Greetings and Salutations

It is the most mundane way to start an announcement, one you've heard countless times and one I've said countless times. Its purpose is not to educate, to cajole, to convince or persuade, to be confrontational or challenging, but rather merely to be administrative. I've used it in London, in Dallas, in Miami, and you've heard it in New York, in Chicago, in Boston. And even though it is said with no malice nor disrespect, I have to teach myself to stop doing it. For it seems that while I certainly don't want to offend anyone or make them feel like they don't fit in, it seems that I might be doing just that.

Let me say unequivocally I don't care who you are or what you are. Until you do something to change the circumstances on the ground, you deserve to be treated with respect by me and by anyone with whom you come in contact. At the top of that list is being identified as you wish. Whether that is by the formal name your mother gave you, or by a nickname you've adopted or earned, that is OK by me. Same goes for a title you've worked hard to achieve, or one which has been bestowed upon you by circumstance or deed. And no different are the pronouns you wish us all to refer to you by. Yes, it can be confusing for those of us who grew up in simpler times, but we mean no harm. Our slowness to adapt is merely evidence of the fading ability of older dogs to learn newer tricks.

Should we err (and we do) in a one-on-one encounter, we have the ability to apologize, to smooth over inadvertent slights with mea culpas and humanity. Not so in a more public-facing situation, and that is where I find myself. As part of my usual roll at events, I am the person who makes announcements to get people moving, to introduce speakers and segments, to offer up housekeeping information as needed, the so called "Voice of God" or VOG. I've done it for years, and it's gone from a nervous performance to a routine skill called upon with regularity. In service of that my muscle memory kicks in, and I automatically start most if not all of these pronouncements with the phrase I need to learn to banish: "Ladies and gentlemen."

Hardly a new choice of words, it's use dates back centuries, with the term "lady" inferring a woman of high status, while "gentle" had its root in "genteel" and did the same for menfolk. In other words, the formulation was a sign of respect for those being addressed. Since then It has gone on to become a default starting point for a crowd, one which sets the stage for more important information to come. It alerts those to whom it is directed that the next words are worth listing to, and is gentler than a whistle, more commanding than "uhh, excuse me," and less confrontational than "Hey, listen up!" 

But you would have to have your head buried under a pile of sand in the now times not to be aware that how we address our fellow people has been undergoing a change. None of this should be a surprise: language changes and morphs over time. We rarely address someone as "m'lady" anymore, while those who perform on a stage are referred to as "actors" be they male or female. In that same vein, as notions of self and sexuality have changed, traditional singular pronouns, such as he and her, have been joined by they and them, and even ve and xe. It may be different, but it's not wrong.

And so it seems that the traditional formulation I use of L&G is becoming outdated. The challenge is what to replace it with. For sure, one could jump right to the meat of the story, and begin with "Please take your seats" or "Please welcome Sally McCord." Nothing wrong with that from a content standpoint, but it's as much a performative problem as anything else. What I need is a collective noun that gives me a hook into a group of people in front of me, one that has rhythm to give me an on-ramp into the more important information that's coming. Basically I need a door opener 

Some suggest beginning with the time of day: "Good morning" or such. That works maybe once, but certainly doesn't wear well on repeated recitations. Similar starting points have the same problem: "Hi there" or "Hey all" or "Greetings and Salutations." Which brings us back to connecting with the people in a way that includes all without singling out any. "Distinguished guests" works but is a little too stiff, while "Folks" seems a bit too casual or chummy, and "People" a tad impersonal. In some situations "Comrades/colleagues/peers/associates/partners" (pick one) might do the trick, and "Friends and enemies" certainly leaves no one out. 

With nothing jumping off the page, however, my quest will continue. At some point I will arrive at a formulation that a) commands the proper amount of attention, b) offends no one, and c) rolls off my tongue as effortlessly as the old phrasing did. I'll keep poking: I like "Allies" but "My Dears" seems out of character. Then again, to hit all the right notes, perhaps I need to revert to the most common of denominators. So don't be surprised if you are at an event I am working, and you hear me say "Please take your seats, Citizens of Earth."

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Marc Wollin of Bedford has been told he has a good VOG voice. His column appears weekly via email and online http://www.glancingaskance.blogspot.com/ and https://marcwollin.substack.com/, as well as via Facebook, LinkedIn and Twitter.

Give Me The Power

 Progress comes in many forms. There are the big movements, industrial revolutions that fundamentally changed the world as we know it. Now in the midst of the fourth, these tectonic movements shift the very basis on how we live our lives. No less earth shaking are the narrower, targeted advances within a specific area: think the progression from muskets to automatic weapons, from propellers to jet engines, from flip phones to smart phones. And there are broad-based attitudinal shifts, as much about the acceptance of a change as the advances underlying them. You see that in everything from the move to credit cards from cash, and the growth of remote work and schooling.

Then there are the incremental changes. These tiny little shifts may not even be noticed by most, just accepted. A new button here, a shift on a screen there, a different shape of a handle or knob. None is earthshattering, but rather move the needle a fractional amount in terms of ease or efficiency. It might be an adjustment to a recipe or a redesign of an app, a retooling of a car dashboard a better backpack strap. No one knows the name of the person who figured out that the last few laces on your boots don't have to go through eyelets but can use little tiny cleats to make it easier to get them on and off, but we all owe them a debt of gratitude.

Those kind of changes are all but invisible until they're not. Often they get put into service, and no one even notices them. But eventually someone encounters them because of circumstance or station, and it's as if the angels sing and the heavens part. If that seems like an awfully strong reaction, perhaps it is. Unless you need it at the second. In that situation. And then the solve is so on point, so ingenious, so elegant, that you wonder how mankind survived without until now. And so it was with me an extension cord. 

More specifically it was a power strip. You know the object: a sliver of metal or plastic about 8 to 10 inches long that has several outlets on it and a snake-like tail, turning a single electrical connection into many. They come plain and fancy, some with switches, some with surge protectors, some with indicator lights and fuses. In our modern world where everything has to be plugged in or charged, they are as utilitarian as a hammer, as unsexy as a screwdriver, but as necessary as air.

But they have a major flaw. In olden days, when everything had its own individual power cord, they were just fine, allowing you to multiplex as many pieces of gear for which you had room. But times change. As we moved to battery powered devices, where the power pack was at the end of the cable rather than built into the device, those wires terminated not in a plug but a box. All well and good. But plug one of those into the strip, and the power pack covered the adjoining outlet and maybe even the one after that. What was designed to power 8 or 10 devices could now handle just 2 or 3. Many was the time we all played some Tetris-like game, moving one plug to another and turning the power packs around and around trying to bend space and time to free up just one more outlet. 

That was the situation I was facing on a recent project. I had a lot of hardware that needed juice: a USB power block, a computer power pack and several ancillary pieces of gear whose chords terminated in bulbous flat plugs several inches long. Laid end to end it was a solid foot of plastic which more than covered an entire power strip without allowing access to the outlets. I was just about to try and scare up another strip when I realized a simple design tweak in the one I had been given. Rather than the outlets being oriented parallel to the strip, they had been turned 90 degrees AND had been spaced further apart. The result was that I could plug not just the four packs I had into the strip, but several more. I was gobsmackced. I would have sooner believed dogs could talk than I could get the power I needed out of a single strip. Yes, I am easily impressed, but impressed I was.

It has been said that change comes in two flavors: traumatic and trivial. This was certainly not the former, but it all but defines the later. When the history of the world is written, there will be chapters on Edison and Ford, on Jobs and Marconi. But lost will be the name of the anonymous engineer at ACME electric who said in a staff meeting "what if we turned them THIS way?" Sir or Madam, I thank you for your contribution to progress: rest assured I will not forget you.

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Marc Wollin of Bedford can find wonder in the smallest things. His column appears weekly via email and online http://www.glancingaskance.blogspot.com/ and https://marcwollin.substack.com/, as well as via Facebook, LinkedIn and Twitter.

