Banner Birthday

I unfurled my American flag off the back deck of our house yesterday. It’s a prominent location for the Stars & Stripes, where people passing by on the adjacent street can’t miss it. Then again, we live in a quiet neighborhood so I’d be surprised if many took notice. I’d be even more surprised if they knew why I was flying the flag.  Perhaps you missed it too.  Yesterday was Flag Day.

To be brutally honest, I’m not sure why America has a Flag Day.  Oh sure, the history books tell us Flag Day commemorates the adoption of the U.S. flag, way back on June 14, 1777.  One could argue there’s no amount of honor and celebration large enough for our country’s heritage and freedom.  But Independence Day gets a whole lot more attention than Flag Day.  Ditto Memorial Day and Veterans Day.  At least those days are true “holidays” in the United States.

Flag Day was established in 1916, so what-do-ya-know that makes this year’s celebration the 100th anniversary.  I didn’t see any parades or fireworks to commemorate the centennial, did you?  Then again, I don’t think America fully embraces Flag Day.  If we adopted our flag in 1777, why did we need another 140 years to give it a “day”?  Flag Day isn’t even an official holiday in this country.  The President has the discretion to decide if it should be celebrated in a given year.  On that note, I don’t recall a proclamation from President Trump so maybe I should’ve kept my flag in the closet.

There’s further confusion about Flag Day.  Congress didn’t put the commemoration into “law” until 1949, thirty-three years after Woodrow Wilson established the day.  No states acknowledged Flag Day before 1937, when Pennsylvania became the first.  Other states – notably New York – decided it made better sense to put Flag Day on a weekend, as in the second weekend in June.  We can’t even agree on the date.

There’s history about Flag Day that precedes President Wilson, but it’s spotty.  The earliest reference is 1861, when a citizen of Hartford, CT suggested the idea and the city put together a celebration.  That didn’t take.  I885, Bernard Cigrand of Waubeka, WI began a prolonged push for a U.S. Flag Day.  After one local observance, he traveled around the country “promoting patriotism, respect for the flag, and the need for the annual observance”.  Thanks to Cigrand, Wilson established Flag Day thirty years later.  Cigrand is thus earned the title, “Father of Flag Day”.

Despite the facts, Flag Day still has me scratching my head.  The “National Flag Day Foundation” celebrates – like New York – on the second Sunday in June, yet the Star-Spangled Banner Flag House in Baltimore and the Betsy Ross House in Philadelphia prefer June 14th (lending credence to “National Flag Week”).  Parades and festivities take place around the country, but the discretion seems to be with the states as much as the President.  Here in Colorado Springs, home of the Air Force Academy and several other military bases, Flag Day came and went without so much as a whisper.

Fifty other countries have a Flag Day so there is some legitimacy to the concept.  But in many cases, those countries celebrate their independence as well.  That makes a lot more sense to me.  The flag is a connotation for liberty, so why not go with one holiday instead of two?

I admire the homes with the permanent flagpoles in the front yard, their owners pridefully raising the Stars & Stripes day in and day out.  But Flag Day must be “just another day” to these people.  Fittingly, americanflags.com describes Flag Day as “consistently overlooked yet universally beloved”.  I’d agree with the first part of that statement.

With all due respect, I’ll continue to unfurl the Stars & Stripes on Flag Day, no matter how many people notice.  If for no other reason, to echo the words of one of our most revered presidents:

Some content sourced from Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

 

To and Fro

The band Lonestar penned a catchy tune back in 2003 called “My Front Porch Looking In”. The lyrics included the happy antics of the little family inside the house, implying the view “looking in” beat anything to the outside.  That song enters my mind every now and then, especially with the view from my home office looking out over our property. Which got me to wondering, whatever happened to the front-porch swing?

Swings have withstood the test of time, in a world increasingly complex and sophisticated.  The playground swings of my childhood – those chain-and-cloth contraptions suspended from a simple framework of iron pipes – are still in abundance in countless parks and schoolyards today.  Just last week – as my daughter chose an apartment in a large complex in Los Angeles, I noticed the grounds were scattered with small open spaces, each with benches and fountains… and lots of swings.

