An Entrepreneur Who Cuts The Mustard

I think I just made a wrong turn. I’m floating over a field watching a carnival wake up and get things ready for the day. At least I’ve found the fish and chips stand, so I’m happy.

I’m even happier to meet the successful entrepreneurial owner who doesn’t think he’s an entrepreneur. His "start-up" is a propane tank (actually two of them, one a little rusty). His "angel investor" is his uncle. His "bizmeth" is being friendly to customers and making sure he has enough dollar bills to make change.

And he has his own thoughts on how to "build buzz." He pops a beer.

Compare that to entrepreneurs who "drill down," "deep dive" and hold "skull sessions" to contemplate the “notion” of a new business concept.

You know, I just have to think that some humans are awestruck by entrepreneurs. Maybe even intimidated by them.

Just the other day I overheard a human bragging, “I’m having lunch with an entrepreneur today.”

Well, so am I. I smell fish frying. Saturday is National Mustard Day, by the way.

Food Fight

I love seagulls. Their feathers. Their smiles. The way they want to play chase.

I was studying them on Longboat Key the other day, and I’m convinced they’re related to humans.

Both species are resourceful and curious.

Both capture live food or scavenge opportunistically.

Both practice civility up to a point. If you toss a French fry in the air, you can forget about it.

When It Isn't Water Under The Bridge

Some things you can’t forget. Forgive, yes. But not forget. As most of us know by now, the recent encounter between Harvard Professor Henry Louis Gates and Sergeant James Crowley sparked national debate over the possibility of racial profiling.

I agree with The New York Times’ take on it: Maybe the real reason things blew up is because neither man got the response and respect he expected from the other.

That’s why I didn't mention in my first paragraph that Gates is black and Crowley is white. Can Harlequin Cat go out on a limb here and say the real issue is about civility?

Yes, I think I can, as long as no one forgets the quick assumptions made that July summer day on the porch of a yellow house in Cambridge -- assumptions made not just by those who were there, but by so many of us watching as well.

Twittering Big-Bird Style

A friend convinced me I should be twittering during my astral flights, and I thought: Great idea! My blog centers on human socialization skills, so joining a “free social messaging utility for staying connected in real time “ seemed right up my cat alley.

After all, I’ve always admired that cute little bird Twitter uses. Anything bird gets my feline heart racing. So I took a deep kitty breath and signed up. Truthfully, I was a little nervous. I’m not fond of being a follower unless rodents or anoles are involved. But to have a following? I could get real used to that. I’ve only had two followers in my life, and they both still need extensive training on when to dispense snackies to fit my schedule.

Anyway, it was pounce time – time to get the tweeting started! But I immediately felt like a fish out of water.

I felt like a giant egret trying to take out a school of baitfish.

Who are all these people? Where did they all come from? Do they all really have something to say? I mean, as soon as I signed up, I had to block nine followers with creepy names. Are people really that lonely? Or that curious? They don’t even know me. But on the upside, I was snatching up Twitterers like a cat at a half-price Brie de Meaux sale. Wall Street Journal, Carly Simon, Tina Fey, President Obama, NPR News - so many enticing choices!

I may have to go on a Twitter diet after this.

This is way too interesting to bail out. It reminds me of passing notes in kittengarten when Mrs. Burmese wasn’t looking, hoping we wouldn’t get caught. And when she did catch us, she’d “block” our messages by wadding them up and throwing them in the litter basket.

Now all we do is push a button. If we want to.

Germy Squirmy

TripAdvisor just came out with the five germiest places in the world and I am so searching for my paw sanitizer. Yes, even though I travel on astral flights, I have to think about germs lurking in the non-physical realm of existence, not just the kind mutating on toilet seats.