Listen Up

Walk down any street in New York City and the distractions are many. There are the buildings and structures which make up an urban landscape unlike any other in the world. There are the smells, some pleasant, some less than that, that waft from storefronts and restaurants, from bodegas and street vendors. And there are the people, a vibrant mix showcasing every ethnicity, sexuality, size and shape wrapped in a dizzying array of attire that defines every nook and cranny of the fashion world.

Added to all of that are the sounds. Traffic, to be sure, a humming mass that rises and falls from street to street and neighborhood to neighborhood. There are industrial noises, be they buildings being built up or torn down, streets being repaired or installed, or construction projects creating some unidentifiable piece of infrastructure that seem to never end. And then there are the voices, spitting out a dizzying array of languages and accents that merge into a wall of sound that would make Phil Spector proud.

Like a living white noise machine, it all blends into a wave of sound that you just learn to tune out. Many avoid it by plugging their ears with buds or covering them with earphones to pipe their own personalized soundtrack directly into their brain. And still others put those same earbuds in but don't connect them to anything, the modern equivalent of stuffing cotton upside your head.

But if you do listen, well, the rewards are great. That living, breathing mass of humanity talks about anything and everything, often with little concern as to what they are saying and who might be overhearing it. But it's not just what they say but how they say it. Keep your ears cocked, and the tidbits you can glean are pure gold, the stuff that the best writers in in Hollywood and at the New Yorker struggle to come up with to fill their outlets. Thankfully, many do mine that vein and submit them to Overheard in New York.

Started some 20 years ago, the site takes submissions from anyone who, well, overhears something worth passing on. As it's not a unique situation that only happens here, the site has produced a number of spinoffs, some focusing on other metropolitan areas (Dublin and Philadelphia to name a few), others on various locales (Overheard at the Beach and Overheard at the Office). But it all started, and one can argue continues to define the state-of-the-art, right here. To wit, some examples.

"He told me he's a minimalist and I was just, like, no babe, your apartment is just furnished by IKEA."

"So my gynecologist called to give me he the results of my hormonal test and she said everything was normal. I asked her why I get in such bad moods and she said 'maybe you are just miserable with your life.'"

"It's funny how the phrase 'He's following me' has evolved from terrifying into something to be proud of."

Woman: "We had a nice time, but you know he still lives with his parents." Her friend: "You mean in their West Village townhouse? Come on now, let's play the long game here."

Cop next to a woman on a bicycle: "Miss, you're going way too fast on that bike. Slow down." Woman on bike: "Or what? Am I under arrest for emitting zero Co2 and having incredibly strong legs?"

Flight attendant to passenger: "I'll fly any route, except New York-Miami. Those people are the worst."

Woman: "I don't go north of 14th Street." Her friend: "Umm, you're wearing Ann Taylor and pumps, so even sartorially, this is just a lie."

"Could you make all four of my drinks show up as tacos on the receipt." I'm putting this on the company card as a business lunch."

Woman: "You don't like it when guys wear earrings?" Her companion: "I don't know, it just feels like I'm having sex with Captain Hook."

Woman: "How's living with your boyfriend?" Her companion: "It's interesting! He's the love of my life, but if he forgets to refill the ice tray one more time they'll find his body floating in the Hudson River."

"Don't do it too often, but if you feel really lonely, call ConEd and tell them you smell gas. They'll send live five firemen over immediately."

Man: " What's wrong, baby?" Woman: "Don't you call me baby. You can only call me baby when we are on good terms, and right now we are not on good terms."

With the aforementioned evidence making a convincing case, one can argue that the Big Apple represents the ne plus ultra of the genre. However, there is gold everywhere you listen; all you have to do is keep your ears open. Just the other day, at a local charity where I volunteer, a woman was dropping off a donation. She was asking one of the other volunteers if they could return the container her donation came in or one similar to it. Her request: "I don't want a lighter one, just one that weighs less." Seinfeld could do no better.

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Marc Wollin of Bedford loves to listen to the surrounding chatter as he roams His column appears weekly via email and online http://www.glancingaskance.blogspot.com/ and https://marcwollin.substack.com/, as well as via Facebook, LinkedIn and Twitter.

Silent Talking

 There was the shoe phone concealed in Max's loafer. There was Agent 99's version hidden in her nail, so it looked like she was just nervous and nibbling on it when she was talking. There was the camera concealed in a bowl of soup ("Cream of Technicolor") and the laser weapon hidden in a button on Max's sports jacket (the "laser blazer").

But my favorite gadget from the 1965 TV Show "Get Smart" was the Cone of Silence. When the Chief had something sensitive to discuss, Max always insisted that they needed protection from prying ears. "Lower the Cone of Silence" went the command, after which two transparent plastic hemispheres came down over them to prevent conversations from being overheard. Of course, they couldn't hear each other, and someone outside the Cone had to repeat what each was saying. After a while the Chief usually gave up and shouted "Raise the Cone of Silence!" It was later augmented by the Umbrella of Silence, the Portable Cone of Silence (two plastic bubble helmets with a pipe between them) and the Closet of Silence. 

These days a little quiet would be nice. Cell phones have made it so that there is literally no place that half a conversation isn't intruding on our space. For sure many callers talk louder, on the assumption that their side of the call has to be heard above any environmental interference. In fact that increase in volume is usually not needed and might even make the situation worse. Modern cell phones have all kinds of noise cancellation capabilities built in on both ends, and talking at a normal level is usually the best practice to being heard correctly. 

Beyond volume, the biggest annoyance with hearing half a conversation is that you unconsciously try and recreate the other half. Rather than being able to ignore two people talking, your brain tries to puzzle out the side you can't hear. Think of your brain as doing what ChatGPT does: taking the last words, and trying to figure out the next few. If you hear "Well, what should I pick up?" you race to fill in the blank. Milk? Dry cleaning? Sally? You never get an answer, just another question: "OK, and then where should we meet?" Same conundrum again, same no resolution. No wonder it pisses us off: it's a game we can't win.

Short of having a Cone for ourselves or a portable one to stick other people in, there is little one can do. On some railroads there are quiet cars, wherein riders are asked not to chat. Unfortunately, that service was largely curtailed during the pandemic when ridership was down, and many haven't come back. Airplanes are still a "no call" zone, but that's mostly about the amount of limited stable bandwidth accessible when traveling at 500 miles an hour. One worries that if they ever figure that puzzle out, and they will, you'll be stuck elbow to elbow in a cylinder for 3 hours with 200 people fighting with customer service over their missing delivery of cat litter.

When that comes to pass, we have to hope there will be a requirement for users to employ a device like the one being developed by Skyted. Created by aerospace professionals, it packs the noise absorption technology used in jet engines into a face mask that looks like the front of a Darth Vader helmet. It connects to your phone, and muffles your side of the conversation to outsiders by 80%. You might get more than a few looks from your seatmates, but when you wear it none of them will be able to listen in as you reschedule the plumber for the third time. Of course, that's for you: you'd have to hold down other offenders and strap this to their face, which might not go over so well.

A personal closing note. As an individual whose job entails trying to speak softly in the back of the room while a performance is going on up front, I have been admonished thousands of times to "keep it down." I try, I really do, but sometimes the situation gets the better of me. I would be quite willing to spring for one of these contraptions if they ever hit the market, my own personal Cone of Silence if you will. You might laugh at how I look, but then the sound you won't hear will be me talking.

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Marc Wollin of Bedford tries to use his indoor voice whenever he can. His column appears weekly via email and online http://www.glancingaskance.blogspot.com/ and https://marcwollin.substack.com/, as well as via Facebook, LinkedIn and Twitter.

Go Deep or Wide?

There is a constant tension in the world between specialization and diversification. On the one hand it's good to focus tightly on one particular thing, and get so good at it that no one else can hold a candle to you. On the other hand, we relish and admire the person or place that has a wide portfolio, that can handle or create multiples of things to a standard that is more than simply passable. We say we want the first, but the convenience of the second makes that an attractive package.

You see this often in the restaurant world. Establishments gain followings and notoriety for their focus on one particular dish or cuisine. It might be their homemade pasta or their Buffalo wings, their fried chicken or their Greek salad, their turkey club or their filet mignon. Word gets out, and they become THE destination for that dish. After all, to be the go-to spot for a burger, spaghetti with meat sauce, or ham and cheese omelet is no small thing. 