I can still remember my early days aboard a swing.  Once you figured out how to get your body to generate the momentum, there was no turning back from the addicting to-and-fro.  The reckless objective was to see how high you could go – to the point where you’d almost fall out as you stared down at the sand from the sky above.  If you really pushed it you could get high enough to cause the chains to lose their slack, resulting in a nasty jolt of the chains before you came plunging back to earth.  Finally, there was the I-dare-you launch, where you completed the forward swing with a propel of the body skyward, then dropping to the sand.  I often wondered if you could throw in a gymnastic somersault before you stuck your landing.  Never tried it.

Just yesterday I passed a large carnival in a city park, with those bright, colorful thrill rides popping up higher than the trees.  Sure enough, they had one of those massive swings, where a dozen or more riders are suspended in a circle and twirled up into space.  That first rotation is a little unsettling, but I expect the rest is as relaxing as a merry-go-round.

Swings may still be in parks, but they seem to have gone missing from the front porch.  Therein lies my favorite “swing memory”.  My grandparents’ modest one-story house included a smooth concrete landing just outside the front door, facing a small lawn.  On this spot lived one of those wonderful old mechanical porch swings.  Picture a rocking couch really, with soft cushions and a cloth surround to keep in the shade and cool.  Over time the swing developed a bit of a smell from years of rain and morning dew, but we kids didn’t care.  Our feet easily touched the ground, creating the frantic engine of the to-and-fro.  When two or three of us would sit side-by-side (arms folded so as not to – ewww – touch each other), we would rock the swing so hard it’s mechanics would protest as loudly as my grandmother.  Sometimes we would lie down sideways and swing with just a push of the hands on the concrete.

No doubt, the appeal of the swing stems from those first few years of life, when all of us were rock-a-bye babies.  Just watching or listening to the cadence of something going to-and-fro is almost as appealing as the physical feel.  So when I see an adult on a swing, I’m not surprised.  When I see the long line of rocking chairs at a Cracker Barrel restaurant, I’m not surprised.  And when I find anything that goes back-and-forth, it gives me a sense of calm.

My front porch suddenly seems to be missing something.  I should get a swing.

 

 

 

North Pole Vault

One of these days I’m going to visit Norway. The allure of Arctic glaciers, fjords, and waterfalls beckons me to snowshoe north of the Baltic Sea. My wife and I toured Denmark and Sweden a few years back, but if I were to choose only one of the Scandinavian countries it would be Norway. I must have a little Viking blood in me. In fact, my AncestryDNA results say I have about 14%.

Besides its spectacular natural environs, Norway is known for hearty wooden structures that dot the land. Stave churches – quaint, timber-framed buildings from medieval times – can still be found in many of the villages.  One of the most famous is likely the most recognizable structure in Norway – the Urnes church in Songnefjorden (above photo), built back in 1130 and still standing today.

Here’s an even bolder proposition for my Norway expedition.  After I make the pilgrimage to the Urnes church, I could hop a plane four hours to the north, to the island of Spitsbergen in the remote archipelago of Svalbard.  I’m still in Norway but I’m a whole lot closer to the North Pole.  And it is here, 430 feet above sea level, I would find what may become the future most recognizable structure in Norway: the Svalbard Global Seed Vault.

The Svalbard Seed Vault is exactly what it sounds like – a place to store seeds.  Why would a country spend more than $9 million to build a seed vault?  Because bad things happen in this world, putting our food supply at risk. After reading about Svalbard I learned there’s an entire network of seed vaults around the globe (including one right here in Colorado).  These vaults contain food crop seed samples in the event the world “runs out” someday.  But even the vaults themselves have no guarantees.  The national seed bank of the Philippines was destroyed by fire, and the seed banks in Afghanistan and Iraq were lost to the ravages of war.  That’s where Svalbard comes to the rescue.

Svalbard is the “seed vault for the seed vaults”.  Think of it as a library.  If one of the world’s vaults needs a replenishment of seeds (or some global crisis destroys the vault entirely), they “borrow” packets from Svalbard.  Once more seeds are generated, a portion of them are returned to Svalbard to restore the library.  Almost 900,000 food crop varietals are represented in Svalbard – by half a billion seeds.  The facility is the size of a football field and all those seeds don’t even make it to the fifty-yard line.  Plenty of room left for more.

Svalbard is likely the most secure seed vault on the planet because it’s buried four hundred feet inside a sandstone mountain, encased in the Arctic’s permafrost.  Svalbard recently made the news when the vault flooded from snow melt and early season rain (that’s not supposed to happen – global warming anyone?)  But the water didn’t make it any further than the vault’s entrance tunnel before it froze again.  Sounds like all those seeds will be cold, dry, and undisturbed for a long time – just as the vault intends them to be.

