Consumer Electronics Gone Haywire

The 2014 International Consumer Electronics Show has unplugged from Las Vegas, leaving TV news to look beyond trendy wearable devices to fill their tech voids. There’s no shortage of other electronics-related stories. We’re still hearing shoes dropping after Target’s hacked credit card debacle, with Neiman Marcus admitting they, too, have been breached. At least three other major retailers are rumored to be untying their wing tips to prepare for an announcement.

I decided to take a closer look at the personal relationship we have with technology, beginning at the CES and those wearable devices. Things you put on your wrist—fitness trackers, health monitors, tricked out watches—were especially popular.

Scott Stein of CNET tells us the Fitbit Force excels at counting steps, but Nike’s FuelBand SE works better as a watch. The Force retails for $130 and the FuelBand SE for $150. The Pebble Watch, on the other hand (no, really—worn on Stein’s other hand), is a “smart watch.” It also costs $150, but needs the release of new apps and features to achieve Mensa status. The next-generation Pebble Steel will supposedly accomplish that for just an additional $100.

Since I have a perfectly serviceable Seiko watch, let’s turn our attention to health monitors. These can be useful for seniors, but manufacturers are still shaking out the bugs. Some Fitbit wearers developed skin rashes due to allergies to the nickel in the band. Another device provided invalid information on some health condition. I don’t recall the details, but I remember thinking it wasn’t trivial. Those are just two reasons to have trust issues with these items.

If hackers can get into retailers’ systems and pilfer personal information from your credit cards, imagine what a determined hawker of “medical” products could do with your health monitor. That wristband that provides regular readings of your blood pressure? It will recommend a pricey salt substitute to get things under control. Once you buy it: Surprise! Surprise! The band congratulates you on miraculously getting your pressure down overnight, thus assuring repeat purchases.

The website Zensorium promises that their Tinké health monitor will help you “Find Your Zen,” but you’ll need a smartphone app to get there. Speaking of finding things using your smartphone, what may be the best new gadget for seniors is the StickRTrackR. It uses sensors ($30 each) that alert you if your keys get too far from your phone. I have no clue how you find your smartphone if you’ve lost that. Maybe you put a sensor on your own body to get an alert if you wander too far from the phone.

Another popular category was Home Monitoring Devices. Belken’s WeMo is on the simpler end. They describe it as “a family of simple, ingenious products that make life easier, simpler, better.” WeMo controls your home electronics via your smartphone. Sounds simple enough, provided one has a smartphone, which I simply don’t.

ISmart Alarm claims to have “the best smartphone-enabled home security and home control system.” It has contact sensors and motion sensors, an ICamera (for “real-time monitoring and picture notification”) and Remote Tags. The tags seem like a sophisticated version of StickRTrackR. You can use them to control the system remotely and to track children and pets. If I had one of those, I’d use it to find out where my husband had fallen asleep. It would save a lot of stair climbing.

The new consumer electronics offer everything from the proverbial sublime to the ridiculous. (Did I mention the Petbit fitness tracker for your dog or cat?) You may think I’m overreacting to worry about consumer electronics going haywire, but I’m not the only one who envisions this. (Stay with me here.)

One of the more unusual new movies is Her, starring Joaquin Phoenix as a lonely introvert who is in the process of getting divorced. He falls in love with his computer’s talking operating system. It’s not just any computer; it’s artificial intelligence that responds to his psychological and emotional needs (and in Scarlett Johansson’s voice). Think Siri on steroids. Or mood enhancers. Her gives new meaning to “software.” It also serves as a cautionary tale about the consumer electronics in our lives.

Who can say where we’re headed with all these devices? One thing’s for certain: our government isn’t the only place that Big Brother lurks. We can’t stop that train, but we can figure out the best way to use it to our benefit. I suppose I’ll have to invest in a smart phone eventually, but staying dumb has its advantages. It’s like having a hearing aid that you can turn down when you want to tune out. There’s a lot to be said for disengaging and sitting back with a good book and a nice glass of wine. On that note...

