This Happened

As the clock winds down to the end of this term
Let's take a step back and see what made us squirm
What made us jump, what made us smile
And what we hope we've seen the last of for a while

We started with hope we might be turning the cards
On vaxing and masking and up with our guards
And while Omicron flared, it was a smaller scale storm
We settled into something, not normal, but norm 

The next threat came from another, not a virus this time
Though some think that label might still be in line
Not a VID but a Vlad that turned all upside down
Thinking he's Peter the Great with a more modern crown 

Would be easy, he thought, to roll in and capture
A country, a people, the alliance was fractured
But the Ukrainians stood strong, and emphatically so
And the rest of the world sent them guns and ammo

Zelensky went prime time when that was the need
Under incredible hardship they followed his lead
Where this goes? No idea. But one thing's for sure
The Bolshoi's not welcome, hot and cold wars endure 

While that drove the headlines, other stories still came
Monkeypox popped up, inflation wasn't tame
Roe vs. Wade was pushed back to the states
The red wave didn't happen, the Fed raised the rates

In venues less weighty, there were battles, quite right
Will slapped Chris, Amber and Johnny did fight
Meanwhile, Maverick flew and Avatar swam
And Taylor wanted concerts, Ticketmaster be dammed

The Rams beat the Bengals, Kansas topped Blue NC
Golden State showed us that crown number 4 was to be
Ortiz made the hall, Aaron broke Roger's mark
And the Astros and Dusty were the kings of the park

Serena bowed out, Tom did, then came back
Boris stepped down, Liz tried, then she cracked
And Elon? He was in, he was out, he was in
Now Twitter is his, but is that a loss or a win?

Elizabeth passed, a monarch strong willed
Jerry Lee, Fleetwood's Christine, their voices are stilled
Bill Russell, Bob McGrath, Ray Liotta and more
Olivia Newton and Meat Loaf, a very sad score

And that barely dents all that happened these days
In a year that started out in a bit of a haze

But as we turn the next page we have to hope as we do
That the next will be better for me and for you

It's all in the rearview, whether you laughed or you cried

Next year? Hopefully good stuff, both out and inside
So thanks for reading, for writing, and to you from me
Peace, love and happiness, and a terrific '23.

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Marc Wollin of Bedford thanks all for spending some time in this space. 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.

Holiday Treats

 The holidays means different things to different people. For many, it's all about the religious thanksgiving for the birth of Jesus. For some it's the festival of Hanukkah, for others the celebration of Kwanzaa. But over time the season itself has taken on a secular life of its own, as people of all faiths view not an exact day but the entire period as an excuse to celebrate life in general, and having made it through another year. In that light, the ability to get together with family is for some by far the most important aspect. For kids of all ages, it's a chance to give and get gifts. And many, me included, it's a chance to eat special dishes and treats which don't make an appearance the rest of the year.

But while Thanksgiving has turkey, Easter has ham and New Year's has champagne, the foods of the Christmas season are more diverse and personalized. Different families have different traditional eats, and those in the know look forward to this time of year to make and enjoy them. That's not to say that you can't make your berry trifle or horseradish-encrusted beef tenderloin or holiday tortellini soup in June or September or February, but part of the reason they are so special is that you get to taste them but once a year.

Still, it's a balancing act between those tastes you remember and crave, and new treats that might be winners going forward. Part of that is the general broadening of our palates, as driven by the internationalism of our everyday cuisine. Chinese food and flavors used to start at chop suey and end at egg foo young. Now its Szechuan beef and Kung Pao chicken, but it's also pork loin with sesame and soy, and barbequed chicken with a ginger and miso glaze. Added to that are new cooking methods from sous vide to air fryer to slow cookers, and the stage is set for things that go way beyond fruitcake.

For example, maybe Christmas tacos might please the crowd. Start with your favorite type of wrap, then add some slow cooker short ribs, topped off with red pomegranate seeds and green cilantro. Or maybe lamb meatballs with an Indian curry sauce. And since there is likely a vegetarian or two in your crowd, ditch the beef wellington and wrap the pastry around a tofu, mushroom and walnut filling.

Then there are the old favorites with a new twist. For example, Christmas pudding is fruit-based treat that's traditionally made with flour and breadcrumbs to hold it all together.  But one cook is circulating a version where the starch used is quinoa, which makes it both gluten free and high in protein (if you care about that when you get to dessert). Or try blending different flavors together, such as with cranberry meatballs, or cinnamon-spiced sweet potato soup. Or if you have a family member (like we do) who is a kale lover, sub that for spinach and make baked kale gratin as an appetizer. No, we don't try and talk sense into him either.

And then there's the latest from Hellmann's. Their signature condiment will likely be a part of one or more your dishes, whether its dips or deviled eggs. But working with mixologist Cody Goldstein of hospitality company Muddling Memories, they are offering up a new take on a classic drink. Dubbed "mayo-nog" it uses mayonnaise in place of eggs in this holiday favorite. Along with dark rum, apple brandy, whole milk, heavy cream, simple syrup, vanilla, nutmeg, and cinnamon, add a quarter cup of mayonnaise to a blender and blend until smooth. One food editor wrote "For Harry Potter fans, it's what you imagine butter beer would taste like." Lest you have any doubts as to the taste, she continues: "Trust me, you'll be surprised at how good it is."

Regardless of what you are making, odds are it will be enjoyed. As we have discovered over years of hosting dinner parties and being invited to them, the fact that someone else is taking the time to make you a meal is all it takes for it to be good. That said, if you invite me over for smalahove, a traditional Norwegian Christmas dish of a sheep's head served with potatoes and rutabaga, I might not ask for seconds: I'm not a big rutabaga fan. 

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Marc Wollin of Bedford eats just about anything. Except liver. 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.

Not So Smooth Criminals

Turns out that Willie Sutton is no longer right.

Sutton was the definition of a career criminal, practicing his craft of bank robbery for more than 40 years. He is likely best remembered for something that he really didn't say, but which was attributed to him by a reporter looking to fill out his story. When asked why he robbed banks, Sutton actually replied "Because I enjoyed it. I loved it. I was more alive when I was inside a bank, robbing it, than at any other time in my life." That apparently didn't fit the narrative the reporter wanted, so he made up the quote which lives to this day: "Why? Because that's where the money is."

While that might have been true back when Sutton was at his peak in the 1920's and 1930's, it's no longer the case. That's not say that banks don't have cash. But as a primary target, several reasons have come together to make them less attractive as a source. For one, there are simply less of them: after peaking at over 85,000 in 2009, the number of branches in the country has declined to a little over 72,000. Meanwhile, punishments have increased: a mid-1980s study put the median sentence at 10 years if a gun wasn't used, and 15 if a gun was involved. And the take is nothing to get excited about: in 2006, the average bank robbery netted about $4,330. Not peanuts, but far below what the movies would have you believe.

That said, the field still attracts professionals and amateurs alike. In the first category are people like DeAndre Thorington and Jeremy Martin from Ohio, who were linked to robberies at 15 banks between February and June of this year. Thorington was the lead, using notes and one minute in-and-outs, while Martin drove the getaway car. All told they netted a little over $41,000 before they were caught, the highest haul being about $9300 and the lowest $753. 

You can argue they weren't the sharpest knifes in the drawer, as they were caught on camera multiple times, had identifying tattoos, and used the same car, all of which led to their eventual arrest. That said, they were positive geniuses next to Sam Brown who successfully robbed a Chase branch in Fountain Valley CA, and then thought it was so easy he came back to rob it again the next day. Or the Florida man who held up a store and got $120, but was quickly arrested with his weapon: his hand in the shape of gun in his shirt. And they both pale next to the guys who ripped off about $18,000 worth of what they assumed where some hi-tech boxes with good resale value, only to find out the hard way that they were GPS trackers. Once they turned them on, the cops knew just where to find them.

It's the same story in cyber-crime, where the money really is, the pool of potential targets is practically limitless, and there is far less risk of getting caught. The big players routinely net millions of dollars, with the biggest haul this year linked to an online game called Axie Infinity. A five-month hack of that system discovered this past March netted over $600 million, though most of that was eventually recovered. Not so with a hack on Crypto.com back in January, where the thieves made off with about $30 million, and neither they nor the loot has been identified. 

At the other end of the spectrum are the multitude of phishing emails we all get, some more obvious than others. I got a notice resembling a Citibank official communique saying I had to respond, or my money would be frozen. Troubling, if not for the fact that the return address was a name at dressbarn-execptional.com. Not quite a tattoo, but a pretty good tell none the less.

That said, they are rocket scientists compare to Alvin Neal. Neal walked into a Wells Fargo branch in San Diego intending to rob it. He approached a teller with his note and plan, but first, he swiped his debit card. Needless to say, he was quickly apprehended. He was sentenced to 46 months, plus paying back the bank the $565 he took. Poor Willie would have been horrified. 

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Marc Wollin of Bedford has never stolen anything to which he will admit. 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.

Bad Week, Good Week

Sam Bankman-Fried is having what could best be described as a bad week. His FTX cryptocurrency exchange not only went belly up, but newly appointed CEO John Ray said that "Never in my career have I seen such a complete failure of corporate controls and such a complete absence of trustworthy financial information as occurred here." Seems the blockchain was, well, blocked.