But rarely do those places decide to simply rest on their laurels. Seeking to leverage their popularity they branch out and add other options outside their area of expertise. While it would be nice if that new outing was also home run, the hope is that it will be at least a step above adequate, offering variety and perhaps attract its own following. Come for the onion rings, but while you're here give the tuna salad a try.

That's the idea behind Little Blue Menu, a special brand created by fast food restaurant Chik-fil-A. That establishment has grown since its founding in 1967 to become the third largest restaurant chain in the US by systemwide sales, despite having fewer locations than Sonic Drive-In or Papa John's, and while being closed on Sundays. While the average McDonald's generates about $3.7 million annually in sales, the average Chik-fil-A takes in $8.7 million. That's a lot of chicken.

And it is mostly chicken. The chain has built a passionate customer base on that protein, the consumption of which has increased in the US over the last 10 years by about 23%. Sure, their customer service wins rave reviews, and their waffle fries and milkshakes get high marks, but it's all about their signature hand-breaded chicken sandwich. To be sure they've added variations on that, including spicy and nugget versions, even a grilled filet to tap into the healthier eating trend. A sampling of online posts: "It's consistently a good chicken sandwich." "The chicken is AMAZING." "One of the few places where the chicken sandwich isn't a frozen hockey puck." Or perhaps the most pointed: "At the end of the day Chick-fil-A is just a fast food chicken sandwich. However, it's the best fast food chicken sandwich."

That kind of customer response is the stuff that dreams are made of. And so the idea behind Little Blue Menu (so named because in 1946 at The Dwarf Grill, founder Truett Cathy's first establishment, new menu items were printed on a blue menu) is to leverage that enthusiasm and push the envelope. The embodiment of the concept is in the test store opened late last year in College Park MD, as well as a single food truck in Athens GA. One wonders if they chose those locations because they are both college towns where the students can be expected to try almost anything. 

According to their web site, at Little Blue Menu you can get Chik-fil-A favorites along with "whatever we cook up next." At College Park that includes wings, which kinda of makes sense as a line extension and considering their expertise in poultry. But you can also get a burger, somewhat counterintuitive from the chain whose marketing catch phrase is "Eat Mor Chikin." And in March they introduced 6 varieties of pizza. Four are in more traditional flavors (cheese, pepperoni and such) even as there is nothing remotely Italian about the firm's culinary expertise. And for the two that do use chicken as a topping, one adds pickles as a garnish, while the other has buffalo sauce, ranch dressing and lemon-pepper seasoning. 

Speaking as a pizza lover, and without having actually tasted any of them, I am willing to go out on a limb and say that it doesn't make a whole of lot of gastronomic sense. Full disclosure: I am a pie purist, and find Hawaiian pizza a crime against nature. But in this case it's more about pedigree. If I want chicken, maybe I'll come to you. If I want pizza, well, there are many other options from those who know better than to add a kosher dill on top.

The mistake here is in thinking that the ability to go deep also means you can go wide. There is no shame in doing one thing very well; in fact, most can't even claim that accomplishment. So if you can, recognize that fact and lean into it. Or as summed up in "One Trick Pony" by Paul Simon: "He makes it look so easy, it looks so clean, he moves like God's immaculate machine. He's got one trick to last a lifetime, but that's all a pony needs, yeah, that's all he needs."

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Marc Wollin of Bedford still likes a simple McDonald's cheeseburger. Something about the pickle. His column appears weekly via email and online http://www.glancingaskance.blogspot.com/ and https://marcwollin.substack.com/, as well as via Facebook, LinkedIn and Twitter.

Fraternity of the Dough

There's Brian, who is a director of photography and video engineer. Erin, a producer of corporate meetings and videos. Elliot, a lawyer and tennis player, Sharon, a retired IBM'er and board chair, and Smita, a behavioral psychologist and cooking influencer. While there are various links and threads that connect each of these individuals to some but not to others, that six degrees of separation shrinks to just one over the mutual attraction of all to the dough. And in this case the meaning is literal: not cash, but the sticky, yeasty stuff that turns into bread.

You can attribute that attraction as one more unexpected outcome resulting from the influence of COVID. The list of wholesale changes as to how we live, interact and go about our daily lives as a result of the pandemic is long and varied. While our memories of that frightening and unsettling time are fading, the adaptations, changes in routine, and shifts in direction and attitudes that were forged under pressure in the deepest part of that 18-month period will endure for years. There's the growth of remote everything, the hyper explosion of e-commerce, the sensitivity to any sniffle or cough as the leading edge of something much worse, and yes, the increased interest in bread making.

While Google searches for the term and its analogs quadrupled in a flash during the initial sting of the crisis, they quickly plummeted back to historically average ranges once people realized that you could get Target or Amazon to deliver a loaf of sliced multigrain or hearty white. But there was a determined subset who took the impetus to try their hand at making their own, less as a matter of survival and more as a chance to finally try something that took time and finesse that they didn't usually have. What started as a curiosity turned into a hobby turned into a skill that, even when the initial perceived need evaporated, became less a novelty and more of a routine.

Now the aforementioned individuals (and add me to that pot) pride themselves on an ability that to non-fellow followers can seem somewhere between art and magic. Even though the ingredients and methods are basically the same and have been since the first loaf was made some 12,000 years ago by hunter-gathers in a desert in Jordan, search for instructions and you will get north of 1.4 billion hits. That means there is a fair amount of variability to discuss, share, argue and advise from one aficionado to another.

Make no mistake: for all the press on how DIY sourdough is the next basic black, these home bakers offer no challenge to the commercial behemoths or even the artisan niche providers, nor are they leading edge of a scalable revolution in consumption. The commercial bread market in the US is a nearly $26 billion business, which when one researcher broke it down 3 years ago, consisted of 10 billion bagels, 52 billion slices of bread and 205 billion tortillas. So even though the average American consumes 53 pounds of the stuff each year, the odds are that the person you are standing next to is more likely to have eaten a slice of Dave's Killer Organic than their own loaf.

No matter: those of us in the fraternity are smitten. Once we have identified one another, the tools, tips and tricks provide an endless source of engagement and exchange. We debate methods and troubleshoot problems, share pictures of triumphs and failures, listen to workarounds and enhancements. More than once a fellow traveler has come up to me in a work or social setting, and apropos of nothing, asked about my proofing method for sourdough or technique for turning leftover starter into grilled pizza dough. Were there a DEA agent eavesdropping nearby, I'm sure he or she would think we were exchanging home brew meth recipes: "Ya gotta be careful not to disturb it while the gas is building up, otherwise it'll go flat. Not too warm. Low and slow, that's how you get the best high."

Some people play golf, others crochet. There are books clubs and drum circles, poker nights and tennis round robins. Each is a way to reach out and bond with like-minded individuals, to cross over social, ethnic, racial and gender boundaries and celebrate shared interests. This is but one more of that ilk, with the added benefit of being able to eat your triumphs. Nothing wrong with a photography club, but while a picture of a whole wheat sourdough boule might look good, it actually tastes better.

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Marc Wollin of Bedford makes a loaf every week or so. His column appears weekly via email and online http://www.glancingaskance.blogspot.com/ and https://marcwollin.substack.com/, as well as via Facebook, LinkedIn and Twitter.

Break the Rules

We are a society of rules and laws. Whether it be in the public sphere, on the playing field or just in our interactions with each other, we have sets of guidelines that dictate our interactions, some formal, some less so. Step out of line and you risk punishment of one form or another, be it arrest and prison or arched eyebrows and mild disapproval. 

In the case of laws, the establisher and arbiter is the state, and the consequences for breaking said laws are pre-determined and don't vary regardless of condition or circumstance. Penalties can run from punitive to disciplinary, from the aforementioned slammer to fines and sanctions. While there are certainly exceptions, in the main "we" generally follow them, and stay on the right side of the line.

