1.30.15 Gategate

It’s time we declare, “Gategate.”

It’s been a long time coming. It started, of course, with the very famous scandal with the very silly name. When Republican operatives were caught breaking into Democratic headquarters, the resulting investigation was nicknamed for the complex where the incident occurred, “Watergate.” Now, that complex had only recently opened on the Potomac waterfront to a very poor critical reception, and the origin of its name is disputed. “Watergate” refers to either 1) a formal staircase built into the Potomac riverside to welcome foreign dignitaries arriving by water taxi (in an area of Washington called “Foggy Bottom”), or 2) for the opening lock to the nearby Chesapeake and Ohio Canal (once known as “The Grand Old Ditch”). Now, if you ask me, both Foggy Bottom and Grand Old Ditch would make truly great names for a political scandal involving a Republican president, but no, once the investigation of the Watergate Hotel became news, we were stuck with the mundane, “Watergate.”

Almost as soon as President Nixon resigned in August of 1974, the etymological vamping of Watergate began. In September of 1974, former Nixon speechwriter and New York Time columnist William Safire coined the term, “Vietgate” in reference to a proposed pardon of Viet Nam era draft dodgers. He later referred to President Carter’s troubles with his brother as “Billygate.” Safire created a blizzard of scandalous “-gates,” and would later admit he may have been “seeking to minimize the relative importance of the crimes committed by his former boss with this silliness.”

It worked and the pattern was set. In the years that followed, seemingly every scandal of any size was given the -gate. We’ve seen scandals involving office misbehavior (Filegate), babysitters (Nannygate), shoddy journalism (Rathergate), inappropriate selfies (Weinergate), and even a traffic jam possibly created by an overweight, arrogant, obnoxious, self-involved fan of the Dallas Cowboys (Bridgegate). The practice is so common that today the Oxford English Dictionary defines “-gate” as a “suffix denoting an actual or alleged scandal, especially one that involves a cover up.” But the ironic overuse of the term (Nipplegate?) has achieved exactly what William Safire intended: a minimization of the importance of the “scandal” being referenced.

It’s time we show “-gate” to the gate. It doesn’t matter whether it rhymes; “Deflategate” is just too easy and is an awful name for an incident that may affect the outcome of the Super Bowl.

We need to get back to truly awesome names for truly important incidents: “The Whisky Ring,” “Berlusconi Bunga Bunga,” “Chappaquiddick,” “Iran-Contra,” “Doping,” Abu-Ghraib,” “Black Sox.”

And don’t forget the granddaddy of them all: “Teapot Dome.”

Now THAT’S how to brand an imbroglio!

1.23.15 Tracking Back

In late December 1974, a music store owner in Minneapolis named Chris Weber got a phone call. A friend of his wanted to know if Weber could round up some local musicians and book a recording studio, so that the friend’s brother could record a few songs. Without much to go on, Weber chose some jazz players who he knew could play just about anything. He gathered this impromptu band at a place in town called Sound80. They were just getting settled when Bob Dylan walked in.

He was the most famous musician in the world, and he was under pressure. He hadn’t had a hit record in several years. He had just finished a grueling tour. He had recently switched record labels. With expectations for a new album impossibly high, Dylan had been recording with a top-flight producer at CBS Studios in New York, with some of the best musicians in the business. But the sessions had been difficult, and the rumors were flying: Dylan was off his game; the material was depressing; the producer was a control freak; the musicians were unhappy.

Somehow, they had gotten it done. Ten new songs had been recorded, and the new Bob Dylan album was headed for production in time for a Christmas release date. That is, until Dylan headed home to Minnesota for the holidays, had a change of heart, and decided to scrap half of it.

When Dylan arrived at Sound80, there was hardly time for everyone to get acquainted. Dylan taught five songs to Weber, who quickly ran the band through them. And then – so the legend goes – everybody just stepped up to their microphones and kinda winged it.