Also not having a feel-good couple of days is Donald Trump. He was assuming that the judges he appointed wouldn't want to take the shine off of his presidential announcement. But no, the Supreme Court ruled he had to turn his tax records over to a congressional committee, and an appeals court looked likely to end the jurisdiction of a special master over his Mar-a Lago documents. And that doesn't even count the NY state case against his company, where his bestest-man turned star witness against him, and is busy trying to dance around his own culpability while not implicating the boss. 

And then there's Elon Musk. He seems he not only stepped in a pile of you-know-what,but face planted in it as well. Yes, it's hard to garner any sympathy for a situation completely of his own making, but he may set a new record of how you can take an asset worth $54 billion and in less than 5 days virtually destroy it. In that context Taylor Swift's messed up ticket sales for her new tour seems like a stubbed toe.

But while those folks are having an Alexander-level "Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day," others had some very good news indeed. On a global level, as if helping Spain thrash Costa Rica by seven-nil in the first round of the World Cup was not enough, there's Pablo Martín Páez Gavira. Known as Gavi, he became the youngest player to net one at the event in 64 years. At 18 years and 110 days, he ranks third on the list of youngest scorers after Brazil's Pele (17 years and 239 days) in 1958 and Mexico's Manuel Rosas (18 years and 90 days) in 1930.

From cavorting on the pitch in Qatar, we move to another type of coordinated movement. The epicenter of dance these days is not the New York City Ballet or even Broadway, but TikTok. With over a billion users, the hoofing category racks up over 200 billion views on the service, with many of those attributable to Charli D'Amelio. While she recently gave up the number one position on the platform, she swapped that honor for another. On "Dancing with the Stars," she and partner Mark Ballas won the Mirrorball Trophy for the season. Like Gavi, Charlie is also just 18, though not the youngest contestant (Willow Shields at age 14) nor the youngest winner (Laurie Hernandez at age 16). Perhaps her nearly 150 million followers tipped the scales in her favor, but a win is still a win.

At the hyper local/other end of notoriety is the Brazoria County Fair, located about 45 minutes south of Houston. There the Future Farmers of America handed out awards at their annual gathering. Middle school winners included Sophia Guzzetta, who was recognized for as Grand Champion in Rabbit Showmanship, while Tyler Hammond won as Grand Champion Simmental/Heifer subdivision. And props to fourth-grader Kasen Douglas, who won Reserve Champion Market Broilers in the Poultry Group. Say what you will: neither Gavi not Charlie's achievements came with eggs.

Others having a good week include Hakim Jefferies who looks to be the next leader of the Democratic caucus, while Kevin McCarthy may finally get to be Speaker of the House, though that may go from a good thing to a bad thing very quickly. Beyonce got 8 Grammy nominations, while The Society for Health and Physical Education of South Dakota honored Chad Rohde from the Watertown Middle School as this year's Physical Education Teacher of the Year. And let's clap for Boetje's Mustard, which was honored by the Illinois Makers Class of 2022 as one of the best businesses in the state. That's on top of them getting the Bronze Medal in the Honey Mustard Category at the World-Wide Mustard Competition sponsored by the National Mustard Museum in Middletown WI, "America's Favorite Condiment Museum." From Doha to the Badger State, congrats to all.

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Marc Wollin of Bedford was honored to make this year's turkey. 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.

In Sickness and In Health

I awoke in the middle of the night and glanced at the clock: 3AM. I was staying in a hotel room in Brooklyn, as we were working on a project with long hours. We had knocked off at 10PM or so the night before and had to be back at 6AM. Tired was going to be table stakes for all of the team, so I would hardly be alone with that feeling. What upped the ante for me was the realization as I turned over that my nose was stuffed and my throat was scratchy. Wishing it was just a bad dream and not anything else, I closed my eyes and hoped by morning it would merely be that.

In times gone by that situation would have been an inconvenience, but not a deal breaker. We have all likely gone to school or work or on about our day not feeling our best. We tuck an extra tissue or two into our pockets, grab a few cough drops, and swap out coffee for hot tea with lemon and honey. But the thought of not showing up never really entered the equation. We might annoy a few of our associates with some hacking, or reduce our group activities, but unless things got worse we would just tough it out.

But that calculus has changed.

Our experiences over the last few years has revised our perspective on what constitutes being sick. Now every slight pain or cough or feeling of malaise is not treated as an isolated incident but viewed in the context of a global pandemic. To be sure, vaccines have lessened the danger of a single infection being life threatening. But while they have minimized the severity in most cases, the virus itself remains highly infectious and transmissible. And having lived through a period when many who did get sick got very sick or even died, our Spidey-sense of potential danger is set to a more sensitive trigger point. In essence, the former default of innocent as opposed to guilty has been flipped on its head. Instead of "just suck it up and stop complaining, you'll feel better tomorrow" the first thought on any random twinge is "Uh Oh. I wonder if this is it. I had better take a test." 

When I woke up that next morning, my throat was better but my head was all clogged. I was pretty sure it was just a cold; my on-site workstation was under a giant noisy air handler that had probably last been cleaned when Brooklyn wasn't trendy. And in all of the reports about the virus, sneezing was not a symptom that made the headlines. But as we're working on variant B37-v-53MOUSE or something like that, who knows what the defining marker is for this one? I wouldn't be surprised at some point to find out that my love of Reese's was an early warning sign of infection. In that context, a snootful couldn't just be ignored.

Unfortunately, no test was at easily at hand. And it's not like I felt so bad as to be unable to work, nor that my symptoms were so egregious that people would run when they saw me. A few remarked on my sniffles with equal doses of symphony and alarm, but mostly took it in stride. And so I kept going, keeping my distance from folks as much as I could, putting my focus into the project as opposed to my nose, and just kept on keeping on. 

When all was concluded successfully at the end of the day and I could relax, I started to feel a little worse; whether it was just the adrenaline rush wearing off, or an actual worsening of my condition I couldn't tell. But as I got on the subway I dug a mask out of my bag, and when I got home, kept my distance from my wife. I went upstairs and grabbed a test from the closet and went through the by now usual motions. I wandered around for the 20 minutes it took to develop, and walked back into the bathroom, knowing I wouldn't be surprised by either possible result. But the news was good: just one blue control line, no telltale red marker. With apologies to Freud, in this case a cold was indeed just a cold. But that's this time. Next time? Who knows anymore.

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Marc Wollin of Bedford is feeling better, thank you. 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.

In Animal News

For the past several months the news has been dominated by all things election. We have been bombarded with endless stories about voting, intra-party fighting, swing states, and every now and again when they run out of nerdy angles, actual issues. But that has come at a cost: we've neglected almost every other aspect of our world. That's not to say that there hasn't been news in other areas. Rather, it is so buried below the fold on page 32 that it may as well not exist. Go ahead and play editor: given the chance to allocate precious column inches to a report about a red-state pro-life candidate who pushes his ex-girlfriend to get an abortion or a story about the discovery of the first-ever colony of fire ants in France, which would you pick?

Speaking of those ants (which are a real thing: considered one of the world's most invasive species, they appeared in Toulon near the French Riviera, only the second sighting in Europe), the animal world has been choc-a-bloc full of developments. Perhaps not as consequential as which party holds the Senate or if Wisconsin succumbs to one party rule, they are stories worth noting. In some cases, such as the aforementioned insect, there is a tie to a wider theme, in that case the spread of climate change. In others, it expands our knowledge of the organisms with whom we share a planet. And in others, it's just, well, funny.

Let's start in the ocean. Off of Portugal reports came in of what is believed to be the heaviest bony fish every discovered. The giant sunfish weighed over 6000 pounds and was over 10 feet long. Meanwhile, on the other side of the world, scientists exploring 2 new marine parks off Australia came across a variety of up-till-now never seen creatures. They include a blind cusk eel with see-thru skin, the tripod spiderfish with stilt-like fins that enable it stand above the ocean floor and wait for unsuspecting prey to walk beneath, and an adorable batfish, which looks like a ravioli with legs and a tiny face that looks like a puppy. 

Back on dry land there is the report of the death of Dida, Africa's best-known female "Big Tusker." That designation is given to elephants whose tusks are so long that they scrape the ground. It is estimated there are only 25 such animals in the world, and Dida was the oldest at an estimated 60 to 65 years of age. And going from large to small, the National Park Service in the US is cautioning individuals from catching and licking Sonoran Desert Toads. Seems the toads secrete a toxin that if smoked causes the user to experience euphoria and hallucinations. That's attributed to a chemical found in the toxin, bufotenine, which is illegal in California. However, in Arizona it is OK to capture up to 10 toads with the proper license. As for the licking vs. smoking, well, who knows? More likely is that it will cause sickness or death as opposed to a prophetic vision, though that could account for some the election shenanigans that are going on in that state.

And then there's the gloomy octopus. A recent study shows that it has a habit that, while not uncommon in humans, is much rarer in the animal kingdom. When another octopus gets too close or in some way annoys its neighbor, it picks up a bunch of silt and sand and throws it at the offender. Think of a third grader who get irritated when a playmate comes too close to her Cheerios. Video also shows that the octopus will occasionally pick up a shell and throw it, but it's unclear if it's actually using it as a weapon, or it's just a demonstration of displeasure. Scientists are now going back over old file footage to see if they see other human-like aggressive behaviors, such as the octopus sending mean tweets.

