Award Winning

Most people like it when someone else recognizes their efforts. It might be a small thing: your boss tells you you did a good job, a friend remarks on how cool your outfit is, a neighbor says she likes your garden. Those little affirmations bring a smile to your face, a puffing out of your chest and a warm feeling to your heart. And then there are the times when the results are stellar, going above and beyond, taking the effort from good to great. In those cases, it's possible the work will be recognized by a wider circle, with the result going beyond just an "attagirl" or a "you rule!" And in that instance, the award is, well, an award.

While it or may not be an actual goal, being singled out and handed a trophy as the best in anything is heady stuff indeed. Doesn't matter if the winner is an individual, a group or a company: it indicates to all who care that the named recipient gave their all. The most well-known examples are very well known indeed: everyone knows the names of some of the winners of the Emmys, Grammys, Oscars, and Tonys. And the best are recognized across all of those platforms: 21 people to date have won been honored with one of each, the so-called EGOTs. 

But that's probably way above your pay grade. After all, the vast majority of people and organizations will never be in the running for those high-profile honors. It's not that their efforts aren't exemplary and worthy of spotlighting, but rather the arenas they play in are more self-contained. But within those closed ecosystems the standouts are no less standoutish. And while the awards given there might not carry the cachet of the aforementioned statuettes they are rightly coveted and crowed about.

So while the English Professional Footballers Association just announced that Mo Salah had won his third Player of the Year award, Bonnie Pollack was winning the Milken Educator Award, the "Oscar of Teaching." Created in 1987 by Lowell Milken, the award is the nation's preeminent teacher recognition program, with nearly 3,000 educators being surprised with individual unrestricted $25,000 prizes. "Despite my students' request, I will not be splitting the money up evenly for them to share," she said, but she has paid off her car.

Likewise, the American Water Works Association just named Dr. Karl Linden the recipient of its coveted A.P. Black Research Award. A professor at University of Colorado-Boulder, his research "investigates advanced and innovative UV systems for inactivation of pathogens and degradation of emerging contaminants." Translation: he focuses on using light as a way to disinfect water. Like many winners, he credits the team with whom he works: "The work we have done together has truly changed the water industry, supporting public health protection, and it has been such a privilege to be a part of this inspiring One Water community."

Sometimes it's hard to name just one top dog. For the 17th year, Iowa Farmer today named 6 families as winners of the "The Way We Live Award." Each in their own way "demonstrated their dedication to agriculture and strong Iowa farm values." Typical of these was the Kutzli family, which operates Whitetail Farm, which specializes in vintage, antique and red-fleshed apple varieties.  In the fall, they sell the fruit, as well as use it to make wine at their Whitetail Valley Cellars Winery. Carrying on an ancestral Swiss faming tradition, their goal is to place quality above quantity. "Klein abver Fein," small but excellent.

The trophies don't stop coming, they just don't make it to the front page. The American Society of Human Genetics named Dr. Mike Talkowski at Mass General as the winner of its Scientific Achievement Award. The Bellevue Arts Museum in Bellevue WA published its Award of Excellence winners, including Carole Grisham for jewelry and Erin Pietsch for ceramics. And the Institute of Classical Architecture & Art announced that Nansledan, a development in Newquay, Cornwall, England, is the distinguished recipient of the 2025 Gindroz Award for Excellence in Affordable Housing. Congrats to all.

Like talent, excellence can occur anywhere and does; it's just that you usually don't hear about much about it. So while Billie Eilish might have swept the field with 4 Grammys in 2020, it was just last week that Pastor Mike Jr. won all 9 of his nominated categories at the 2025 Stellar Gospel Music Awards in Nashville. Say "Amen" to that.

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Marc Wollin of Bedford is hoping this column will be nominated for something. It appears weekly via email and online on Substack and Blogspot as well as Facebook, LinkedIn and X.

Lies, Damned Lies and Recipes

I dare say that both my wife and I are competent cooks. Still, over the years the responsibility for putting that skill to work in the service of weekday dinners has shifted. When the kids were growing up and I was more out and about working, it mainly rested on my wife's shoulders. I would pitch in when I could, but the onus of getting a family meal on the table on school nights fell mostly in her lap. That continued even after the boys moved on, since my projects usually required me to be away for longer hours than her work, and so it just made sense that she still handled the lion's share of the cooking. The pandemic shifted that, as we were both home all the time, and I started to take on more of the load. More recently, as I have streamlined my work schedule, the balance has shifted the other way, to where I am the default workaday cook unless circumstances dictate otherwise.  

As a person who is very project oriented, cooking fits squarely within that sweet spot. You need a goal, a plan, certain specific elements and a timeline, and off you go. In musical terms it's part classical and part jazz: you have a leader following a score with each piece playing its part, but you gotta be ready to improvise and follow the beat where it leads. Sometimes you make Bach, other times, well, it sounds more like a second grader with a violin

That approach is more the state of play these days because, like everything else, the barrier to entry is non-existent for both chefs and recipes. In the past you might have learned from your mother or an experienced cook, while recipes were tried and tested, handed down over generations and/or collected in tomes like "The Joy of Cooking." Now food influencers range from an experienced chef such as Gordan Ramsey with millions of followers, to a pay-to-play content creator such as Lorenza Nicholas from South Africa who charges $50 for a post promoting a product. Meanwhile punch in "apple pie recipe" to Google, and you get 241 million results, including ones that don't even use an apple. You better be ready to pivot as the butter sizzles.

Still, since good ideas can come from everywhere, I keep a running file of recipes from multiple publications and platforms. But the more you read, the more discerning you get, and the more discerning you get, the more you realize that most recipes are lying to you. They promise easy, fast and effortless when they are anything but. Or as Christopher Kimball, who created the PBS shows "America's Test Kitchen" and "Cook's Country" put it, "A recipe is a vague suggestion about how to do something. If you had the proper ingredients at the proper temperature, the proper cookware, you've read the recipe and you have enough time." The bottom line? "Cooking times and recipes are utterly totally worthless."

You get that if you read the comments. It's a great recipe if you substitute this, replace that, use a smaller pan, use a bigger pan, increase the temperature, decrease the temperature, cook it longer, cook it shorter. By the time you get even part way through, the caveats outweigh the original instructions. It's back to the musical metaphor: yes, there's chicken and onions and spices and a pan, but it's just a starting point. That casserole you make was never one that Beethoven had in mind.

Perhaps no better example exists than Sam Sifton's "No-Recipes Recipes Cookbook." In it, the founding editor of New York Times offers more than a hundred recipes that contain a list of ingredients without specifying amounts, and some general guidance on cooking. For instance, one includes the instruction "Make rice, as you do." Another says "Add a couple big glugs of milk and a couple drops of maple syrup." The point being: do what feels right.

It's a place to start, but you gotta start somewhere. For me, that generally means picking recipes based around what we have in the house that has been around the longest. I will open the freezer and see what has the oldest date, see what vegetables in the fridge are starting to lose their luster, and off I go. Tonight could be a shrimp and broccoli stir fry with lemon, or a white chicken chili. Should I set you a place?

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Marc Wollin of Bedford loves play around with recipes. His column appears weekly via email and online on Substack and Blogspot as well as Facebook, LinkedIn and X.

You! Yes, You!

By now we've all grown used to the constant barrage of forecasts, warnings, capabilities, pitfalls, cautions, examples, experiences, trials, offers and more about AI, and how it will take over and remake our very existence. This virtual companion is coming for your job, your kids' teachers, as well as your therapist. That said, most would agree with author Joanna Maciejewska's post that "You know what the biggest problem with pushing all-things-AI is? Wrong direction. I want AI to do my laundry and dishes so that I can do art and writing, not for AI to do my art and writing so that I can do my laundry and dishes."

Indeed, the first wave of AI that we all got familiar with was its ability to generate stuff out of thin air that felt very much as if it had been created by flesh and blood humans. We give it a prompt for an essay, picture or video, and off it goes. Now as we are getting more comfortable with it, we're starting to ask it to do more compound tasks: write this and then send it out and get reactions, or find this info, organize it and then present it back in a specific way.  For most of us, we only see the results when we ask for it or go looking for it. But it goes the other way as well: it can come looking for you.

That's what Greg found out. A longtime friend and associate, he's no stranger to technology and the ways of the modern world. As part of that, he is adept (as are many) at quickly weeding through his email inbox, deleting countless "targeted" notes to him which are supposed to capture his eyeballs, but which he sniffs out in a second with their generic come-ons. 

But then there was this one. The sender meant nothing to him, but the subject line caught his attention: "MPI WestField President's Award + Waldorf Events + Myuser." While the last phrase meant nothing, the first two were specifically related to personal things from his past. As such he opened it: "Hi Greg. Your recent President's Award from MPI WestField caught my attention – well-deserved recognition for someone with your event production expertise." Well, yeah, not so recent, but he did win that award a bunch of years back. And who doesn't like it when people recognize your accomplishments?

And so he read on: "That three-week orientation at the Waldorf+Astoria must have been quite the production to coordinate!" Again, a legit reference from a past project, and while not unknown, not something that would have been common knowledge. And it wasn't done trying to cozy up to him: "The real reason for my outreach, however, is about your real estate photography business." This was a sideline Greg started, but had never promoted, advertised or mentioned on any of his accounts. He did do some online research, but nothing traceable to him (or so he thought). 

What followed was a more generic marketing pitch for outreach services, one which, had it been up front, Greg would have immediately ditched. Turns out the key was in that last subject word, a company called Myuser. They offer a service wherein they scrape the web for any and all information about a person, then use AI to craft an approach letter that seems like they know you. And they had trained their servers on Greg.

