Going Offline

For the past two years we have all been strapped to our screens. It's not really the screens themselves, but rather the connections they enabled. Discouraged from gathering in person, we moved every activity to a virtual portal. Shopping? No going to an actual bricks and mortar establishment, just click and order anything from tuna fish to shampoo to underwear. Work? We always wondered what it would be like to work at home in our slippers, and now we know. School? Whether it was kindergarten, high school or college, students learned to get their teachers attention not by raising their hands but by clicking their mouse. It was the same for dating, playing, socializing, entertaining, you name it. Your only window to the world was the window not on your wall but on your desk.

And so being online became the only line. Online meant you were connected to a network which in turn connected you to everything else. To dwell in the modern world meant you had to be online to some degree. For some that meant simply sending emails or texts, reading the latest news and shopping via Amazon. For others it went a step further, from ordering food or movies, to engaging in group discussions with friends or coworkers. And for still others it meant spending a majority of time posting, reacting, creating, liking, TikToking - in short, doing not some things but all things online. It's a twist on the philosophical thought experiment of a tree falling in a forest: if you do something and don't post it on Instagram, did you actually do it? 

And for many that was right and good. To be offline was an error state. Offline meant not only that you were not connected, but that you were effectively out of the loop. And not just any loop, but every loop. Offline was a two-way street, meaning that not only that you couldn't be reached, but you couldn't reach out. You couldn't watch the same shows everyone was watching, couldn't eat the same foods everyone was eating, couldn't laugh at the same jokes everyone was laughing at. And so being offline was effectively dwelling in a digital Siberia, a hostile, uncomfortable environment to be avoided at all costs.

Or maybe not.

While some people relish living online, many do not. Or they enjoy it but find it too all-consuming and tiring. And so they look for opportunities to step back. Perhaps more accurately, they enjoy the benefits of connecting while at times preferring the relationship to be more asymmetrical, more take than give. So yes, use Google Maps to plot a hike, but then then download the trail map as a guide but not check emails along the way. Or yes, use Spa Finder to set up a date for a mani/pedi, but once there just listen to music vs. doom scrolling the news. Or perhaps hardest of all, step away from the streaming world and curl up with a cup of tea and a good book. (Yes, harder to do if the book is electronic and you are holding the iPad in your hands, but it is possible.)

Of course, most of us can't just go offline without some preparation. You need to find a break in your normal routine when it is permissible or possible to not be connected. Put another way, you need downtime, another word that in the absolute connotes the negative instead of the positive. But creating that space is what makes it possible to pause for moment and take stock in a non-connected way. So yes (deep breath), you need downtime to be able to go offline to reset yourself to go online. And yes, that phraseology owes a nod to the riff "Modern Man" by the great George Carlin: "I've been uplinked and downloaded, I've been inputted and outsourced, I know the upside of downsizing, I know the downside of upgrading." 

The old language was the equally seemingly oxymoronic "unplug and recharge." The meaning was to step away from your usual day-to-day routine with the hope that a little break would give your Spidey-senses time to regenerate. But it's the same thing even if it makes no linguistic sense. Or once again in Carlin-speak: you want to be "in-the-moment, on-the-edge, over-the-top and under-the-radar." 

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Marc Wollin of Bedford likes to curl up with a warm Kindle. 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.

Now?

Now? Too soon. Well how about now? No, not quite. Maybe now? No, still in progress. OK, how about now? Well, maybe, this time. Yes? Yes. Now? Now.

That's kind of the back and forth has been happening in all of our heads over the last two years.  No one's fault, no one did anything wrong, but it was one step forward and two steps back. Each time we thought that we were getting a handle on things, each time we found a solution (vaccine) there was a complication (Delta, Omicron). We rode the waves, reveling in the lulls and retreating in the peaks. Call it what you will: whiplash, seasick, vertigo. It was the same feeling I used to get sitting in the backseat of my grandfather's car, speeding up, then slowing down, then doing it again and again. Call it queasy.

But it's starting to feel like the runway is clearing up. The trains and subways and planes are filling up, offices are welcoming people back, schools are back in session. That's not to say that there hasn't been a huge amount of collateral damage and adjustment.  A walk down any street in any town or city finds empty storefronts and closed restaurants. Jobs in highly affected industries like hospitality, travel and events have been hammered and only now are starting to come back.  And the literally millions of people who got sick or died add up to an unimaginable human cost.

