Wait for It

While most of our TV consumption comes via various on-demand streaming services, there are times when I'm not so much settling in to gorge but rather to graze. While watching the small TV in our kitchen I like to nibble a snack as I go next channel, next channel, next channel to see what is out there. It might be comparing and contrasting different viewpoints (CNN, MSNBC, FOX), seeing worlds I know little about (FanDuel Racing, Willow Cricket, Zona Futbol TV) or simply to marvel at what draws an audience ("My Strange Addiction," "Vanilla Ice Goes Amish," "Best Funeral Ever").

Our new set top boxes enable me to do that just like the old ones. They replace the equipment we had had for fifteen plus years, and are different in several ways. They are smaller, the size of a small paperback as opposed to a coffee table book. They are a completely different technology, working not on cables but WiFi. And they are far more versatile, offering up menus and previews of multiple options and sources.

That said, the associated new remotes have all the usual controls, including an "up" and "down" rocker switch enabling me to stroll back and forth in the viewing neighborhood. But because the upgraded technology treats everything as a stream and not as a linear channel, pushing "up" doesn't instantaneously move me to the next channel. There is a small delay as you can almost see the internal browser initiate a sequence of instructions as it switches to the next feed. We're not talking minutes. We're not even talking seconds. We're talking a beat or so, a hitch in the step, a lag in the flow. And that infinitesimal interruption in the space time continuum? It's highly annoying.

We have all come to expect that everything will be available to us immediately if not sooner, no waiting. If it's not there we swear at it and quickly move on to other things. That's not just personal experience or anecdotal reporting talking. One of the pioneers in video delivery over the internet is Ramesh Sitaraman, a professor at UMass Amherst. More than a dozen years ago he did a study as to how long viewers would wait for a video to load before they gave up. Based on data from 6.7 million unique viewers, he and his team showed that if a video takes more than 2 seconds to load people start dropping off. By 10 seconds, more than half have said bye-bye. And that was more than a decade in tha past. Our "c'mon, c'mon!" syndrome has only gotten worse. 

Researchers have traced the cause of that impatience to our online world and its instant-nese, and it's oozed out from there. We're impatient for everything, no matter the arena. A UK study showed that respondents expect to pick up their luggage after a flight within 13 minutes, and expect any customer complaints they may file to be answered within two hours and 18 minutes. Waiting in line makes people bonkers: after just 30 seconds we are ready to switch to another line. Even eating out tests our patience. On average a person will only wait 14 minutes for food to arrive at a restaurant before they get agita. Similarly, they will wait no more than 7 minutes for drinks to arrive at a bar or they'll consider heading down the street to another establishment. In spite of all that, 95% of those same respondents believe patience is a virtue, even if they don't have it.

We are so impatient that researchers at the University of Texas at Austin and the University of Chicago quantified that we would pay more money sooner vs. less money later, or work more now vs. later just to be done with something. They also found that "the distress of waiting intensifies as the wait nears an end." Wrote lead researcher Dr. Annabelle Roberts of UT, "When you expect the wait to be ending soon, you become more impatient closer to that expectation."

So it seems that it's as much about frustration as it is about actual time. Often another second or minute or day won't make a big difference in the actual scheme of things. But the waiting, as Tom Petty says, turns out to be the hardest part. I concur. I'm not asking for much, just asking to see what's on channel 624 after 623. Now. NOW!

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Marc Wollin of Bedford tries to be patient, but often doesn't' succeed. His column appears weekly via email and online on Blogspot and Substack as well as Facebook, LinkedIn and X.

Greg Calls BS

There's an old adage that a lie can ricochet around the world while the truth is still putting its shoes on. Attributed to people from Mark Twain to Winston Churchill to Thomas Jefferson (and definitively traced to none of them), it was said in a time long before the internet made it not just figuratively but literally possible for misinformation to circle the globe in a flash.  We've seen it in politics, but it is no less true in every field, from health to sports to the arts. Sometimes the subject is consequential, the stuff that moves elections. Other times not so much: for the record, Jennifer Aniston is NOT dating Barack Obama, no matter what it says on the cover of InTouch Magazine.

We have all learned that just because it appears in print or is posted online doesn't mean it's necessarily true. The problem is exacerbated, owing to the reality that we choose to live in our own little information silos, and don't always seek out alternative sources which might contradict the selected "facts."  Still, if you come across some data point, and multiple unrelated, disparate, independent outlets have the same info, you could be forgiven for taking it as gospel.

Well, forgive me, because that's what I did, and it appears it was hardly scripture.

A couple of columns back I riffed on the various ways that the New Year is celebrated around the world. They include that in Spain they eat 12 grapes, while in Brazil they wear white underwear for luck. I also mentioned unique traditions in Columbia (carrying empty suitcases), Italy (smashing china) and Italy (breaking furniture). And then I noted this one from Switzerland: "There the tradition is to drop ice cream on the ground at midnight in the hopes of abundance, good luck, and wealth in the new year."