Here’s another reason to like Norway.  Government-constructed projects exceeding a certain cost must include artwork.  Svalbard was expensive enough, so the seed vault entrance is decorated with stainless steel, mirrors, and prisms, reflecting the polar light of the summer months.  In the winter, the entrance is illuminated with greens and turquoises and whites through fiber-optic cables.  With this installation we get to appreciate the “importance and qualities of Arctic light”.  Pretty cool.

Sadly, if my Norway sojourn ever included the Svalbard Seed Vault, I wouldn’t get past the entrance.  There’s no receptionist (nor any other staff members 0n-site).  Instead the facility is monitored from a remote location around the clock.  You have to pass through five levels of security to get to the seeds themselves.  Tourists like me have no shot.

I won’t be getting to the Arctic anytime soon after all.  As for Norway, I’ll have to be content with a visit to a Stave church or two.  But I’m grateful for the Svalbard vault all the same.  On that note, I think I’ll head over to Home Depot and buy a few seed packets for my summer garden.

Some content sourced from Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

 

 

 

 

Touched by Midas

We’re in the midst of America’s red-carpet season of horse racing; the trifecta otherwise known as the “Triple Crown”. Over the course of five weeks we’ll witness the fastest three-year old’s thoroughbred racing has to offer. The jewels of the Crown – the Kentucky Derby in Lexington, the Preakness in Maryland, and the Belmont Stakes in New York – showcase a combination of sport, fashion, and tradition like no other.  Don’t miss the Belmont on June 10th; at a mile-and-a-half the longest of the jewels.

The service industry also has crown jewels.  Apple, Starbucks, and Amazon deliver a customer experience just about as satisfying as the products they sell.  FedEx is so reliable a delayed or lost package is not even a remote possibility.  But let’s kick it up a notch and talk about the Ritz-Carlton Hotel Company.  The Ritz-Carlton is such a renowned, decorated jewel of service excellence it deserves its own category.  Only the Walt Disney Company could claim such preeminence.

My wife and I were fortunate to experience “the new gold standard” of Ritz-Carlton’s hospitality this past weekend.  Celebrating our thirtieth wedding anniversary, we ventured into the Colorado Rockies for a couple of days of rest and relaxation at the Ritz in Beaver Creek, near Vail.  Colorado is in “mud season” now – mid-May through Memorial Day – so mountain-town resorts deep-discount, befitting the budgets of mere mortals like us.

Pulling up to the Ritz, the valet offered us bottled water and whisked away our luggage and car.  At the front desk we were assured a “lovely, quiet room far out on the north wing”.  In the room itself the porter promptly stowed our bags and explained all the little details.  With our modest room-service dinner our attendant produced a complimentary bottle of champagne and stack of those little pillow chocolates.  Happy Anniversary!

But here’s where our story gets a little dicey.  Sometime after midnight my wife and I woke to the sounds of a very nearby party.  Turns out the room next door housed the groomsmen and a whole lot of guests from a wedding at the hotel.  Blasting our sleepy ears: music, dancing, dozens of loud, happy voices, and… the unmistakable smell of marijuana.  Thank you neighbors; my dreams were colorful enough already.

The next morning over room service breakfast, we voiced a carefully-worded complaint to the attendant who brought our tray.  How many guests do you allow in a single hotel room?  Is this a non-smoking hotel?  Can you smell the still-pungent aroma of pot drifting under the doorway of the adjacent room?

Time for a taste of the Ritz-Carlton gold standard.  Our attendant immediately comped our breakfast, assured us we would be moved to another room, and said to expect a call from the hotel manager.  The manager told us another room was already being prepared and we would be moved at our earliest convenience.  When the bellhop escorted us to the south wing, he was quick to note, “this is one of my favorite rooms in the hotel”.

In fact, the room was breathtaking.  The Ritz labels this one an “executive suite”, complete with large sitting room, fireplace, refrigerator, two televisions, two bathrooms, separate shower and bath, and a spacious outdoor balcony facing spectacular Vail Mountain.  Safe to say, the remainder of our anniversary weekend was spent in unexpected luxury.