Redefining GMOs

When General Mills announced that it is changing the production of its original Cheerios to eliminate all Genetically Modified Organisms, it propelled GMOs into the forefront of health controversies in the U.S.

GMOs are biological entities that have been tinkered with scientifically to enhance growth, spur resistance to disease, or otherwise improve the viable yield of crops. DNA material that has been genetically altered is inserted into these organisms with the approval of the FDA.

Newsflash! The GMOs that we really need are Geriatrically Modified Organisms—ones tweaked to maximize compatibility with the constitutions and lifestyles of today’s seniors. Companies that hop on this will make a truckload of money. Here are some tips to help them get started.

The elderly are counseled to cut down on red meat and eat more fruits and vegetables. The first part of that prescription isn’t too difficult to follow. Older teeth have a harder time chewing the sinews of red meat anyway. Our challenge is eating more vegetables, especially the frequently touted nightshades.

Imagine if cauliflower and Brussels sprouts, broccoli and even mushrooms had their DNA reconfigured to reduce the gas buildup in our GI tracts! As long as they’re in the lab anyway, could scientists maybe give us some lettuce we can chew without having to cut it with a knife?

Geriatrics have a laundry list of beloved foods that could have their salt reduced. Top of my list would be the wonderful hard cheeses that I crave every afternoon. And most evenings. And occasionally late mornings. It would be a plus if the chemists could also reduce their fat level without compromising on flavor.

Here’s one that could present a challenge even to Nobel-prize-winning biologists. Get rid of the acid in tomatoes. I’m half Italian, so I love my sauce. Or as my aunts used to call it: gravy. (My mother married a non-Italian, so in our household, gravy was brown. If it was red, it was sauce.) I’ll steam cauliflower and drown in it sauce-gravy as a healthy pasta substitute if I’m guaranteed a gas and reflux-free evening. Especially if I can top it with low-salt grated Parmesan.

Those of us with what I’ll lump into the category of “architectural enhancements” to our teeth have other issues. My personal bugaboo is caps, but I’m sure that bridges and dentures behave the same, if not worse. All types of food get stuck in the crevices and under the edges. Sesame seeds aren’t the only culprits that lurk there.

Take nuts, for instance. I love nuts and they’re relatively healthy. But I’m picking and flossing the pieces for days after I eat them. Ditto for broiled chicken. Genetically modify to address this, and I will be putty in your non-latex gloved hands, Mr. Biochemist.

Every week I hear about some new health problem that’s linked to inflammation and the foods that cause it. It’s not just the joint pain that comes with arthritis, an almost-inevitable consequence of aging. Heart disease is now reputed to be aggravated by foods that cause inflammation. These are frequently the same ones that contribute to high blood pressure and high cholesterol. By GMOing the inflammation inducers, we can knock off multiple geriatric ailments.

Since we can’t fix all of those at once, let researchers focus on this manageable list: sugar and refined carbs, egg yolks, bacon, shrimp, butter, and the most popular cheeses. For the record, I’ve never liked bacon and I rarely eat mac and cheese. But I know these are comfort foods for the rest of the world, and I’m nothing if not considerate of my fellow retirees.

Finally, no post that touches on things that pass my lips would be complete without addressing wine. From my vantage point, there are two ways that GMOs could improve my vino experience. The first would be to alter the DNA of the sulfites that are used as preservatives in less expensive wines. It’s not that I’m such a wine snob that I appreciate only the pricier vintages. OK. Maybe it is a little bit that. But it’s more that sulfites make me sneeze and give me headaches.

While scientists are massaging the grapes, I’d appreciate whatever they can do to address one other senior pitfall of imbibing. That is, the alcohol-induced snooze. I’m not asking for much—just two glasses without having my eyelids start to droop.

Those who are adamantly opposed to having Genetically Modified Organisms in our food supply are probably cringing right now. But we of a certain age believe that Geriatrically Modified Organisms should earn their developers a “Noble” Prize. I’ll drink to that.