Considering that animals outnumber humans by 40 to 1, it would make sense to pay a little more attention to them. But then again, plants outnumber both of us together by 225 times. So forget stories about cats with hats and dogs that dance. Turns out that bananas descend from a wild version 7000 years ago that was full of seeds. Maybe next week news about all thing green and yellow?

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Marc Wollin of Bedford likes dogs more than cats. 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.

Take a (Middle) Seat

Death and taxes. Not only are they the only sure things, they are perhaps the only things that we all hate. But beyond that? In today's world virtually everything has its proponents. Almost nothing cuts across every fault line out there - class, ethnic, racial, social, religious, economic, political, geography, age and on and on – to unite us all in revulsion, or at least to a point where most find it even mildly distasteful. 

Food? One person's delicacy makes another want to throw up, be it the insides of the animal, the outsides of the plant or the foodstuff itself. Going to the dentist? For most a trip to be avoided, but others are proud of their teeth and gladly make the time to keep up their pearly whites. Clothing? While you might hate a style or particular piece of attire, others find it the perfect accessory and wouldn't dream of leaving home without it. As for people, some want nothing to do with Trump, others with Biden, others with Taylor Swift, while plenty feel the opposite way. Even Vladimir Putin has his admirers. 

There seems to be just one thing we can rally around that we all hate, would rather pick an alternative, would prefer to take any other option. Not Brussel sprouts, not ankle socks, not tan lines, not even third world dictators. No, if you ask your barber or your banker, your grandmother or your greengrocer, your deep red uncle or your dark blue cousin, all will confess to hating middle seats on airplanes.

Perhaps hate is too strong a word. That's because we all will sit there willingly for a variety of reasons. It might be because we want to be a with a companion or child, or because we have the option of catching an earlier flight vs. hanging around the airport for a few more hours. But given the chance to change to a window or an aisle, most would take it. In fact, an airline agent could only recall one instance where a person declined the switch, and that was because the passenger had OCD and had to sit where his ticket told him to. Mind you, he wasn't happy to sit there, and even conceded it wasn't his first choice, but it fit in with the way he viewed the world and so that was that.

A few years ago Frontier Airlines tried to redesign their cabins to make the middle more attractive, When they switched to a new seat design with higher density but thinner cushioning, it gave them a little more wiggle room side to side. Rather than increasing each of the seats a little, they put it all in the center. So windows and aisles were 18 inches wide, while the middle was a little over 19 inches edge to edge. No, it didn't lead to a run to the center, but if you do get stuck there, feel free to spread out and enjoy.

Now Virgin Australia is trying a different tack. They looked at other successful campaigns to get people to do things they might prefer not to do, like getting flu shots or turning in firearms, and found that monetary awards helped. And so the company established a lottery for those who get stuck in the middle. If you enroll in their frequent flyer program and you wind up in the center, either voluntarily or involuntarily, your name goes into a hat. Then every week from now till April of next year they will pick a winner. Prizes vary in the $145,000 pot, and include a full day helicopter pub crawl including return flights to Darwin, and a two-night holiday in Cairns including flights, accommodation and a bungee jump. Also in the rotation are a million frequent flyer points, Caribbean cruises and custom artwork by an Australian artist.

The big question is will it help to fill those open seats as opposed to folks waiting for the next flight. Unlikely, but if you do win it might take some of the sting off the flying experience. In the meantime, should you wind up in that seat, just take a deep breath, plug in your earbuds, call up that old Stealers Wheel song and sing along (to yourself, of course): "Clowns to the left of me/Jokers to the right/Here I am/Stuck in the middle with you."

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Marc Wollin of Bedford always takes an aisle seat. 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.

Real Speak

The concept dates back to the ancient Greeks. Called "parrhesia," it means "to speak everything" and by extension "to speak freely" or "to speak boldly." Other terms come to mind; candid, frank or blunt are but a few, but they carry a certain negative connotation. Perhaps the best equivalent is the phrase that became associated with President Harry Truman: plain speaking.

In this day and age that kind of talk is in short supply. We have become conditioned to automatically discount 90% of what we hear as hype, misinformation, selective telling, hyperbole, a sales pitch and on and on. It means that unless it’s your spouse or best friend or a child of less than 5, you take it as table stakes that the person you are talking with is bending the truth by at least half.

So when someone speaks plainly and directly, it’s a welcome development. In fact, it becomes a serendipitous moment that surprises and delights for two reasons. First, you get the information that you want, unadorned by any baggage or ulterior motive. And second, very often the person delivering the message recognizes that what they are doing is so unusual in the context of what we were expecting that they do so with a smile or a self depreciating delivery. It’s like a spontaneous stand-up act: Take my plain speaking, please.

Three times it happened to me within a week The first came early one morning at the airport. I was heading towards my gate, and decided to stop at the rest room. Just outside stood a worker with his cleaning cart. As I approached he bowed slightly to me and gestured as if he were the doorman at a four-star hotel: “Sir, welcome to the smallest but cleanest bathroom in the airport. I just finished cleaning it, and you are welcome to use it.” He grinned broadly as did I. I entered and used the facilities. When I came out he was still standing there, so I stuck out my hand out to shake his. He smiled: “I wasn’t lying, was I?” I assured him he was not: it was both small and sparkling. I thanked him for his efforts, and he thanked me for my response.

It was just two hours or so later that the next instance occurred. It was a routine flight, unremarkable in every aspect. When it was time to land, the steward came over the PA with the usually announcements capped by this: “For your safety, please take a moment to insure that your seat back is fully upright. You’ll know if it’s up if it’s in the most uncomfortable position possible. Sorry, but that’s just how they designed it.” As we exited, I stopped and complimented him on his very upfront instructions. He laughed and told me that ever since he started doing it that way he found more people complied than not. A little honesty went a long way. 

The last was but 2 days later. The subway car I was riding that early morning was moderately crowded. The man in front of me had on earbuds and a mask, and was obviously an experienced rider from his stance and demeanor. I rudely starting yawning and forgot to cover my face. “Man!,” he said at a bit more than a whisper, “Cover your mouth!” I quickly brought my arm up and tried to stifle my faux pas. I apologized profusely, then looked away sheepishly. We stood apart for several minutes as the train continued. As we came into the next station, he turned towards me . “Sorry,” he said. “Pet peeve.” I assured him he had nothing to apologize for, that I was at fault. He very kindly said he understood, we were all tired, and wished me a good day as I did him.

In each case humans were, well, human. They said things as plainly as possible, with a smile on their face and light touch to their voice. Even when I was in the wrong and got called out, it started and ended there with no residual issues. Once it’s a pleasant distraction. Twice, and you wonder if there’s something in the air. But three times? Makes you wonder if there is hope for humanity. After all, these people didn’t speak truth to power. They just spoke the truth to me.

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Marc Wollin of Bedford tries to be honest and open. 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.

Digital Packrat

 I don't consider myself a hoarder. But over the more than three decades we have lived in the same place I have certainly let stuff accumulate around the margins. And so like many during the last few years, I took my home confinement as an opportunity to do a little cleaning. 

I started in the back corner of my office where all my old tech gear was stacked, recycling old hardware and setting aside a few cables and accessories that might still be of some use. In what I aspirationally call my "workshop" (an old kitchen cabinet with a chipped countertop between the boiler and the oil tank), I sorted random screws into one can, nails into another. I hung a few shelves in a closet on which to put extra toothpaste and bathroom stuff, got rid of some old tee shirts, and shredded some files lying around since before Reagan was president.

Perhaps the most time-consuming task was taking pictures from multiple years, videos from my first television shows and my dad's old photographic slides, and converting them from physical objects into electronic files. The pics were the easiest: scan or take a picture of a picture, and it is captured for the ages. Before I ditched my old videotape machines I played back and saved the pile of tapes that dated back to my college years. As for my dad's collection of slides of our family, I bought a specialized scanner so, as Paul Simon sang, I could see once again how Kodachrome made the world a sunny day. Unfortunately, included were several snaps of me in bell bottoms and Nehru jackets that might have been better kept in the dark.

Once I was done, my corners were noticeably cleaner, my tabletops clearer, my shelves emptier. However, the digital version of me was another matter. In that world things are stacked to the virtual rafters. And with electronic storage being so cheap and limitless, there is absolutely no incentive to ever clean anything out. Those slides my dad had curated so lovingly were in a number of steel cases, with each slide in an individual slot. Digitizing them reduced the collection to physically nothing. And as a bonus they became more accessible than they ever were in physical form. No more setting up a slide projector and a screen. Now from a phone or computer anywhere at any time I can pull up baby pictures, family vacation shots, and birthday parties from age 2 to 10. All while taking up essentially zero cubic anything.

And that's just pictures. I did the same for my old CDs and audio tapes. All were added to an archive I started years ago where I captured and scanned old project files, old tax records and old address lists. Virtually anything that I had laying around I dumped into electronic storage. Had I kept even a fraction of it, my basement would be overflowing with boxes of stuff. Instead, it's all nestled comfortably on several hard drives that take up less space than my baking supplies.