In thinking about it, much of what was there was hiding in plain sight. While the award was from 2017 and the production gig from 2015, Greg had mentioned them in a now abandoned Twitter/X stream. As to the research on real estate photography, while he usually poked around in incognito mode, certainly he might have left some breadcrumbs somewhere online. And as we've seen in countless examples, if it's out there someone can find it. In the past it might have been a conspiracy theorist sitting in a dark basement clicking around for a few weeks. Now, all it takes is a Myuser account, and a buck fifty per head with a minimum one-month order, and Greg is yours for the taking. Or as Clay Shirky, a professor at NYU put it, "It used to be expensive to make things public and cheap to make them private. Now it's expensive to make things private and cheap to make them public."

When Greg related this story to me, as with many, I was interested because it was something not in my world. But it turns out that "they" weren't done. The email to him closed with this: "P.S. Your work on that National Townhall with live audio streams in Pasadena shows you understand the power of technology in professional services!" That turned out to be a gig that I had hired him for to cover for me. Uh huh: guess it's only a matter of time till they come knocking on my door.

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Marc Wollin of Bedford, for better or worse, has left lots of online tidbits. His column appears weekly via email and online on Substack and Blogspot as well as Facebook, LinkedIn and X.

New! Improved?

Doesn't matter whether it's clothing, electronics, automobiles or sporting equipment, there's always a new way or approach popping up to make it better. In most cases it's a modification of an existing item, tweaking a little bit around the edges to hopefully get a more improved product. We're talking Windows 11 over 10, Air Jordan 40 over 39, "Mission: Impossible" whatever version we're up to over the last iteration. In far fewer examples it's a radical reimaging of the existing space, that rare breakthrough that either succeeds wildly or fails miserably. Think iPhone vs. Google Glasses, Diet Coke vs New Coke, Elon Musk vs Elon Musk. 

And so it is in the world of state fair foods. This sub-genre of gastronomy is showcased around the country every summer. Heavily reliant on frying as a cooking technique, humungous as a portion and sticky as a topping, it varies fair by fair, though the basic building blocks and form are the same. It's all about cheese and sugar, turkey legs and dough, sticks and paper plates - often all at the same time – combined with their offshoots and cousins in new and different ways. Sometimes it succeeds wildly if inelegantly. Other times it's just a sloppy mess that isn't worth the 120,000 calories per serving. But as with any artistic endeavor, one man's Pizza Curd Cheese Tacos is another's Deep-Fried Tofuego Bites: beauty (as it were) is the eye of the eater.

You need look no further that the upcoming Minnesota State Fair to see this play out in real time. For sure there are the usual favorites and standard bearers, such as Australian Battered Potatoes (battered and deep-fried sliced potatoes with toppings such as spicy chipotle sauce, sweet chili and hot honey), Mancini's al Fresco (Italian egg scramblers, including their signature Messy Giuseppe) and Sara's Tipsy Pies (including Boozy Blueberry Lemon infused with alcohol). But because having just Sausage Sister and Me with their Twisted Sister on-a-stick (Italian sausage wrapped in breadstick dough) is never enough, this year there are 33 official new foods plus eight new vendors. And it is in this laboratory of progress that new icons are either born or licked off quickly.

What are the contenders? O'Gara's leaned on the Saturday Dumpling Company to create their new Pot of Gold Potato Dumplings, described as cheesy garlic mashed potato dumplings accompanied by a chive-onion dip. BABA's is showcasing its new Fawaffle, which is falafel batter pressed into the shape of a waffle, then topped with tahini butter, tomatoes, hummus, green sauce, and mint. On the sweet side the West End Creamery is showing Grandma Doreen's Dessert Dog, a coffee cake ice cream sandwich skewered on a stick and drizzled with house-made strawberry rhubarb jam. And going sweet and savory are Fluffy's Hot Honey Jalapeño Popper Donuts, which are yeast-raised doughnuts frosted with homemade jalapeño cream cheese, and topped with crumbled bacon, pickled jalapeños, and drizzled with hot honey. One man's ceiling, and all that. 

Those are just some of the contenders for your stomach. There's also the Croffle Cloud, croissant batter done in a waffle iron, topped with whipped cream, fruit puree, and a cloud of cotton candy. Or how about the Tandoori Chicken Quesarath, which is an Indian riff on a quesadilla, but with paratha bread topped with tandoori chicken, then layered with a blend of Monterey Jack and mozzarella cheese and a mixture of sauteed onions, mixed bell peppers, jalapeños, corn, cilantro, and green chilis.  And if you want in on the pickle juice craze, you can try the Dill Pickle Iced Tea, garnished with a rim of chamoy, Tajín, salt, and dill. Check, please.

It remains to be seen if any of these will survive till next year, let alone achieve the lofty status of the favorites of the Fair, such as the Juicy Lucy, a hamburger patty with the cheese cooked inside rather than on top. It's a tall burrito to climb, but will the Triple Chocolate Mini Donuts, made of chocolate mini doughnuts with chocolate icing and chocolate sprinkles and chocolate chips in a bucket rimmed with chocolate icing make the cut? See for yourself: the fair starts on August 21 and runs for two weeks, so you best book your tickets now lest they run out of Pimento Cheese Puffs.

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Marc Wollin of Bedford likes to see new food combinations, usually. His column appears weekly via email and online on Substack and Blogspot as well as Facebook, LinkedIn and X.

Turn Turn Turn

In the words of Carole King, did you feel the earth move? Not earthquake-like, whereby stuff is shaking and falling from shelves, but speeding up and slowing down, kind of like the moving walkway at the airport jerking every now and again? It happened. Or was it just another Y2K-like moment, when the tech geeks raised a huge red flag that caused all of us mere mortals to run around like chickens with our heads cut off, and all for naught?

Let's back up.

Of the very few things in this world we can count on is that every day when we wake up the earth is still spinning. For sure, there are innumerable dystopian tales where something affects that motion. But absent any super-duper alien weapon or an asteroid hitting London, that daily cycle will repeat itself for the foreseeable future. It is true that the earth is slowing its turning, but it will take billions of years for it to have any noticeable effect. And probably by the time it becomes an issue the sun will explode, making the earth's speed the least of the worries for whomever is left at that time. Bottom line: on the list of things to be concerned about, Netflix chiding you for sharing your password should be far more worrying.

However, it turns out we are experiencing some anomalies in that rotational speed right now. On July 10 we spun a bit faster, making it the shortest day of the year so far, clocking in at 1.36 milliseconds less than the usual 24 hours. Likewise, July 22 was 1.34 shorter, while August 5 is expected to come in 1.25 milliseconds light. In the grand scheme of things, that acceleration is nothing to worry about from an extinction perspective. A variety of factors, from the pull of the moon to seasonal changes in the atmosphere to how the liquid in the planet's core is sloshing around all contribute to how fast we spin. Climate change is also a factor, as the spreading of water from the formerly frozen ice caps changes the weight distribution and how we turn. But none of it is life altering, so there's little chance in the short term of your glass of iced tea sliding off the table.

Your electronics, however, are another factor. That little variation makes a difference in the atomic clocks that provide the measurements for things like GPS and navigation. If they're not exact, your Google maps might direct you to the pet store as opposed to Target, or worse, off the bridge as opposed to on it. And so just as we have a leap day every 4 years to align the calendar to our orbit around the sun, at irregular times scientists have added a leap second to smooth things out. Since 1972 when the practice started, 27 seconds have been added, with last occurring in December of 2016.

The key word there is "irregular." Unlike leap year, which occurs like, well, clockwork, leap seconds are inserted as needed. And that means that systems can't always account for them. After one was inserted in 2012 Reddit crashed, while some systems at Qantas Airways went haywire, causing long flight delays across Australia. And after the 2016 addition systems at Reddit, Gawker and Mozilla all went blooey. Now that we're seeing more speeding up, there is talk of taking time away, a so called "negative-leap-second." Does that mean your future cell phone payment might happen in the past? Possibly: no on has any idea what might actually happen if they put it into play.

As such, the experts who keep tabs on these things are saying we should do away with those random fixes entirely by 2035. That doesn't mean the problem will go away, just that we'll avoid tinkering with the clocks for a bit. It does mean that at some point in the future they may need to add a bunch to make up for it. And so there is a very good chance your great-great-great grandchildren may suddenly feel more mature when a leap hour is inserted into their lives.

But that's a ways off. Until then, engineers are hoping that some software "smears" will cover over the issues, and no further seconds will need to be inserted. As the production engineering folks at Meta posted "we are supporting a larger community push to stop the future introduction of leap seconds - which we believe will be enough for the next millennium." Translation: Waze should still be able to get you to grandma's house, for at least a little while. 

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Marc Wollin of Bedford is fascinated by time. His column appears weekly via email and online on Substack and Blogspot as well as Facebook, LinkedIn and X.

Comfort in a Bowl

As Iga Świątek was marching through the women's draw at Wimbledon, she engaged in that time-honored tennis tradition, the post-match on-court interview. After winning her third-round contest, interviewer Annabel Croft asked her the usual stuff about the win, the court, her attitude, and so on. Świątek said that she was "in the zone" and not focused on other things, like what she might have for dinner. Croft followed up and asked her that now that she had won, had she indeed decided what to eat? Świątek said that fish and chips was too heavy, and she was craving her childhood favorite, pasta with strawberries. As the crowd tittered, Croft tried to bring it back to a Wimbledon staple: "Oh, that's strange! With cream as well?" Świątek then described a Polish summertime treat of pasta, strawberries and yogurt. "It's just great. You should try it guys!"