But rules? Rules, as they say, are meant... nay, are just begging... to be broken. The second someone somewhere sets down an edict as to how you have to do something is the moment that certain members of the consuming audience go the other way. Sometimes it's intentional, other times it's not, but broken is broken. Whether it's cleaning up after yourself, keeping your dog on a leash or using your work email for personal business, the list of transgressions each of us is guilty of is long and varied. Guilty with an explanation perhaps, but guilty none-the-less.

Usually the areas where this happens are more benign than not. We take a call in the quiet car, we have more than 10 items in the checkout lane, we pour out the last of the coffee and don't start a new pot. We know we are doing wrong, and will likely piss off somebody, but the world will not cave in because of our actions. Besides, even if we get flagged, the repercussions are generally minor. Perhaps it is one more death by a thousand cuts for civil society, but we seem to be muddling through just fine even with people sharing their Netflix password.

In that same vein, as a person who bangs out proposals, overviews and yes, columns, I am conscious of the number of times my word processor flags a segment of my writing in blue, indicating a deviation from the accepted standards. We all learned those rules way back in the Wonder years, when Mrs. Howe or Mr. Jenkins taught them to us: don't split your infinitives, never start a sentence with a conjunction, pronouns and subjects should agree, and on and on. They were codified by unnamed authorities over centuries and passed down through style guides and fifth grade teachers, and whoa to those that used "it's" when they really meant "its."

However, as our primary method of written communication has shifted from handwritten missives to electronic hunt-and-peck, the state-of-play is that most of the rules are honored more in the breach than in the following. That doesn't make it "right," just accepted. It's like the Shibuya Crossing in Japan, where, when the light changes, everybody crosses the intersection from every angle. It's a madhouse, but what the hell are you going to do about it?

But (oops... there I go) occasionally there is an acknowledgement by the powers that be that recognize the reality of the situation, or at least say that perhaps the emperor doesn't have any clothes after all. Such was the case recently when Merriam-Webster, the oldest dictionary publisher in the United States, and one of the aforementioned keepers of the linguistic canon, posted on Instagram that "It is permissible in English for a preposition to be what you end a sentence with." They point out that the idea came from writers who were trying to align English with Latin, but there was indeed no ironclad rule about it. Mr. Jenkins in his grave is turning over. (See what I did there?)

To a very large extent the proper reaction is "so what?" Somewhat echoing the legal spat over originalism vs. textualism, there are indeed rules that guide us in standardizing and formalizing the written word, and we do well to use them as a template. On the other hand, language is a living, breathing thing, and has to adapt as the way we communicate changes, with those changes sometimes being productive, other times less so. It is up the user to wield the tools given to build the appropriate house, and for the consumer to decide whether to live in it or not. 

I, for one, come down squarely on the side of change. If it sounds right, if it makes the point, by all means do it. Ignore that Oxford comma, use that slang, run those sentences on. Weekly you will see those efforts here, and you can decide for yourself their success or failure. While I would never elevate this beyond what it is and classify it as anything more than a weekly rant, I side with Pablo Picasso's edict: "Learn the rules like a pro, so you can break them like an artist." 

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Marc Wollin of Bedford tries to write to be read. His column appears weekly via email and online http://www.glancingaskance.blogspot.com/ and https://marcwollin.substack.com/, as well as via Facebook, LinkedIn and Twitter.

An Audience of One

This is about your mom. And your kid. And your wife. And me. I love them all, and I've told them so. Wait, wait: before you call the cops, child protective services or my wife, allow me to explain.

When the Motorola DynaTAC 8000x debuted as the first commercial cell phone in 1973, it weighed about three pounds, cost $3,995 (about $12,370 in today's dollars), was the size of loaf of bread and was in limited supply. It enabled you to call untethered from your desk or home, and while that wasn't nothing, that was about it. Much has changed since then, with the price and size plummeting, and the capabilities and availability increasing. Today mobile phones are globally ubiquitous, are almost a thousand times faster than a mid-eighties Cray-2 Supercomputer, and in almost half the world's countries, over 90% of the population own at least one. 

Smart phones have advanced so far that many have given up on desktop computers and wired phones of any type. App development for mobile devices has reached the point where the number and sophistication of programs designed to run on that 6" slab of electronics in your pocket matches or outpaces that which is being created for other platforms. And more and more people are cutting their home and office cords. As a result, most people can no more conceive of being separated from their cells than they can from their arms. Hell, you got two of those; you only got one iPhone 15. 

That also means that all those things you used to do in the privacy of your home or office or a quiet space in the corner you can now do, and do do, anywhere. Banking, shopping, researching your next vacation, reading the headlines, and of course, connecting with friends, business associates and family. You can confirm your tee time with buddies while on the train, review that merger agreement while driving to the supermarket, and catch up with your sister while you take a walk.

The thing, though, is that many of us choose to do these things not only from anywhere but with an audience. Maybe not an intentional one, but a gaggle of onlookers none-the-less. Glance over while commuting home on the bus and you might see someone paying their bills. Look over at the table next to you at lunch and you see someone browsing Amazon for a new toaster. Unless you have super-vision, the itty-bitty screen makes it so you are observing rather than picking up account numbers. But if they are watching adult toy reviews on YouTube, it's hard to un-see that.

And then there's chatting (and here's where your wife or kid or mom comes into play). More and more, conversations that used to be private are public. It's hard not to listen when the person next to you is yakking away oblivious to the fact that there are others within earshot. Discretion? Privacy? Embarrassment? For some those seem to be antiquated ideas. There seems to be virtually no topic... doctor's appointments, relationship issues, digestion problems... that can't be talked about loudly with spectators.

Most often, however, it's innocent chatter to which you are uninvited yet present. It's not like you are party to the conversation, but it's happening in your orbit. So what is the proper etiquette? Acknowledge it? Ignore it? There is a third tack, which I've been taking recently: participate in it.

In one case an associate walked over to me while on the phone, seemingly talking with his wife. "Yes, honey, I'll pick you up." He showed me a single finger and mouthed "one minute." He continued: "It's no problem, should be done here in plenty of time." A beat, a nod, another beat." Yup. Look, Gotta go. Safe travels. Love you." To which I quickly chimed in, "Yes honey, safe travels, love you too." He smiled and said into the phone, "And Marc loves you too." There's was a brief retort from her end (Maybe something like "Who the hell is Marc???" or similar), after which he nodded, said goodbye, and hung up. He just looked at me and laughed, and we moved on to business. 

At a break I went to get a cup of coffee. Standing and waiting for my turn at the pot, the guy stirring his cup ahead of me was also on the phone, seeming to talk to a child, "Yes, you can go to Jimmy's, but you have to do your homework first." A nod. "Yes, I'll tell mom, but you have to promise to get it done You can do it, just try." Listen, nod. "OK, I'll see you later. Love you." I couldn't resist: "It's not that hard! Love you too!" The guy looked at me and smiled as he listened back. "See, Marc doesn't think it's hard either." He listened to a similar response as before, and laughed as he hung up, shaking his head. "Thanks," he said, "maybe he'll listen to you."

Not an hour later I was riding down in an elevator when a young woman got on chatting away via her earbuds. "Yes, mom, I will." Nod, listen. "Sure, when I get home." Listen, nod. "OK, I can do that." Listen. "Yes, love you too." To which I piped up, "Tell mom I love her too." The woman looked at me, smiled and laughed.

By default I'm a friendly person, and try and behave that way. My wife has taught me by example to be outgoing and connect with people I don't know. Am I being too chummy with strangers? You can decide for yourself. Just stand next to me, and make the call.

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Marc Wollin of Bedford likes to meet new people, anywhere, anytime. His column appears weekly via email and online http://www.glancingaskance.blogspot.com/ and https://marcwollin.substack.com/, as well as via Facebook, LinkedIn and Twitter.

Is That Your Face?

The airport drill is familiar to most. Get in the security line. Pull out your boarding pass or call it up on your phone. Fish out your license or passport. Then shuffle forward slowly until you get to the head of the line and are motioned to step up to the desk to be verified. Been there, done that. But more often these days what happens next is the front line in the latest evolutionary change in our lives, the marriage of big data, big brother and big AI.