Of course, there are two important niggling disclaimers to this voluminous historical record. The first is that finding any specific thing in the archive is not so easy. The filing system is more random that thought out, so locating a particular piece of paper or photo is a bit of a crap shoot. And that all presumes that I have a need to look at an address list or calendar from 34 years years ago. Other than the nostalgia factor, it's unlikely to be of any real use to be able to look up with where and with whom I was having lunch on June 2, 1988.

Still, there's no good reason to delete any of it. I'm not tripping over it, it's not gathering dust, and it's not starting to smell or leak. It's just piled high, one digital box on top of another. Look at it this way: in real life I could be mistaken for Marie Kondo, the doyen of organization and tidying up. But in the bits and bytes world I have old copies of National Geographic stacked to the ceiling. So just remember: if you ever come and visit me in my metaverse, watch where you step.

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Marc Wollin of Bedford tries to be tidy. 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.

Naming Right

 If you reach the highest levels of your chosen field, certain benefits accrue. For starters you are likely to get paid more, either in salary, fees, winnings, or a combination of all three. Aaron Judge has a one year $19 million dollar contract, but that is nothing compared to the next one he will likely get after his record setting year. You also might be asked to give your endorsement to a product, place or service, sometimes associated with what you do, other times just to use your reflected light. Michael Jordan made millions with his Air Jordan line of sneakers, and it wasn't hard to believe he wore them. Ted Danson endorses Consumer Cellular discount phone service, but odds are he has a Verizon Family Plan. 

Beyond compensation there are accolades that might also come your way. While there might be monetary awards associated with them, these are more about recognition than the dollar amount. There might be awards for outstanding performance given by your peers and fellow travelers, like Emmys and Oscars. Or they might also be bestowed by an outside third party who surveys a field and picks standouts, such as the Pulitzers and MacArthurs.

But perhaps the highest symbol of acclaim is when something gets named for you. There is nothing more tangible than honoring a person with a physical something, and knowing that your name will cross other people's lips as part of their everyday routine. The reason can be for a singular event either tragic or heroic that demands to be recognized, or excellence in a particular field or a body of work. Train stations and civic buildings bear the names of innumerable public servants, some recognized while alive and many after their passing. Meanwhile, the Billie Jean King National Tennis Center recognizes all that she has accomplished, and the only perk there is likely good seats whenever she wants them.  

This month brought the latest of these honors for one celebrity. Novak Djokovic is one of the best tennis players in the world, with 90 singles and 38 Masters titles to his name. Along with Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal, this third member of the "Big Three" has defined the sport for two decades and has been suitable recognized. Along with his tournament wins and tennis titles, he has been named GQ Ace of the Year, BBC Overseas Sports Personality of the Year, along with a host of other "bests." Closer to home, he has been given the Order of Karadorde's Star, First Class by the President of Serbia, and the Key to the City of Banja Luka.

For any one man, that should be enough for a lifetime. But Dr. Nikola Vesović wanted to add to that list of local recognitions. A researcher in the faculty at the University of Belgrade in Serbia, he posted a new find to his Instagram account: "I have the honor and pleasure to announce the discovery of a new insect species from western Serbia that was previously unknown to science. It is a specialized, blind, subterranean ground beetle (Coleoptera, Carabidae) found in a pit near the town of Ljubovija. A scientific paper on the description of the new species was recently published in the prominent journal Annales Zoologici Fennici. As a sign of gratitude and our need to give back to Novak in our own way, we decided to name the new species after him – Duvalius djokovici."

The beetle joins other notable natural namesakes. There's the parasite that makes its caterpillar host twist and contort it abdomen, so the scientists named it Aleiodes shakirae after singer (Hips Don't Lie) Shakira. There's the horse fly that is solid black except for its gold butt who now goes by Scaptia beyonceae after singer (Bootylicious) Beyonce'. And there's the beetle with the huge leg muscles that is called Agra schwarzeneggeri after an Arnold of the same name. But just to be clear, the parasitic wasp named Idris elba is NOT named for actor Idris Elba: its mom was there first.

So poo on getting a Tony or Presidential Medal of Freedom or a Nobel. A bridge or a post office? Been there, done that. You'll know you've made it when they name a fern or an ant or a lizard after you. That group of spiders over there? Very complex, which is why they are called Pinkfloydia.

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Marc Wollin of Bedford has his name on his checks. 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.

Who's That Lady?

Who's that lady?
Beautiful lady, lovely lady, real fine lady.
Who's that lady?
- The Isley Brothers (1986)

Beth was our first.

Eighteen years ago she came into our lives and defined the trusted employee relationship for us. She provided a valuable service, and as people who never before had live in help, we learned to appreciate the obvious benefits. That said, as a personality, she had her contradictions and quirks: she was intelligent, calm and authoritative, while also being single minded, subservient and prone to oversharing. Still, on balance we saw it as a net gain, and welcomed her help. Never mind that she was just a voice assistant on the GPS in our new car, she was our Beth.

But like most people, and I guess artificial intelligence avatars, she got old and set in her ways. Newer, hungrier and more adaptable youngsters started to elbow their way in, able to do more and adjust easily to their surroundings. Related by heritage if not by DNA, Siri, Alexa and their sisters soon proved their meddle, and Beth was looking more and more antiquated. Perhaps we should have showed compassion for the old girl, and set her up in a comfortable apartment to live out the remainder of the days. Not so. While we usually treat others with thoughtfulness and respect, we kicked her to the curb with nary a thought and brought in new blood. Try not to think ill of us.

There were several reasons we moved on. Primarily was that Beth was a one-trick pony: as Paul Simon wrote in a song of the same name, one trick was all that horse could do. Her replacements, by comparison, are highly skilled and multi-talented. In addition to getting us from place to place they are adept at switching on lights, running timers, providing answers to questions and more. The results are impressive, and their repertoire is only growing. But something else that is also proving evolutionary: their personalities.

As these ladies grow and learn, they are changing how they react. Virtually every time we tap into one of them, be it to time a cake in the oven or plot a route to a destination, we have noticed small changes. It might be a reminder of a new features, as in "Twenty Minutes. Starting now. By the way, if you need more time, just say ‘add time.'" Or a change on the screen in the car whereby certain unused icons disappear, then slide back on when the screen is touched. And all of this personal growth is happening in the background. Night school, I guess.

Even their voices and names change while the underlying "being" does not. With Google Assistant, you can toggle between 10 different English voices - 6 female and 4 male. Amazon now has a male or female option, and you can call it Echo, Amazon, Computer, Alexa, or just added, Ziggy. My phone is set to chat with me as Sydney Harbour Blue, a lovely Australian woman. However, when my car came back from being serviced and I hooked my phone in for some directions, it randomly toggled between Sydney and Red, the default American female. My vehicle became a mobile version of "Three Faces of Eve."

In 1950 pioneering computer scientist Alan Turing created what he called "The Imitation Game" as a way of judging if a computer could really think. Later dubbed the Turing Test, the idea was that if a questioner couldn't differentiate between a machine and a person, then the test was passed. It wasn't the quality or correctness of the answer that mattered, but how it answered: did it seem to come from a person in style, syntax and form? Originally it was to be done only as text. Voice synthesizers were crude, and would have immediately tipped the scales. 

That future is here now. As we yell at Alexa's and Siri's inability to answer our perfectly reasonable questions, the test would seem to be more than aced. It's not that we don't know that Beth and her offspring are machines, it's that their responses are not the responses we want. We treat them like not-too-bright students, rather than computers that can speak. That should be the real Turing Test: when you start to treat it better than your spouse or your kid, you know we have crossed the Rubicon.

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Marc Wollin of Bedford is learning to use voice more than his keyboard. 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.

Celebrate Good Times

It's that time of year when you start to think about the upcoming holidays and their various unique attributes and implications. If you are having people over, what do you make for a festive meal? For that matter, who are the special people with whom you want to spend the holiday? Beyond the big dinner, what gifts do you need to buy, music do you need to cue up, decorations do you need to put up? I mean, World Egg Day comes but once a year and you want to be ready.

World Egg Day?

Yup. Established in Vienna in 1996, it was created to celebrate the power of the egg on the second Friday in October each year. Unless you are anti-egg for reasons of health or philosophy, it's hard to argue about them as a valuable food source. High in protein, loaded with nutrients, low in calories, they have been described by some as the perfect food. And while the yolk is a significant source of cholesterol, those who have issues can consume the whites to get big and strong. 

If all that sounds like a marketing pitch, well, it is. World Egg Day wasn't instituted by a religion or nation state or a groundswell movement championing chickens and all they do for mankind, but by the International Egg Commission. Established in 1964, the IEG is a membership organization dedicated to the global egg industry, focusing on the latest developments in production, nutrition and marketing. And World Egg Day is their creation, because they felt that mankind was not being served by not having a day to celebrate Egg McMuffins and their brethren.

WED (as no one calls it except the IEG) joins a number of other dubious "holidays," each one created not by popular demand, but by groups or individuals looking to champion some particular cause or product. Online underwear retailer Freshpair started National Underwear Day in 2003, and on August 5th for the past 19 years have encouraged all to "Embrace Your Body Image." Since 2010 American Express has encouraged consumers on the Saturday after Thanksgiving with Small Business Saturday to shop their local merchants. In 2006, Internal House of Pancakes started IHOP National Pancake Day. While it generally corresponds with the beginning of Lent, it moves around a bit, but it's their holiday so I guess they can do what they want. And July 11th each year? Why it's National 7-Eleven Day, of course. 