While I fully admit that my research was not exhaustive, it was also not perfunctory. As I do when working on these efforts, I punch around gathering various points of view and tidbits of information from a variety of sources. I make it a point to go a few pages deep in the search results, trying to ferret out different points of view and unique takes on a topic. I throw them all in the hopper, marinate and stir, and what comes out is what you read. And my assembling of hopefully interesting and amusing facts in this case was no different.

But for Greg it didn't ring true. A long-time associate, friend and reader, he shot me back a note: "We have been friends with three Swiss families for almost 35 years. I am Godfather to one of their children. We have been there for numerous Swiss holidays and festivals. We have spent more time in Switzerland than any country other than the US. And we have NEVER heard of the Swiss tradition of dropping ice cream for New Years." He also noted it didn't square with national character: "I can't even believe the Swiss would be that wasteful. I mean, this is a country that is so frugal they created a soft drink to use the whey leftover after cheese making."

Needless to say, I immediately went hunting to either vociferously defend myself, or (less preferably) vociferously apologize. At first blush, there were numerous cites of my original contention, from large outlets like Yahoo to small ones like SmarterTraver.com. It was in ParkAveMagazine.com, the Times of India online, even the Ben & Jerry's website. Ben and Jerry's! How much more authoritative could you get when talking ice cream?

But it seems they were all licking up the wrong cone.

After digging deeper, all seem to trace this statement of fact to a 2022 Netflix game show called "Bullsh*t." In the program, players move up the award ladder either by answering questions correctly, or by confidently giving incorrect answers, and then persuading others that they are right. One question was about Swiss New Year's traditions. The answers available were eat dinner in the bathtub, ski in a swimsuit, go to bed with cheese, and – here's the culprit – drop ice cream on the ground. The host said the right answer involved ice cream, but the contestant on the show actually guessed sleep with a piece of cheese. As a side note, she made it through to the next round because she bullsh*tted her way into making the others believe she was correct.

No one has been able to determine where that "fact" came from, but the damage was done. While the rest of the world giggled, not so the Swiss themselves. On a Reddit message board the comments flowed fast and furious, and none of the natives were amused. It seems it was the show itself that was the one spreading bullsh*t. In an online poll, almost 28,000 Swiss said they had never heard of this "tradition," while 50 of them just hated ice cream.

All I can say to Greg and indeed all the country's residents is "Tuet mer leid." (sorry in Swiss German). My mistake is explainable if no less wrong. The good news is setting the record straight helps to restore my faith in the country. After all, as the world's paragon of banking, I know they treat money with the highest of respect. It's comforting to know they take the same approach with gelato.

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Marc Wollin of Bedford would never let ice cream hit the ground in any country regardless of tradition. His column appears weekly via email and online on Blogspot and Substack as well as Facebook, LinkedIn and X.

Dressing Down

 Whenever we have friends over for dinner we take care to plan for the people attending. We check to see what foods they don't like, lest we make eggplant parmesan and there are never-eggplanters in the group. We ask about food allergies, so a menu of jambalaya with shrimp doesn't lead to an evening of watching a guest break out in hives. And because we want all to be as comfortable in our house as we are, we let them know the dress code is always, always, always very casual.

Then again, it's hard to find a venue or setting these days where that doesn't apply. Sure, if it's listed as a black-tie gala or you are a bridesmaid or groomsman at a wedding there is a specific outfit by definition. But beyond that almost anything goes, anywhere, anytime. You might choose to put on a suit and tie or wear a dress, but that's your call. Know that at the next pew or seat or table there is just as likely to be a person in shorts and sandals.

It all started when sportswear was introduced to the American wardrobe in 1930's. Originally describing more informal and interchangeable tops and bottoms, it came to mean anything not associated with evening wear. The trend accelerated with the unisexing of clothing as women took to pants (shocking!). It continued as '60s casual counterculture style pushed into the mainstream, then doubled back on itself as the office loosened up with business casual in the '90s. Come the pandemic and all formality fell by the wayside, as remote work led to work from home led to sweatpants as high fashion.

The movement has permeated every walk of life, from work to play, from church to school, from theatre to travel. It was less than 18 months ago that no-less-an-institution than the US Senate wrestled this topic, on account of the senator from Pennsylvania. John Fetterman's brand is as a working man, and as part of that persona he prefers to do his legislating in a sweatshirt and gym shorts. While there was an unwritten rule on the senate floor that "business dress" was required, it had already been relaxed in 2019 when then-Senate Rules Committee chair Amy Klobuchar pushed for a change so women could wear sleeveless dresses. Since then there has been a gentle-person's agreement to keep it snappy looking, to the point that all senators, including Fetterman, voted from the door of the cloakroom leading to the floor if they were in tee shirts, polos and yes, hoodies.

But in 2023 Senator Fetterman's turn came up as presiding officer of the chamber, and he took his place at the rostrum in his usual ensemble. All hell broke loose: after all, this was important stuff, no simple debt ceiling debate or gun rights discussion. This was about pants. And so Senators Romney and Manchin worked across the aisle to introduce Senate Resolution 376, the SHORTS Act (SHow Our Respect To the Senate), requiring business attire by specifying "a coat, tie, and slacks or other long pants" for men. And no, you didn't miss it: it doesn't say anything about women. It passed unanimously, with Romney predictably touting it as an accomplishment: "It's another example of Republicans and Democrats being able to work together and to solve — in this case — what may not be a real big problem, but it's an important thing and makes a difference to a lot of people."

