Big Data

We have no secrets anymore.

Our smart phones and computers have betrayed us.  What we watch, buy and communicate online has brought us to the ultimate “emperor has no clothes” reality of our lives today.  And actually, I’m sort of ok with that.

It’s true that our government has taken advantage of the information technology revolution to protect the Homeland by tracking our whims and whereabouts.  But while libertarians hate the fact that “big government” invades our privacy on a regular basis, they should really be worried about the tsumani coming our way due to the corporatization of Big Data.

Yup, Big Data has become Big Business – and companies are only now realizing what a gold mine they possess in terms of marketing behavior and consumer preference insights, sliced and diced in any way you want – by demographic, geographic, religious or cultural preference.  The promotion of goods, services, videos, anything and everything is coming to your email box or smart phone in greater and greater volume every day and that’s just the beginning.  Technologists are scrambling to keep up with the sheer velocity of this new marketing universe and the speed of light changes that characterize it, so that they can develop the tools you’ll absolute need and have to have in order to weed out the crap from the stuff you really want.

It’s why the ad/pr agency conglomerates Publicis and Omnicom are merging.  It’s why privacy advocates are up in arms.  It’s why Edward Snowden lives in Russia.

Big Data, baby. 

I’m sort of reminded of Mad Magazine’s Alfred E. Neuman (there’s a 60s cultural reference for you!) and his mantra, “What?  Me worry?”  All this Big Data will generate big money that hopefully will generate big jobs and products and services that keep the global economy humming enough so that my kid is employable 12 or so years from now.  And the Big Ideas that drive the Big Data economy will mint a whole new generation of Big Data Billionaires. 

So what if it costs us a little bit of our privacy?! 

If only I had been born with a geek chip in my brain instead of a fondness for good fiction and bad satire.

Here’s looking at you, kids, we're counting on you.  Stop texting and start inventing the next Big Data thing.   We need your billion dollar brains working overtime so we have Medicare and Social Security when Boomers turn 100.  Because it's all about us.  All of us.  But especially us.

Like I said, “What?  Me worry?”

 

Sharknado

My nearly 13 year old girl is in week 2 of her August vacation away from Helicopter Mom and Easy-going Dad. It’s making me a little bit of a wreck.

Last week, she was at sleep away camp, a more than 4 hour drive away from our Northern Virginia suburb to the southern tip of the eastern shore of Virginia. She loved the whole camp thing – from new girls hailing from different places like Manhattan and Atlanta, to the food (imagine!) and the water sports (fun!) and she’s decided she’s interested in becoming a camp counselor one day.  Yeah!   Then she told me about the 2 dead sharks she saw on the beach there….

We are now in week 2 of the August Vacation Away from Parents, and my daughter is in Florida with a family friend and her daughter.  After arriving in Tampa yesterday afternoon, they headed out to the beach after dinner for a quick swim and sunset watching.  Last night, after several nervous and unanswered texts from me, my daughter texted me back and wrote this:  “Oh, me and Camille went to the beach and I saw a shark near the shore so I said ‘Camille, get out of the water’ and so she got freaked out and so it was cool but scary, and goodnight, love you guys.”

Yikes. 

I blame author Peter Benchley and Steven Spielberg for my shark phobia; I was a beach obsessed teen growing up on Long Island when both the book and the movie of Jaws came out, which undermined my confidence and made me an extremely cautious ocean swimmer.  When I see dolphins dive lazily in the ocean not too far off shore, I’m convinced they’re sharks in dolphin clothing.  I mean, I have a real thing about them.

I immediately texted my daughter back with all the cautions about being careful, staying observant, not going too far out, not going in alone, blah, blah, blah; if I was there, I’d be on shark attack lookout, trust me.  My daughter texted back, reassuring me that she wasn’t going to go to that beach “much” and she would be careful and that I should go to sleep and forget it. 

Today’s shark attack?  The hair color attack.  There will be a trip to a hairstylist today and my daughter says she “only” wants a few blondish streaks.  Her friend has been known to have brown and pink ombre hair from time to time, which looks great (sort of), I just don’t want my daughter to have pink hair. 