Does anyone pay attention to these holidays? Other than Jack-in-the-Box (who invented it in 2002), does anyone really observe National Drive-Thru Day (July 24)? About the only people who "celebrate" these occasions are consumers who want the goods being offered as part of the celebration. On IHOP National Pancake Day you can get a free shortstack of the restaurant's signature item, while Boston Market has a coupon for a free side on National Rotisserie Chicken Day (June 2), and you can score a free Slurpee on National 7-Eleven Day. This year's inaugural National Cinema Day on September 3 offered movie goers $3 tickets, which helped to push Labor Day release "Top Gun: Maverick" to become the fifth highest grossing picture of all time.

It makes for a crowded calendar and only getting more crowded. However, there is just so much real estate to be had. In 2010 the World Plumbing Council established World Plumbing Day annually on March 11 to "raise awareness of the vital role plumbers play in our daily lives." But they didn't look at their Daytimers. That's also Johnny Appleseed Day, celebrating John Chapman, an American settler who championed the fruit. Same problem with October 29th, which is both World Cat Day and National Oatmeal Day. And while the American Bar Association might have made May 1 National Law Day, which was recognized by President Dwight Eisenhower and formalized with a joint resolution by Congress, the day is a veritable pile up with Global Love Day, National Purebred Dog Day, School Principal's Day and more than a dozen others claiming it as their own.

Wacky stuff, to be sure. But if the underlying cause is important to you, by all means celebrate with friends and family. For that reason, I am personally looking forward to October 20th. Yes, it is our 38th wedding anniversary, but it's also National Brandied Fruit Day. Cherries for all!

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Marc Wollin of Bedford celebrates anything that requires dessert. 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 1400th Time

My Sunday routine has certain consistent elements. I shave, brush my teeth, then work out for a bit. A shower leads to a pot of coffee, and I settle in to read the paper. A little catch-up in my office, then whatever is on the docket for the afternoon: an outing to a movie or a concert, getting together with friends, or just as likely a long walk. But regardless of how the day progresses, all roads lead back to my desk, where I peruse this weekly musing one final time before pressing the button that shoots it off to be seen by you and others. And today? Basically, no different than any of those prior efforts, with one small footnote: the words you are reading represent the 1400th time I have pressed "send."

On the weekly installment plan that I (and you) are on, the math works out to not quite 27 years. That takes us back to a start time of 1995, when a gallon of gas was $1.09, a stamp was 32 cents and the average price of a car was $15,500. Today those numbers are $3.78, 60 cents and a shade over $48,000 respectively. And the cost of this column? The same was it was when it started. By that metric alone it's a good deal.

However, for those of you who have dipped your toe in along the way, the investment hasn't been monetary but temporal. And while it may be small, the most valuable thing you have is your time, and I am taking a nibble of that very finite supply. As such, any return on investment should be held to a higher standard. Using that measure I hope you feel you have gotten at least fair market value. 

What evidence is there that it has been worth those moments? Well, had you not been a reader, you might not have learned about Americans' love of hot sauce (#1367 "Some Like It Hot"). Nor that the Four Seasons restaurant in New York City hung their Picasso Curtain with a staple gun (#984 "Hanging Around"). Nor about an effort to create an Indian football league featuring the Delhi Defenders and the Goa Swarm (#840 "Bill's Excellent Adventure"). Nor about certain idiosyncrasies involving Greek yogurt, North Korea or underwear. Not at the same time, mind you, though who knows what future explorations will reveal.

As to that future, I can say that there is one. When I started this effort, I assumed that I would write a bunch of installments, a book deal would materialize, and I would punt in favor of greener pastures. Alas, it was not to be. And so I continue to add to the body of work, not because of a quest for fame and fortune (though that would be nice, too) but because enough of you encourage me on a weekly basis with kind words. While I'm not one to point fingers, if you must blame someone for this nearly three-decade march, blame them.

I guess the question is when do I know it's enough? From the supply side there seems to be never-ending grist for the mill. I see in my "to do" folder notes about fake holidays, snoring and missing vowels. And like many of my ilk, I have yet to weigh in on the lowest of low hanging fruit, that of pickleball. My apologies in advance for that one, but we still have plenty of fish to fry regardless.

The late Pulitzer Prize winning columnist Charles Krauthammer once said, "Longevity, for a columnist, is a simple proposition: Once you start, you don't stop. You do it until you die or can no longer put a sentence together." Well, I can assure you I am very much alive, and while it might not always be elegant, I am still able to construct the later. As such, I will keep fighting the good fight. I have said this before but it bears repeating: if you keep reading I will keep writing. I know, I know, in the "what's in it for me" department that's not much of a quid pro quo. But it's all I can offer. And so I will press "send" again next week, adding yet another chance to increase our joint ROI.

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Marc Wollin of Bedford thanks all for spending a few moments with him regularly 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.

Serving Size

Pull a box or can of anything out of your pantry or fridge and read the label on the side. There's the rundown of ingredients, where the stuff inside is listed in order of predominance: those used in the greatest amounts are listed first, followed in descending order by the rest. There are usually some warnings, alerting those with specific food allergies that something inside will cause them harm. There is an accounting of the nutrition content of those ingredients, along with a weighting of how far each goes towards a healthy daily diet. And there's a tally of calories, so you know just how much fuel you are putting into your tank.

All of those measurements are based on perhaps the most important number displayed, the serving size. That measure is supposed to be a standardized, common household unit: a cup, a tablespoon, a singular unit. Milk and juice are easy: liquid measures are how we consume those beverages. Other things require a little transposition: peanut butter and mayonnaise are detailed in tablespoons, but we consume them by spreading with a knife. That requires that you have to visualize a rounded blob as stretched out across a flat blade. Some unit-type things make sense: a slice of bread, a container of yogurt. Others are only for the anal-retentive among us: do you count out 12 chips or 4 crackers in a single serving, or do you stick your hand into the bag and grab a bunch? And then there's the can of cooking oil spray, which lists serving size as "1/3 of a second." So if you go Pfft you're good, but if you go Pfffffffttt you are overindulging. 

The old labels used to say "recommended" serving size. That recommendation was a based on the findings of a panel of nutritionists who, while they may have been healthy, never obviously took seconds. And so in a nod to reality, the law was changed so that serving sizes are supposed to reflect the amount that people ACTUALLY consume, as opposed to what they SHOULD consume. And those are hardly the same.

In fact, those numbers are adjusted periodically adjusted to reflect changing habits and, well, how fat we are all getting. For instance, servings of frozen yogurt and ice cream have shifted upward from a half cup to two-thirds of a cup. The serving size for toaster pastries, such as Pop Tarts, has been doubled, because who leaves one left in the package-of-two wrapper? And perhaps as a result of the Starbucks-ification of our world, for almost all liquids, starting with coffee and tea but also soda and water, serving size is now assumed to not be "Short" (8 ounces) but "Tall" (12 ounces).

These measures all seem legitimate in some abstract construct, a place like Lake Wobebon on Prairie Home Companion, "where all the women are strong, all the men are good looking, and all the children are above average." But most of us live in a grittier neighborhood, where things are not so orderly. Since our eating habits are reflective of that world, perhaps it would be more helpful if the serving size notations were more in tune with that. 

So instead of the serving size for tortilla chips being listed as "6 chips," maybe "3 handfuls" would be more helpful. Likewise, soda might be noted not as "12 ozs" but "enough to accompany 2 slices of pizza." A time period might work: not "6 crackers" but "as many crackers as you can grab during a commercial break in the game as you pass through the kitchen on the way to the bathroom." We could even include situational references: while the serving size for ice cream might be "2/3 a cup" under normal circumstances, it could note "if you're stuck home on a Saturday night with nothing to do, serving size is this entire container of Chunky Monkey." At least we'd be nodding to reality.

Of course, none of this matters is you don't care, and most of us don't. We eat what we want when we want it, consuming appropriate amounts at some points, and wildly stupid quantities at others. As for me, I am committed to making meaningful changes. So going forward, I will limit my consumption of non-stick spray. From now on, it's just one Pfft for me.

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Marc Wollin of Bedford likes it when serving size is "entire box." 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.

Talking Behind My Back

Like almost every homeowner these days, we have a WiFi network that enables us to connect our various devices to the wider world. That same network also feeds a variety of entertainment channels to televisions upstairs and down. And we have several light switches connected so that they can be turned on remotely, as well as thermostats that do the same. However, while our doorbell has a video feed in it, we don’t really use it, and neither have we put cameras all around the place. In short, our house is smarter than some, dumber than others.

By and large this arrangement between us and our "things" is a monologue and not a dialogue. To be accurate, there is some exchange going on, but it is extremely limited. As such it might better be described as a call and response system. I call and request an action: turn off the lights, turn up the heat, turn on the radio. The device in question performs the action and responds back with a confirmation. That’s it. There is no discussion, no negotiation, no talk about what we might have for dinner.