The gold standard of Ritz-Carlton service excellence is no secret.  Early in their colorful history, the hotelier recognized no amount of luxury or elegance derives the same return as an attitude of “the customer is always right”.  Every interaction begins with the thought, “The answer is ‘yes’!  What is the question?”  The hundreds of valets, bellhops, and concierges are trained as thoroughly as the management team, as they are the true face of the hotel.  Thus are these employees always addressed as “Ladies” and “Gentlemen”.  To add an exclamation point, the Ritz created a Leadership Center and Learning Institute, where thousands of managers from other companies train on the Ritz’s incomparable principles.

You can learn more about Ritz-Carlton’s brand of excellence by reading Joseph Michelli’s The New Gold Standard.  You can also sign up for a session at their Leadership Center.  My advice: stay at a Ritz hotel sometime (hopefully you have a “mud season”).  Nothing explains the gold standard better than the Midas touch itself.

 

 

Game of Stones

Do you know the absurd story of the London Bridge? Built in 1831, the famous bridge lasted 130 years over the Thames River before overwhelming traffic demanded the construction of a new one. So, what did London do with the old one? They sold it. Robert McCulloch, an American oilman, paid over $2 million to have the bridge dismantled into pieces, shipped to the coast of California (through the Panama Canal), trucked across the desert to the edge of Arizona, and reconstructed in newly-established Lake Havasu City.  Look at that photo below – that’s a lot of truckloads.  Call him crazy but McCulloch recouped his bridge money by selling the surrounding desert properties to retirees. He also took several thousand bits of the bridge and put them in tiny glass bottles for souvenirs. I bought one of these bottled bits when I was a kid.

The London Bridge story came to mind this week after reading a Wall Street Journal article about Hawaii.  It seems volcanoes are making their way to mainland America much the same way the London Bridge made its way to Arizona.  Tourists to Hawaii’s Volcanoes National Park – the 500-square mile preserve on the Big Island – are stuffing lava rocks into their suitcases as souvenirs; some over a foot long.  I’d like to see the size of the volcano you could build from all the lava bits stolen (yes stolen; helping yourself to rocks in a national park is technically illegal).  That volcano would be hundreds of feet taller than the paper mache science project you assembled in your youth (baking soda + vinegar = lava flow!)

This rock-robbing in Hawaii is big business.  How do I know?  Because the real story here is the hundreds of rocks being returned to Volcanoes National Park.  Park rangers claim they’re receiving mailings every day, each containing a) a stolen lava rock, and b) a letter of apology.  Turns out – if you believe this sort of thing – taking lava rocks puts a curse on your life and bad things start to happen.  In one case, a tourist claimed his sons began having behavioral problems, his marriage fell apart, and his mother died; all within a few months of bringing home a lava rock.

The Hawaiian Goddess of fire, lightning, wind, and volcanoes – Pele – is responsible for the curse.  She is credited with creating the Hawaiian Islands in the first place.  Her domain encompasses all volcanic activity on the Big Island, and she’s known for her power, passion, jealousy, and capriciousness.  Yo, don’t take Pele’s rocks!

(Note: as I was reading up on “Madame Pele” I recalled the 2014 computer-animated short “Lava”.  Remember the story, about two volcanoes who fall in love – “Uku” and “Lele”?  Maybe Lele was Pele in disguise – casting her powerful curse from the big screen!)

My wife and I went to Hawaii on our honeymoon thirty years ago.  We saw several volcanoes but never did we consider taking a lava rock home (loading up on pineapples and several boxes of chocolate-covered macadamia nuts instead).  I mean really, what do you do with a lava rock: display it in your living room as if you own a share of Hawaii?

Perhaps these rock-robbers are the same peeps who fell for Pet Rocks in the 1970’s.  If you weren’t around back then, Pet Rocks were smooth stones gathered from Mexico’s Rosarito Beach.  They had cute painted faces and were sold as if live animals, in little boxes with straw beds and breathing holes.  They included a lengthy training manual to “properly raise and care for one’s new Pet Rock”.  (The easiest commands were “sit” and “stay”.)  The Pet Rock phenomenon was as absurd as rebuilding the London Bridge, yet 1.5 million were sold for four dollars apiece in a six-month frenzy.  Gary Dahl – “founder” of the Pet Rock – became an instant millionaire.