Because my phone battery was dead this morning, my Helicopter Mom defense perimeter was down. My concerns about hair color may be ignored, as underscored when my daughter responded to my text on this subject: “Ya ya mom ok bye.”

The point of this post?  It occurs to me that the teenaged “Sharknado” years have just begun.  Whether real or imagined, there are sharks everywhere for my daughter and me to navigate:  Today, it’s a one-color hair color process – tomorrow it’s a fender bender or first boyfriend. 

In my own, sometimes over-the-top way, I trust my daughter to swim around those pesky sharks through the use of cunning, common sense and sound judgment.  And my kid is a good swimmer, just so long as she doesn’t go out too far.   

In the meantime, I’m standing on the shore, observant and ready to pounce if I have to.  Because sharks have big jaws and sharp teeth.  I know.

 

 

 

 

Suit Up, Ladies!?

The Wall Street Journal has declared it, so it must be so:  Power suits for women are baaccccck!

It seems that suit sales have surged 12% among younger women (they’ve been up among men for a while now) in the past year which has gotten the attention of major designers once again.  Today’s suit may not have the big shoulders of the “Dynasty” 80s or Feminist 70s, but they feature tightly cut jackets, pants or pencil skirts that signal ambition and sex appeal at the same time.

In the Journal’s article, Giorgio Armani, the once and future king of power suiting says that, “Power now can be feminine.”  Silly me, I thought it always was!  That said, power suits come in many varieties today, because women want choices (duh):  Pants can be long or cropped, skinny or wide-legged; skirts are short, narrow, knee grazing, or “trumpet”-like; and jackets are “strong,” whatever that means.  (Tight? Armor-like?  Black and grey? All of the above?). 

Apparently the cultural zeitgeist is supportive of this tread, with TV heroines like Kerry Washington (the crisis management guru of “Scandal”) being one prominent example of a power suitor.  But I must tell you, I’ve worked hard over the past 5 years to move beyond the matchy-matchy female work warrior look for the more laid back, West Coast-ish comfort of stretchy/flowy separates. I’m all about comfort now -- even on days when I have a big business meeting, and then, I’ll more likely wear a dress (if I must!) than a suit.

Suits feel, I don’t know, itchy to me now.  And I can’t comfortably sit cross-legged in them, which I do sometimes in meetings because I’m 60 and I still can. 

It doesn’t mean I don’t get the occasional hankering for a Katharine Hepburn moment; but when I put a suit on, I almost immediately wish I hadn’t.  So then, next time, I don’t.

Every fall, I try to treat myself to at least one new outfit for work.  Because the stores will likely be dominated by suit looks, I’ll probably try one on.  I hope I’ll have the good sense to throw my shoulders back, keep my head high and walk instead in the direction of the racks of more comfortable clothes.  Power is as power does and, in my case, the suit doesn’t make the girl.

Up in Smoke

“I really miss smoking,” my 85 year-old mother confessed to me a few days ago.  She stopped at the age of 70 after many decades of smoking.
It wasn’t so very long ago that I might have said the same thing.

I was a smoker from my mid-teens to my early 50s and did my share of damage to my lungs which I continue to pay for today.  My husband told me before we married that if I continued to smoke, we wouldn’t make it as a couple.  Ok, I was a sneaky smoker for the last months of our courtship and first years of our marriage; he knew it and loathed it but didn’t threaten to divorce me, thank god. 

Lord knows I tried to quit – many times – beginning in my early 20s.  As smoking became increasingly unacceptable socially, the physical isolation of standing outside in the pouring rain or on a 10 degree day just to have a cigarette got to me.  And then, in a sure sign from God, I got pneumonia and that did it.  After years of patches and gum and pills and hypnosis, I finally went cold turkey and my smoking days came to an end.

For the first year or two after my last cigarette, I couldn’t have a glass of wine or a stressful day at the office without fondly recalling the significant relaxation “benefits” of smoking.  But by the third year, something surprising and wonderful happened:  I realized that I had lost that compulsiveness and wacky thinking that always anticipated my next cigarette.  Before, if I was at home when the craving hit (and it did, often), I started plotting my escape to the grocery store or cleaners or mall so I could have a cigarette. If I was at work, I’d count down the minutes until I could take a small break and step outside for a butt – and then, once outside, serially smoke 2 or 3 cigarettes in order to “dose up” until the next crashing nicotine craving.

