression you want to convey. 

It's complicated by the fact that nothing stays in its own lane. Some suits are highly tailored affairs, while others are loose fitting and unstructured. There's denim, and there's denim-look. There are dresses designed to look like a million bucks, and million dollar dresses that don't look like they cost ten. There are $100 suits and $5000 jeans, $40 wingtips and $800 sneakers. And it's not always obvious by the age or bearing of the person inside the clothes whether they are dressing up, dressing down or have so much clout that they just don't care. 

In the case of this club they are trying to uphold a tradition that is squarely at odds with the rest of the world. One can well imagine a multi-billionaire technology leader, or a Hollywood A lister, or a new media wunderkid who has nothing but jeans and spandex and sneakers. But while my variants on those items might come from Kohls, theirs come from Channel and Dolce & Gabbana and Prada. If the goal is to uphold a certain level of clientele by using clothing as profiling device, there are missing many boats. Working from that cursory screening, I am often a sheep in wolf's clothing, while the others are precisely the opposite. 

Our client pulled the venue manger to the side for a hushed conversation. The woman nodded, then went in back to confer with management. She came back a few minutes later, and said they would allow us to go upstairs as long as we used the back corridors and took the service elevator. We needed to see those areas anyways, so it as no problem as far as we were concerned. But while hoodies and turtlenecks are on the permissible list, one would have to hope that a Mark Zuckerberg or a Steve Jobs type joining us for the show would remember to leave their Berluti Playtime Palermo Scritto Calf Leather Sneakers at home (Price: $1340 a pair), or else they won't get past the lobby.

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Marc Wollin of Bedford can never figure out the right thing to wear. 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 Light of Luxury

There have always been items which are a cut above. Whether it is clothing or housewares, automobiles or furniture, there is a basic model and a more upscale version. After all, if you need to sit on something, a chair is a chair. There's a seat and some legs, maybe a back and arms, sometimes padding, sometimes not. If all you want to do is not stand, the material used makes no difference: wood works as well as metal, cloth as well as fur. As to the specifics of those component parts, how they look and how they are assembled, well, as my mother was fond of saying, that's what makes for horse races.

That continuum is a long road, and easily followed. If you had watches from Target and Tiffany, you would have no problem telling which were commodities and which were luxuries. Those with plastic bands and bodies, sporting brand names like Casio and G Shock and Timex, would fall squarely in the former category. Meanwhile, the ones sporting the Tiffany name with fine leather bands and encrusted with jewels and precious metals are lodged firmly in the latter group. The prices back that up: 20 or 30 dollars for the first, a hundred or even a thousand times that for the second. 

But it's not always that simple. With the cost of manufacturing and distribution falling so sharply, it can be hard these days to distinguish between the two. Items which, by their very nature used to be firmly in one camp or the other, have slid back and forth across the divide. A cell phone used to be a luxury affordable by only a select few. Now you can get one online or at the drug store, and many replace them once a year for the newest model. On the other side of the ledger that same Tiffany is selling LEGO-style bricks made of walnut and silver. A set of 10 costs $1650, hardly enough to make a model of Millennium Falcon.

A perfect example of this mobility is both directions is LED lamps. When they first came out, this technological innovation promised brighter lights that lasted forever and used minimal electricity. High end cars sported LED headlights, designer showrooms changed to LED spotlights and luxury apartment buildings changed to LED sconces. Fast forward a few years, and you now can get LED flashlights, LED Christmas tree lights and LED bike headlights that are priced as cheap as traditional fixtures if not less. 

But having raced downward it's time to bounce off the bottom and see how high we can go. At the one end I can stop by Ikea and pickup an LED desk lamp for $14.99. With a focusable and dimmable bulb, a gooseneck support and a weighted base, it provides the perfect light for doing my books. With a typical life expectancy of 25,000 hours, even if I have it on 3 hours a day, I'll be retired before it burns out in 20 years and needs replacement. 

