Cruising Through Travel with Biometrics

I recently read an article about some cruise lines and airports relying on facial recognition to check in and track passengers. The idea behind this is simple, we all have unique biometric data. This can refer to retina scans, fingerprints, or facial scans, for example. At airports, the idea is to use facial recognition scans to verify passengers without the need to physically check a passport, or identification. Cruise ships are using facial recognition to track passengers as they disembark and come back aboard after excursions. One cruise ship I read about was using the facial recognition softwares to match people to photos taken of them. It could even blur other people in the background depending on which level of permissions they had agreed to.

As usual, I find myself both fascinated and creeped out, at the same time. I can definitely see the benefits and the convenience. I always harbor a secret fear of being photographed by accident, or in the background, of somebody else’s photo. My fear is that the photo gets posted on social media, or shared in places I wouldn’t willingly agree to. Having the option to have my image blurred in the background, or anonymized in some way, automatically seems great. I would love to have stronger digital rights over the photos I take and share. Or equally other people’s photos with me in them.

However, given the high error rate of facial recognition with certain groups of people, I remain skeptical about the accuracy. Also, if you’re like me with a generic-looking face, there could be cases of mistaken identity. I’ve lost count of the number of times people approach me in public to ask me my name, thinking I’m somebody they know. Yet, when I tell them no, they often get strangely passionate about it. At times, I’ve had people persist and ask if I’m related to the person they thought I was.

I’m also dubious about the destruction of this collected data. Though the cruise lines and airports may say one thing, I suspect they might keep our biometric data longer than we would like.

It seems inevitable that these services will come, probably sooner than I would like. The first time I coast through the airport without having to pull out my passport once, it will be fascinating and creepy. All things to think about during my flight.

Acknowledging Artificial Intelligence (AI)

ChatGPT has been around for almost a year. It’s hard to fathom the magnitude of the impact it has had, along with other similar Artificial Intelligence (AI) products. And yet, at the same time, some things that I wish would be impacted, haven’t changed at all. AI is moving rapidly, but as usual, legislation, guidelines, and policies are slow to follow.

I’ve been keeping an eye on the writers’ strike in Hollywood for months. The inclusion of AI in the contract felt like a win and a big impact, at least from my perspective. Essentially, writers wanted protections when it came to AI, among other requests. Understandably, writers felt concerned that AI could replace them, partially or entirely. For example, an AI software could write most of a script and then it would take fewer writers to handle the editing and customizing. I don’t know the exact details of the negotiated deal, but it seems to me that using AI needs to be handled delicately with content creators. There’s a lot of nuance to consider.

I understand why writers would fear AI reducing, or replacing, them. With a few carefully guided prompts and enough training, some chatbots could probably churn out something decent to work with. Though some writers might appreciate having the use of a chatbot to help with generating ideas or a partial script to edit and modify. Coming up with content, especially with high-pressure deadlines, can be draining and stressful. Some weeks I’m so busy, or something unexpected happens (like getting covid), that it’s tempting to use ChatGPT to write something for me. And I only write 400 words (or less) a week! I haven’t used it yet, but that day could come…

Regardless of how writers use AI, the awareness around it and pressure to include it in the contract was important. Too often, new technologies arrive without a lot of governance or guidance on how to manage them. When I was in school, social media was just arriving as something new. We used to ask questions about the impact of all this unmonitored information sharing. Often, the answer was to wait and see when a court case might appear about it to establish some guidelines. However, I think it’s better to be proactive, rather than wait for something to happen.

The Myth of Content Lifecycle Management

Last week I attended a luncheon about content lifecycle management. Basically, this is a method for organizations to manage their content, digital assets, data, information, records, etc. in a centralized location. The idea behind it is sharing resources. Silos broken down. The end result is more effective sharing, analysis, collaboration, etc.

The image used to showcase this new method was an infinity symbol. Essentially, a never-ending loop that continuously goes around and around. The only problem with this idea is that there’s no way for the lifecycle to end. Lifecycle can mean different things and contain different stages. However, I think most people would agree that at its most basic level a lifecycle contains a beginning (birth or creation) and an ending (death or destruction). The never-ending infinity loop didn’t leave a lot of room for end points. This is one of the most challenging aspects of digital information.

When designing and developing these lifecycle management methods and systems, people seem to forget about that all-important end stage. At a certain point, some of the information, or data, etc. is not valuable anymore. It will only “junk” up the system. It could also slow down performance or impact search results. When content is never deleted out of the system, sometimes this old, outdated content comes up in search results, which can be confusing or annoying.

In my experience, not considering the end stage as an inevitable, and natural, part of the lifecycle at the beginning stages, leads to problems later on. For example, sometimes it can be difficult to find and label content retroactively. Determining criteria for which things to keep and which things to purge can also be more difficult when done at a later stage. I’m not sure how companies can accurately label things as “lifecycle” management when some of the most important stages are missing.

Incidentally, I did ask about the model at the luncheon. I wanted to know where the end of the lifecycle occurred. It seemed an appropriate question from The Deletist. However, the answer wasn’t satisfactory. The presenter explained that one could remove content based on the analysis being generated about it, i.e., low performing. Though this would require some thought about how the removal would actually occur.