I thank my lucky whiskers I haven’t flown to the Furry-Fungus Five:

1. Blarney Stone, Blarney, Ireland

2. Wall of Gum, Seattle, Washington

3. Oscar Wilde’s Tomb, Paris, France

4. St. Mark’s Square, Venice Italy,

5. Grauman’s Chinese Theater, Hollywood, CA

And to think I almost scheduled a flight to St. Mark’s Square. Napoleon Bonaparte described it as the most beautiful dining room in Europe, and right he was. It’s blanketed with pigeons. Harlequin Cat had visions of an all-you-can eat pigeon gorge polished off by bubbly fountain water,

But pigeon poo? I don’t think so. As a sanitized-card-carrying germ phobe, I offer my own list of the five germiest places in the world:

1. Food buffet lines: Can you say spoon handle?

2. Doorknobs: These should be outlawed, even the antique glass kind.

3. Credit-card swipers with punch buttons: Just think about it. And think about the pen-on-a-string you use to sign your credit-card slip.

4. Airplanes: Nothing worse than feeling (and smelling) warm, exhaled passenger breath on the back of your neck.

5. Malls: I’m sure the children’s petri-dish play areas – aka “kid fun zones” -- are sanitized daily, right?

Sigh. No matter if humans are left- or right-membraned, their socialization skills will always be infectious. Don’t hold your breath thinking things will change.

On second thought, maybe you should.

Think Peaceful Thoughts. It's Just A Nest Egg.

I’ve just landed in the middle of a TV studio and can’t believe what I’m hearing. A financial guru is pacing the stage, exhorting audience members to live in the moment. Forget about plummeting home values, she says. It’s just a phase. Forget about vanishing savings accounts. Forget about being laid off.

Forget how you’re going to get by.

All that matters is now. Today. This moment.

The past is past, baby.

Thin applause. A middle-aged man stands and talks about his hard-earned money being lost in the wind while corporations and banks made out like bandits. Yes, he believes things will eventually right themselves. But his hard-earned money. The money for his retirement.

It's almost gone.

Everyone on the set looks uncertain now. Even the talk-show host, who stares vacantly into the camera.

Harlequin Cat appreciates Guru’s focus-on-the-future message. People shouldn’t regret what they’ve done or haven’t done to avoid financial disaster. They should move forward. And yes, they should think about what they “have.”

But that’s probably not a good argument to use with families living out of their cars or cashing in their 401K accounts.

When Guru dropped to her knees to repeat that the past is past (which looked so desperate, not to mention she’ll have to get those slacks dry-cleaned), I found myself thinking about George Santayana’s remark: “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.”

I also found myself wondering how much Guru got paid for appearing on the show and what kind of car she drove home.

But maybe she took a limo.

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Deft And Blind

Today I landed in the middle of a Dunkin’ Donuts and overheard two customers complaining about their high health-insurance premiums. “I’ve been re-rated again,” says Bald Man, waving a coffee-stained letter in the air. “Exact same form letter I get every six months. Nothin’ ever changes except for the little space to drop in the new amount. No muss, no fuss, no face-to-face accountability. So I wrote ‘em this time. Emailed the CEO himself.”

“Did you have surgery or somethin’ this year?” his friend asked, reaching for his fourth Bavarian Kreme. “Everyone knows you get screwed if you make a claim.”

“Hell, no, “ Bald Man said. “Went in only one time for a sore throat. Listen to what they wrote back. It’s personally stamped by the Compliance Consultant of Regulatory Affairs.”

Dear Mr. Bald Man:

I am sorry you were not pleased with our impersonal re-rate notification and am glad you expressed your concern. We do value your business and your opinion. This enables us to look at areas in which improvement is necessary. From time to time we do modify our re-rate notifications. For instance, you’ll see that the signature on this notification is stamped with my new married name.

While we understand no one likes rate increases, I would like to explain yours in greater detail. Your plan has received two types of rate adjustments, an age adjustment and a standard increase. Neither is based on your own personal claims history, although I did see you had a sore throat back in January. You know, something you might want to try in the future is a self-examination. If you do this early enough, you can buy some fruity cough drops and avoid those pesky co-pays. And so can we.

We must treat you the same as any other insured. We cannot reduce your premiums. We can only increase them. However, we do value your business and look forward to meeting your insurance needs and collecting your money. Tell you what. As a gesture of good will, I personally invite you to visit our website for a 5% discount on any over-the-counter generic multi-grain cough syrup. Enjoy!

OK, readers, I’ll admit I made up a few parts of the letter. But most of it is true. I should have ordered some glazed cream-filleds and joined in on Bald Man's conversation. But who wants to talk about insurance companies that are deft and blind?