On the night of December 27, they recorded two songs: “Idiot Wind,” a brutal account of love gone horribly wrong, and “You’re a Big Girl Now,” an epic tribute to self-pity. In a second session on December 30, they tore through all sixteen verses of “Lily, Rosemary and the Jack of Hearts,” recorded the heartbreaking, “If You See Her Say Hello,” and then nailed Dylan’s magnum opus, “Tangled Up in Blue.”

These five songs were sent off to New York. Columbia Records swapped out the versions previously recorded, re-mastered the album, and immediately went to press. And forty years ago this week, on January 20, 1975, Bob Dylan’s “Blood on the Tracks,” hit record shelves. It was an instant classic, an emotional thunderbolt and perhaps the finest album of Dylan’s career. One reviewer called it, “the truest, most honest account of a love affair from tip to stern ever put down on magnetic tape.”

But here’s the thing: when the album was re-mastered at the last minute, the album jackets had already been printed. So the packaging and the liner notes include the New York personnel, but not the Minneapolis musicians. And that’s how five of the best songs on one of the most definitive albums in rock history remain…uncredited.

What a bummer. But one that can be rectified. Here they are, the unknown impromptu band that have been tearing at your heartstrings for the last forty years:

Bill Berg – Drums

Gregg Inhofer – Keyboards

Kevin Odegard – Guitar

Peter Ostroushko – Mandolin

Billy Peterson – Bass

Chris Weber – Guitar

Paul Martinson – Engineer

Bravo, gentlemen.

1.16.15 OMMG

OMMG! As in, “Oh My Messenger God!”

Maybe you’ve already heard. About a celestial body who is hot, fast and magnetic. He’s emotional and moody, ranging from -280 to +800 degrees every single day. And, most importantly, he is erratic, moving oddly about in the sky, drawing an orbit shaped like flower petals.

To the ancients, this was pretty impressive stuff, so they concluded this guy must be up to something. The Greeks revered his speed, so he became an icon synonymous with athletics. He also moved independently throughout the sky, so they concluded he must be a messenger. His talent for disappearing and reappearing suddenly meant he must know the paths to the underworld; perhaps he was guiding souls to the afterlife. From there he became equated with transitions and boundaries, and became the patron of travelers and herdsmen. His name may come from the Greek word for “cairn,” a rock pile that lines a route or denotes a border. That word is Hermes.

The Romans were much more practical people, so they spun Hermes into something more commercial. His ability to move fast, cross borders, deliver messages and persuade others meant that he must have a powerful impact on business. And the Latin word for commerce is “merx,” – which we still see today in words like “merchandise” and the word for the middle of the work week, Wednesday, which in French is “mercredi” and in Spanish is “miercoles” – so the Romans renamed him Mercury.

And if you’ve heard all this, perhaps you’ve also heard that next week, this guy is gonna go all trickster on us. Yep, starting on January 21 at 10:54AM, and for the next three weeks, the messenger god will appear to move backwards across the sky. And, as the astrologers will tell you, this retrograde motion will result in nothing less than widespread technological disruption, communication breakdowns, and mass hysteria. Back up your computer now, it will be worthless starting next Wednesday. Expect misunderstandings, missed connections, and international conflict. And please, don’t make any agreements or sign any contracts, or the cosmos will punish you. You’ve been warned.

But then again, hold on, wait just one moment. There’s something else the astrologers are telling us. This isn’t just a time of misbehavior, it’s a time of crossing over. The messenger god is moving from his rational, commercial self to something more creative. From left brain to right brain. “Mercury in retrograde” is a time for powerful reflection and taking stock of where you’ve been. A time of powerful intuition and figuring out just where you’d like to go next. And most importantly, it’s a time to get ready.

Yup, the commercial messenger god, the master of boundaries, is about to get funky. Commerce and creativity are about to comingle. Which makes “Mercury in retrograde,” the best time to remake your messages.

So now you’ve heard: the universe is telling you to go get a good marketing firm.

(And to that end we’d also remind you that Mercury also goes by another name…)

It’s written in the stars. You need an ad agency called quickSilver.

1.9.15 Kick-Start

As we kick-start 2015, we give some thought to how folks kick-start their day.