My conclusion on all this rock talk?  Real people are as capricious as Hawaii’s fiery goddess.  London Bridge inspired a nursery rhyme (“… is falling down…”) so we sing about rocks.  Hawaii’s volcanoes inspired a Pixar story so we watch a movie about rocks.  But stealing rocks inspired a curse, cast on all who dare to help themselves.  No thanks, Pele.  Put it in stone; if I must have a rock I’ll take my chances and invest in the $4 pet-friendly variety instead.

Some content sourced from Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

Refining Buy-Products

Let’s chat about your last visit to the gas station (assuming you don’t own a “plug-n-play” vehicle).  Chances are you hit the pumps in the last week or so.  If you’re like me you drove in and drove out, mindlessly fueling to be on your way again as fast as possible.  But lately I’ve learned there’s more than meets the eye as you fill-er-up.  We’re all unknowingly playing the great retail chess game known as dynamic pricing.

Here’s the drill.  My local Shell station asks me a lot of questions before I get my first drop of unleaded (which makes me crazy but what choice do I have?)  Cash or credit?  Rewards Program number?  Zip Code?  Car Wash?  Paper Receipt?  All that info is “pumped” out of me (ha) up front.  Even then I must choose the octane before I finally get what I came for.

Now here’s the rub.  Every one of those data points feeds a Watson-like computer somewhere far removed from the gas station.  Watson brews a big customer-transaction stew, mixing in time-of-day, day-of-week, gallons purchased, and even weather conditions.  The result?  The “optimal” price point, delicately balanced between a) what you the consumer are willing to pay and b) what the supplier wants to net.  It’s a price-per-gallon computation that changes as many as ten times a day.

Coca-Cola may get the credit for the advent of dynamic pricing – with soft-drink vending (almost 20 years ago now).  Coke added a heat sensor and a computer chip to their machines, and as the outside temperature increased so did the cost of a soda.  Bad taste, and bad decision.  Consumers figured out the game and raised a big stink.  The running joke at the time – maybe not so funny today – was Coke would next install a camera to determine how much change was in your pocket.  Pepsi seized the opportunity to lure the unhappy customers and Coke quickly dropped the techno-gimmick.  But dynamic pricing took hold and never looked back.

Dynamic pricing is easier to digest when it targets times or situations where customers don’t notice or don’t even care.  The better example is school supplies.  Towards the end of summer your local Wal*Mart or Target will deep-discount pencils and paper and the like, often as much as 50%.  Kids will flock to the sale and load up on everything they need.  Parents will give their receipts an approving smile.  But guess what?  The store still wins.  That’s because “impulse purchases” bagged up with the school supplies are priced slightly higher than usual, more than offsetting any loss from the sale.

Dynamic pricing is hardest at work in hotels (what rate makes sense to fill that empty room?), utilities (do you really need the air conditioning right now?), and outdoor sporting events (are you willing to watch your baseball team during that unexpected rainstorm?).  And of course, any time you shop Amazon or Uber, dynamic pricing is asking the question, “how much do you really want that product or ride?”

Let’s pull up to the pumps again.  If you use “GasBuddy” or some other app designed to locate the lowest price-per-gallon, you’re winning the battle – but not the war.  I wish I had GasBuddy the first time I filled up as a teenager.  I crunched the numbers: forty years of driving; a tank of gas per week; eighteen gallons or so per tank.  If I purchased at $0.03/gallon less each time I filled up, I’d have an extra $1,000 in my pocket by now.

Thanks to Watson and his endless algorithms however, GasBuddy isn’t much more than instant gratification.  The suppliers are always one step ahead.  Unless you keep an eye on prices (and a few gallons in your tank), you’ll inevitably purchase when your demand takes priority.  Did you know gas is less expensive in the early hours of the day?  That’s because commuters are more likely to fill up at the end of the day, when they unknowingly drive up demand.  The computer is only too happy to adjust the price.

Maybe now you’ll leave the house a little earlier in the morning.  Fill up on your way to work instead of on your way home later in the day.  You will save a couple of cents per gallon if you do that.  And good for you – you’re beating the dynamic-pricing game.

Just don’t buy a cup of coffee while you’re at it.

 

 

 

Down Goes The Flag

Lately it seems the American flag is more often at half-staff than not. When the flag is at full-staff I get lost in the surrounding scenery, with just a passing glance at the Stars & Stripes. But at half-staff the flag is an effigy of its prouder self.  It might as well be illuminated with several of those Hollywood-style searchlights, as if to say, “something’s wrong with this picture.”