Until now. The so called "internet of things" is pushing further and further into our lives whether we want it to or not. On the surface it seems like a reasonable idea: interconnect all the devices in your world to make it easier on you. With a modicum of specialized yet limited intelligence, each device can be the master of its own domain, and report back as needed. Everyone stays in their own lane, focused strictly on their assigned task, with you as the benevolent overlord.

That said, there appear to be a few busybodies in the mix.

All these devices have to have a hub, a control point, a place to which they report. While it can be your phone, that is not the only smarty pants in the system. Like many, we also have what is generically called a "smart speaker." While our choice was the Amazon variant, there are models from Google, Apple and others. Each offers voice control not only of music, but of other smart devices connected through their own ecosystem. So turning on the lights is as simple as saying, well, "Turn on the lights."

But I guess if you talk about one thing you can talk about another.  While we should have seen this coming, it appears that the machines are doing more than just responding: they are talking about us behind our backs. It started when we got a new printer and hooked it into the system. With no prompting from us, it shared its status with its other inanimate friends. It’s not like I introduced them at a neighborhood blocktail party. Rather, they shared a nod as if they were both at the end of their driveways checking their mailboxes at the same time. 

And so it was that yesterday I got an email that said that, based on our usage and past orders, our smart speaker thought we might need more ink. Mind you, this is not just some time stamp whereby X months go by, and based on average use we might be in need of a fill up. No, this is based on our own individual personal track record as reported back from one independent device to the mothership, who then took the initiative upon itself to send us a memo. Simply put, our printer ratted us out to Alexa.

It's not that the two of them are wrong: we do need ink. And while they may be smarter than me, they lack opposable thumbs, and so it is left to me to actually do something if I so choose. As such they are hardly a threat to my well-being. Still, I’m not sure I like that my technology is, if not spying on me, at least monitoring my actions and suggesting course corrections. 

In "Brave New World," Aldous Huxley writes about a dystopian world controlled through drugs and technology. The main character revolts, saying "I don’t want comfort. I want God, I want poetry, I want real danger, I want freedom, I want goodness. I want sin." My needs are simpler. But even if I just want ink, I still want to be the one to decide.

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Marc Wollin of Bedford still controls his remotes, but for how long? 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.

Don't Do As I Do

Parents want to impart all kinds of knowledge to their children. At a high level they hope that they will be able to teach them right from wrong, how to cope with success and failure, and how to have productive relationships with others. They also hope to teach them more mundane things: how to juggle your finances, how to read a map and how to tie your shoes. 

However, while the former set of items is evergreen, the second set has changed over time, in many cases obviating your parental smarts. Online systems effectively balance your checkbook and suggest budgeting and investments. Maps that you have to follow with your finger have practically become obsolete, as GPS is used in your car or on your phone whether you are walking or driving. As to tying your shoes, it's fair to say that between elastic laces, slip-ons and Velcro, you could conceivably get to age 65 and never had learn bunny ears. 

In any case, regardless of how much of an oracle you think you are, there comes a point in time when the kids stop listening. It's not that they can't learn anything more from you, it's just that they would rather figure it out on their own. There are also so many more sources of information in easy reach, all available with just a few keystrokes. That instruction is free, easy to follow and unencumbered by any long-winded family history diversions. Whether it's how to carve a turkey, how to fold a fitted sheet or how to fix a flat bicycle tire, there is a video that will show them how to do it before you can finish saying "When I was your age." 

But eventually the tide turns once again. Mark Twain put it best: "When I was a boy of 14, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be 21, I was astonished at how much the old man had learned in seven years." As children mature into young adults they recognize that perhaps there might be some hard-earned tips and tricks buried with all the memories - if they can just get past the stories.

And so it was that our son is his persona as a new homeowner reached out with a routine and mundane question. As this is their first house, he and his wife are learning all the joys of being your own slumlord. For sure the biggest is having your own piece of turf with no one telling you how to use it. But it also means dealing with the almost endless set of challenges and headaches that come with being your own plumber, electrician and gardener.

His question was a routine one born out of a lack of experience in their new world: "How often do you clean the dryer vent? I know it can be a fire hazard." A legitimate question to be sure, and one with which a newby washer and dryer owner should certainly be acquainted.  

Here's where reality and practice diverge. The "right" answer, the one I should have imparted as a long-time homeowner based on our own best practices as evidenced through years of experience, is between once and twice a year. This keeps the appliance running at its highest efficiency and reduces the chances of fire. But taking the question in the most personal way – as in "How often do YOU clean the dryer vent?" - I was embarrassed to answer with a single word: "never."

Actually, I have to qualify that. Once in a blue moon (or longer) we notice that the clothes are taking longer to dry, or we feel a heat buildup in the laundry room. Then, and only then, will I dismantle the flexible tube coming out the back of the unit, as well as the longer pipe leading to the outdoors, and scrape the fur off the sides. 

The truth is that while I might preach preventive maintenance – clean your gutters, trim trees near the roof, weatherproof your windows – I am as much reactive as proactive. My inner boy scout is ashamed. Like so many things in life, the older I get the more I am living testament to the old proverb: do as I say, not as I do. 

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Marc Wollin of Bedford finds his home maintenance routines are getting less stringent. 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.

Pandemic Speak

The list of things that have changed because of the pandemic is long. It's changed how we work. No more do most workers commute to offices on a 9 to 5 schedule: remote work and variable hours are the norm rather than the exception. It's changed how we educate students from kindergarten to college: remote classes and distance learning, formerly reserved for a small subset of students, are being integrated into schoolrooms in a way as to make snow days obsolete. It's changed how we furnish our homes, what we eat, even how we dress. And it seems that it has also changed what we say and what we hear.

At the most basic level we've added a whole raft of words and phrases to our everyday lexicon. Strictly speaking, the terms are not new. But while we might have heard them before, we would be hard pressed to recall the last time we used them in a sentence. Now, hardly a day goes by without one of them leaving our lips. The very words themselves - pandemic, epidemic, outbreak - were the stuff of Hollywood movies. Likewise, quarantine, super-spreader and contact tracing were only to be found in dystopian novels. Beyond those there was social and there was distance, but the oxymoronic thought of putting the two together never occurred to us. Now you can hardly go a day without putting the compound phrase into play. (In truth, it's not a new construct: it was first quoted in 1824, but was used to describe the separation between different races, classes or ethnicities.) And the use of the "Z" word -  as in Zoom - as a verb was not used as a mechanism for meeting face-to-face, but more likely a person quoting "The Honeymooners" as Ralph laid into Alice: "Bang! Zoom! You're going to the moon!" 

On the other side of the coin, the way we hear words and process them has also changed. According to a study in PLOS ONE, a multidisciplinary and interdisciplinary scientific journal from the Public Library of Science (PLOS), the pandemic presented an opportunity too good to pass up to do some research on speech and hearing. Prior similar research had looked at how major events like 9/11 or the Kennedy assassination had affected cognitive areas, such as memory and recall. But these were quick incidents, and the research focused on the effect and retention of so called "flashbulb memories." The pandemic offered a unique chance to look at a sustained event as experienced by a large sample size, namely every living person. 

The researchers looked at how our common experience affected what we were hearing. They took speech samples and asked test subjects to repeat back what they heard. But in certain spots they added an obscuring sound, in this case a coughing sound effect. That forced people to "fill in the blanks" to make sense of what they thought they were hearing. 

Unsurprisingly, given our now common experiences and shared perspectives, the test subjects heard pandemic-related words as opposed to other possibilities, and indeed, what was actually said. For instance, when the sample word was "injection" but mixed with and slightly obscured by a cough, a statistically significant number heard not "injection" but "infection." Likewise they heard "isolation" instead of "oscillation," "sheltering" rather than "sweltering" and, hardly surprising, "mask" in place of "task." 

While context could, of course, make the word selection more apparent, the research does indicate how our biases shift in favor of what's on our mind. It's a reversal of Abraham Maslow quote how if the only tool you have is a hammer, then everything looks like a nail. In this case, if everything looks like COVID (every sniffle, every cough, every fever), then everything we hear and every response we have is in relation to that.

In the classic definition, a Freudian slip is when we mean to say one thing but say something else, revealing something that weighs on our unconscious. (Or as one wag put it, it's when you say one thing and mean your mother.) In this case, it's as if that construct has been flipped. Our COVID experience has meant that whatever we hear we associate with the disease, regardless of what was actually said. So, thanks for reading, stay safe, and stay on mask. Er, task.

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Marc Wollin of Bedford has returned to sort-of-normal, whatever that means. 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.

No Secrets

You go to an event and meet a new person. A friend tells you they are buying a house. A cousin tells you about a cruise that they are taking. In the past you might wondered about her or the place or the trip, and asked around, trying to build up a more complete picture a piece at a time. That would have meant querying a mutual friend, a colleague who lives in that neighborhood, perhaps an associate who took a similar vacation. 

No more. Now the first thing you do when you are alone is grab your phone or your keyboard. A few taps, and in seconds you have all the answers you need (or more correctly, are curious about): history, costs, experience, reviews. No middleman, but first-hand knowledge based on experience or real-life reporting, often from the very people to whom you were talking. Carly Simon said it best: we have no secrets, we tell each other everything.

Well, not really. Of course we still have and keep secrets. Or so we think. But these days only the most determined among us eschews all that interconnection that we have so come to depend on, and which rats us out. Mind you, we're not talking about online firms amassing your data for their own marketing uses, much of which we lazily consent to. What we are referring to is the vast trove of information available to any and all through the publicly available databases that make up our world.