Almost five thousand years ago, a Chinese emperor named Shennong found a better way to wake up. He realized that if you dunk tea leaves in hot water, the resulting brew proved to be a great way to start the day. The practice spread throughout China, and it wasn’t long before the world found out. Soon tea was being traded regionally, with bricks of tea being used as a form of currency. Over time, China became almost synonymous with tea, and went on to become the world’s preeminent tea grower. Today China produces almost a million metric tons per year.

Next came coffee, heathen punk. It was discovered in Ethiopia in 600 AD, just as Islam was spreading throughout the Middle East. The plants didn’t grow well in Europe, so of course the Christians demonized coffee, and continued to do so for a thousand years. But, as soon as the Spaniards realized they could grow coffee themselves in the New World, they had a change of heart. Around 1600, Pope Clement VIII blessed the stuff.  Suddenly, coffee was hot. It soon overtook tea as the western world’s jolt of choice. Today, Brazil holds the title of “The Caffeineator” thanks to its yearly output of six billion beans worth of beans.

But we were still yawning. So in 1962, a Thai businessman developed a drink called “Krating Daeng,” which was co-opted in 1984 by an Austrian named Dietrich Mateschitz, who translated the name into “Red Bull.” Loaded with taurine – an amino acid found in ox bile – as well as buckets of sugar, a week’s worth of B vitamins, carbohydrates and caffeine, Red Bull is a real eye opener. Even the packaging is hyperbolic, claiming that Red Bull “improves performance, increases concentration and reaction speed, increases endurance and stimulates metabolism.” This must be true, because millions of adolescents are slurping the stuff by the gallon. Red Bull sales will easily top $7B this year.

Now it seems that the only people still sleeping are the US Food and Drug Administration. Outside America, selling bovine stomach acid to minors seems suspicious. Red Bull is being investigated by the Swedish National Food Administration after being linked to the death of three consumers. Red Bull marketing is restricted in Denmark, Norway, France and Iceland. The Brits won’t sell it anyone under 16, and the Finns will sell you only one can per day. But here in the U.S., you can sell and drink all you want, with no age restrictions.

We were intrigued. We were tired. We swigged a can an hour ago.

Would we have another? Not for all the tea in China.

12.19.24 Reindeer Magic

When you see a white-tailed deer, you can easily distinguish between a male and a female: the buck has antlers and the doe does not.

But another member of the deer family, the caribou, is harder to figure. BOTH sexes grow antlers, but they shed them at different times. The males lose their antlers in the early winter, by mid-December, while the females keep theirs until spring. This is pretty unique; only one other member of the deer family shares this  trait. It’s a cousin of the caribou that lives in the northern stretches of Eurasia and North America, stands about three and a half feet tall, weighs 300 pounds, and runs about 15 miles an hour. Nine of them have been known to fly.

Let’s put all that together and state it more plainly: If you see a reindeer on your roof in late December, and it has antlers on its head…it’s a girl.

Yup, Santa’s got an all-doe team working for him! Now, you could have expected Dasher, Dancer, Prancer and Vixen to be ladies, but Comet, Cupid, Donner (which means “Thunder” in German), and Blitzen (“Lighting”)? Pretty macho names for she-deer.

Some cynics might argue that Santa’s team might be younger bull reindeer; they tend to keep their antlers later into the winter, sometimes as late as December 24. However, our knowledge of the reindeer goes back a long way; they must be at least 100 years old. Another possibility is that, in some parts of world, folks don’t use reindeer bulls to pull their sleds, they use steers. And steers keep their antlers similar to does. But in order to create a team of reindeer steers, Santa would have to…oh, no, he wouldn’t!

Now, let’s consider the case of Rudolph. There’s no doubt that the other reindeer, “used to laugh and call HIM names.” And in the famous animated version he ends up married to Clarice and having kids of his own. So you gotta conclude he’s a guy. On the other hand, he has a luminescent nose – and hangs out with a dentist, a prospector, and the Abominable Snowman – so maybe the normal rules don’t apply to him.

And, if you take that a step further, since all of Santa’s reindeer are clearly magical, perhaps the “normal” rules don’t apply to them either.