Still, just like it felt as if the world turned on a dime and shut down on that day in March 2020, so too does it suddenly like feel the dime flipped over and everything is opening up on this day in March 2022. Yes, you still have to wear masks on planes and trains, you still need vax cards to get into some places, you still need to be careful if you have health issues. But I can't be the only person who wonders if they missed the memo that says it's time to move on. 

It's also hard not to note that it's almost two years to the day that the change has occurred. Reports call it an anniversary, as if it's something joyful or dreadful that we will celebrate annually going forward. Rather, it feels more like a business meeting that was scheduled and expanded due to the subject matter: "Let's see, looks like March 9 2020 will be as clear a spot as we'll find. Looking at the agenda we should probably allow a year. What? The variants? Forgot about those. So maybe we add some pad. Let's make it for two years, and if we get done sooner, that'll be great. I'll send out a planner for your books. See you then." Guess we didn't wrap early.

There is a certain time machine quality to it all. A year ago I was in a Manhattan office tower and it felt like it was the aftermath of chemical attack. Desks were empty, plants were dead, desks looked like the occupants had just gotten up and walked away. We could have played soccer in the halls without bothering a soul. Then 2 months ago in the same setting there were some modifications to floor plans with a more streamlined layout, and just a few desk dwellers spaced far apart. And this week a more routinely functioning space, with admittedly less than a full house, but for the first time in a long time a line to get to the coffee pot in the cafeteria. Progress of a sort, I guess.

Perhaps most notably, the focus has shifted. The war in Ukraine dominates, with its spinoff effects the only topics of discussion. Masks, vaccines, social distancing? Not completely faded yet, but think cassette tapes, bell bottoms and pagers. All the rage at one time, maybe make a return appearance at some future date, but for now something to which only your cohort can relate. Someday you will tell your grandchildren, "Yes, we had to wear masks and stay 6 feet apart. Silly huh?"

No, it's not silly nor is it completely over: 1200 or more people die from COVID each day, second only to heart disease and cancer. It's hardly nothing, even if we are just treating it that way. So, yes. Now. Or perhaps more correctly, at least for now.

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Marc Wollin of Bedford is starting to get back to what passes as normal. 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.

Food Fight

In 2003, the US was a trying to drum up support for an invasion of Iraq. The "coalition of the willing" eventually reached as high as 49 members, though it was reduced by one after Costa Rica changed its mind. However, just three of those nations contributed troops to the invasion, namely the UK, Poland and Australia, with the others provided support once the invasion was complete. 

One dissenter was France. In a "take that" moment, Representative Bob Ney, a Republican from Ohio who happened to be chairman of the House Administration Committee (which is in charge of operations of the Capitol), ordered that the word "French" be removed from all affiliated menus. That gave rise to a lunch of a hamburger with a side of "Freedom Fries." Said a French Embassy spokeswoman at the time, "We are working these days on very, very serious issues of war and peace, life or death. We are not working on potatoes." 

Perhaps most notably in the Boston Tea Party, food has long figured in protests. In the 1960's Americans boycotted table grapes to show support for the United Farm Workers union, while the 80's saw boycotts of tuna over the killing of dolphins trapped in fishing nets. As society has gotten more polarized, so too have these boycotts, becoming as much about the media moment as driving actual change. Left leaning voters have rejected Goya products after the company's CEO praised then-President Trump, while right leaning voters have shunned Ben & Jerry's ice cream after they endorsed the Black Lives Matter movement. 

While it might make for a good tweet or two, these campaigns really didn't have much effect on the specific company's bottom line. After all, liberals are as loath to give up their black bean soup as conservatives are their Chunky Monkey. And then there is the accidental, or certainly not-intentional association with a particular point of view. In 2017, in response to a request from a Twitter user if the company had "any memes" they could share, the fast-food chain Wendy's tweeted out a picture of Pepe the Frog with red pigtails, meant to resemble the firm's mascot. Quickly picked up by the Neo-Nazi website the Daily Stormer, they noted that Pepe was also their mascot. Wendy's quickly deleted the post, and so thankfully was never targeted for its momentary elevation as "The official burger of the Neo-Nazi Alt-Right movement."