The Pole may have a more powerful and spin-heavy forehand than you do, but gastronomically speaking she is no different. In times of stress it's not uncommon to turn to the things that bring us comfort. Most of us have given up on stuffed animals and blankies, and have to be content with well-worn jeans, sweatpants or slippers. But one carryover from our childhoods that we can still enjoy are the foods that calmed us down when we were five. It might be mac and cheese or mashed potatoes, spaghetti and meatballs or meatloaf and gravy. Doesn't make any difference if you're a mom or dad with a toddler, a neurosurgeon or both: Cheez Whiz and crackers might be just the thing to take you to your happy place. How else to explain that NFL teams easily go through at least 80,000 Uncrustable peanut butter and jelly sandwiches a year?

Those options are ones with which most in this country are familiar. There are of course regional favorites: if you're in the south, biscuits and gravy might remind you of home, while those in the southwest might crave grandma's tacos, and New Jersians wax rhapsodic over Taylor ham. And then there are specific examples that are mothers' milk to the locals, but cause raised eyebrows to those outside the area code. In most of the country chili is a stew of beans and meat and tomatoes in some combination, comforting on a cold day. Fine, but in Cincinnati it's more of a Mediterranean-spiced meat sauce, and generally served over spaghetti or hot dogs. Better not to ask.

Go beyond these shores, and like Iga's pasta and berries, while the favs might be strange to us they might be oh-so-calming to the locals. Years ago I was in Hong Kong with a colleague who was Asian, and all she wanted was some congee, a rice porridge like her mother used to make. But you don't have to go that far. Head just a bit north to our Canadian neighbors, and the way to settle the masses is with a serving of poutine, assembled by topping a heap of French fries with cheese curds and gravy. Meanwhile in Scotland the national dish is haggis, a savory pudding containing sheep's heart, liver, and lungs minced with onion, oatmeal, suet, spices, and traditionally cooked in the animal's stomach. And lest you think that only foreigners have strange tastes, our fellow countrypeople who live in Alaska enjoy what is referred to as Eskimo ice cream, a mixture of animal fat, berries and sometimes fish. 

Should Ms. Świątek be back next year to defend her title at Wimbledon, I would not be surprised if you are able to buy a bowl of "makaron z truskawkami" at the concession stand at the All England Lawn Tennis & Croquet Club. And should they sell more than a few servings, it just might start a new tradition of offering snacks themed to the favs of the champion. Coco Gauff loves potato chips, while Carlos Alcaraz craves sushi. Perhaps once Kwon Soon-woo, the highest ranked South Korean on the men's tour completes his compulsory military service and returns, he'll make a run up the standings. Should he win at Wimby, next to the fish and chips and scones with clotted cream you might find beondegi, a South Korean favorite, which is boiled or steamed lightly seasoned silkworm hatchlings. It's said they taste like wood. Comfortable now?

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Marc Wollin of Bedford finds peanut butter works in times of high or low stress. His column appears weekly via email and online on Substack and Blogspot as well as Facebook, LinkedIn and X.

Ride On

Ever since our kids were little we have always had bikes at our house. In recent years mine was a drop handlebar Raleigh that I got in 1983, while my wife's was a Walmart cruiser she got when we upgraded the kids' from training wheels to mountain bikes. All were long in the tooth, still usable if not exactly up to date. 

Several years ago, with the kids long gone, we gave away the two they no longer used. As to hers and mine, it was only a matter of time before something snapped at the most inopportune time. So my birthday present a few years back was a new hybrid, one which enabled me to take long rides and not feel like I was on borrowed time. This year we did the same for her, enabling us to start a new activity of going out for a short ride in our neighborhood after dinner, and longer ones when the opportunity presented itself. 

Like any new hobby or activity, it was also an opportunity to buy all kinds of stuff, some necessary, some not so much. A solid helmet is a given. Likewise a bag to put stuff in, and a front and back light to make us more visible. It's handy to have something to hold your phone for mileage, maps and music. And while it harkens back to streamers on your handlebars and a squeezy horn, it is much nicer to have a bell as opposed to yelling "On your left!" every time you pass a person.

Were we to only ride out from our house that might be the end of it. But venturing further afield means putting a rack on the car and hitching them up. It took a little doing to find a model that works with my vehicle, not to mention a collection of bungee cords to secure that whole thing. Problem solved, and now we can drive to one of the numerous local rail trails and start our journey there. 

That's for day trips. Our next adventure is to bring our bikes on some upcoming long weekends to visit family and friends, adding a day at the beginning to ride elsewhere. But that means leaving our bikes in public spaces like parking lots, as well as out overnight, and so we need a way to secure them. So time for yet another accessory, a lock.

Where you ride and where you leave your bike helps to define the best model. Reports say that many bike thefts are crimes of opportunity, when they are left unattended or lightly secured with a simple cable that's easy to cut. Like anything regarding security, whether it's online or your house, it's a balancing act involving multiple factors. And since this solution is one you have to carry, to effectiveness and ease you have to add weight, portability and packing.

In forums and lists online, users dish the best options and the pros and cons of each. For city riding a steel "u-lock" is deemed the best: hardest to break and quickest to deploy. Some prefer a heavy-duty chain with shackle, but carrying it is an issue: you often see riders with them slung over their shoulder bandolier style. For our purposes, both seemed overkill and inconvenient. That's said, I was tempted by one called the "V2 Heavy Duty Deterrent Bike U Lock with Anti-Theft Chemicals." Its form factor is a u-lock, if a little thicker than some. The reason is that the steel tube is hollow, and filled with the "anti-theft chemical" referenced in the name. Cut it, and it releases its contents on the cutter. As to what that chemical is, it's best defined by the brand name of the device: Skunklock. Or as described by one unfortunate purchaser who experienced a leak, "I know what this lock can do and how my living room smelled after that last lock made me throw up. I pray God's mercy on whoever cuts it." You almost want to buy it and hope someone tries to steal your ride. 

I opted for a simpler solution, a folding steel bar thing that is heavy but packable. Hopefully its mere appearance will ward off any casual thefts, and the pros will look elsewhere. In the meantime, I think we strapped enough stuff to ourselves and the frame to get back to riding. But I have to say: those gloves look cool.

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Marc Wollin of Bedford has loved pedaling since he was a kid, if you'll have it. His column appears weekly via email and online on Substack and Blogspot as well as Facebook, LinkedIn and X.

Cold Economics

There are literally hundreds of pages in the new tax act, 900 or so depending on your printer. Not wanting to rely on just the headlines, I downloaded the actual bill and scanned the text from beginning to end. In it I see lots on tariffs and taxes, on prices and payments. There are references to housing and energy, to agriculture and health. It would seem that almost every corner of economic activity is mentioned, except one that touches us all. 

You may come down on one side or the other as it relates to investing in clean energy or domestic chip production, but it's summer. And in this season, if there's a singular topic that unites left and right, it's our key consumable. While we may disagree, indeed, quibble passionately about the best variety, delivery system and embellishments, I am frankly amazed that the bill's writers didn't include protection and controls for the only ICE that really matters at this time of year, ice cream.

We're talking a market worth over $18 billion last year, one expected to grow nearly 4% annually over the next 8 years. It's a product consumed enthusiastically by every demographic regardless of gender, age, ethnicity or geography. It covers every type of manufacturing entity, from corporate conglomerates to mom-and-pop shops. And while we produce 1.3 billion gallons of the stuff every year, we have a trade imbalance, importing more than we export. All of those factors should make it as least as important as those other economic segments. Yet while the tax bill put aside $10 billion to go to Mars, it made no mention of subsidizing a cone with sprinkles.

The economics and options make it ripe for oversight. Start with variations. Doesn't matter whether you are from Durham or Dallas, Chicago or Chattanooga. Walk into your local grocery store and there's a dizzying array from Moose Tracks (vanilla ice cream, chocolate peanut butter cups and fudge swirl) to Chunky Monkey (banana ice cream with fudge chunks and walnuts) to New York Strawberry Cheesecake (cheesecake ice cream with a swirl of strawberry sauce and spiced graham cracker crust pieces). Look a little harder and you can find Bubble Gum, Mac n'Cheese and Bacon, flavors which require a rationale but no explanation. All of that in spite of the fact that survey after survey shows that vanilla, chocolate and strawberry are America's favorite flavors. Yet if you are lucky you'll find those on the bottom shelf behind the Dulce de Leche. 

The pricing is equally disparate. A container of Breyers vanilla will cost you $4.00, or 8 cents a fluid ounce. Meanwhile, a tub of the same flavor from Turkey Hill works out to 11 cents a fluid ounce, while the Ben & Jerry's version costs triple that. And that's in package form. Go to an ice cream emporium, and the cost goes up yet again. Since your local King Kone doesn't sell anywhere but at their stand, it's hard to make a direct comparison. But go to current darling Van Leeuwen and you can match it up. The cost of a typical serving at the storefront is about the same a pint at the store, while containing three quarters or so of the volume. If you throw in the cone for free that's a 50% premium. Yes, you can argue that there's a difference for all those brands and form factors, just as there is between a Fiat, a Ford and a Ferrari. But if it's 90 degrees out, do you really care about the fat content? And will your eight-year-old appreciate the distinction once she covers it with hot fudge and jimmies?