All of this is to say that the growing e-cigarette phenomenon is really concerning.

First, the positive news for smokers:  E-cigarettes don’t stink, so you don’t stink after smoking (or “vaporing”) one.  You use the device over and over again, so it ultimately reduces the cost compared to regular cigarettes.  And you don’t inhale smoke, which means you can smoke in bars, restaurants, movie theaters, etc.  Wow. 

Now the bad news:  E-smokers inhale water vapor filled with flavored nicotine from a cartridge inserted into the device. The vapor exhales like smoke without the particulate matter and tar of cigarettes but you do have the nicotine dependence. 

Did I not just say nicotine addiction is crazy making? (See paragraph 4 of this post as a reminder).

As they become more widely used, e-cigarettes are raising serious concerns and questions about public health, nicotine addiction and etiquette issues over where and when you vapor.  More concerning to me is that they are making smoking (which it is, regardless of the vapor v. smoke question) cool again to young people.

The safety of e-cigarettes is based on a false premise; nicotine is a drug.  E-cigarettes are drug delivery devices.  And as someone once said to me, getting over nicotine is the most difficult addiction to overcome.  Here’s hoping that parents remain vigilant as these products become more visible in daily living environments.  Let’s not vaporize the real progress that’s been made in battling nicotine addiction in the past 10 years or all that good, hard work will go up in smoke.  Again.

As for me, I’m coming up on my 7^th anniversary without a cigarette.  And no, I don’t miss it.

 

Scout's Honor

I hated camp.

I attended a Girl Scout camp in the early 1960s and it was pretty rugged stuff – deep in the woods in a remote part of Long Island, with a boggy stream for swimming (ick) and lots and lots of bugs.  The campsites themselves were open air pavilion style “cabins,” off the ground but still pretty raggedy.  The only good food was served at breakfast, although there were S’mores after dinner (yum), a Girl Scout tradition.  And the main activities were hiking, firemaking and nature study. Ugh.

The first child in my family to go to sleep away camp, I had won a “campership” because I earned the most merit badges in my Troop that year, forever the over-eager overachiever.  Additionally, I wrote a compelling little essay about why I should be given the privilege of attending Girl Scout camp (“Camp Edy”) – how I would learn more about nature and wildlife and fellowship with my kid comrades in green.  I lied through my teeth in that essay, because I hated woods and all the bugs. But I still wanted to win that campership, by god.

That said, I did like wearing my official Girl Scout attire, which consisted of little green shorts with a white stripe on the sides, a white T-shirt with the Girl Scout clover-leaf and Camp Edy name and,  of course, Girl Scout socks and white sneakers.  I felt all cool camper-ish in my duds, as if I really did fit the image of the ideal Girl Scout.

But then I got to camp and got the lay of the land.  Grim.  My best friend at the time convinced her mom (our  Scout leader) to send her at the same time as me, but we were put in separate cabins far away from each other so we’d “make new friends.” She hated camp as much as I did, until we found an older counselor/mule who would deliver to our cabins heartfelt notes about how much we missed our home, hated our bug bites – my friend got poison ivy too, which was way worse -- and each other.  As I said, grim.

My most memorable accomplishment at camp was winning a cereal eating contest on my last day:  10 bowls of Wheaties!

Ah, memories are made of this.  They sure came flooding back today as I looked at pictures online of my beautiful daughter having a blast at a YMCA camp near Virginia Beach.  Archery, water sports and sailing, jewelry making, art activities, zipline fun – enjoyed by some pretty happy tweens who are likely experiencing their first extended stay away from home.  Lots of smiles, and not a single hiking or nature picture in the bunch! 

I’m so glad it’s everything for her that my camp wasn’t for me:  A truly fun, unusual, girlfriend-filled experience.  And, by the way, she’s in the same cabin as one of her best friends from home (which I requested but wasn’t promised to get); even sweeter.

My worries about ticks and bug bites and big drama disappointment are starting to ease, thank goodness.  My tween is having a swell time.