Maybe therein lies the moral. It’s all part of the allegory. Perhaps it doesn’t matter whether you’re a buck or a doe. Whether you were born that way or were, um, altered.

Perhaps the message is, no matter who we are or appear to be, we are all equally capable of magic.

As the big elf himself says, “Happy Christmas to ALL, and to ALL a good night.”

 

12.12.14 Spirit of the Season

Here’s one way to find the spirit of the season.

To get to the magical spot, you’ve got to travel a very long way, walk through wooded hills and past a crystal clear lake. Step into a building which has been in use since 1923. Move through a huge cellar, where some 2000 barrels, specially crafted of Spanish oak and previously used for storing sherry, are slowly aging the product. Finally, you arrive at the tasting room. A bartender artfully carves an ice cube the shape and size of a baseball and places it in a glass. And pours over it a serving of golden liquor. You take a sip, and are immediately overwhelmed by a taste that has been described as “near indescribable genius.”

You just enjoyed the finest whisky in the world, which was just chosen by the world’s most prominent critic, Jim Murray, in his Whisky Bible 2015.

But here’s the thing. You’re not in Scotland. Or Canada. Or Kentucky.

You are in Japan. That’s right, the finest whisky on Earth is being created in a distillery just outside Kyoto. It’s Yamazaki’s Single Malt Sherry Cask 2013, which is created by chief blender Shinji Fukuyo. He’s been honing his craft here since the 1980’s, when globe-trotting Japanese executives first acquired a taste for whisky. And he claims his whisky gets its character from a combination of the local water, which has an incredible mineral softness, and hot summers which make for a complex, deep aroma. But whether it’s the water, the weather, those sherry casks or Fukuyo’s talent, Yamazaki beat out over 1000 other distillers to become Japan’s first-ever whisky champion.

And what do they think of this back in the home of whisky? Well, not only did Scotland not win this year’s competition, they didn’t even make the top 5. The second and third place finishers came from the same distiller, Buffalo Trace, out of Kentucky. And there are award-winners from such places as New Zealand and Taiwan. It’s a dizzying diversification of distilling.

So, perhaps not coincidentally, the news recently featured another story, out of a small Scottish town called Dreghorn. Here a local craft brewer called Arran has been making award-winning beers for over a decade. And they’ve never distilled whisky. But lately they’ve been importing some unique equipment from Japan, and making sizeable purchases of rice.

They’ve just applied for approval to become Scotland’s first brewer of sake.

12.5.14 Lot of Hope

Times have been tough lately.

But stop for a moment and consider what life must have been like in, say, 1931. At that time, the country was two years into the Great Depression, and it would be another two years before there would be any sign of recovery. Approximately 25% of all working-age people were without jobs, and would remain unemployed for years. Throughout the country, one-third of all farmers had lost their homes, their lands, or their lives. And in the cities, the epicenter of the pain was the construction industry; almost no new building projects had been started since the crash of ’29.

In New York City, on Christmas Eve, a group of men had gathered in an empty lot at the intersection of 6th Avenue and 50th Street. They were a desperate-looking bunch, dressed in ragged overalls and tattered hats which barely kept them warm. They could easily have been mistaken for hobos or vagabonds. But, incongruously, they weren’t milling about hopelessly; they were ordered in a line that led up to a wooden box. Stranger still, behind that box stood a few more men, dressed in suits and ties. As each of the desperate men stepped up to the box, he was greeted with a handshake. And handed a piece of paper that must have seemed like a miracle.

These men were the lucky ones, the few that actually had something to celebrate. That’s because, two years earlier, this site had been chosen to be the home for a new Metropolitan Opera House. A development syndicate had leased the property from Columbia University, and had almost begun construction. But then the market crashed, and all of their plans, and indeed the syndicate itself, were destroyed. And that would have been the end of the story, had it not been for one of the investor’s refusal to quit. John D. Rockefeller, Jr. took another look at the site, and drew up a new plan for developing a commercial complex that would include 14 buildings spread over 8 acres. It was an audacious project, which no banks or investors would support. Undeterred, Rockefeller decided to fund the entire thing himself. It would cost over $250MM and turn out to be the largest private development in modern times.