In an increasing number of airports, it is no longer left to the TSA agent to confirm that your boarding docs match you. Rather, he or she puts your ID into a reader, then motions for you to stand in front of a camera which looks at your face. It uses biometric scanning to match the picture on your government approved ID to your in-real-life in-person mug. If those two can be connected, and that name is in the database for the day, they wave you through. The TSA agent could be blind (no comments, please) and it wouldn't make any difference. The machines got your back, or in this case, face.

In certain situations it even goes a step further. If you have registered with the Global Entry program and are returning from abroad, or are a TSA Trusted Traveler at certain airports and airlines, you can keep your wallet in your pocket. As you walk up to the camera it automatically compares your features to the picture it has on file. Before you can say "which gate?" they clear you and wave you through. It's still up to the folks manning the scanner to determine that your iPad, Gameboy, phone, associated chargers, cables and spare battery packs are just that, and not capable of being reassembled into an IED, but assuming so, you are deemed not to be a danger to your fellow passengers.

Back in 2013, when Apple introduced a fingerprint scanner as a way of unlocking your phone, it's primary purpose was not so much to secure your mobile bank account (there weren't any), but to stop people from butt dialing their last call. Surveys showed that nearly half of users didn't bother to set a password or PIN to start the process, and so every time they sat down a certain way it called mom. Like many innovations out of Cupertino, it proved so popular that other manufactures adopted it, and by 2021 that method was tied with passwords as a way to lock and unlock your device.

The method spread outward from our personal devices to other places where security was warranted, be it entry ways or financial institutions. But if anything pushed the ball further down the road it was the pandemic, and the desire to have a system that was contactless, one not requiring you to put your fingers and hands where every other person smudged their own germs. Coinciding with advances in accuracy, computer power and better, cheaper cameras, we went from scanning fingers to faces. No need to rub that French-fry grease from your thumb, you just looked like, well, you usually do. With an accuracy rate of 99%, the same as fingerprints, it was faster, less hassle and just as good. And you could pass the challenge with gloves on.

There are, of course, privacy concerns, that once the government or a company has your pic on file they can single you out even if you don't want to be. And advances in AI modeling are raising concerns that an "artificial you" could be created that would pass muster and gain entry to your personal world. If you have any doubt about how real a deep fake can be, watch the video of Billy Joel's new song, where he appears singing the just-written hit as he looks now, but also as he appeared in the 70's, 80's and 90's. You will do a double take as I did.

So what's the next step? No way of knowing, but beginning in July of this year the Vietnamese government will begin collecting biometric information from its citizens for identification purposes. It will include iris scans, voice samples and actual DNA. Should they prove unbreakable, one could see other countries adopting similar standards. And so it's not inconceivable that at some point in the future, to prove it's you getting on that Jet Blue Flight to West Palm Beach, you will need to stare into a lens, recite a limerick and produce a urine sample. Don't even ask what it will take to get an exit row.

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Marc Wollin of Bedford was ID'ed returning from London before he even got to the entry kiosk. His column appears weekly via email and online http://www.glancingaskance.blogspot.com/ and https://marcwollin.substack.com/, as well as via Facebook, LinkedIn and Twitter.

Missing Connection

As I was going to be away from home on business and there was a major snowstorm in the forecast, my wife wanted to make sure she had all the backups she needed. We long ago put in a generator that covers us when the power goes out, meaning water from our well and lights for our rooms are covered. We had also installed an extender for our mobile phones linked to the internet, as we live in a fringy cell zone. We had plenty of oil in the tank for heat and hot water. And our shelves had lots of food of all types. Other than being prevented from getting out, some bad weather would be more of an inconvenience than anything else. 

Indeed, when the snow came it proved to be just that. Our usual guy plowed her out, and she shoveled the walks. The power did wink on and off, but never enough for the genny to kick in. We kept in touch and talked about any other adjustments she had to make, the biggest being whether to turn on the wires that line the roof edge so the gutters didn't freeze up. Then I got a text from her that seemed strange: the power had gone on and off, but the phones hadn't come back on. We've had this happen many times, but it always came back after a short spell. I assumed she was being an alarmist. Give it a minute, I wrote back, it'll reset like always. Nope, she wrote back, I know the drill, it has happened before, and this is different. All has been out for more than 15 minutes, well beyond the normal timeframe. Phone is out, TV is out, internet is out. Fifteen long minutes.

I tapped into our account from my hotel, and had the system run a test. It came up blank: no connection to our system. I tried a few more diagnostics. Dead end. After a few more pings, it appeared that the power fluctuations had fried our system, and a technician would have to come out and repair it. First appointment: two days later.

Like many over the past few years we have slowly linked more and more of our infrastructure to the internet. Our phone lines had long ago migrated from copper wires to IP (internet protocol) systems. Our entertainment, both TV and radio, had gone from rabbit ears and transistor radios to streaming services for video and audio. And of course our connection to what used to be called the World Wide Web had become a daily, if not hourly, if not moment-by-moment source for shopping, communication, business, social interaction... the list goes on. The fiber that ran from the box outside our dining room to the central station was quite literally our link to everything outside our home.

The good news was that my wife was in no danger. She had heat, water, lights and food. She had books, crossword puzzles and a daily newspaper to read. Once the roads got plowed she was able to go to meetings, stores and other activities. The world kept spinning, and she was still a part of it.

But as I said, we live in a fringy cell phone area. That meant that when in our house her cell phone, her only connection beyond our four walls, only worked in some parts, while others were dead zones. And not just for streaming or googling or cruising the net, but for calls and texts. Especially at night, when there was no one (namely me) to chat with, if she was in one of those areas, she was as cut off as if she was on a desert island. Nothing to watch, nothing to listen to, no one to talk with. Let me be clear: my wife is very competent and capable. But she will say that you don't know just how dependent you get until you are cut off from it all. And in this case "all" was really "all."  

Thankfully, the tech showed up as scheduled two days later. There was a brief moment of concern when he looked at the system we had and, because of its age, wasn't sure he could fix it. He got on the phone and reached out to some fellow repairmen, and figured out a solution. It took more than an hour, but eventually all was reconnected, tested and working as it should. (Side note: In the "what about me?" department I was VERY happy that HE was indeed needed, and it wasn't something that I could have fixed simply by unplugging a cord and plugging it back in. Then I would have felt even worse that she had to deal with this alone.)

Yes, we are once again connected, but my wife's experience showed that it is both a blessing and a curse. It enables us to reach far beyond our physical borders with an ease that is unimaginable. But it is a fragile thread that, if severed, isolates us as never before. And unfortunately, not that we want to, there is no putting that genie back in the bottle.

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Marc Wollin of Bedford is trying to figure out backups for his backups. His column appears weekly via email and online at http://www.glancingaskance.blogspot.com/ and https://marcwollin.substack.com/, as well as via Facebook, LinkedIn and Twitter.

What Did You Call Me?

 Have a kid, and you can name it whatever you want. Bill? Jaden? Bugsy? Cleopatra? No one is going to tell you not to, though some may gently (or perhaps more assertively) prod you if you try for something more creative or more associative or more, well, off the mainstream. One wonders if Mrs. Knowles was told, "Well, sure, Beyoncé SOUNDS cool, but won't the other kids make fun of her? Did you consider Belinda? It starts with 'B' also." Mom held her ground, and the rest is history.

Those same concerns don't exist if you name a pet, be it a cat or a goldfish or a lizard. In that case, you can call it anything you want because there's no peer pressure nor downside risk in its development. Whether your pooch is called Spot or Milo or Badger, or your bird is known as Tweety or Buttercup or Hootie, its life will be just fine. No one implies anything from its moniker, and even if they do, who cares?

While the same freedom exists for inanimate objects, there is a little more caution. When naming a hurricane, forecasters steer clear of names from prior killer storms. Consumer products, be they cars or phones, are based mostly on marketing considerations, selecting ID's that elicit positive reactions in the given group. A Ford Mustang sounds like it goes fast, and a Samsung Galaxy sounds like it connects you to the world. That said, if you wanted to call the car the Hypermobile or Sally, or the phone the Whizbanger or Tyrone, no one would stop you. You might be laughed at, but that's your problem.