Scout’s honor.

 

Addicted to Jane

Elizabeth, Anne, Emma, Fanny and Elinor.  Darcy and Knightly, Captain Wentworth….

And Jane. As in Austen.

How many hours of my teenaged years did I spend hunched over an old edition of a Jane Austen novel from the local library? 

I read Jane Austen for fun and romance, drama and tears.  She had a wicked sense of humor and a strong moral code; Jane believed in giving her readers a happy ending, as long as it was just.

The movie versions of Jane’s “greatest hits” – including their modern updates, like Clueless and especially Bridget Jones Diary – have always been accorded places on my “best ever” list, too.  Although Gwyneth Paltrow is a so-so Emma, Jeremy Northam is a witty Knightly; Emma Thompson, a wonderfully soulful Elinor; Jennifer Ehle, a prickly but provocative Elizabeth Bennett; and a hilariously zaftig Renee Zellwigger in a very modern take on Elizabeth Bennett, aka Bridget Jones.  

But above all, there is the one and only Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy (Pride and Prejudice) and Mr. Darcy (Bridget Jones’ Diary)…the ultimate Austen dream man!

So forgive me for admitting that  I can’t wait to see Austenland, a new movie about a thirty-something Austen Addict’s vacation at a 24/7 Austen-themed resort in England because of her fixation on Colin Firth's portrayal of Darcy.  (She sounds a little looney, but I can totally go with the premise).

Ok, I suspect the movie won’t be very good.  At the same time, I have a sneaky feeling I'll like it anyway.  I do know there will be a heroine who has been unlucky in love, and other denizens of Austenland who share her “Austenesque angst” about life, love and social standing.  Rivalry, deception, and lots of lovely romantic frisson will be endured before the heroine, and a few others too, encounter the happy ending they deserve (or disappointment they’ve earned).

So while I wait for Austenland to arrive at a theatre near me, this small post about Jane is serving as a “reminder to self” that sometimes the best loved stories are those from your youth.  I never did get to Northanger Abbey…and there’s still a few weeks of summer left…

I bet I can download it for free on my Kindle!

 

 

 

Dog Days

I’m baaccccckkkkk…..

One week at the beach simply isn’t enough vacation for these old bones, but that said, the famille and I had a wonderful time in the sun, surf and sand.  My brain is sufficiently fluffy from too much rest – I’m always at my best when I have a steady stream of low grade stress coursing through my veins, which hasn’t kicked in yet.  Still, I’m digging out from the email deluge of junk, irrelevance and semi-important office chatter that’s clogged my inbox over the past 7 days so I’m only an hour or 2 away from an anxiety high.

Sigh.

This leads me to today’s topic, the Dog Days of Summer, which, theorectically, is really code for the month of August.  It’s totally unfair to come back from a week off and know that nearly everyone else who matters is now on vacation…or at least, “unavailable” for one reason or another (Work from Home, being one of them…also code for vacation).  And yes, I know you’re thinking, “She had her turn” -- but really?!

Ask my daughter.  Her summer is just beginning – after 6 days with her parents, she’s off to camp, surrounded by girls her own age and cheerful, potentially overzealous camp counselors.  After a week of S’mores and water sports (my girl’s not much for hiking or bugs, for that matter), she’ll take off with a family friend and her daughter for nearly 2 weeks in Florida, where SeaWorld, more beach, and Lego Land awaits…you get the picture.

My husband and I haven’t spent more than 1 week away from our daughter since we returned from China with her – or alone with each other for that matter.  I wish we could just hop on a plane to Paris or to Rome while she's in the capable care of others.  Mais, c’est impossible!

Instead, we’re going to be good worker bees, bringing money home to the hive, maybe squeezing in an occasional movie or 2 while our girl is away.  We’ll take advantage of our time alone together to talk about things other than the daily domestic drama of our lives, like books and politics and The Future.  I draw the line at shopping together, though – he doesn’t like to go where I want to go, and he wanders off when we shop together anyway, which makes me crazy.  But we will cuddle.

Dog days?  Not at all, come to think of it.

I guess it’s nice to be back. Happy Monday.