Needless to say, I won’t be investing in that vendor’s content “lifecycle” management anytime soon.

The Independent Act of Playing Records

Growing up my record player was a prized possession. I can still recall how it looked. It came in its own carrying case. An old-fashioned clasp held the box closed. One that could easily be opened by small fingers. The case had a patchy, light blue pattern on it. Inside the top half contained an image of two kids. They sort of resembled the Chucky doll, but in a benign early 80’s way. The bottom half sported a small white turntable, tonearm, large holes for the speaker, and a switch to change the speed. We only had two options for speed. It looked something like this:

Back in the day, we plugged it in. Even so, it was still light weight and portable. The box was small with a white handle on top for carrying it around. To a young kid this meant independence on many levels. I could move my entertainment system around with me. If the record was small, I could even transport that right with the player. More importantly, I could play records by myself and for myself. I didn’t have to rely on a parent, or a voice-activated device with established controls, to listen to music or stories.

As a young child I spent hours listening to records. My best friend and I listened to music or stories. Sometimes singing or playing along. Other times adjusting the speed and laughing at how funny our familiar songs and stories sounded moving too fast or too slow.

I often marvel at how much music something as tiny as my smartphone, laptop, or even my now broken iPod can contain. A lifetime’s collection of records. Yet, they can’t be shared or experienced in the same way. As a child, there was something very deliberate about opening up my record player, selecting an album from a small amount of options, and setting it on the turntable. The actions were small and automatic, but set the tone for an activity of listening or sharing with a friend, without the need for any grownups to help.

Are paper documents outdated?

I recently started watching the “Lincoln Lawyer” on Netflix. As with most series/movies involving lawyers and law firms, I’m always a bit shocked at the old-fashioned paper documents. It seems that important or incriminating evidence always exists in paper. This even happens when people need to sign documents in the show, or retrieve a file.

What’s odd about this is almost all documents only exist electronically. From the time someone creates a document and uses it, it remains electronic. This is especially true since Covid started. Although e-signatures and digital signatures have been around for over 10 years, the pandemic expedited their usage. Since many businesses had to operate remotely, with employees working from home, acquiring signatures electronically became the norm.

The Netflix “Lincoln Lawyer” series is based on a series of novels by Michael Connelly, first published in 2005. If I consider that, it would make sense reading it that transactions and business would happen with paper. I wouldn’t expect to read anything about smartphones or the pandemic. However, the Netflix series is more modern. The series modifies certain aspects to match the year of creation, 2022. People use smartphones. The lawyers review some discovery documents, such as emails, electronically, even though in one episode they received 80 boxes of physical documents.

However, in the courtroom, the lawyers present evidence in both formats, electronic and physical (paper or other objects). Photos remain digital. Everything else is in a physical format. Witnesses read highlighted sections from pieces of paper, on request. Wouldn’t the new “norm” be to hand someone a tablet to read? Not only is this more accessible because it allows the size to be adjusted, it’s likely the document only existed electronically until it was printed out for a witness to read.

I wonder for the new generation watching these shows, or working in an office for the first time, if these practices already seem outdated. They seem outdated to me and I grew up paper, cassette tapes, and rotary dial. And yet, in a weird kind of way, they also seem perfectly normal.

Grading Homework

I haven’t been a student for over a decade. Yet, every fall still feels like the start of a new year. Suddenly the air feels crisp, carrying the hint of a chill. Nights come quickly, the sky darkening earlier and earlier. Mornings stay darker, lightening later and later.

Many of my formative years were spent as a student. Being raised by teachers firmly implanted the academic schedule into my bones. Incidentally, this also coincides with the start of a new orchestra season. Even without being a student, this is also the start of a “new” year for me in another way and has been for decades.

Always at this time of the year, seeing and hearing the children once again walk and cycle to school. Noticing the influx of more people everywhere all the time, all signify the start of something new. These things happening also remind me of my father’s nightly grading homework ritual. Though long in the past, each fall reminds me of his dedication and diligence as a teacher.

As a youth, I watched my father take over the dining room table after dinner each night. He sat quietly with a blue pen in his hand reviewing students’ homework. He made checks for correct answers and tiny x’s, sometimes with notes, for the wrong ones. As a teacher, he once told me that grading assignments and getting them back the next day was his homework. He felt that students learned better from the instant feedback and made it a point to return work promptly.

His grading pen was also special in its own way. To anybody looking at it, it had the appearance of a normal blue-ink bic pen. The kind you purchase cheap and in bulk. Or find laying around everywhere. Those who knew my father, however, understood that it was his pen. He rarely let anyone else use it, even family members. When he did let someone use it, he watched them until the pen returned safely to his pocket. And yet, people were always asking to borrow his pen. First of all, he always had one. Everybody knew he kept one in his pocket, all the time. Secondly, the ink always flowed easily. I’m guessing it’s because the ink stayed warm from being close to his body heat.

I’m reminded of all these things when the weather starts to change each fall.