Want to know a person's career path and history? LinkedIn, Indeed, and even Facebook groups help you piece together a dossier any HR professional would swoon over. Curious about a particular house or property? Zillow and its ilk not only give you photos and valuations, but tax assessments, neighborhood amenities and school ratings. And that trip? Expedia, Travelocity and others detail every aspect of every cruise, from menus to cabin size to ports of call, not to mention the all-inclusive cost. 

And those are just the bold face names that come up at the top of any search. Dig just a little deeper and you find a multitude of other of troves of easily searchable information, some public, some private. OpenAddresses and The National Address Database from the US Department of Transportation cover most public and private parcels in the country. Glassdoor and Yelp offer windows into companies, salaries and how they are viewed by customers and employees alike. And with just a little cross referencing, Google Maps and Amazon will show you people, places and products, not to mention pictures of everyone's mailbox.

Wonder what your friends are drinking in Boise? Go to the Idaho Department of Commerce Liquor retail Sales site, and you can sort by individual store, item and day. Heading to the Bay Area and want to borrow a bike? San Francisco Ford GoBike Share tells you the most popular pickup and dropoff spots, and even the best bikes by individual ID number. And if you are sure your bestie called you out on one of her other handles and isn't coming clean, you can use Twitter Advanced Search to scan the 500 million posts a day to nail her.

If you really, really – really - must know, it takes just a few bucks to get access to data that, if not secret, is certainly buried a little deeper. Truthfinder (and other sites like it) scans pubic records of all kinds to compile a folio on any individual who has interfaced in any way with any a government agency or company. There was an old Prego commercial where a newlywed's father disparaged his use of canned spaghetti sauce. A taste of the pot changes his mind. To paraphrase: court records? It's in there. Bankruptcy filings? It's in there. Traffic pleadings, negative reviews, a touch of social media discord? It's in there!

With every transaction moving online, unless you pay for everything in cash and never sign up or purchase anything, there is going to be a record of what you are up to whether you like it or not. You might not post it on Facebook, but it's there for anyone who really cares to find it. Buried, perhaps, but secret? Unlikely. Or as an old Chinese proverb goes, if you don't want anyone to know, don't do it. 

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Marc Wollin of Bedford has few things worth being secretive about. 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.

Unsafe Eating

In some respects it's amazing anyone in my cohort is alive, though not in any metaphysical or religious or biological sense. It's just that knowing what we now know, it's amazing we made it out of childhood in one piece. We rode bikes without helmets. We played at the beach with no sunscreen. We went into the woods or streets to play unsupervised. My wife recalls riding with her folks in a car while standing up in the back hanging onto the front seats. And I rode bikes with friends as we chased a truck fogging our neighborhood for mosquitoes; the more of the cloud you could inhale the better. Try or allow any of that with kids today and you'd be hauled before a judge.

What seemed harmless then has since been shown to be anything but. Each of those activities and many more have been all but banned for reasons of health, prudence or just common sense. That said, you can say that we've merely swapped one set of perils for another. After all, smoking is looked on as a great evil, and most would no more consider eating a cigarette than smoking one. But who hasn't also wondered about what staring at and living on screens 18 hours a day is doing to our eyes and our brains, not to mention our social skills and ability to actually talk to each other.

You can make the same observation about the foods we eat, but in that case old habits die hard. We ate copious amounts bacon, hot dogs, French fries and sugared cereal. And while we have been admonished to try and eat healthier, we still consume copious amounts of bacon, hot dogs, French fries and sugared cereal. And just as in other areas, we look the other way as we likely swap one edible problem for another. While I am not eating as much bologna as I did when I was a kid (every day for lunch with mustard on white bread) I eat more raw fish, which carries its own set of risks.

Which brings us to our lawsuit of the week. 

A class action filing in California is going after candy maker Mars Inc. for its formulation of Skittles. According to the complaint, the second most popular Halloween candy in the country (Reese's Cups are first, as they should be ) contains "heightened levels of titanium dioxide (TiO2)," a possible carcinogen. While the company committed back in 2016 to phase out TiO2, the lawsuit alleges that they have not done as much as they can or should. In response, the company counters that "our use of titanium dioxide complies with FDA regulations," which say that it is OK to be used as long as levels do not exceed 1% of the weight of the food. 

While the scientific evidence is not conclusive as to the material's harm, some others have chosen to take action none the less. Dunkin' removed it from their products seven years ago, and in 2021 the European Food and Safety Authority declared the nanoparticles unsafe when used as a food additive. Still, they didn't ban it, leaving that action up to country regulators on a case-by-case basis. The bottom line is they don't really know about its long term effects, but are acting out of the overused mantra of "an abundance of caution."

I am not advocating consuming harmful chemicals, nor learning from scientific advances and applying those findings to make us safer. But it does call to mind the 1973 Woody Allen movie "Sleeper," in which two doctors are discussing a health food store owner who wakes up after two centuries. Dr. Melik: "This morning for breakfast he requested something called wheat germ, organic honey and tiger's milk." Dr. Aragon: "Oh, yes. Those are the charmed substances that some years ago were thought to contain life-preserving properties." Dr. Melik: "You mean there was no deep fat? No steak or cream pies or hot fudge?" Dr. Aragon: "Those were thought to be unhealthy, precisely the opposite of what we now know to be true." Dr. Melik: "Incredible."

Incredible indeed. I'm not saying it's not dangerous, but what isn't? Not wear a seatbelt? Are you out of your mind? Indeed, I'll have mine on as I review your text as I drive to pick up our takeout order of sushi. And yes, I'll make sure to get extra packets of low sodium soy sauce.

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Marc Wollin of Bedford picks his risks. 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.

Turn Me On

Some people are tech savvy, and can bring a computer or phone or smart appliance to heel with little effort. Should things go off course, they are adept at troubleshooting the problem and executing a solution. Others, well, not so much. These individuals know which buttons to press to do their usual tasks, and are fine if all goes according to plan. But should there be a glitch, they are up a creek without an electronic paddle. First they panic, then they look around for help, then they reach into their limited electronic toolkit and execute the most basic and powerful reset there is known to expert and novice alike: turn it off, turn it on.

In probably more than 80% of cases that's all it takes. And why is that? Tech does a myriad of things. Most times when we want to move to the next task we just jump across without shutting down the thing we were working on. It makes for lots of open jobs with potentially conflicting sets of instruction and demands. Should the system be unable to juggle or figure out what the heck you are asking of it, it gets confused. And knocking it out and making it start all over again usually helps. 

Perhaps the best explanation came courtesy of an experienced online hand who goes by KDY_ISD. As described in the "No Stupid Questions" section of the Reddit website, "Imagine you live in a huge, ancient city with winding streets that have many twists and turns. You want to get from your house to the grocery store. Somewhere along the way, you aren't paying attention, and take a wrong turn. Now you're lost. You don't recognize any buildings. What do you think is more likely to help you -- going around and around in circles, or magically teleporting back to your house and starting again from the beginning of the route you already know? That's what power cycling does. It takes a device that's trapped in some kind of problem, picks it up, and puts it back down at the starting line again. 'Ah, the starting line,' it says. 'I know what to do from here.'"

Makes sense.  There's just one problem: finding that power switch.

Designers and engineers who create cars and vacuum cleaners and screen interfaces are always trying for a fresh take. They change the cabinet, the color, the way you attach the accessories. Sometimes it's an improvement, other times it's just different for the sake of being different. And so you wind up bitching because the menu for "bold type" no longer lives where it used to. Eventually after poking around a bit you find it, and it becomes part of your muscle memory going forward.  

As to the aforementioned power switch, like the key or button that starts your car, you would think they would be put in roughly the same place no matter the manufacturer or model. You should be able to walk up to a device, extend your right hand to the top edge or right side or bottom corner, and turn it on. But that would make sense.

And so you find the situation we were we in. We had several large screen televisions spread around the room, each showing a different video. First thing in the morning it should have been a simple matter and a few moments to fire each up. One was a Sharp, one a Sony, one an LG and two were Samsungs. And every single one of them, even the two from the same manufacturer, had power switches in different places. One was bottom right, one was back center, one was on the right edge. There were buttons, rockers, even a small joystick. We had to run our hands over and around, feeling for something that made sense. The crew looked like a bunch of blind men trying to determine if the beast in question was an elephant, a camel or a horse.

Eventually we got them all turned on. But why? Why take something so simple and elemental and make it hard? No one will ever buy or not buy a device because of the design and placement of the power switch. I'm a simple guy: if you want to turn ME on, just make it easy to turn IT on.

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Marc Wollin of Bedford turns his computer off every night. 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.

Everyone A Song

If you are a band that played live, the last few years put a serious crimp in your world. Didn't matter if your audience filled an arena or a pub, there was no filling going on. While some income might be generated by music sales and online concerts, it barely matched the take you got from playing in front of a paying audience. Additionally, musicians of all stripes live to connect with each other and their audiences: not making music is simply not an option. 