Meanwhile, looking skyward, there is the Dyson Lightcycle Task Light. It too provides LED illumination, an adjustable support and a weighted base, all the same components as my Ikea purchase. But Dyson applied the same thought that they did to vacuums and hand dryers to create a lamp unlike any other. The support structure is made of beams and tiny rollers, somewhat akin to a cantilever crane used in constructing buildings. A tiny push with your finger raises, lowers and extends the boom over your papers. As to the light itself, that is controlled by more than just a switch. Using the companion Bluetooth app, you first plug in your age and current mental mode (Precision, Study or Relax). The lamp checks the local time of day to account for natural light, and pumps out the perfect lumens and color temperature to minimize eye fatigue. All that overengineering will set you back $600. 

You can buy Channel tennis balls, a Coach baseball glove or a Prada paper clip. Will they make it more likely you will hit an ace, catch a foul or not lose your papers? Probably not. But if you have money to burn, go ahead and purchase them. Or better yet, give it to me, and I will send you two cans of Wilsons. We'll both make out.

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Marc Wollin of Bedford generally buys mass market stuff. 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.

Metal Detected

It's become a fixture far beyond the airport. Go to a concert or a sporting event, a museum or an amusement park, city hall or an office building, and you get scanned. While we may grouse about the inconvenience, current events have persuaded most of us that it is a lamentable necessity of everyday life. And if it stops one unstable person from bringing a weapon into public setting and doing others harm, it's a tradeoff most are willing to at least tolerate.

That said, the actual implementation of said inspection exists on a continuum running from stringent to perfunctory to barely going through the motions. Part of this reflects the different venues where it's deployed and who is doing the looking. At the airport you have full-time professional staff screening millions, conscious of the weight of their responsibility. At other end are your rent-a-guards, who are well-meaning but often part-timers and minimally trained. Most of their encounters are with invited guests in business suits with briefcases going to meetings, a lower risk talent pool than your international terrorist. 

Coupled with this is the fact that the standards vary widely. You might skate through one checkpoint, only to be flagged at the very next, because of different gear or operators. A belt buckle might set off one and not the next, or one screener might pass on a shadow while another sees a threat. I have come directly from the airport where my suitcase breezed through TSA in record time, only to have the exact same stuff set off a lobby X-ray machine three times. True, at just the right angle, if you squint, and you stayed up late the night before to watch "John Wick – Parabellum," my headphones could be mistaken for a Glock, but not really. 

To deal with this headache, I've streamlined my everyday carry to stuff that usually passes muster with no problems, shedding any items that could ring a bell. Still, there is no telling. I was recently going to dinner at a park, and had to pass through a checkpoint on my way in. I emptied my pockets into a plastic tray, aimed it into the maw of the scanner and stepped through the metal detector. 

The young guy running the equipment stared at the screen as my stuff went through. He called over an older, obviously more experienced guard working with him. "What's that?" he asked as pointed to the screen, then looked up on me. "You have anything sharp in your wallet?" Before I could answer, the older guy jumped in: "Ah, it's nothing, just his keys." The kid tried again, less sure of himself, as I shrugged my shoulders. "I dunno. Doesn't look like keys." The older guy glanced again at the screen. "Nah, just keys." He picked up the tray and handed it to me. "Thanks sir, enjoy your night." I refilled my pockets and walked away.

As I rounded the curve away from them, I had a thought and took out my wallet. Indeed, a while back someone had given me a steel mutli-tool the size of a credit card. I had tucked it into my wallet, completely forgetting it was there. It had been through scanners dozens of times, with operators either ignoring it or deciding it was no threat (it is indeed described as TSA-compliant). That's what the younger guard had spotted: not a issue, but perhaps worth checking if he had any doubts. That is, until his buddy waved him off with a "Nothing to see here, move along." 

After dinner I returned the same way I came to find the two guards still on duty. I stopped and refreshed their memory as to what happened earlier. I turned to the young guy, pulled out my wallet and showed him the tool. "You were right: there was something there." I turned to the older guy. "He wasn't seeing things." The older fellow took the tool from me and looked at it: "Yeah, but it's not really sharp or anything." "True," I said, "but he was right." I took it back, slid it back into my wallet, bid them a good night and walked away. The older guy waved back with a tight smile; the younger one was trying to suppress a grin. Metal had indeed been detected: I suspect the rest of their shift passed in silence.

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Marc Wollin of Bedford wears belts with plastic buckles for traveling. 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.