Still, while I might sneer at the increasingly bizarre flavors, or grouse about the price of a cup or cone at the shore, I've never not bought one when the opportunity presented itself. For while there is no rule against consuming gelato or sorbet or ice cream in February, once the calendar ticks past Memorial Day, and certainly after July 4th, it is all but a staple. And using a metric of "satisfaction per dollar spent," whatever the serving, it's hard to go higher on the scale. So just lick it up and buy the cone. Or as runner and writer Don Kardong put it, "Without ice cream, there would be darkness and chaos."

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Marc Wollin of Bedford has a Turkey Hill chocolate peanut butter jones he can't kick, and doesn't want to. His column appears weekly via email and online on Substack and Blogspot as well as Facebook, LinkedIn and X.

Not So Bon Voyage

Doesn't make any difference whether you are heading to the shore to cool off, to a city you've never been to before or to the mountains to take a hike. It's peak travel season, and before you go you've got to get your ducks in a row. That might mean a rolling suitcase and packing cubes, an extra phone battery and a hat with the floppy brim, not to mention that list of restaurants from your bake sale buddy. If you do your homework you can anticipate most of the issues and needs you're going to run across, and lay in the goods and knowledge to navigate most of them.

Most, that is, except for the people. No matter how much you pack, how much you research, how much you prepare, the one thing you can't account for is your fellow travelers, and there will be a lot of them. Domestic travel is up, with some reports indicating an over 200% increase over last year. International bookings are up as well, by some reports up over 170%. And while recent developments in Washington have some saying that international arrivals will be chilled, even that category is up 5% over last year for the first quarter. All that means that going there, being there and leaving there will bring you face to face with way more human beings than you encounter at home. 

Those people come in all flavors. There are those toting suitcases and those slinging backpacks. There are loud ones and pushy ones, fast ones behind you and slow ones in front of you. And all seem to have a phone out and are more intent on looking at the screen than what's in front of their face. Most are harmless if no less annoying. But all can make navigating restaurants, museums, airports and even just plain old streets a challenge. 

You can't avoid them, but you can recognize them and try and steer the other way. It might be one who gets on the plane late and then tries to cram a too-big carryon into an overhead bin, crushing all the other bags in sight. Or those that decide the best place to stop and have an extended conversation about where to have dinner is in the middle of the doorway to the next gallery. Or the person with a cough or other obvious malady which should have kept them in their hotel but rather is out and about infecting others. Other than holding your tongue and your breath, not much any of us can do.  

Then there's Turkish Airlines. They've chosen a more direct approach to combating one particular scourge, the so-called "aisle lice." Those are the folks that, regardless of the pleadings of the cabin crew to remain in your seats until parked at the gate, and then let those in front of you get up and disembark first, jump up immediately. They grab their bags and push towards the front, generally clogging up the aisle for all.

But do that on TA and it could cost you. According to a notice from the Turkish Directorate General of Civil Aviation as detailed on HalkTV, a national broadcaster, "Passengers who act contrary to the rules set forth in the circular may be subject to an administrative fine of 2,603 TL" which is about $67. Crews are now supposed to warn passengers right after they land that they should "Yerinizde kalın yoksa!" (Stay seated or else!)

As the carrier that serves the most countries in the world, there's a reasonable chance that the policy will spread. And not just to that situation, but to other infestations as well, such as the related "gate lice" that swarm boarding areas before their group is called. If it's successful it might set a new precedent, enforcing civility and good manners with a stick instead of a carrot. 

Assuming you're not one of those offenders (you're not, are you??) the best thing you do to cope with all these types is to chill out and roll with it. After all, in 99% of the situations it's not a zero-sum game. There will be plenty meals left to be had, coffees to sip, pictures to be taken and quiet to be found after they move on. And no matter when you get on the plane, everyone on it leaves at the same time and lands at the same time. So put your earpods in and take a deep breath; you'll be there before you know it.

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Marc Wollin of Bedford loves to travel, preferably off season. His column appears weekly via email and online on Substack and Blogspot as well as Facebook, LinkedIn and X.

Time to Talk?

It is not uncommon these days to have business associates, friends and family across the country and across the world. Thankfully, electronic forms of communication such as email and WhatsApp make it possible to have asynchronous interactions with them all, regardless of geography or time. Write a birthday note in New York at 2PM, and your buddy in Hong Kong can see it when he wakes up and thank you at his leisure. Your associate in Paris can annotate your PowerPoint over lunch, and you're able to review the suggestions in Los Angeles when you sign on after breakfast. True, events can overtake the exchange, rendering your reaction moot. Comment in the evening on the latest buddy that President Trump has gushed over, and by morning your comeback makes no sense as he is Elon non grata. 

That said, there are times when you find it is better to actually (perish the thought) converse. I know, I know, it's an old fashion notion to have a conversation where one person talks, the other listens and responds, and round and round it goes. But it does cut to the chase and gets to a resolution quicker, not to mention saving your thumbs from all that pecking. The plus side is you get plausible deniability ("Well, do you have an email where I agreed to that proposal?"), while the downside is that there is the possibility of he said/she said ("I'm absolutely sure she said that they would make the reservation."). Even with those caveats, however, it cuts down on the back and forth, and gets issues resolved in real time.

The one challenge is that you have to find a singular point on the clock that works for both. Depending on where you are, dinner in Boston might be coffee in Seattle, while breakfast in San Diego might be lunch in Charlotte. Jump over an ocean, and the goal posts get farther apart: Amsterdam to Dallas is 7 hours, Chicago to Tokyo is 14 hours. That means that while one caller is hunched over their laptop with the annual budget the other is either stepping out of pub or slipping on their fuzzy slippers.

Most folks recognize this modern challenge, and roll with it as best they can. It might mean an early AM call after the gym, or one done in jammies just before bed. It's especially acute for connections in Asia, where no matter how you slice it's either extremely early or insanely late for one party or the other. On the plus side some folks are morning people, other night owls, and they can try and organize the timing of the conversation to hit their own personal sweet spot. That works about 50% of the time and then the situation reverses, making it alternately fair/unfair for each side.

You can have those challenges even within the same zip code, where the differentiator is not geography but rather age and habit. I had offered to connect a young woman with the folks at one of the nonprofits at which I work. The daughter of good friends, she is a high school student and was interested in joining me as a volunteer. Being a teenager, she texted me to chat about it in the middle of her most productive window, 1053PM. But I'm a slightly different demographic, and was busy snoring at that time. When I woke up I was tempted to text her to see if she wanted to talk, but 630AM was not likely a clock time she even knows exists. We eventually connected when our lives overlapped, talking after she woke up around lunch.

Writer and political commentator Tom Friedman wrote a book in 2005 called "The World is Flat." In it he postulated we live in a level playing field where countries, companies, and individuals can see eye to eye. Recent moves out of Washington take issue with that theory, but in terms of time it is more or less true. For while the clock might read differently depending on where you are standing, you can be reached effortlessly anywhere anytime. We just have to learn to roll with it. Or not. As the great comedian Henny Youngman put it, "I was just in London - there is a 6 hour time difference. When I go to dinner, I feel sexy. When I go to bed, I feel hungry. I'm still confused."

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Marc Wollin of Bedford is increasingly earlier to bed and earlier to rise. His column appears weekly via email and online on Substack and Blogspot as well as Facebook, LinkedIn and X.

Too Much Help

Like many of you, I have ridden the wave that is progress as much as my understanding and wallet will allow. While I may not be the first on the block to adopt every new technology that presents itself (I'm looking at you, Google Glasses), I have tried to keep abreast of those cutting-edge developments that migrate into the consumer landscape, and adopt those that offer some unique appeal. Some had staying power, others not so much. And the castoffs stuffed into the corners of our basement are a roadmap detailing successes, failures, and just as likely, the oh-so-short lifespans of those advances.

Most have been evolutionary if not revolutionary. Take a simple thing like my address book. I first had a little black book in which I dutifully kept track of friends, family and business connections. That went from a hard bound diary with scribbles, barely legible notes and cross-outs, to a miniature loose-leaf binder, whose neatly printed pages came from a computer program where I easily updated the data. Then I got a Zaurus, which was a kind of miniature electronic Rolodex that I could put in my backpack. After that came a Visor, the same basic thing in a smaller package. Eventually all that info moved to a phone, first a flip version, then a smart one. Check the box in the back of my office and you can find all those predecessors, useful if you need to look up the phone number of the plumber we had it in 1992.

So many of those advances seemed almost wonderous when we first adopted them. To go anywhere you used to have to consult one of the many maps you had acquired. But GPS? Plug in an address, and turn by turn instructions guided you directly to that never-before-been-to restaurant or store. To watch a TV show you were going to miss you had to figure out how to program a VCR. But streaming? Anything you want to watch is available at any time with a click, and increasingly, by just saying it out loud. To get a hold of someone not home you could ping their pager and then stand by for them to find a phone to call you back. But text? Asynchronous conversations now go on and on across time zones and geographies, complete with animated accents.

But we may be hitting saturation, defined as the point where nothing else can be added or absorbed. We each have probably more electronic gadgets and associated apps than we should, to the point that they're stepping on each other. We get up in the morning and ask Alexa the weather, then check our phone for the same, punch it up on our iPad, while noticing the readout on the smart thermostat as we pass by. It's like we're doctor shopping for a diagnosis, asking around to find a forecast that matches the outfit we want to wear. 

It's almost as if we don't believe the tools we've been given. That's because each is based on a unique system sporting similar yet different inputs, and so the outputs vary. None are wrong, but none are the empirical truth. It's the same as cooking. When I go to make a new recipe I can find literally a hundred variations of the same. Just this week The New York Times published an article entitled "Our 21 Best Chocolate Chip Cookie Recipes." Best? Doesn't that mean that there should be just one? So much for being the preeminent paper of record.