Trent Wagler, the singer/songwriter who leads The Steel Wheels, was in just such a predicament. An established journeyman group, the band's rootsy brand of Americana garnered rave reviews and adoring fans. While they have a healthy catalog of work, their bread and butter was appearing at venues, fairs and festivals. When all that stopped, they scattered to their respective homes. How could they keep their musical spark alive, stay connected with their fans, and generate some income? And so began their "Everyone a Song" project.

They put out the word that they would accept commissions to write a song about any and all, be it a birthday, a wedding, a life's work. Not just a simple verse and a guy playing guitar, these would be fully formed tracks in the band's signature style with banjo, guitars, bass, drums and fiddle. "I think when we started, we really had no idea and very low expectations," said Trent. "Are we gonna get flooded? Is anyone gonna be interested?" It started slowly, but as word got out, the pace picked up; indeed, it snowballed: "I think at this point we have probably written and recorded somewhere around 60 to 70 original songs, plus covers of ours and others. All told, we probably have recorded closer to 150 songs."

For the band, it was a different way of working. They were used to using Trent's songwriting as a starting point, and working collaboratively in the studio. This couldn't be more different: each was in their own home studio, and the volume of material was magnitudes beyond their usual pace. In this approach, after talking with the requester, Trent would come up with lyrics and a musical backbone, then send the base track on to one of the guys. They would add their part and send it to the next, eventually winding up in drummer Kevin Garcia's hands to add rhythm as well as mix and master. Trent again: "I would say 95% of what ended up on the albums, and probably more like 98% of the stuff we sent out to people was first draft and was first choice."

From a songwriting perspective, it was a unique challenge for a person with years of experience penning his own stories. "I was inspired by the process itself in letting go of some of my own self, my own insecurities, and just kind of letting some of those first ideas go. Sometimes I'm so quick to criticize, oh, that's cheesy or that's cliche. And then after a while you realize, oh, actually I do like that. It's the art of finding things that just ride close enough to cliche that they feel familiar, but don't feel tired. And that's a hard line to walk as a writer." 

And the songs? You don't need to know their backstory for them to draw you in. Spread over two albums, "Everyone A Song" rings with tracks that play not as one-off demos, but as polished pieces of musical craftsmanship. You don't need to know that "Where I'm From" is about a Catholic school, nor that "The Healer" is about a physical therapist's retirement to appreciate them. That said, it is fun to know that "It's Your Fault" is about a woman tearing her ACL while dancing to the band, and that it eventually led to their former bass player marrying her. 

As the world moves on the band has resumed touring and plans head back to the studio to do their own material. But they've learned from the experience, including new ways of working, new ideas, even different musical styles and techniques. And they may reopen this project as well: "While it was born out of the pandemic, people connecting to songs on a very personal level can be a really meaningful thing, and it is a unique way to continue to connect with people, too."

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Marc Wollin of Bedford loves listening to live music of all types. 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.

Whose Lifetime Is It Anyway?

On the mantle in the living room sits one of my favorite gifts of all time, one my wife gave to me more than 30 years ago. A handmade clock, it consists of various brass gears that rotate as the time advances. On those gears are 6 little men, and as the gears turn the little figures look as if they pushing or pulling the rings. Designed by artist Gordan Bradt, I was told it came with a lifetime guarantee: lifetime of the artist, that is. As long as he was alive, he would be happy to fix it. (In truth you can ship it to his shop and they will repair and recondition it.)

You assume that most things you buy new have some sort of the guarantee attached to them. Usually they are much more limited in scope, protecting you only if the item has some obvious defect. It might be backed by the manufacturer, the distributer, or even the store that sells it. The point is not that you can't get a bad item; it's that if no one stands behind it you won't ever be a repeat customer. And so whether it's a car or a cardigan, if it rips or breaks in the first bunch of outings through no fault of your own, someone on the front end will repair or replace it on their dime.

Beyond that things get a bit murkier. Some guarantees are for a specific time period or metric (3 years or 50,000 miles), others for cycles of use (50 washings or 4000 pages). The gold standard is the aforementioned lifetime gurantee, and there are brands and products which, when they say that mean virtually forever. If your Davek umbrella ever stops working properly, or you encounter a defect in materials or workmanship, return it for a free repair or replacement plus shipping and handling. If your Craftsman or Mastercraft hand tools ever fail you during normal use, excluding blades or expendable parts, they will be repaired or replaced for free. And Zippo Lighters and Cross Pens offer simple warranty information: the product works or they'll fix it, no matter how old it is. 

But in most cases if you read the fine print you'll find the manufacturer has a different definition of "lifetime" than you do. YOU might think that as long as you walk this earth you should be able to use that vacuum or turn on that lightbulb. THEY view it to mean as long as it can reasonably be expected that a similar product used in like situations with no extenuating circumstances functions they are covered. Not the same thing.

Discrepancies like that are at the heart of a lawsuit filed in Springfield MO by Kent Slaughter. Mr. Slaughter needed some new socks, and came upon Bass Pro Shops Redhead Lifetime Guarantee All-Purpose Wool Socks, with the prominently displayed slogan, "The last sock you'll ever need to buy." He decided to give them a go, and liked them so much that over 7 years he purchased a total of 12 pairs, assuming he was set with footwear for the rest of his days.

Of course, socks do wear out. And the company gladly replaces them if they do, honoring their policy and the product's moniker. Mr Slaughter availed himself of this policy several times, much to his footsies delight. But in 2021, when he tried to swap them out, he was told that the policy had changed, and was given a replacement product that was only guaranteed for 60 days. Saying that this is no longer the last sock he will ever need to buy, he contacted a lawyer. And while it's unlikely to generate as much notoriety as Elon and Twitter, this dispute will likely also be resolved in front of a judge.

In this case Bass Pro is drawing a line in the sand, and daring Mr. Slaughter to walk across. Only time and a court will decide if he does so barefoot or not. In the meantime, perhaps he needs to find a new supplier like sock company Bombas, who at one time had a Laundry Back guarantee: lose a sock in the wash, and they would send you a free pair to make you whole again. That's because when it comes to the dryer, there is no guarantee socks have any afterlife.

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Marc Wollin of Bedford expects things to work for a reasonable period of time. 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.

Try to Remember

In my office I have a perpetual calendar, the kind where each date is on a separate tile. Twelve times I year I have to rearrange the pieces to match the current month, and align day and date. Once I figure out where the first is, it's just a matter of moving each tile forward or back to be correct. Until I get to the end. That's because some months have 30 days, others 31. And how to remember which is which? I resort to a rhyme I learned a long, long, long time ago: "Thirty days hath September, April, June and November, all the rest have 31." It continues with some blather about February, but by then I've got my info. Unless it's February.

That mnemonic is just one that helps us recall various and sundry pieces of info. There are spelling mnemonics, wherein the first letter of each word reminds you how to spell a word: to spell "rhythm" remember the sentence "rhythm helps your two hips move." There are ones to help you remember the order of things: music students are taught the first letter of each word in "every good boy deserves fun" names the lines of the treble clef (EGBDF). And acronyms can help you remember a related set of words or names: Huron, Ontario, Michigan, Erie and Superior are the five great lakes, and the first letter of each spells HOMES.

I'm embarrassed to say the number of times I still resort to these things even at this point in my life. Spelling: "I before E except after C."  Grammar: the principal is the "pal" that runs the school, while a principLE is a fundamental ruLE. And perhaps most sadly, setting the table: I make an "OK" sign with both hands: the lowercase "B" side is for the bread plate, while the "D" side is for the drinking glass. Yes, it's silly but it works.

So when I hurt my leg, I recalled a mnemonic as to the proper way to treat it. RICE used to lay out the steps you should take for an acute but not dangerous muscle injury. Letter by letter it goes like this: Rest, meaning to stop the activity you are doing and give the area time to heal; Ice, meaning to apply cold packs to cool the area and slow the blood flow; Compress, meaning to wrap or bind it to reduce swelling; and Elevate, to raise the affected area to help drain fluid. Whether it's a sprained ankle or a pulled shoulder, these steps put you on the road to recovery.

But advances in medicine and rehab have determiend that there is a better course of action, and so RICE has been replaced by POLICE. While the I-C-E steps are still there, they are joined by two more. P stands for Protection: isolate the affected area away from further harm. While self-evident, it's a reminder to take care so as not to whack the same spot again, exacerbating the injury. The O and L are the newest kids on the block, and stand for Optimal Loading. The idea is that just propping your foot in the air and waiting for it to heal is the not the best approach. Rather, you should start to add some weight or resistance as soon as you are able to strengthen and help any scar tissue develop in the right direction. Otherwise, when you finally do get around to moving, the area will be stiffer and less pliable and more at risk to being reinjured. Note that the inventors did take liberties with the order. The O- L should come later in the process than the I-C-E, but then the mnemonic would be PICEOL, and who could remember that?

There are even some researchers who go a step further, throwing out RICE and POLICE in favor or PEACE & LOVE. PEACE is Protection, Elevation, Avoid Anti-Inflammatories (a view that some inflammation is good as it promotes healing), Compression and Education (learn what your body needs to heal and go with that). LOVE is Load, Optimism (the idea that mental outlook is important to recovery), Vascularisation (do activities that promote blood flow) and Exercise. Never say never but it's early days as to whether this one will catch on ,or be remembered simply as STUPID.

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Marc Wollin of Bedford is resting his LEG. 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.