There is something wrong with this picture: I don’t immediately know the reason the flag goes to half-staff. There’s no accompanying billboard to tell me who or what we’re commemorating with this gesture. In fact, it wasn’t until I wrote this piece that I navigated to halfstaff.org (of course there’s a website), where you can learn why and when the red, white, and blue becomes more than just the unfurled symbol of America’s freedom.

Let’s get two misconceptions out of the way. One, the flag is not considered “half-mast” but rather “half-staff”. If the flag is “half-mast” you’re probably rocking and rolling on a ship at sea instead of standing on dry land (but the significance remains the same – respect, mourning, distress, or a salute).  Two, the flag is not “raised to half-staff”.  First it is raised to full-staff, paused, and then lowered to half-staff for the rest of the day. But unless you’re there at sunrise you’ll probably miss that little detail.

“Half-staff” dates to the century before America’s founding fathers.  Today the President issues the request through executive order, and all government facilities (including schools and military bases) are expected to comply.  Typically, we’re commemorating the death of a prominent government official, whether on the day of passing or the day of remembrance.  And speaking of passing, the gesture of lowering the flag is said to make room for an “invisible flag of death” flying above.  I kind of like that.

As if to play copycat, state, city, and other flags and pennants are expected to follow suit whenever the American flag goes half-mast.  But state flags can go half-mast by their own right.  Here in Colorado our state flag has been lowered more than twenty times in the past five years.  Just yesterday our governor ordered half-mast, to honor the passing of Ray Kogovsek, a former Colorado lawmaker and U.S. Congressman.

The American flag is also flown at half-mast to acknowledge days or events in U.S. history.  Thus, you can expect the raise-then-lower on Memorial Day, Pearl Harbor Remembrance Day (12/7), and what is now called Patriot Day (9/11).  Also since 2001, the flag is flown at half-mast in conjunction with the annual National Fallen Firefighters Memorial Service.

Several similar gestures to half-staff – especially since the advent of social media – have emerged to enlighten us to those who suffer.  Think about all those “Awareness Ribbons” (or bracelets), displayed on clothing and cars.  Their meaning is linked to their color, as in the following examples: Blue – Drunk-driving intolerance; Pink – Breast Cancer awareness; Rainbow – Gay Pride and support of the LGBT community; White – Victims of terrorism or violence against women; Yellow – Support of U.S. troops (among a dozen other designations), but generally a symbol of hope.

Recently I’ve noticed houses in our neighborhoods with a single green light brightly illuminated next to the front door at night.  As I discovered here, I’m seeing the “Greenlight A Vet” program, meant to “show America’s veterans the appreciation they deserve when, back home and out of uniform, they’re more camouflaged than ever.”  You can even purchase and/or register your green light on the website as a show of solidarity.  9.3 million people have done just that.  Four are right here in my zip code.

The green lights do catch my attention.  As a civilian I don’t think our veterans get nearly the appreciation or respect they deserve, so “bravo” to the program.  But the American flag doesn’t get the appreciation or respect it deserves either (a topic for another post).  Thankfully, it’s hard to ignore the right-but-somehow-wrong image of the Stars and Stripes at “half-staff”.

Perfunctory Perception

The Washington Post began a recent front-page article with the headline “Why President Trump is Probably Right…”, and I was immediately suspicious. The Times is an outwardly liberal rag. I can’t recall one article – let alone a headline – where they’ve waxed positive about the current administration. Curiosity piqued, I read Kristine Phillips’ well-written article and discovered it was not so much about President Trump himself as it was about the “first 100 days”.  You’re going to read a lot about that this weekend.  And history tells us one hundred days – no matter the successes and failures contained within – rarely define the legacy of a U.S. president.

We have Franklin D. Roosevelt (32nd U.S. President – 1933-1945) to thank for setting the bar of “first 100 days”.  Four months into his first term Roosevelt delivered a noteworthy “fireside chat” to the people, including a plan to pull the country out of the Great Depression.  Roosevelt also had a congressional majority squarely aligned with his administration.  As a result fifteen major bills were passed in his first hundred days, including the most critical; to stabilize the nation’s banking system.  It was a virtual sink-or-swim chapter in American history.