Then there're drugs. It's especially noticeable these days as we are awash in ads for a whole new class of pharmaceuticals that are aimed at weight loss. Unlike other products, the names of those compounds have to follow very strict guidelines. Two different organizations have to weigh in (no pun intended) and approve the names of the underlying generic - the United States Adopted Names (USAN) Council and the World Health Organization (WHO) INN Programme. The goal is that regardless of where someone is located, patients and health care professionals will be able to safely communicate about the medications in question.

In the process a number of rules must be followed. There must be two syllables in the beginning, so that it's easier to tell one from another. Certain letters have to be avoided, as they don't exist in every alphabet. You also can't use marketing terminology (best, fast, strong) nor medical terms, so that it doesn't imply that a drug is only associated with one condition. All of that cuts out names like SkinnyEstU or Size-4-Ever or WowzaWaist.

Once the cut is made on the generic side, a company can come up with their own brand name to sell under their label. Again they have to factor in intrinsic meaning and linguistics and trademarks. But it's also about market research and focus groups and emotional hooks and connections. They start with hundreds of possibilities and winnow that list down until they have a winner. 

With all the restrictions in place, that usually means that the word they come up for a name isn't really a word at all. It's more about onomatopoeia, where the sound of the word itself creates the impression they are trying to achieve. For example, the name of the ED med Viagra is meant to imply virality, while the name of the sleeping pill Restoril is meant to convey restoration. 

Which makes you wonder about Ozempic and Saxenda and their brethren. Copyrightable? Sure. Conforms to the rules and regulations? Absolutely. But convey positive associations? Questionable at best. At least to me, Mounjaro brings to mind a very big hill in the Alps, not the image one would think of as positive for one looking to decrease their size. Wegovy sounds like a sixties-era psychedelic compound. Some observers have offered up that one of the newest, Zepbound, sounds like an off-brand bus line, a 70's cover band or even an intergalactic pogo stick. 

Shakespeare invented numerous words, such as bedroom, invitation and fashionable, which were likely strange to the locals at first, but eventually become commonplace. In that same vein, thermos, velcro and even google were unique when introduced, but have since won widespread acceptance and gone beyond product names to become part of our everyday speech. Only time will tell if after some future Thanksgiving dinner you say, "Wow, I ate too much. Gotta go on an ozempic tomorrow." 

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Marc Wollin of Bedford wonders why people in commercials taking prescriptions seem to be having so much fun. His column appears weekly via email and online at substack.com, http://www.glancingaskance.blogspot.com/, as well as via Facebook, LinkedIn and Twitter.

South of the Border

When we were looking for a place to escape for a week in January, the suggestions came from all corners. Caribbean! Always nice, but we're not really beach people. Europe! Always interesting, but we wanted some warmth, and were unlikely to find that over there. Florida! Always, uh, what? At the risk of offending too many friends and acquaintances there, let's just move on.

Our wish list for a getaway was as it always was. We like to tour, see museums and shops, be able to walk and explore, eat in great restaurants with interesting food, and hopefully do it without too many crowds.  Rather than spend most of our time traveling, we enjoy setting up shop in a central place, taking day trips out as opposed to packing up and moving every night or two. And it had to be someplace accessible on our own: nothing against a tour, but we like to plan our own wanderings and set our own schedule as much as we can.

Our kids, who are experienced travelers, had suggested other places they have been that they thought fit the bill. That's how we wound up in Berlin a few years ago, and it didn't disappoint. So when they encouraged us to head to Mexico City, we did some homework. It checked all our boxes, though when we mentioned the possibility to others, the caution flags went up. "Dangerous" some said. "Polluted" was another refrain. And of course "stomach issues" was a not uncommon reaction. We appreciated the feedback and considered it all. But in the end, we waved aside those well-meaning concerns, and booked a flight to Ciudad de México, or as it's known, CDMX. And we were very glad we did.

More populous than New York, more area than Delhi, more elevation than Denver, Mexico City is a huge sprawling urban landscape with all the trappings of that wherever you are in the world. Depending on where you are standing, it is old and new, dense and spacious, dangerous and safe, serene and exhilarating, exciting and boring, often at the same. As with any city, your impressions are of your own making, and we made the most of it.

By some counts a city with more museums than Paris, there is art and culture everywhere, if not spread out. The Museo Soumaya is reminiscent of the Guggenheim with a collection that spans continents and centuries, while the National Museum of Anthropology is exhaustive in its showcasing of the Maya and Aztec cultures. There are extensive ruins and breathtaking pyramids, soaring architecture and classic buildings. On a smaller scale are spaces dedicated to the works of such well-known names as Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo, while homes and spaces designed by architect Luis Barragán are intimate and elegant. 

Go on a weekend, and the market scene is overwhelming. There are established ones that run every day, but it seems as though Saturday and Sunday multiply those exponentially. Every other street or park has an art show or farmers market or souvenir stand set up. And if you go to neighborhoods like Coyoacán you can walk in and out of stalls and displays for hours on end.

Food? It seems as though there are stalls on every corner. Some are beyond tiny, no more than a basket on a bike. Others are more established with umbrellas and tables. While foreign stomachs should proceed with caution, locals obviously tolerate it better than gringos, as evidenced by the fact that almost every vendor has some customers, and many have lines down the block. That said, when a cart on a street corner in Roma Norte has so many customers and such a reputation that Conde Nast Traveler has a review of "Jenni the Quesadilla Lady," you can probably roll the dice with some confidence. We did and it was delicious.

While the street food is ubiquitous, the fine dining options are also impressive. With spaces, menus and prices that would be right at home in Brooklyn or Tribeca, these places generally marry other cuisines with Mexican staples and spices. And so you get Entremar with its butterflied snapper painted with red and green chillies, Rosetta with its white mole with fermented carrots, and Meroma with its orecchiette with chillies. The guava pastry at Panadería Rosetta may be as good as any in Paris. And it was my wife who researched the five best ice cream places in town, resulting in stops for the cinnamon roll helado at Casa Morganna, as well as the chocolate mint at Cometa. Twice. 

Beyond that, the people were friendly, the weather perfect and landscapes varied. Lots of parks and fountains, so much so that one of our favorite pastimes was just sitting and people watching. In our travels we found one street that looked like a modern business center, another an old colonial town, another a bohemian neighborhood. The Condesa neighborhood where we stayed was green and leafy and filled with people walking dogs, jogging, shopping and eating well into the evening. It was perhaps one of the nicest urban neighborhoods we've ever been in.

Of course, every city has its issues, and CDMX is no exception. But if you treat it with the smarts that come with touring any strange place, you will likely not just be fine, but uncover a few gems as well. When we returned, a friend who was from CDMX asked to see my pictures and hear the highlights. I shared them, as well some of the places and restaurants we had been it. While he enjoyed it all, his final comment was the most telling, "Thank you for being interested in the best parts of our country and culture... because it's not normally that way!" Most of grew up assimilating a very Euro-centric focus. This was a reminder that there is a very cosmopolitan destination not across the sea, but just south of the border.

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Marc Wollin of Bedford loves to see new places. His column appears weekly via email and online at http://www.glancingaskance.blogspot.com/, as well as via Facebook, LinkedIn and Twitter.

I Am He

I have not checked off a box that affirms I am not a robot. I have not picked out which photos contain buses. I have not read and retyped a sequence of squiggly letters. And yet, because of two obscure statistical measures, you can rest assured that this is me. That's because according to an analysis of this writing, and let me quote here so I get it right, "There is a 0% probability this text was entirely written by AI. This text is most likely to be written by a human." And that be me.

One of the great challenges of our times is and will be determining what is real and what is not. It used to be fairly easy, as the underlying systems to generate text, pictures and speech were not that sophisticated, and fakes were obvious. It was like justice and innocence: we presumed it was human generated until proven otherwise. But with the advent of generative artificial intelligence and the popularization and easy access to tools like ChatGPT and Bard, the balance has shifted. While you assume that what you are seeing is real, you now generally look at everything with at least a healthy dose of suspicion.