Memories of Marijuana—Or Dreams?

Some of the early headlines of 2014 feature the legalization of marijuana. Colorado now allows the statewide retail sale of small amounts for “recreational use” and Washington State is ready to join them. New York’s governor is considering easing that state’s restrictions on the medical use of cannabis. This week’s Time magazine predicts more states will follow these leads.

Hard as it may be to believe, I’ve never smoked marijuana. Not one puff. I therefore have difficulty visualizing the amount of Mary Jane that would qualify as recreational. Oh sure, I attended parties in Greenwich Village in the late sixties where joints were being passed around. But there were always enough strangers around to prevent me from trying it. I’ve always been a control freak and I wasn’t about to loosen up unless I was surrounded by people I knew I could trust.

My brother, Rick, was stationed in Germany around that time as part of his ROTC commitment. After he was discharged, he and some friends crossed Northern Africa in a Volkswagon bus/camper. His travels included Morocco and the Canary Islands. You can probably see where this is headed.

When he returned to the States he lived with me briefly in Manhattan. I learned to burn incense to cover the smell of his ganja. I worried that my upscale neighbors would send New York’s finest to the door of my brownstone studio. That’s about as close as I got to actually smoking weed.

My brother, though a year older than I, followed my early career path into computer programming. He worked for a time at Sears & Roebuck, where he bought a water pipe with his employee discount. That seemed as bizarre to me as if someone were to get mail-order contraceptives thru Reader’s Digest. (Remember, this was the sixties.) I began buying incense by the bundle.

After several months, Rick got his own apartment in the East Village. I still saw him regularly at the Spanish lessons we took together. These began in Midtown, at the Latin American Institute, and eventually migrated to Flushing, Queens, where our instructor lived. By coincidence, I also lived in Flushing at that point, with my first husband. When the formal lessons ended, my brother and I engaged Sr. Alfaro for private ones once a week. Rick drove us there after work.

I remember one evening, going across the 59^th Street bridge, when we heard a siren behind us. “I hope we don’t get pulled over,” my brother said, off-handedly. “What makes you say that?” I asked. “You’re sitting on half a key,” he explained. My first thought was: “Why would the cops care if I had a key under my fanny?” And then: “What the hell is half a key used to open?”

When Rick explained that was short for “kilo,” as in kilogram (of MJ), I broke out into a cold sweat. “Honest, officer,” I imagined myself saying. “I didn’t even know it was there, plus I’ve never smoked it in my life.” Yeah, right. Hair to my waist, skirt up to my gotcha, next to my “brother” who looked nothing like me. So that was it. I’d go to the big house for something I didn’t do, without even having had the benefit of ever getting high.

As the years wore on, I would occasionally catch a whiff of marijuana smoke as I walked through midtown Manhattan. And later on sidewalks on Providence’s East Side. One evening last summer, I got light-headed sitting in our sunroom, with the windows cranked wide open. I discovered that my neighbor’s college-age son and his friends were sitting on their back deck, smoking. I suppressed the urge to call over, “I know what you’re doing.”

After awhile, I closed the windows. It was too ironic to imagine myself getting high alone, in my late sixties, after having avoided doing it with strangers in the late sixties. Which brings me back to recent headlines.

Medical marijuana dispensaries were opened in Rhode Island in 2013. My mother suffered from glaucoma and some peculiarities in my eye tests have me being checked for it regularly. A friend pointed out the upside if I ever get that diagnosis. It would qualify me to smoke pot legally.

I prefer to consider options with my eyes healthy. I can visit friends in Colorado, and maybe eventually in New York (more affordable). Hell, one of my classmates has a home in both states. (What did she know that the rest of us didn’t?)

Maybe when my friends and I turn 70 we’ll have a big girls’ slumber party. We’ll call it "MJ In Your PJs." Kind of gives new meaning to “Sweet Dreams,” doesn’t it? I’ll bring the brownie mix. And lots of incense.