No president since the days of the Great Depression has faced a more daunting economic crisis, which is why none of their “first 100 days” measure up to Roosevelt’s.  Our last two presidents make for interesting examples.  George W. Bush entered his term intent on cutting taxes and reforming education, and he did sign the No Child Left Behind Act within the first year of his administration.  But more likely Bush will be remembered for the unforeseen events on and after September 11th, 2001.  Barack Obama sought economic stimulus by signing the American Recovery and Reinvestment Act in the first few months of his administration.  But more likely Obama will be remembered for the Affordable Care Act, signed towards the end of his first year.

Since Roosevelt’s administration, seven of nine presidents have been elected to a second term (not including Kennedy and Nixon).  Accordingly one hundred days is usually the prelude of an eight-year tenure, representing less than 3% of the total time frame.  I’d venture to say a president’s legacy is more the product of what happens during the other 97%.

To draw personal parallels, I thought about what it would be like to be judged as a son or a husband or a father; a student in school or a manager in the workplace – based on “first 100 days”.  No thanks; I can say with confidence I needed “the other 97%” to establish my legacy in each of those roles.

So where was President Trump “right”, according to The Washington Post?  The full headline read, “Why President Trump is probably right about the ‘ridiculous standard” of the first 100 days”.  Assuming two terms, Trump’s administration has another 2,820 days.  I’ll go with “probably right” too.  After 100 days, you’re still circling the ring trying to land a punch.  You’ve still got your fifteen rounds.

Again, the media will be all over this topic in the next couple of days so enjoy their rush to judgment.  The conservatives will make a best effort to spin Trump’s first 100 days positive; the liberals not so much.  The New York Times is quick to point out not one of Trump’s campaign-promised pieces of legislation has been passed, while The Hill prefers to recognize his “five key moments”.  Even Trump himself – who I voted for – recognizes the significance of perception.  One hundred days may be a perfunctory time frame but there’s no escaping the report cards.  Hence we have a bold tax plan – which could amount to Trump’s most defining legislation – released just days before the end of “the first 100”.

The most thought-provoking quote I found on this topic came from author Doris Kearns Goodwin.  “Less important than a scorecard of accomplishments,” she said, “is the leadership style demonstrated during the early days.”  In other words, our commander-in-chief himself – not just his policies – is a work-in-progress well beyond this weekend.  Keep your eye on the remaining 97%.

 

Manipulation Games

In April of last year Starbucks modified its customer loyalty program, linking reward “stars” to dollars spent instead of store visits. Where previously you nabbed a free coffee for twelve trips to the cash register, you now need a total purchase value exceeding $63 .  According to CNN, “…customers were furious with the new program.”  Maybe so but those customers didn’t stay away either.  Starbucks’ 2016 gross sales were $21.3B, up 10% from its previous fiscal year.

Once upon a time I resisted customer rewards programs but over the years I’ve made peace with them.  I keep a couple dozen loyalty cards in the car or on my phone, ready to play whenever I visit this store or that restaurant.  I still control where, what, and how much I purchase.  Since I don’t keep a close eye on my rewards, I’m pleasantly surprised whenever I qualify for a freebie or a discount.

But here’s what I don’t like about rewards programs.  They’re designed to manipulate your spending habits.  That’s where Starbucks – like so many other merchants – gets a “fail” on my customer satisfaction test.  In addition to their stars program Starbucks sends emails every other day (which I unsubscribe from but always seem to return).  Those emails encourage me to purchase in certain ways or quantities or timeframes with the allure of “bonus” stars.  It’s a ruse; plain and simple and obvious.  No amount of “free” will ever tempt me to buy three breakfast sandwiches in five days.  Or three Frappuccino’s in three days.  (I don’ t even buy one breakfast sandwich or one Frappuccino.  Just coffee.)

Starbucks may annoy me with their sales tactics but I still buy their products.  The same cannot be said for credit card companies.  The newest Visa and MasterCard programs include sophisticated reward programs where spending is literally the only path out of debt.  Take Chase Bank’s Sapphire Reserve Visa card.  As trendy as this elegantly thin metal card appears to be, it’s utterly manipulative.  For starters, just holding the card in your hand sets you back $450 a year.  Then you’re encouraged to spend $4,000 in the first three months to qualify for 100,000 reward points (recently sliced to 50,000).  You’re also tempted by an instant $300 travel credit – which can only be used through Chase’s partners – as well as credits towards Global Entry, TSA Pre, and airline lounge fees.