The question becomes how to determine what is created by machines versus by people. Researchers are working on ways of validating the end product, enabling viewers to verify that an actual person was the creator, and that what they are presenting is real as opposed to manufactured. For sure that will become more of an issue in the future as the systems get more powerful and the fakes get better. But at least for now, there are a number of "tells" that give away the answer if you are willing to look. 

With pictures, there are several. If you look closely, you will likely see little artifacts: a misshapen ear, an odd arrangement of hair, a strange reflection. That's because the composites are created by taking segments of unrelated images and recombining them, and it's not always so seamless. Backgrounds can be blurry, but so blurry that when you look closely you see they really are not comprised of anything other than shapes and colors. And because real life is filled with imperfections, anything that looks too smooth is likely to be fake, or just a Kardashian.

With writing there are similar tests. The two markers that pop up used to be obscure statistical measurements, but have been repurposed to tell a real Hemingway from a fake Ernest. The first, called perplexity, is "a measure of uncertainty in the value of a sample from a discrete probability distribution." In plain speak, that means how likely are you to be able to guess the next word in a sentence. A low incidence indicates it might be more machine generated vs by a person. And then there's burstiness, which is defined as "the intermittent increases and decreases in activity or frequency of an event." In terms of writing, it means using or not using a word or term in "bursts." Humans generally do it, machines generally do not. 

For both pictures and words, detection programs exist to help screen for the aforementioned anomalies. Drop an image into AIorNot.com, and it will render a judgment as to real or fake. Run your text through GPTZero, and it will analyze it and give you a thumbs up or down as to machine or human. As an experiment, I ran several recent columns through the program, and got the reported results. It's worth noting that while a number of the metrics it calculated for my stuff were very middle of the road, my burstiness measure, on a scale of 0 to 100, was between 250 and 400. Ain't no machine gonna wield words like this human, for better or worse.

And so I come to you as flesh and blood, and I have the data to back me up. That said, there is a caveat. Remember the second part of that initial analysis? "This text is most likely to be written by a human." A little hedging going on there. After all, as has been noted elsewhere, the odds of being murdered by a chicken are extremely low, but never zero. So note that qualifier "most likely." However you can rest assured that, like the Beatles sang, I am he. You'll just have to trust me on this one.

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Marc Wollin of Bedford swears he writes every word herein himself. His column appears weekly via email and online at http://www.glancingaskance.blogspot.com/, as well as via Facebook, LinkedIn and Twitter.

Local Demise

Ernest Hemingway famously wrote in "The Sun Also Rises" that there are two ways to go bankrupt: gradually, then suddenly.  And while the loss is in information as opposed to dollars, it was that second way for our local community, indeed, three different local communities. You may or not be in one of the affected, but if you are reading this in the ether, you have your feet in two worlds, and so the tsunami might have escaped your notice. Actually, tsunami may be too strong a word, as it implies impact over a wide range of territory. Were we talking New York City and its Times, Houston and its Chronicle, or Miami and its Herald, the fallout might indeed be far reaching. But we are talking small communities in New York like Bedford and its Record-Review, Scarsdale and its Inquirer, and the Rivertowns and their Enterprise. And overnight those three weekly community newspapers are no more.

When I asked the editor of one (indeed the home base for this very column) what happened with the publisher of the three papers, he said simply "she ran out of money." He offered no insight beyond that fact. But it's not a difficult concept to grasp. Indeed, anyone who has ever run any commercial venture from a lemonade stand to a multi-national firm gets the drift. Add up the cost of reporters, office space, printing fees and the rest of it, and match that against subscriptions, advertising and newsstand sales. If the second exceeds the first, you make a profit. If it's the other way around, well, demise is eventually going to be the outcome, unless you're the government. 

It is no secret that the press, like many institutions that people used to look up to and depend on, is under attack and stress as never before. To be sure some of it is self-inflicted, where in some cases editorial standards have been bent or sacrificed in pursuit of agendas or profits or speed. Market forces also play a huge part, reshaping the underlying economics in the business models that worked for years but which didn't adapt to the changing media landscape. And in a world where governments and leaders relay their decisions and rationales in bits and bytes, anything over 240 characters long is considered practically book-length, and struggles to find an audience.

The problem is that the press, and more specifically a local paper, isn't just another grocery store or carwash or dry cleaner in a community. It serves a higher purpose befitting its designation as the fourth estate, offering a window and a billboard, a sounding board and a town square. Like water and power, they have become singular resources that many rely upon for updates on school sports and town meetings and local get-togethers. And while larger towns and cities might have multiple avenues for citizens to get their information, the same cannot be said for many of the places we call home.

That's why in each of the affected communities there has been an anguished cry from many. As of this writing, while the print editions have been shut down, the online sites are at least functioning as zombies if not being updated with news. That has allowed some users to post comments. One reader: "I would feel disconnected from the community without it. I rely on it, I would be at loose ends without it." Another: "This is awful news. We would be willing to pay over four times the current subscription rate - we get such value out of it, and it is such a critical part of this community." One more: "It's where we turn to the Letters to the Editor section to see what our neighbors are sounding off about, where we get information on new local laws, grants awarded to our towns, decisions made by our school and town boards, and much more." Or the most succinct one: "Please do not allow this community jewel to disappear."

In each community some readers and residents are seeking ways to help and keep them going. The publisher has been publicly silent as to the situation, so no telling if there is movement behind the scenes with investors or partnerships, or if it is all just wishful thinking. However, even if you weren't a reader, as an objective matter, the loss is a real one which is one more in the death-by-a-thousand-cuts that helps contribute to the ongoing degradation of neighborly society. It might be too much to invoke the words of John Donne, but you be the judge if this bell tolls not just for others but for each of us. 

In the meantime, astute regular readers of this space might notice that at the top it no longer says "As published in The Record-Review and The Scarsdale Inquirer" because, well, it ain't. That situation might be restored, and I hope it is. However, for all of you who get it electronically, with either thanks or apologies as I continue to invade your space, my parade shall continue. I can only hope that you will continue to come to the curb and watch the show, and if so inclined, occasionally wave back so I know you're out there. 

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Marc Wollin of Bedford plans to keep this effort going, if you'll have it. His column appears weekly via email and online at http://www.glancingaskance.blogspot.com/, as well as via Facebook, LinkedIn and Twitter.

Ready, Set, Click

Blame ESPN.

In 1979, the then upstart cablecaster went on the air with "SportsCenter" and anchor Leonard Lee saying "If you're a fan, what you'll see in the next minutes, hours, and days to follow may convince you you've gone to sports heaven." In those early days it was not so much heaven, but something a bit lower: their first exclusive sporting event was game one of the World Series in men's professional slow-pitch softball between the Milwaukee Schlitz and the Kentucky Bourbons. 

Fast forward to today, and ESPN is no longer a wannabe but one of the major players in sports broadcasting, with rights to NFL, NBA and MLB games. They have a radio arm, a streaming service and 8 US television networks. Far from merely surviving on second tier sports, they carry the NFL's Monday Night Football, finals in professional basketball and hockey, tennis' Australian, Wimbledon and US Open competitions, and The Masters golf tournament. 

Whether they created it or merely unearthed it, ESPN's existence is owed to our seemingly insatiable appetite to watch competitive events. And while the network may have moved upscale, that demand has proven to be incredibly wide and resilient, and others have sprung up to carry those up-till-then nearly invisible competitions. And so punch around and you can now watch women's volleyball in Kansas and horse racing in Louisiana, tennis in Hong Kong and martial arts in Wisconsin, bull riding in New York and lacrosse in Philadelphia. 

But even that's not enough to quench the appetite of the viewing public. A multitude of head-to-head battles have been created in what can only be described as "non-traditional" areas. These are arenas where it used to be we recognized and celebrated those who were better than others. but never thought to place them on a field or court. And while that space might not be green or have markings or goals, there are rules and refs, winners and losers.