Banned Words for 2014 from Retirement Sparks

January is the time for the annual lists of banned words and phrases. This marks the third year that I’ve been publishing my own compendium. I put my list together in mid-November, and it turns out my first three entries also top the annual list just released by Michigan’s Lake Superior State University. Their order is different, but we agree on the three words we’d most like to hear less (or none) of in 2014.

Number one on my list may surprise you. I don’t want to hear ‘hashtag’ anymore. I’m content to have people use hashtags. I don’t even mind seeing the # symbol. I’m just weary of hearing the word. We’ll need something to replace it when we speak, so I’ve created a substitute. Since the hashtag has historically been referred to as the number sign, let’s call it the NuSi. It should take a few years before that gets annoying enough to show up in my annual post.

 ‘Selfie’ is next. Oxford Dictionaries declared it the 2013 “Word of the Year” because of its meteoric rise in use, but that doesn’t mean we have to like it. I’d be happy if we not only stopped using it, but we also stopped taking them. I know: not gonna happen, but a girl can dream. And BTW, my list was created before the Pope and Obama posed for their infamous year-end selfies.

Close behind, and no surprise, are ‘twerk’ and ‘twerking.’ (These count as one entry, for those who are keeping track.) As with selfie, my hope is that people not only stop saying this, they also stop doing it. I have only a slightly better chance of that happening than I do seeing an end to the photo behavior. With twerking, some equally repulsive move could replace it in 2014. (Remember: ‘Gangnam Style’ was on last year’s list.)

Can we also do without ‘bromance’? It may be popular in some circles, but I never hear anyone singing: “A fine bromance, with no kisses; A fine bromance, my friend, this is.” That's likely due to the unstated understanding that a bromance would never involve kisses. Frankly, I’m not sure what it involves or doesn’t involve, other than being annoying. A guy can appreciate the qualities and appeal of another guy without needing to slap a label on what he thinks or feels. Oorah!

In the interest of equal time for the opposite sex, let’s also do away with ‘bestie,’ the latest patois for ‘best friend.’ It alternates with BFF (Best Friends Forever), but BFF doesn’t make that nails-on-the-blackboard sound that bestie does. Besides, bestie originated as slang from the Brits. Not an export they’re likely proud of. It’s probably barely ahead of Marmite and haggis.

Moving on to politically-based candidates (words and phrases, that is), ‘Tea Party’ (the label, not the political perspective) has no place in Congress. I’m fine with ‘conservative’ and ‘libertarian,’ but ‘Tea Party’ has become far too polarizing. Let the Mad Hatters fend for themselves as individuals who hold strong beliefs, or as members of more traditional coalitions. But fie on letting them find shelter using the Tea Party label. It’s become an anathema even to most Republicans.

As we say goodbye to Tea Party, let’s also say ta-ta to ‘brinksmanship.’ Use it, and I’ll tune out before the third syllable rolls off your tongue. I’m tossing it onto the lexicographic dust heap, along with ‘hostage.’ These words (and concepts) have no place in Congress. If we have to ban them to get our elected officials to stop engaging in this behavior and to have the Media stop celebrating it, so be it.

I’m also so over ‘fumble,’ as in ‘fumble the rollout’ or ‘fumble the ball.’ What happened with the Affordable Care Act (a.k.a. Obamacare) was so beyond a fumble that we need to call it something else. How about a disaster?

Speaking of disasters, I’d really like to not hear ‘natural disaster’ anymore. Note to God: please don’t send us any in 2014, so we won’t need to use this phrase. That’s probably too much to expect. I have no suggestions for what else to call these when they happen, but I wanted to include this phrase on principle and in a spirit of optimism.

Okay, let’s not count ‘natural disaster’ among my ten. That means I need one more. Let’s give up the phrase ‘turn the page.’ That’s pretty much what a lot of politicians are hoping we’ll do in 2014, but let’s not memorialize it in words. As Nike says, let’s “just do it.”

Those are my ten candidates that should not be uttered in mixed company in 2014. By mixed company, I mean by anyone else when I’m in the room.