And now I have multiple electronic assistants that, if not fighting with each other, at least have different opinions on everything, even the time. I wanted to set a clock for the cake I was baking, and due to my mumbling and stumbling, I inadvertently set three devices a'counting down. However, each was slightly different from the other, so at (roughly) the appointed moment they all chimed, not in union but in succession. It sounded as if the kitchen was nuclear attack.

Right now it's Siri and Alexa offering suggestions, but soon it will be Gemini and CoPilot not asking but telling. And in that environment there can only be one leader.  Writer and visionary Isaac Asimov's "Three Rules of Robotics" were 1) Don't Harm Humans, 2) Obey Orders, and 3) Protect Yourself. Right now those guys can only open the car door. But once they take the wheel? Let's hope they remember the right order of those rules. 

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Marc Wollin of Bedford has too many things with keyboards and screens. His column appears weekly via email and online on Substack and Blogspot as well as Facebook, LinkedIn and X.

Bad Good Bites

Both my wife and I support numerous charities in our community, all organizations that do good work. Be it scholarships for deserving students, organizations that offer food and clothing to those in need, or help for those newly arrived in this country, we offer financial support and in some cases our time. And when our schedules permit, we gather with like-minded others to celebrate those groups and the work they do, some times as a way of raising money, other times to see the results of those efforts, and still others to socialize with fellow travelers.

The venues for those affairs vary widely, from private homes to tents to event spaces to restaurants. There's usually a program of some kind showcasing the organization's work, sometimes a sit-down meal, and occasionally an after party with dancing and more. But take a poll of those attending, and I'd venture that most would gladly pass on any or all those (and still offer the same level of support) if it stopped after the cocktail hour. And more specifically after the nibbles that we don't generally allow ourselves to have when we're on our own.

After all, the kind of people that support these organizations are at least conscious of the idea of eating a healthy diet, and try to practice it. Go out to dinner one-on-one with any of them, and they will just as likely order fish as steak, a salad as fried mozzarella sticks, a side of broccoli as a potato with butter and sour cream. That's not to say that they (and by they, I mean me) don't splurge occasionally on things they know aren't good for them. But open the cupboard at their homes, and you're more likely to find wheat crackers than cheese doodles. 

But go to one of these events for the cocktail hour and all bets are off. I've never seen data matching mini pulled pork sliders with bigger donations, but it must be out there. For while there are an assortment of foods to please all palates placed or passed, there is usually no waiting for the mini kale Caesar salads, while the line for the deep-fried bacon wrapped jalapeno poppers never seems to dwindle.

Makes no difference which organization nor how they stage the event. At one end you might have a food truck like Melt Mobile with its grilled cheese variations, while black-tie mainstay caterer Abigail Kirsch offers “Suspension Grilled Cheese” which is... wait for it... grilled cheese in a suspended wire tray. But whether it's trucked in or hanging over, the item in question is far more likely to clog your arteries than a chickpea tortilla chip.

And that's how we want it. (Note I've just given up on the third person pronouns and taken ownership of the behavior.) We have nothing against the buffet near the bar with carrot sticks and pepper strips accompanied by a nice yogurt dip. But a quick circle of the room locates the charcuterie board with its bounty of pepperoni, prosciutto, salami, and mortadella. Were I in the supermarket I would gaze wistfully at those items arrayed in the deli case while ordering half-a-pound of the store baked turkey breast. But at the reception? It's MAHA be dammed as I fill my plate with processed, cured meats. And go back for seconds. And dare I say, thirds.

Even being behind the curtain on these kinds of happenings doesn't change the equation. I have worked numerous high-end events which include A-list names on the stage. The contracts of those individuals enumerate multiple details, including the hospitality to be set up in their individual dressing rooms. Generally I am too busy working to eat beforehand, and so wait till the event ends, sating my appetite post-show by scavenging their spaces after the stars have left the building. And while some dressing rooms sport crudité platers and hummus, others have barbeque and mac and cheese. It's no contest where I finally get my fill.

I guess the good news is that I'm not wealthy enough to be invited to so many galas as to ruin my health by overindulging on a regular basis. And so at home I eat my fish, grill my chicken and use low sodium soy sauce. But if you invite me to your celebration, make sure the pigs-in-a-blanket trays are filled to overflowing. You know where to find me.

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Marc Wollin of Bedford loves finger food. His column appears weekly via email and online on Substack and Blogspot as well as Facebook, LinkedIn and X.

Winged Intruder

Every year at this time nature make its spring comeback. The trees behind the house fill in, while the bushes in front plump up like third graders. Flowers of all types open up and show their colors. Meantime the wildlife does the same: we see deer, squirrels and chipmunks, not to mention the occasional fox. Flying critters of all types flit around, some splashing in our birdbath, some buzzing around the flowers, both building nests in nooks and crannies high and low.

And one damn bird always tries to break into the house.

Both our living room and dining rooms have large bay windows with uninterrupted plates of glass with no screens. They offer an unobstructed view of the front gardens, lawn and street. But from the outside they appear to offer unencumbered access to the rest of the house. Any human would know by looking that it's not an actual opening, that there is a clear obstruction in the way. 

But not all the locals are human. And so without fail this time of year, from the front of the house we hear a thump, a pecking, a fluttering, a pause, then the sequence starts again. And if you sneak to the edge of those rooms and look out, you see a feathered intruder trying to gain entry through brute force. 

It's not even like it's the same bird. Last few years it has been a robin, and since their life span is two to six years, it's possible it was the same one over multiple seasons.  But this year's trespasser is a gray catbird, and he or she seems dead set on barging in to join us. 

Simply scaring it away is a waste of time. We jump out, yelling incomprehensible gibberish and bang on the window.  It has some effect, as it immediately retreats into the bushes. Bang a few more times, and it flies off into the trees. We usually stand there waiting for it to return, and when it doesn't, figure maybe it got the message. But we are no sooner upstairs or down then we hear that telltale "THUMP" and it starts all over again. Including our yelling. Us: 0, Bird: 1.

Research says that best explanation is "territorial aggression." Birds see their reflection in the window and perceive it as another bird invading their territory. Their pecking and repeated attempts to "get in" are an aggressive display to drive away this rival.  And so perhaps our friend could be forgiven for merely policing his turf. Except its ours, not his. 

Search for others who have fended off similar attempted home invasions, and a number of solutions are offered. You can make the window less reflective, adding decals or milky solutions like soap streaks. You can also add visual deterrents, like hanging CD's or other shiny objects, as well as more aggressive looking obstacles. We have tried it all, including propping up a Halloween scarecrow and a lifesize cutout of a terrier (don't ask why we have that). Other than making our neighbors wonder what is happening in our house, and probably giving the bird a good laugh, nothing seems to work.

And so this year we decided to try an exterior solution. I took an old mesh tarp and nailed it up over the window in the dining room. Then I stood back to wait. Sure enough, after a while, he made a return appearance. He perched in the bushes in front of the mesh, tilting his head this way and that, as if trying to figure out what was going on. He flew up and grabbed onto it, but didn't peck. He tried a few different spots, all with the same effect. After a while he flew off, heading up into the trees. I headed to the kitchen to get a celebratory snack. Us: 1, Bird: 1.

And then I heard the usual pecking in the living room.

I guess he figured if one entrance is no good I'll work on the other. But I had a demonstrated solution. So I got a piece of burlap, and did the same with that window. And the pecking stopped. All good, except that if you are driving past you might think we were attempting to wrap our house as Christo did to the Reichstag.  But it seemed to work, and demonstrated that being at the top of the food chain, having opposable thumbs, and a larger brain than a bird is worth something. Us: 2, Bird: 1.

And then we heard pecking at my office window. Us: 2, Bird: 2. The contest continues. 

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Marc Wollin of Bedford likes wildlife, as long as it remembers who is the boss. His column appears weekly via email and online on Substack and Blogspot as well as Facebook, LinkedIn and X.

Tariff Time

If you were going to schedule a trip in three months, you might say that you would do it in a "quarter." It's simple math, since three months is 25% of the twelve that make up a year. But it seems we have a new option. As part of President Trump's on again/off again trade reset, he has raised tariffs, lowered them, paused them, then done it all again multiple times with multiple players. And regardless of the amount, the direction or the target, the unit of time he seems to have settled on for each is 90 days. And so let me in this space be the very first to suggest we name this unit of time after the events that inspired it, and call a floating 90-day period a "tariff."

I can do this because English is built for hacking, unlike a language such as French. Since 1635 the Académie française has served as its gatekeeper, not allowing foreign phrases to infiltrate the sanctity of the French tongue. And so while a modern term such as "hotline" might be readily absorbed and used, the Academy mandates that (at least officially) the term of choice should be "numéro d'urgence."

Not so here. As captured in a standout "Saturday Night Live" sketch, Nate Bargatze as General George Washington told his troops why they were fighting: "We will live through the battle ahead because we fight to control our own destiny, to create our own nation, and to do our own thing with the English language. I dream that one day, our great nation will have a word for the number ‘twelve.' We shall call it ‘a dozen.'" A solider asks what other numbers shall have their own names. "None," he replied flatly. "Only 12 shall have its own word, because we are freemen."