Since then we've had precious little discourse on formality, until this past week with the venue being a chess tournament. The world's number one chess player Magnus Carlsen was told he could not continue playing while wearing jeans. Officials at the World Rapid and Blitz Chess Championships in New York said they had a dress code, that jeans were banned, and took a firm stand. Firm, that is, until Carlsen said he would withdraw from play and head to the beach rather than change. Hang on, said the officials. When we said "banned" we actually meant that while "it is still required to follow the official dress-code, elegant minor deviations (that may, in particular, include appropriate jeans matching the jacket) are allowed." As one observer noted online, "So jeans matching the jacket, or what's typically known as a jean jacket are good?!" I believe that is, how shall we put it, checkmate?

Let's face it; whatever you wear people will judge you. It's just a matter of how comfortable you are being judged. Harry Winston said it best: people will stare, so make it worth their while. And while it's true that others may judge you based on your sartorial choices, the more important point is how it makes you feel about yourself. Or as Bette Midler put it, "I firmly believe that with the right footwear one can rule the world."

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Marc Wollin of Bedford has never been noted as a fashion icon. His column appears weekly via email and online on Blogspot and Substack as well as Facebook, LinkedIn and X.

Shovel Brigade

If you live down south you might want to skip this one. If your abode is a condo or apartment, the next few paragraphs might ring hollow. Likewise if you have a homeowners' association, have decamped to an Airbnb for the season, or just have been excused because you have a bad back. But if you are a resident as we are of the Northeast, the Northwest, or indeed any locale north of the Mason-Dixon line and a hypothetical western extension, then this is right in your sweet spot. Because after an unusually mild fall it's time to dig out the shovels because the snow has started to fall.

It's a seasonal red line as notable as moving your flannel shirts or winter coats to the front of your closet. For the past eight or nine months the detritus in your garage has revolved around brooms and potting soil and chair cushions. And while they might have been less in use since September, they were closer to the front than the back. But now? While the timing differs depending on whether you live in Chicago or Rochester or here in New York's Hudson Valley, you looked out one morning and what was green around the house and black in front of the garage was now all white.

While it is said that the native tribes in colder climates have multiple words for the white stuff (not to mention the 2011 Kate Bush album "50 Words for Snow"), our vocabulary is more limited simply because our exposure is more limited. Also, whether it's because I'm taller than I was at five years old, because of climate change, or perhaps a bit of both, the snowfall totals, depth and frequency don't seem to run up the numbers at least compared to my memory of past seasons. The net result is that, leaving out the profanities attached as modifiers tacked on to the front, our monikers for the varieties of frozen accumulation fall into a far fewer categories. 

Most significant among those is "heavy." That version can be wet or relatively dry, but it's the kind that piles up enough to delay school openings or even prompt closings. If you have a snowblower it's the time to break it out, or absent that, hunker down until the plow guy makes his rounds. Shoveling is possible, but it's hard, back-breaking work that will take you several hours. It's the stuff of snowmen and sledding, of mittens and heavy boots, or hot chocolate and roaring fires. 

At the opposite end is a "coating." More airbrushed than piled on, this is a step above just frost. Everything looks white, but as they say about some people (and not in a nice way) it's a mile wide and an inch deep. Sure, some things might be a little slippery, but as the temperature warms up in the daytime it's more wet than not.

And then there's what we had just before the Christmas break, what makes it white in song and story. A "light" drop, let's call in an inch, two at the most. It is most assuredly snow, cold and slippery, but also light and beautiful. If the sun pops out it will likely melt on paved surfaces, but holds its form on grassy areas. Leave it be and you'll be walking on it for a few days. Or you can do as we do and push it off.

Note I say "push" as opposed to "shovel." While the implement you use is indeed a flat or curved blade attached to a long-handled stick, in this case it's a noun and not a verb. There is nothing to lift and throw, just shove. In fact, the snow is so light that unless I'm in a rush because of an appointment, the process of cleaning it off is less a chore and more a meditative stroll. That's because it's usually early AM, it's cool and quiet, and the options are multiple. Do I work in straight lines or do I zig zag? Do I aim for efficiency or patterns? How straight a row can I make, and can I angle the blade just so in order to pile it to one side and leave no residue on the other? If, like me, you're the kind of person who enjoys a defined project with a beginning, middle and end, one whose completion is simply defined and which takes a relatively short, finite amount of time, there are worse ways to spend an hour or so. 

Perhaps a bit overstated, but you Florida people don't know what bliss you are missing. Go back to your shorts and your umbrellas, and post your "Wow, it dipped below 70 so I had to put on a sweater" snarky updates. I'm sure we will get walloped with a big dump soon enough and I will grit my teeth like all the rest. But at least for this iteration, it's white, it's clean, it's crisp, and I like it.

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Marc Wollin of Bedford likes all four seasons, usually. His column appears weekly via email and online on Blogspot and Substack as well as Facebook, LinkedIn and X.