For example, you might be guided by stars or ratings to find those chefs that rise above the rest. But if you want to see cooking "battles" there is "Iron Chef" and "The Great British Bakeoff" and "Beat Bobby Flay." You might choose a tour based on its Yelp rating, but never thought of racing from place to place as in "The Amazing Race" or "Expedition Impossible." And who would have believed that an audience would tune in to watch adults battle to the "death" in "Red Light, Green Light" on "Squid Game."

It shows no signs of stopping. Had you been watching the CBS Sports Network in December you would have seen the ETC Series. If you're unfamiliar with the league those initials represent, it's not a college or regional grouping. Rather, ETC stands for the Elite Trades Championship, and includes the US Auto Tech National Championship for the best mechanics, the Ideal National Championship for the top electricians, the ServiceTitan HVAC Championship spotlighting outstanding heating and air conditioning techs. And then there's the sump pump of them all, the Plumbing National Championships. There as in the others, play-by-play announcers walk us through the action, and color commentators highlight what is right and wrong: "Well, Joe, is that spanner that right way for Smitty to go?" "Bill, I tell, ya, I've never seen a such a masterful use of a quarter hex drive to tighten up a flange valve. We are seeing greatness here!"  

Perhaps your preferred tool is a mouse as opposed to a monkey wrench. If so, then head to Las Vegas for an eSport competition like no other. Not Fortnite or World of Warcraft, but the Microsoft Excel World Championship. Think you got the stuff? A sample case: "You have been hired as a financial modeling consultant for GreenEnergo (GE), a fictional electric utility company that operates in a fictional country of Bublijan. Your goal is to create a 10-year monthly financial model, forecast the financials, calculate the project's NPV and IRR and determine the required level of state subsidies for the project to be economically feasible for GE." Ready, set, click!

Whether you call them sports like tennis, boxing or basketball, or competitions like golf, surfing and running, they all have their fans. There is almost nothing that can't be turned into a contest and garner an audience. Downhill skiing or crab racing: the choice is yours.

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Marc Wollin of Bedford rarely cares who wins anything. 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.

Past, Present, Future

The wonderful writer Paul Theroux has written nearly 30 novels, some of which have been made into feature films. He has written hundreds of short stories and reviews which have appeared in magazines and book form. But he is probably best known for his travel writing, with more than 20 books and collections covering every corner of the globe, from Mexico ("On the Plain of Snakes") to the Pacific ("The Happy Isles of Oceania") to the Far East ("Sailing Through China").

One that sticks with me is his collection of short essays on wandering called "Sunrise with Seamonsters," and specifically one of the earliest pieces written nearly 60 years ago called "The Cerebral Snapshot." In it he laments how the taking of pictures takes you away from the act of observing the thing you are photographing. He relates a situation he encountered in Africa where he watched a herd of giraffes running while his friend snapped shot after shot. After they were gone, his friend turned to him and said he didn't get a good look at them. Why? Theroux asked. His friend responded, "See, if you take pictures of things, you don't really see them."

The proliferation of smart phones with built in cameras has only exacerbated that conundrum. Photography has become easy and accessible to everyone all the time with no need for big and expensive equipment. Theroux presaged what that means: we all take way too many photos as opposed to just looking at the world and absorbing the moment. If you've been to any concert, you can't help but notice the bevy of people who have their phones out recording the event, and not actually watching and listening. 

Still, as records of the past pictures have no equal. You need no literary or journalistic skills to capture a moment in time and share it with friends and family. But pictures have gone on beyond being simple articles of record. With tools accessible to everyone, it is now possible to transcend time, showing us not just the past but helping us envision the present, and indeed, see into the future.

Two simple examples.

For a project I am working on we visited a location just before Christmas. I took many pictures, but every one has wreaths and lights and decorated trees. And while that was certainly an accurate representation on that day in December, it's hard to envision it in the more pristine look we will see in the spring when we return. The venue offered their marketing beauty shots, but they weren't from the angles and vantage points we need. Enter my new phone with its advanced AI toys, including one called "Magic Eraser." Using it, I was able to simply circle or highlight any yuletide decorations, tap a button, and before you could say "Holy Noel, Batman!" the space was denuded of any holiday accoutrements. It appears as it does in its present state, with no need for a return trip to reshoot the pictures.

As to looking into the future, one of our kids is in the process of fleshing out a new apartment. As he was exploring options for beds, he came across one online that he thought would fit nicely into the space, but wasn't sure. However, on the website was a button labeled "View in Your Space." A tap on it, and the bed appeared "live" in the bedroom as he looked through his phone. He was able to place it where he wanted it, walk around and see how it looked, as well as the clearances to the walls, windows and doors. It enabled him to see beyond today to a future point on the calendar where it was set up, and give him the confidence he was making the right choice.

If you are a writer, as Theroux said, the best thing you can do is to watch what is in front of you with your eyes and brain, and not capture it on a piece of film. Or as he put it so succinctly, "a picture is worth only a thousand or so words." But if like most you want to not only memorize that vision, but build on it, then perhaps it's better to remember what the great photographer Robert Capa said: "The pictures are there. You just take them."

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Marc Wollin of Bedford likes to write AND take pictures. 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.

Yours or Theirs

We have all made a pact with the devil, though of a far more beneficent type than the one in the Bible. In this case he/she/it has no horns or tail but offers us untold capabilities and opportunities at little or even no cost. In return we have to promise to stay faithful (netting us even more chances at convenience and goodies) and keep shoveling more nourishment into the maw that is presented 365 days, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. This we happily and willing do, regardless of warnings from both inside and out. And while there is but one Lucifer that goes by various names, in this case there are various versions of Mephistopheles which offer sinful pleasure in exchange for our souls. Or in this case our data, which these days is practically the same thing.

Whatever tribe you belong to (and it can be several at the same time), the deal is the same. Sign up and onto platforms from Microsoft or Apple or Google or Amazon (to name just some of the major serpents) and in return the keys to the world are yours. You are given the opportunity to keep names of friends and family, schedule your daily life, shop for gifts, book travel, listen to music, watch movies – the list goes on. In some cases there's a small fee, though it's usually far less than what those capabilities might fetch on the open market. All they ask is that you permit them to make notes about what you are doing, and use those notes to offer you even more. What a bargain!

And in the broader view it is. For sure there are well documented privacy concerns about letting a massive commercial enterprise not just glimpse but stare at your online life. But if you are like 99% of consumers out there, you willingly sign over that right for the ease and capabilities it gives you. After all, we all rationalize, what difference does it make if someone knows where I like to order takeout (Uber Eats) or how often I work out (Strava) or whom I pay on a weekly basis (Venmo)? I've got nothing to hide, my life is basically boring to any outsiders, so look all you want.

But while that data may be worth more than nothing, most agree you should have at least have control over it. In Europe that was recognized in a formal way with the General Data Protection Regulation put in place in 2018. It includes a number of provisions, including the right of access (so you can see what is being collected), the right to be forgotten (so you can make "them" erase whatever they have on you) and the right of portability (the ability to take that info and do what you want with it). Elsewhere around the world those same rights are generally implied to some extent, though not legally required.

It came to roost for me when the notetaking app I have used for years changed its pricing structure from free to a monthly fee. In those files were all the miscellaneous flotsam and jetsam of my life, from recipes to column ideas to jokes. And while they were worth nothing to anyone else, there were, if not quite priceless, at least of value in my world. While the service was worth something, I didn't think it was worth as much as they were asking. There were other options, and I wanted out. But while they froze the program and didn't enable me to add anything new unless I ponied up over $100 a year, they did provide a way to export all the contents. It wasn't easy or seamless, but over a number of days I managed to download it all, massage it into usable form, and upload it into another program that wasn't quite as elegant but was at least functional. The bottom line was that it took a few more clicks, but at least my rugelach recipe was safe.

It's a transactional ledger we keep adding to every time we go online. We gladly give up our online habits in exchange for something of value. Which begs the question: is your info theirs? Or is it yours? Or to repurpose the title of Brian Clark's 1972 play, whose life is it anyway? 

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Marc Wollin of Bedford thinks his online habits are pretty bland. 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.