No matter how you justify the rewards of Chase Sapphire Reserve you’re still spend-spend-a-spending to recoup the costs.  Consider Sapphire points are valued at 2.1 cents each.  The best-case scenario therefore – spending on travel or dining – still needs to add up to $15,000 before you’ve paid off the $450 annual fee.  Too rich for me.

Las Vegas is getting in on the rewards game too.  Sin City’s legendary “free drink” is about to enter the history books.  Slot machines now include small colored lights, easy to spot by the passing cocktail waitress.  If you’re “red” she’ll walk right past you without so much as a smile.  If you’re “green” you’ve fed your machine enough to earn a “free” drink.  The same goes for casino parking lots; spend enough inside the building and you’ll earn a voucher for outside.  Is it any wonder gambling is no longer the biggest source of revenue in Las Vegas (in favor of hotel, restaurant, and bar purchases)?

Despite these trends, I’ll keep playing the rewards game and very occasionally cashing in on anything “free”.  But I’ll also be wary of the subtle manipulations.  Just yesterday I received my umpteenth Southwest Airlines’ Visa card offer.  All I must do is spend $2,000 in three months for 50,000 points and no annual fee.  That application goes straight to the shredder every time.  My one and only Visa card with its no-frills-no-cost rewards program suits me just fine.

 

Survivor: Siberia

Very few shows capture my attention like CBS’s Survivor.  What started as a fairly contrived reality television competition has evolved over many years to a fascinating cat-and-mouse game of wits.  Survival of the environmental extremes pales in comparison to the mental madness brought on by deliberate deceit, misunderstood conversation, and naked errors in judgment.  The lack of sleep by itself (on some nights strategic, on others unavoidable) would have me stepping out of the game well before the final day.

Like most reality shows Survivor is edited to manipulate the viewing experience to be as entertaining as possible.  You only see what the producers want you to see.  Given hundreds of hidden cameras, I can only imagine how much film ends up on the “cutting room floor”.  Regardless, Survivor is undeniably popular in America (with similar competitions in fifty other countries).  The current season – the thirty-fourth – is watched by over ten million viewers.  There have been over five hundred episodes.  And the format of the game is relatively unchanged from the first competition seventeen years ago.

When “The Hunger Games” movies came out in 2012, I remember how I couldn’t help drawing several parallels to Survivor.  In both cases you have contestants battling until only one remains; the recipient of untold riches.  In both cases the contestants have but a few items of comfort and are forced to endure the harsh conditions of their surroundings.  Also in both cases, you have a game manipulated behind the scenes by the powers that be, to maximize the entertainment value for its viewers (even at the “expense” of contestants).

So now let’s talk about Game2: Winter, the latest spin on reality TV competition from Russia.  Brace yourself.

Game2: Winter (G2W) is a hybrid of Survivor and “The Hunger Games”.  Take fifteen men and fifteen women, drop them into a remote location in Siberia (which is anywhere in Siberia come to think of it), wait nine months and see who survives.  Each entrant must be declared “mentally sane” to qualify (kind of an oxymoron for a G2W player, don’t you think?) and chooses up to 100kg of equipment from a warehouse en route to Siberia.  Clothing.  Tools.  Weapons.  Whatever they feel they need to survive.  Each entrant also gets a satellite-linked panic button.  That comes in handy when they encounter the hungry wolves and bears in the region – assuming the production crew can get to them fast enough.

With a particular nod to “The Hunger Games”, G2W will be televised 24/7.  Oh, and the contestants can do anything they feel is necessary to win the game.  Anything.  The Russian government has gone on record to say players will be prosecuted for crimes (i.e. murder, rape, physical violence), and the producers say they won’t interrupt such activities.  2,000 cameras have been strategically located to capture the “entertainment”.

Games2: Winter premieres this July.  The extremes of Siberia (100 degrees in the summer, -40 in the winter), the lack of adequate food/shelter, and the resident wildlife make you wonder if anyone will survive, let alone commit a crime along the way.  But apparently the $1.6 million prize is worth the risk in Russia.  G2W has a lengthy waiting list for its thirty contestants.  To them I say: I hope one of you will outwit, outplay, and ultimately outlast the others.  I certainly hope it doesn’t take nine months, nor something worthy of prison time.  May the odds be ever in your favor, even if I know they won’t be in Siberia.

Some content sourced from Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.