Work began slowly in 1930. By 1931, much of the demolition had taken place and new construction was ready to begin. And so it was, on Christmas Eve, 1931, that this empty lot was actually a sign of hope. The men that had gathered weren’t there for a handout, they had come to pick up a paycheck. And to celebrate such rare good fortune, someone had rounded up a 30-foot tall balsam tree and set it up in the empty lot. To decorate it, the men fabricated some garlands out of paper and tin cans.

Miraculously, the moment was captured in a photograph.

It’s all there. The empty lot. The desperate times. The ragged men. The wooden box.

And standing beside them – a symbol of hope, and a harbinger of the great prosperity that would one day come – the first Christmas Tree in Rockefeller Center.

11.28.14 The Black Offer

(What self-respecting marketing guy could resist? And so, in the spirit of the season…)

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*Offer valid from 5:59 AM to 6:00 AM EST, November 28, 2014. Limit one per customer. Good while supplies last at participating restaurants. Not valid when combined with any other offer, especially any other offer of greater value. Offer should not be used by women who are pregnant, or may become pregnant. Ask your doctor before taking advantage of this offer, or any offer, and seek emergency medical attention if your desire for marketing is painful or lasts longer than 4 hours. This offer has not been evaluated by the Food and Drug Administration, and is not intended to diagnose, treat, cure, or prevent any disease. Offer not available in all states. This offer is sold by weight, not volume; some settling of contents may have occurred during shipment and handling. Offer takes place rain or shine, no refunds, substitutions or cancellations. When you take advantage of this offer, we collect personally identifiable information about you that we share and monetize with our partners. Requires 30-month, 24-month, or 20-month 0% APR installment agreement and qualifying credit. Tags, title, administration fees, destination fees, and license fees not included in price; see dealer for complete details. Respondents are entitled to one (1) carry-on bag plus one (1) personal bag; additional bags must be checked for an additional fee. If you’re not completely satisfied, you may cancel at any time within 30 days and return the offer to us; just pay separate processing and shipping charges. Shipping charges are estimated and will be calculated and added when your order is processed. The term, “complimentary” is a registered trademark of quickSilver, which is solely responsible for the interpretation of this offer’s content. Offer not valid to former, current or future customers or prospects of quickSilver. Offer definitely not valid to friends and family of quickSilver.  Offer details subject to change at any time without prior written notice.

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11.14.14 MSG, Wrong By Three

This is the odd history of the famous thing with the name that’s wrong, three times over.

The story begins pretty dreadfully, in New York City in the 1700’s. At the north end of the city, there is a swamp which is being used as a potter’s field. As the city grows and develops, the swamp is drained to make room for a military barracks and a home for juvenile delinquents. When the home burns down in 1839, it is replaced by a roadhouse which serves as the last stop in the city for folks travelling north. To give the place some cachet, the owner names the joint “Madison Cottage” after the former President (who ironically always hated New York). It only lasts until 1853, when it is razed to make room for a hotel, but by that point the area has become synonymous with the roadhouse. And so we get – quite indirectly – today’s “Madison Avenue,” and along its length from 23^rd to 26^th Streets, “Madison Square Park.”

As the city grows and expands northward, the area is redeveloped. In 1871, a large train depot at the north end of the park is abandoned when Grand Central Station opens. Seeing an opportunity, an entertainment entrepreneur named P.T. Barnum leases the depot from Cornelius Vanderbilt, and transforms it into an open-air “hippodrome” for circus performances. It is then sublet – for only 2 years – to a concert promoter, who fills the place with fountains and flowers and renames it “Gilmore’s Concert Garden.” And later it serves as a communal meeting place for political events, boxing matches, and, famously, the site of the first Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show, in 1877. And, somewhere along the way, it becomes known as “The Garden.”