Bananas Fluster

What a glorious day for an astral flight. I’m tucked inside a cup of wind watching motorists taffy-stretched down Sarasota’s Tamiami Trail. Say it with me: T-a-m-m-y A-m-m-y. A young driver below is waiting on red. She’s singing along with Lady Gaga and flicking her bleached, hot-ironed hair. Left. Right. Left, right, left. Her oily Revo sunglasses sparkle in the side mirror. The banana she’s tapping against the steering wheel almost looks plastic until she peels it down and chews. Her eyes focus on the tall palm trees. Their feather-shaped fronds are so much prettier than Tennessee kudzu. She wishes she had Florida license plates so she could pretend she’s a local. Mmmm. The banana hits the spot. The peel is biodegradable, right? She rolls down her window and tosses it out with nonchalant flair – the same practiced technique smokers use flicking their cigarette butts onto the beach and hoping no one will notice. Is the light ever going to change? She bites her nails and reminds herself to buy new iridescent polish.

Almost in sync with the music, a 40-ish woman in the next lane puts her truck in park and climbs out. She smoothes back her sun-kissed hair, adjusts the sandy shells in her pockets, and walks over to the banana peel. Looking both ways, she scoops it up, marches over to Gaga Girl and taps on the puckered gray window tint. She waggles the banana peel for her to see. Gaga Girl freezes, sweating the light change. Shell Woman turns away and walks back to her truck. She drops the freckled peel into a bag to dispose of later.

Gaga Girl exhales. She decides it’s a day for a Key Lime martini rimmed with graham-cracker crumbs and speeds over the Ringling Bridge to Tommy Bahama’s in St. Armands.

Shell Woman decides it’s a day for selective mutism. She drives home to rinse her shells.

And I decide I better hold on. My cup of wind is swirling northward.

Fireworks At the Crack Of Dawn

Today is July 4th and I've already kicked off the holiday with special fireworks of my own: vomitus eruptus on the kitchen floor (and I hadn't even read the morning paper yet). Speaking of, I didn't see much on the front page about independence unless you count Alaska Gov Sara Palin "stunning" the GOP with her decision to quit and do her own thing. Wonder if she's laying the groundwork for a presidential run or designing a new line of eyewear.

Personally, I find today's newspaper ads much more interesting, all five of them. Four scream out, "4th of July BLOW-OUT SALE," but the fifth one, "Star-Spangled Mattress Sale!" is my favorite. It's practical and patriotic, and you can't beat that. I will say that retailers sure are having a tough time; still, you'd think they'd focus on some low-hanging fruit, like honing their customer-service skills. But not at the super-store I visited yesterday. One oblivious shopper put her full, hand-carried grocery basket on the conveyor belt to be scanned, and I guess the checker was annoyed that she didn't unload the contents herself. So he picked up the basket, turned it completely upside down, and the canned chili-dog sauce, frozen Cornish hens and fruit all spilled out at once. Who knew raspberries could ricochet off a cash register with such lovely grace? The checker looked satisfied. He had just taught the shopper a valuable lesson: Unload your own damn basket.

Wishing you a July 4th filled with love and peace.

Where Am I?

Now this is interesting. I've just landed on all four feet in a blog no less. Guess I better explain my name first. I've been told my black-and-white markings make me look just like a Harlequin Great Dane (how eerie). Thus my name Harlequin Cat. Works out kind of nice, since I tend to see things in bluish hues of black and white. But this isn't about having more rods or cones in the ole retina department. It's about my cat counterpart going on astral flights to the White House, Wall Street, super-store chains, lingerie boutiques, coffee shops, social galas, hospitals, schools, beaches, shelters, public restrooms...wherever there's a congregation of human heroes, human jerks, jerk heroes or hero jerks. I can size them up, size them down...and still get my naps in between. A perfect job with only myself to report to. And I'm really lucky to know a great photographer who's agreed to join me on my journey and shoot images just for me.

I feel so independent! And how timely. July 4th is just two days away. Tomorrow I'm off to a super-store (the kind that sells hamburger and chain saws under one roof) to watch humans buy slabs of pork ribs and containers of congealed salad. Hopefully they read the chicken and arsenic story that ran in the New York Times two days ago.