All this is backdrop to the current zeitgeist to protest Russia's invasion of Ukraine by any means necessary. The sanctions that have bite, most notably the freezing of assets, closing of airspace and banking prohibitions, are real and powerful if not immediate. Many others are more symbolic, such as the Glasgow Film Festival withdrawing two Russian titles, or the International Cat Federation releasing a statement that "No cat belonging to exhibitors living in Russia may be entered at any FIFe show outside Russia, regardless of, which organization these exhibitors hold their membership in." And trying to get personal, there's this: "World Taekwondo has decided to withdraw the honorary 9th dan black belt conferred to Mr. Vladimir Putin in November 2013." That's gotta hurt.

For the regular citizen, there is little one can do short of sending money to various organizations. But many feel the need to do more, something tangible even if toothless. The obvious target is the foodstuff most associated with the country, vodka. Symbolically it may send a strong message, but in practicality or effect, not so much. The top brands may have a Russian pedigree, but have nothing to do with the country directly: Grey Goose is made in France, Absolut in Sweden, SKYY and Smirnoff in the US, Stoli in Latvia, and Tito's in Texas. If that's the approach you favor, open your fridge and make sure the ketchup and mayo are well separated, less they come together as Russian dressing. (FYI, that condiment was invented in New Hampshire, and got its name from the original recipe which included caviar.)

Still, even if individually you feel powerless against a greater evil, it helps to do what you can as a demonstration of support. So cancel your tickets to see the Bolshoi ballet. Take a hammer to a DVD of "Let's Learn Judo with Vladimir Putin." And when it comes time for dinner, pass on the blini and order the borscht.

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Marc Wollin of Bedford still likes vodka and tonic. 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.

Blocking and Tackling

Ten to the tenth. That is the total number of possible combinations when you take a three digit area code, a three digit exchange, and a four digit extension, the current form of our phone numbering system in this country. Those singular 10 slots get multiplied 10 times, or the aforementioned ten to the tenth. And that adds up to 10 billion unique phone numbers.

But it's not quite that simple. There are both rules and restrictions that take large pools of combinations out of circulation. For instance, there are no area codes that start with 0, likewise no exchanges either. So when two of the multipliers are 9 vs 10, you drop 2 billion possibilities right off the top. Then to prevent confusion with public service numbers like 311 and 411, exchanges cannot end with 11. There are special codes (950, 976 and such) reserved for testing, governmental use and special services. And the 555 series fabled in song and story is used for demonstration in both advertising and Hollywood. The bottom line is that when you take a few here, another few there, the best guess is that you are left with somewhere around 3 to 5 billion available numbers. 

That's the supply, so let's talk about the demand. The most recent census estimates that we have about 332 million people in the country. If you do that math, you get to between 10 and 15 numbers available per person. Several years ago you could see that top end being threatened, what with pagers and fax machines and home lines and dial up modems and work extensions and and and. But as we have steadily ditched all of those in favor of our singular mobile numbers, more combinations are available to the pool. 

The final data point is access to those numbers. That used to be the sole province of the phone companies. But as technology has progressed it has become possible to either borrow an existing number without authorization, or spoof the caller ID that pops up so it looks like an incoming call is coming from a different number than it really is. That all means that there many avenues and ways to reach out to you to bug you, tempt you, threaten you and trick you into falling for a scam.

As such, many of us don't even bother picking up the phone unless we recognize the number. Likewise if it's a text with a link, we ignore it unless we can say for certain that it's from our child or office or the kid's school. If they really want to get a hold of you, so the reasoning goes, they will leave a message or send an email or find some way of getting to you. And while this means that there may be a certain number of missed encounters with old college friends who are reaching out after searching for you for thirty years, odds are far more likely its someone offering you an extended warranty for a car you no longer own. You can miss that one and be just fine.

Of late it seems that someone has keyed in on my number and added me to their "do disturb" queue. To be fair, it's unlikely that I am being personally targeted, as if some hacker picked me out of a lineup and decided to start an orchestrated campaign trying to scam me specifically. More likely my number was scraped from some directory or website and fed into the great maw that is lists for sale. And so I have been getting multiple calls and texts, asking me to confirm my address for a delivery, or validate my rebate, or upgrade my account. But I didn't order anything or ask for money back or want a better membership plan. And if I did, then I'll take my chances with the basic package. 

While it's hard to stop the calls, there is an option with texts to not only delete them but block the number as well. I did nine just since last weekend. So let's go back to the math. If there are 3 billion possible real numbers and even if 99% of them are legit, that still leaves somewhere around thirty million that could be fakers. I blocked nine. So as of this writing, just 29,999,991 to go.

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Marc Wollin of Bedford only answers his phone when he knows the caller. 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.