In 1890, the drafty old building is purchased by a consortium that includes Barnum, J.P. Morgan, Andrew Carnegie, and W.W. Astor. They then hire the most famous architect of the day, Stanford White, to design a replacement. And he comes up with a colossus that features the largest main hall in the world, a concert hall, seating for 8000, the largest restaurant in the city, and a roof garden cabaret. Though it is designed in Beaux Arts style, it is has a Moorish feel and a bell tower modelled after the minaret of the Cathedral of Seville, atop of which is an 18-foot sculpture of Diana, which turns in the wind 32 stories above the ground. The structure is a modern marvel and the second-tallest building in New York, but – as you might expect in such a twisted tale – becomes best known for a murder, which occurs in 1906, when Henry Kendall Thaw shoots Stanford White in the rooftop restaurant for having an affair with his wife.

The rest of the story is almost an afterthought. In 1925, the famous building is torn down to make room for the New York Life building. The venue is moved away from Madison Square, one the city’s swankiest neighborhoods, to Hell’s Kitchen. Here a boxing venue is built, with seating for 18,000, but other sporting events are held here. In 1968, it is replaced by a fourth incarnation, which is built, ironically, atop a railroad station. Today, as you stand outside and look at it, you immediately see its defining aspect: it’s round.

It’s a roadhouse, born in a swampy cemetery fit only for soldiers and criminals. Transformed by a showman and multiple millionaires. Four times built, three times destroyed. Witness to the crime of the century. Home to politicians, purebreds, pugilists and power forwards.

It’s not named for James Madison. It’s not Square. It’s not a Garden. But it endures. Madison Square Garden, the world’s most famous arena.

11.7.14 Congressional Calculations

“What do you get when put 100 women in Congress?”

No, it’s not the first line of a joke, but a reference to the mid-term elections. Given the results of Tuesday night, the number of women in the House will increase to 80 and the number in the Senate will increase to 20. Which means that, when the 114th Congress begins on January 3rd, it will be the first in U.S. history with 100 women. Compare that to just 30 years ago, when there were only 25 women in Congress. In addition, the 114th will feature the first black woman Republican (Representative Mia Love of Utah), and the youngest-ever woman (30-year-old Elise Stefanik, Representative from New York). Pretty impressive stuff.

Which raises a question: how well are various demographic groups represented in Congress? Well, if you assume that the House and Senate are equal in value, and you do a little research and number crunching, you can calculate what we call the CRI, or “Congressional Representation Index,” for any group. For example, Asian Americans now hold 13 House seats (out of 435 total) and 2 Senate seats (out of 100), which equals 3% of the House and 2% of the Senate, for a total of 2.5% of the total Congress. Seems pretty low. But when you factor in that Asians are only 5% of the total U.S. population, you realize they hold exactly half the seats they should (2.5% v. 5%), which means Asians get a .50 CRI. Other groups have it worse. For African Americans (13% of population), there are 43 Representatives (10%) and 2 Senators (2%), for a .46 CRI. For Hispanics (16% of population), 35 Representatives (7%) and 3 Senators (3%), yields a paltry .35 CRI. And, worst of all, Native Americans are only 1% of the U.S. population, and they have only 1 Representative and no Senators, giving them a .11 CRI.

Meanwhile, on the other end of the spectrum, there’s this: 343 Representatives are White, as are 93 Senators. Which gives Whites control of 86% of Congress. And, since they are 65% of the U.S. population, Whites enjoy a CRI of 1.32.

Taken all together, it means the following, math-o-demo-graphically speaking: 2/3 of Americans (White) are way overrepresented in Congress, while 1/3 (Non-White) of Americans get only half, or much worse, of the representation that they should.

And finally, what does it mean, math-o-gender-graphically speaking? Well, to answer the question we started with, 80 Representatives and 20 Senators equates to 19% of Congress. And Women are 51% of the population. So when you put 100 women in Congress, you get a CRI for Women of just .37.

Versus a CRI for Men of…1.65.

Look at it again: .37 versus 1.65. Representationally speaking, each Man in America is 4.5 times more influential than each Woman.

See? It’s not a joke. It’s just math, and it’s not very funny.