So as a freeman I suggest we create the aforementioned calendar increment, something for which there is ample precedent. A textbook example: in November 2003 New York Times columnist Tom Friedman wrote, "The next six months in Iraq — which will determine the prospects for democracy-building there — are the most important six months in U.S. foreign policy in a long, long time." Friedman would go on to make variations of the same statement some 14 times over the next two and a half years. As such, that time period – "the next 6 months" – got to be known in certain circles as a "Friedman Unit," or just simply as an "FU."  

The FU joined a long line of specialized units of measure. They span literature, science and everyday life. Some are highly specific and exact in usage and measurement, while others are a bit more elastic and can encompass multiple areas of endeavor. Often they are named for their creators, other times for the individual that inspired them, still others for the relevant reference.  And it won't take but a New York Minute to enumerate some examples.

We'll start with astronomer Carl Sagan, whose ground-breaking science show "Cosmos" included his catchphrase of "billions and billions of stars." As such, a "Sagan" is defined as a very large quantity (at least 4 billion) of anything. Then there's the "Mickey." It's not about the cartoon character, but rather the smallest unit you can move your computer mouse, either horizontally or vertically. The "Waffle House Index" indicates the severity of a hurricane, and reflects how many of the 365 day/24 hour branches of the restaurant chain have to close. Likewise the "Jimmy Griffin Snow Index" is a measurement of how deep a lake effect snow is, named for the Buffalo, NY mayor who suggested it. It is defined as the number of cans of Genesee Beer you should lay in for consumption while you are waiting to get plowed out. And the "Wiffle" is equal to a sphere 89 millimeters in diameter, and used to measure corals. Turns out marine biologists use a wiffle ball as refence in underwater photos, as it is cheap and the open design means it doesn't get crushed by the water pressure. 

And so I say that henceforth 90 days shall be known as a "tariff." Time till fall? About a tariff. How long does it take to get over a breakup? Experts say it takes a tariff. How long should your prescription for Lipitor be? Your doctor will usually give you one for a tariff. Scoff if you must, but "horsepower" had to start somewhere. 

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Marc Wollin of Bedford has been filling this space for over 4 dog years. His column appears weekly via email and online on Substack and Blogspot and as well as Facebook, LinkedIn and X.

Sweet News

It was a week filled with big announcements. In trade there was another 90 day pause on tariffs involving China, bringing then down to 30% for them and 10% for us. In baseball Pete Rose was removed from the ineligible list and now has a chance at the Hall of Fame. In business Boeing has signed a deal to sell its largest order of planes to Qatar, estimated to be worth $96 billion. And proving that God does indeed work in mysterious ways, in religion word came from Rome that a White Sox fan has been elected pope.

If you were keeping up with all these above-the-fold developments, plus the countless other ones that affect the economy, world peace and the very structure of society, you likely missed the big news coming out of Indiana. That's because while you had eyes on the Mideast and the president's first major state visit, or Turkey and the Ukraine/Russia peace talks, or Kashmir and the cease fire between India and Pakistan, in Indianapolis there were making news with the latest developments in sugar and salt at the 2025 Sweets & Snacks Expo.

Starting in 1977 as the All Candy Expo in Chicago, the event has broadened and rebranded itself, and now has an attendance of some 15,000 industry professionals. Those buyers, journalists and reviewers wander through 1000 exhibitors to look at new products and services related to all the stuff you eat between meals. Product categories include (deep breath) chocolate, candy, gum, salty snacks, cookies, packaged cakes, biscuits, popcorn, granola bars, breakfast snacks, nutrition bars, meat snacks, fruit snacks, nuts, seeds, packaged goods, and ice cream (you can breathe again) as well as the ingredients, packaging and equipment it takes to make all those and sell them. 

Attendees wandering the aisles saw the big guns such as Hershey's (Kisses, and Reese's Peanut Butter Cups), Frito-Lay (Doritos and Cheetos) and Mars Wrigley (Snickers and Starburst). In addition, there were lots of smaller boutique manufacturers who are trying to break into the markets. Nomad Snacks had their Pad Thai Flavored Popcorn, breathROX was showing off their Popping Breath Mints in Blue Raspberry, while Snak Club was trying to make an impression with their Ramen Flavored Snack Mix. Some of the big names weren't just sitting still either: Mondelez International (the former Nabisco) was pushing Glow-In-The-Dark Sour Patch Kids candies. 

Those products and others like them reflect the key trends that emerged from the show. Top of the list is the move toward bold flavors, especially those that lean on global cuisines, such as mango habanero popcorn and Dubai-style chocolate (chocolate mixed with pistachio, tahini and knafeh pastry).  In that same vein manufacturers are creating even more flavor mashups such as shortbread cookies with strawberry boba (those are the chewy, sweet pearls made from tapioca starch that are a key ingredient in bubble tea). And there is growth in novel textures, like Jolly Rancher Freeze Dried candies. 

These are reflected in the winners of the various categories for Best In Show. Top prize went to Belle's Gourmet Popcorn and their Matcha Latte creation. In the gummy category Nerds Juicy Gummy Clusters in Strawberry Punch took the cup. The chocolate winner was Pop & Sol's Coconut Flaked White Chocolate Covered Cashews, while the novelty category was taken by Ezee Freezee's Freeze-n-Peel Strawberry Pop. And proving there are snacks beyond sugar and salt, the meat winner was Bavarian Meats Original Lil' Landjaeger Individually Wrapped Stick.

But the tease at the top of this column was about big announcements. And there was perhaps none bigger than that from Ferrero. A name well known for their eponymous Ferrero Rocher Chocolates, they also have in their portfolio Famous Amos cookies, Tic Tac mints and Butterfingers, all of which made "news" with product extensions (Famous Amos will add an oatmeal varietal, Tie-tac is partnering with Dr. Pepper, and Butterfingers will have a marshmallow version).

All of that, however, pales next to the flash from their Nutella brand. For the first time in 60 years, the iconic chocolate hazelnut spread announced a new flavor with Nutella Peanut. It was developed especially with the peanut-crazy US market in mind, where consumers gobble down 8 pounds of the legume annually in butters and candies. "We didn't want it to be another peanut butter," said Senior Direct of Marketing Seth Gonzalez. The new product "combines the distinctive creaminess of Nutella cocoa hazelnut spread with the delicious taste of roasted peanuts." As good as that sounds, you'll have to wait a bit: it's slated to be spread in spring of 2026.

As for me, I know what's really important. And so you can set the Google alert on your phone so that it goes off for an update about Diddy or Caitlin Clark or a Supreme Court ruling. Mine will only ping me when the new Reese's Peanut Butter and Jelly cup in strawberry makes an appearance. Now, that's news you can use.

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Marc Wollin of Bedford considers snacks a major food group. His column appears weekly via email and online on Blogspot and Substack as well as Facebook, LinkedIn and X.

The Nice Price

Starting from when we are little and are busy sussing out the way the world works, we continually absorb multiple lessons. Don't grab the dog's tail. Hold on when going down the stairs. Yelling will attract attention. Messy foods are usually good. And though it's a gross generalization, moms are usually more protective, while dads are generally more silly.

We're also taught from our earliest moments that honey gets you more flies than vinegar. And so we bake politeness into our daily routine interactions to an almost instinctive degree. We learn to wait our turn and to share what we have. We listen when others are speaking and offer to help when there are things to be done.  And to a reflexive extent we start most requests with "please" while ending them with "thank you."

In general the feedback we get using these last two small innocuous phrases encourages us to repeat them again and again. They are so ingrained in our speech patterns that they even get used when they aren't really warranted: there are any number of times you say "thanks" not so much as an expression of gratitude, but rather as an acknowledgement of delivery. 

As has been pointed out many times, it takes so little effort to add those phrases with great effect. But that's for us mere humans. It turns out that it takes some extra energy for computers to do the same. That's because when you are nice to them, they have to parse and process more words to get to the meat of your request, likewise to respond in kind. And anything that takes additional computing power means it takes extra dollars.

Responding to an inquiry of X, OpenAI CEO Sam Altman said that being polite cost the company "tens of millions of dollars" in additional computing power. A flip answer or a legitimate bottom line tally? Well, estimates are that a response from ChatGPT requires about 10 times more electricity than an equivalent Google search, as well as more water required to cool the servers. How to quantify that "politeness surcharge?" One study said that a ChatGPT-4 response of 100 words requires about three bottles of water to keep the servers from melting, while adding "You are welcome" adds an additional 1.5 ounces. That doesn't sound like much until you do the math. ChatGPT handles about 1 billion queries every day, so if even just half of those treat you with respect, we're talking a backyard swimming pool over a mile long. That's a lot of polite.

On the flip side, so what if you are rude or ungracious to our AI buddies? It's not as if they are sentient and can feel the slight. (For purposes of this we won't factor in that at present they answer to us, while at some point in the future the situation might be reversed. And do we really want to be impolite to our potential overlords? But that's a discussion for another time.) In a study posted on Cornell University's arXiv research platform, researchers concluded that when talking to AI assistants "impolite prompts often result in poor performance." They note that the responses "not only reflect human behavior but are also influenced by language, particularly in different cultural contexts. Our findings highlight the need to factor in politeness for cross-cultural natural language processing." Their conclusion? "In most conditions, moderate politeness is better."

The reason they say "moderate" is that, as with people, turning flattery or insults up seems to trigger responses more loaded with gratuitous answers or snarky comebacks.  Unless you are trying to make a point, asking for help from a person by starting with "Oh wise sir, please help me" is just as bad as saying "Hey dummy." Likewise, querying ChatGPT or Microsoft's CoPilot by beginning with "All knowing machine" is just as bad as "You stupid hunk of silicon." And so sticking with the tried and true formulations that work on your neighbor might be the better way to go.

But don't take my word for it. I asked Google's Gemini just that. Its response: "It's thoughtful of you to include 'please' and 'thank you' in your requests. While I don't have feelings in the same way humans do, I recognize that these are polite conventions in human communication. Using them makes our interactions feel more natural and considerate, which I appreciate. So, in short, yes, it's a nice touch! How can I help you today?"

How indeed?

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Marc Wollin of Bedford is learning to write better prompts to his AI buddies. His column appears weekly via email and online on Blogspot and Substack as well as Facebook, LinkedIn and X.

Damaged Good

Whenever you buy something these days you are asked to pass judgment. Within days of your purchase the retailer will reach out with a series of questions: was it what you were expecting? Is it well made? Does it work as intended? The hope is that your answer will offer useful intelligence to the store and the manufacturer, not to mention other potential customers. This makes sense for a washing machine. It makes sense for a phone, a pair of shoes or a mop. But for a piece of damaged wood? Yet that's the assessment the email was asking for. And it was all because the ground had shifted. Literally.

This has nothing to do with politics. We're not talking abortion, we're not talking immigration, we're not talking Middle East policy, tariffs or DEI. We're talking dirt. After 20 plus years, our backup generator which sits on the side of the house had a pronounced tilt to it. I mean, if you really want to drag Washington into it, you could maybe perhaps possibly say that climate change had something to do with it. But just as likely it had to do with a 500-pound piece of machinery sitting on a gravel bed settling over 2 decades. So let's leave NOAA out of this one.

It wasn't a big deal, but it was noticeable. And it wasn't really a problem, as it's a pressurized device, and the oil circulates through it the same way to does through your car's engine when it's on a hill. But after talking to the techs that maintain it there were two possible issues. First, we might not get an accurate reading on the dipstick if it got too far out of true. Second, if it tipped too far, it might pull on the wires and hoses connecting it to the house. At the rate it was going it might be years (if ever) until that happened, but it seemed prudent to fix it on the next regular visit.

So when the guys finally came to do their usual scheduled maintenance, then reset it back to level. Ken suggested that it would probably be good if we reinforced the base, replacing the rotting boards in the frame and adding a few bags of gravel to stabilize it. He gave me a tip: go to Home Depot and look in the back of the lumber department. There they usually have damaged pieces of wood that they sell at a deep discount. And since this wood was going to be mostly buried and covered with rock, damaged was just fine. And so I had a project.

I went to the store, and sure enough, in the very back of the department was a 12-foot plank of pressure -treated wood that was mangled on one side. I chatted with the guy manning the floor, and he offered it to me for five bucks. He cut it to the lengths I needed, and I threw it on a cart along with a few bags of stone. I got it all home, lined up the planks around the gennie, banged a few steel stakes I had into the ground to hold them steady, and poured in the gravel. All in all, a few hours and $30 set us up for the next 20 years.

A few days later I got the follow up from Home Depot, asking me for a review of the lumber. "What features stand out the most?" Uh, the fact that it was that it was damaged. "What do you like about it? The damage. "Is there anything that would make it better?" More damage so I could get an even lower price. "How many stars would you give this product?" Since it was damaged it gets a five; had it been perfect it would have gotten a one.

In this case I'm not really sure that my review would help anyone. I guess I could give props to the tree that grew it, more to the poor handling that damaged it, and bonus points to the guy on the floor that marked it down to a pittance. But as to its suitability for use in a deck or fence, I'll let other more experienced carpenters weigh in.

I can't wait for them to ask me about the rocks.

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Marc Wollin of Bedford doesn't mind doing small projects around the house. His column appears weekly via email and online on Blogspot and Substack as well as Facebook, LinkedIn and X.

Mistake/Remedy

In today's world everything is binary: it's either great or it's a catastrophe, and you have to let everyone know what's what. Whether it's a rave or a pan, it gets posted as the ne plus ultra of all things, or you scream bloody murder and threaten to burn the house down. Hard to imagine, but there is another way: let the responsible party know one-to-one of the situation, and offer praise or complaint. If there is an issue, get it resolved and retreat, not to corners to do battle again, but to carry on living. It may be a throwback, but it's certainly a less confrontational way to exist. And it brings me to this story.

It starts with a restaurant in Brooklyn our son suggested as a destination for dinner, noting he had been there multiple times with good results. The atmosphere was pleasant and the service attentive. The menu was Tuscan Italian, with fresh pasta and interesting rustic dishes. We ordered some appetizers to share, selected our mains, and opened a bottle of wine.

When it came time for dessert we opted to try some of their homemade gelato. From the flavors available that night we selected two, and when the bowl came put it in the middle for all to sample. I started with the coconut stracciatella: creamy and rich with bits of coconut flecked throughout. I spun it around and dug into the lemon sage. It was tart and aromatic, but I was surprised to feel something solid: I assumed it was a piece of coconut that had crossed the line. On second bite I realized it was much, much harder. I spit it out thinking it was a piece of plastic, and indeed it was an oblong white shape about an inch long and half an inch across. But when I flipped it over, I saw that it was a complete acrylic nail with a French tip.

Needless to say, I was not happy. 

I called a passing waiter and told him to get the manager immediately. From my tone, he realized it was not a request. A young gentleman came over. I explained to him what just happened and pointed to the puddle of gelato in front of me with its centerpiece. His face froze, as horrified as I was. He apologized profusely and echoed my remarks that it was unacceptable. He grabbed a napkin from an unoccupied table and swept up the nail. Apologizing again, he immediately said he would comp our entire meal, and offered us anything else that we might like, along with the owner's email. He told us to take as much time as we liked, ask for anything we wanted, and left us alone.

We sat a bit more talking about it, then moved on to other topics. When it was time to leave, I headed to the bar where the manager was working. He saw me come over and quickly wrote down the email of the owner, handing it to me with another apology, along with a promise to find out why it happened.

The next day I wrote to the owner, explaining my version of the event. He quickly wrote back, saying he was equally distressed, and been informed almost immediately. He detailed their normal process of manufacture and serving: "Our gelato is produced in a dedicated commissary kitchen by employees in full food handler's gear (hats, aprons, gloves, closed-toed shoes, etc)." However, he noted, the best procedures can be thwarted by human error. "After talking to everyone working last night, we've determined that the fake nail belonged to our host at the door. Apparently, after staff meal, she went to scoop a small bowl for dessert. While she is trained as a server and runner, in her mind she was just scooping a little for herself, so she didn't put on gloves, and didn't notice her missing nail until later that evening. She feels absolutely terrible and wanted me to extend her sincere apologies to you for her mistake."

He apologized again. "Being in this business for over 24 years, I know that mistakes will always happen. It's how we learn from them, and how we deal with them, that defines true hospitality. I'm happy that you were having a good experience until this, and equally happy our manager reacted quickly and gracefully." He offered us an additional gift certificate, as well as a direct line to him to arrange a reservation at any of their three restaurants if we were willing to give them another chance.

As my wife pointed out, we ate in several restaurants last week, and even with the nail, this was the best. Do we wish it hadn't happened? Of course. But the whole situation can also be seen as a model of conflict resolution. We talked to each other as opposed to an audience, and not with a goal of adding points to some imaginary scorecard. The bottom line: we will go back again, and yes, order the gelato. 

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Marc Wollin of Bedford enjoys trying new places for dinner. His column appears weekly via email and online on Blogspot and Substack as well as Facebook, LinkedIn and X.

Ear Candy

Maybe you're driving to your golf match. Maybe you're taking a walk in the afternoon. Maybe you're working out on the elliptical at the gym. Each is a solitary pursuit that makes using your hands for reading or typing problematic, and so leaves your ears ripe for the picking. Once upon a time you might have turned to a radio to listen to tunes or the news. Travel down the timeline, and that transistor got swapped for an MP3 player of some flavor, enabling you to listen and relisten to your favorite artists. But increasingly those alone-times are the perfect opportunities for you to add your name to the 584 million others who stuff their ears with a podcast.

Just forty years old, the podcast started as an "audiolbog" back in the 1980's. It took 20 years and the internet to take it from a curiosity to a thing, one that today counts 55% of the population as listeners. And we/they have plenty of options: as of March 2025, Spotify had more than 6.5 million podcast titles on its platform.

A big reason for that is that the barrier for entry is almost nonexistent. For sure, there are highly produced productions like "Radiolab," "This American Life" and "Serial," each of which integrates voices, natural sounds, music and effects into a seamless sonic tapestry. That requires a raft of producers, researchers, writers and editors, all of which cost bucks. But the vast majority of podcasts are much simpler affairs costing far less: a mic and a person spouting opinions, occasionally joined by a guest to play off of or tangle with. Slap a musical riff on the front and back, and you have the Joe Rogan Experience, currently reaching 14.5 million listeners

It's an oddly retro approach to this most contemporary of media channels. No computer-generated imagery, no swirling electronic scores, no fully rendered imaginary ecospheres. Rather, it's just Billy in his bedroom with a $99 Blue Yeti USB Microphone, ranting about illegal immigrants/ Elon Musk/ water pressure/ fluoride/ Real Housewives/ Tom Cruise/ eggs/ WNBA/ electric cars/ etc., and sometimes all in the same show. It's not a lot different from being seated next to Uncle Ernie at Thanksgiving.

Likewise the commercials that pay the bills. These are integrated into the streams, and have a kinship with the very first radio ad from 1922. That 15-minute promo on New York City's WEAF for the Queensboro Corporation promoted apartments in Jackson Heights, Queens, and was just, well talk. And so it is for most podcast commercials. Called "Live Read" even if it's prerecorded, the format eschews any fancy production values in favor of a simple recitation. Usually it's just the host or a regular guest reading a script that is supposed to feel like you and they are having a chat: "Friends, before we move on, I want to talk to you about Johnson's Miracle Elixir. Ever feel drab and blue? Well, Johnson's Miracle Elixir is the perfect cure. And if you order now, you'll also get a trial portion of Johnson's Miracle Tonic for free!" The copy could be lifted from a Stephen Sondheim musical, albeit with a URL at the end.

More and more audio podcasts are even adding a video component, driven by the simple fact that they also cost nearly nothing. It was shock-jock host Don Imus who added a camera to his radio studio back in 1996, and broadcast live on newly formed MSNBC. For some reason an audience got hooked on not just listening to people talk for hours on end, but watching it. Fast forward to today, and the biggest growth channel for podcasts isn't Spotify or Apple Music, but YouTube: the platform now has 1 billion active podcast consumers every month.

What's there to listen to or watch? For sure there are the 800 pound gorillas like the aforementioned "Joe Rogan Experience," Alex Cooper's "Call Her Daddy" and Shannon Sharpe's "Club Shay Shay," but much, much... much... smaller game as well. "2 Fast 2 Forever" rewatches the entire "Fast and Furious" franchise over and over and dissects it endlessly (they're on episode #403). "The Episodic Table of Elements" is exactly what it sounds like: a discussion of the periodic table (they're currently on #94, plutonium). Or "The Empty Bowl," described as "a meditative podcast about cereal." Check out episode #114 which seeks to settle the important question of Boo Berry vs. Count Chocula.

In the 1989 classic film "Field of Dreams" Iowa farmer Ray Kinsella hears a disembodied voice whisper, "If you build it, he will come." Kevin Costner does exactly that, and the ghosts of baseball past do indeed materialize. With podcasts it seems it's not that much different, just with an audio slant: if you record it, at least someone, somewhere, will listen.

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Marc Wollin of Bedford listens to podcasts when he walks. His column appears weekly via email and online on Blogspot and Substack as well as Facebook, LinkedIn and X.

Taking the Temperature

Your morning routine may vary from mine, but it likely contains many of the same elements. You get up, put on a robe and some slippers, use the bathroom, and eventually head down to the kitchen. There you either start a pot of coffee or grab a cup, then get something from the fridge or cupboard for breakfast. You likely glance at your phone to see if there were any urgent emails or texts that popped up after you went to bed, and/or what major catastrophe is challenging the world. And then you look for the one empirical piece of information that you need to really start your day: the temperature outside your window.

For sure you want to know the chance of rain, how hard the winds will be blowing, if it will continue to be sunny or cloudy... the full weather picture. But a glance at the outside world will give you the general vibe, and the only really quantifiably metric you need to know is how hot or cold it is. That determines the socks you pick out, the pants that make sense and the type of shirt to pull from your closet. Wool or cotton, short or long, heavy or light: all of those options can be sorted quickly based on that one number.

In order to answer that critical question, for approximately forever, we have had an indoor/outdoor thermometer sitting on our kitchen windowsill. Long before there were more connected devices, this little readout has let us know what the outside world is up to. As technology goes it wasn't much: a little display, a long wire that stuck out under the screen, powered by a battery that lasted seemingly for years. Yes, we have smart speakers with digital assistants, cell phones that offer the complete NOAA forecast, and now even connected thermostats that change their readouts to show the outside as I walk by. And still both my wife and I glommed onto that tiny LED the first second we came into the kitchen.

That is until the outside temperature read "HH.H" I fiddled with it a bit, and integers popped back up. But as I settled it back into place the alphabet returned. Moe fiddling, more numbers. More settling, more alphabet. I picked it up and found two tiny screws on the back. Always up for challenge, I took it down to my workbench and opened it up. Sure enough, you could see the lead from the probe had snapped off the little circuit board. I stripped the wire back to some copper, fired up the trusty soldering iron I had gotten when I was 13, and reattached it. That done, I snapped it back together, and reinserted the battery. The display flickered to life.. but in Celsius. Seems that when I pried it apart I inadvertently switched the units. I flipped the selector switch back and forth to no avail: it wouldn't go back to Fahrenheit. And so until we as a country convert to the metric system (a process that has been rumored to be happening for at least as long as I've been alive), the device was only good if I lived in France. 

Oh well. The circuit board was dated 1995, so it had a pretty good run. But then came the usual question: what to replace it with? Punch "indoor/outdoor thermometer" into Amazon, and the first handful that come up are all wireless units. On the surface, that makes a lot of sense: no need to route a wire through a closed window, the ability to put the readout anywhere. But as always, the devil was in the details. The thermometer itself: "-40F to 140F." More than adequate. Wireless range: "100 feet." Way more than we would need. But the batteries?  "Battery life in sensor decreases substantially below 30 degrees." Huh? We live in colder climes, and I don't want to change them every week in the winter. So I guess back to what we had.

I searched for a wired unit and picked one out. But then I spotted a note on the new unit: "To change the °F/°C units, take out the batteries first before switching the C/F button." Could that be the case with the one we had? I ran downstairs and plucked it from the top of the trash heap in the workshop. I popped the battery out, slid the switch to "F", put the battery back in and... voila! Daniel Gabriel Fahrenheit came to life! (Well, not really: he died in 1736, but his units woke up). I raced upstairs and reinstalled our friend back to its rightful spot. And the singular piece of data that starts my day was once again available. 

What's the lesson? Don't give up? Do things in the right order? Confirm you have the right choices in place before you give something power?  We're talking thermometers here, but feel free to extrapolate that last one. 

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Marc Wollin of Bedford always has cold feet, at least in terms of temperature. His column appears weekly via email and online on Blogspot and Substack as well as Facebook, LinkedIn and X.

Cinematic Life Lessons

Doesn't matter if it's a movie or a TV show or book, there come's a time when you say "Wait a minute... that can't be." It's that point where, regardless of the world you have taken at face value, something in it strikes you as implausible. To be fair, the whole thing might be implausible to begin with: dragons zipping around, cars that don't need to stop for gas, hundreds of bullet flying while the hero emerges unscathed. But if you try and put too fine a point on it the entire thing falls apart and there's no point in watching or reading. Look at it this way: to be disturbed by the fact that the gun gets through the metal detector while you accept that the guy in the cape can fly seems to be a quibble at best.

It's a concept articulated by English poet and philosopher Samuel Taylor Coleridge in 1817 in his autobiography "Biographia Literaria." He and colleague William Wordsworth talked about how you had to have "poetic faith" wherein realistic persons and characters had to be imbued with a semblance of truth sufficient for the reader to go along for the ride. Beyond that, however, you can push the envelope a bit. While the technique had been practiced by writers dating back to the ancient Greeks, Coleridge gave this approach a name: "suspension of disbelief."

This basically means that whatever fictional world is created, it is incumbent upon the reader or viewer not to get too hung up on the details. As long as there is an internal logic to the scene, for the sake of the story, we don't look too hard at any discrepancies. Still, if you watch enough films or programs it is hard not to come away with some life lessons that, while in our own experience may seen ludicrous, seem to be cinematic reality. I recently came across a list of these truisms: see which ones square with your own experiences.

Once applied, lipstick will never rub off, even if scuba diving.

If staying in a strange house, women always investigate any unusual sounds wearing their most revealing underwear.

If you are being chased though town, you can take cover in a passing parade, which will be happening on any day of the year.

It's easy to land a plane as long as there is someone in the control tower to talk you down.

If you need to hide in a building, the ventilation system is the perfect place. No one will ever look in there and you can travel anywhere with no one finding you.

If you wish to pass yourself off as a German officer, no need to speak the language, a German accent will do just fine.

A man will show no pain when getting taking a ferocious beating, but will wince when a women tries to clean his wounds.

When paying for a taxi, no need to actually look in your wallet. Whatever bill you pull out with be the right fare including tip.

During any police investigation it is mandatory to visit a strip club at least once.

Any car crash results in the entire car bursting into flames,

A lighter or single match will light up an entire dark room.

When you turn out the lights in a bedroom, everything will glow blue and be visible.

All single women have a cat.

One man shooting at 20 attackers has a better chance of success than the 20 men shooting at him.

Dogs always know which is the bad guy and will bark only at him.

A detective can only solve a case once he has been suspended from the force.

If you start dancing in the streets everyone you meet will know the steps.

You see this stuff constantly, a little slip in the conceit you are asked to swallow. Most recently we were watching an episode of the series "Reacher" about an itinerant ex-Army cop who floats around dealing with trouble. At one point he has infiltrated a mega-estate run by a wealthy crook with an arsenal and a private security force. The place has walls and fences and camera systems galore. Yet when Reacher arranges for a power failure as a distraction, all the gates swing open and there is no emergency backup generator... the guards all curse the dark and walk around with flashlights and lanterns. C'mon.. even we have a backup generator, and my criminal enterprise is but a fraction of this guy's.

For sure you can lament the ridiculousness of it all. But how much fun would that be? Or as by someone posted online, "At a certain point, it's a deal with the audience where the director basically pauses the movie and says, ‘Look, if you want to see some more cool action scenes, just initial here that it's OK that the alien computers run on MacOS. And then we can go back to blowing things up for you.'" 

Where do I sign?

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Marc Wollin of Bedford tries to live in the world that is on the screen. His column appears weekly via email and online on Blogspot and Substack as well as Facebook, LinkedIn and X.