40-Under-40 Galas Are Nice. But Who's Lining Up Chairs For 100-Under-100 Events?

Can you believe Harlequin Cat has been invited to NINE 40-under-40 leadership galas? And it’s not even February yet.

I just hope I don’t get invited to a 5-under-5 gala, although I bet the speeches would be short and sweet – maybe just a few words like “Thanks" or “I wanna go home.” Cupcake centerpieces would grace every table and everyone would marvel over the mac and cheese.

But back to my 40-under-40 invitations. They all pretty much read the same: “Meet business’s hottest young stars under 40. They’re value creators, dynamics leaders and agents of change.”

Recognition of these individuals inspires others, of course. It also builds readership for national business magazines and hundreds of local business journals (translation: advertising dollars).

Not knocking our future ­­­whatever-under-whatever leaders. But what happened to 60-under-60 invites? Or 70-under-70? Or do leadership skills fade at age 41?

Two years ago, the University of West Indies celebrated its 60^th anniversary by honoring 60-under-60 individuals who “support the competitiveness of our society, as well as the humanitarian dimension, to ensure that the care of the most vulnerable in our society, and in the world, are not ignored by the rich and powerful.”

Now that’s nice. Experience counts for something.

I’m thinking it’s time someone throws a 100-under-100 gala.

And I’m not talking about 100 items for $100 or less at Target.

I’m talking about a gala for value creators, dynamic leaders and agents of change.

Some Brand Pairings Make You Go Gaga.

Harlequin Cat was intrigued by Polaroid’s announcement that it has hired Lady Gaga as its creative director for a new product line coming out in late 2010.

After all, a pop superstar bringing instant cameras “into the future” is one of those brilliant ideas that makes you think, “Dang, that's so obvious! Why didn’t they think of that sooner?”

So I offer these other celebrity/brand pairings:

Taylor Swift: BONIVA (sorry, Sally Field)

Ellen DeGeneres: Caterpillar

Willie Nelson: Louis Vuitton

Donald Trump: Volkswagen

Jillan Michaels: Pizza Hut

Terry Bradshaw: Cover Girl

Tiger Woods: Not going there.

Harlequin Cat welcomes additions...

So Do Ya Think It'll Be Another Crappy Year?

Don’t mean to change the subject so drastically from my last blog entry, but last night I watched Fergie singing on Dick Clark’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve, thinking I’d wake up and embrace the first day of 2010 in a glorious, fresh-start mood.

So much for good intentions. My morning paper says the stock market is as soft as a shriveled avocado and home foreclosures look as sticky as an upside-down pineapple cake.

Guess that makes the 5.8 million Americans who've been out of work for six months a giant congealed salad of sorts -- all cold and wobbly and plopped out on the street with a giant suction sound.

So moving on to our seagull gabfest:

“Think it'll be another crappy year?”

“Since when hasn’t it been? Suppose it depends on your perspective.”

Birders Identify New Species: The Joysparkler

Joysparkler

(Field identification: Laetitia scintilla)

An uncommon open-country bird,

the Joysparkler perches on treetops

and strongly resembles a

glitter-encrusted ornament.

Watch for purple iridescence

on head and top of wings.

Call is a single melodious note;

in flight a long, whispery p-e-a-c-e

with a trill at the end.

May peace and love surround you

this holiday season -

Harlequin Cat

Two Dogs Twittering In A Blizzard.

Dog One: “How many Twitter characters do I get? 140? That’s woof or ruff 35 times. Woof that. It’s cold out here.”

Dog Two: “So Twitter about it. Only don’t woof it in your own words. Look up a weatherman or weatherwoman and add their link to your Tweet. Or you can Retweet their Tweet. It will make you look smart.”

Dog One: “I don’t need a weatherperson to make me look smart. My mouth’s stuffed with snow. I can’t feel my paws. My collar’s frozen to my neck. Fourteen whiskers have broken off. I can woof for myself, thank you very much. It's COLD.”

Dog Two: “That’s 185 characters.”

Dog One: “Woof woof into infinity.”

Dog Two: “But more people will follow you. You want friends, don’t you?”

Dog One: “I AM the friend, brother. I am the friend.”

Checkmate: Tornado Loses.

One of the few times CEO Roger Rienstra lost a chess game was when his opponent was an F3 tornado.

OK, Harlequin Cat will accept that as an excuse.

Seriously, an evening tornado hit his Fort Worth advertising agency on March 28, 2000, and Roger, who would be diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor two years later, walked in the next day to see his game interrupted.

Really interrupted.

That’s when he reminded one of his alarmed colleagues of the inscription he wrote in the Forbes Scrapbook of Thoughts On The Business of Life book he had given her a couple of years back.

“My own thoughts on the business of life is that it works out best where you care enough about everything, but not too much about anything.”

Cool enough. His chess game was just a chess game.

Kind of.

Seven years after his death, his handwritten words still ring true, especially as marketing and branding experts espouse "innovative game strategies" for 2010.

Sometimes You Just Have To Pause.

By Harlequin Cat’s estimate, the hummingbird must have been trapped inside the garage for at least five hours. No telling how it got there, but it did, and after flying frantically from aluminum ladders to rented pegboards, it finally landed on a dusty shelf next to a bottle of SUPERthrive.

For those of you who don’t know, SUPERthrive is touted as the unchallenged “World Champion” vitamin-hormone mix used to plant, grow and revive things. “Science miracles” are in each and every drop, and it promises "EXTRA LIFE" in all-cap letters.

And may I say, SUPERthrive is the best-smelling thing in the whole wide world.

I digress, but only to say that the little bottle must have been a good-luck charm. After commandeering a butterfly net and leaping over cans and boxes, the homeowners finally captured the trembling bird. It was so tired that it allowed itself to be held and misted with – no, not SuperThrive – but with a few tiny droplets of water.

After a minute or two, just when the homeowners had given up hope, the exhausted but fearless hummingbird gathered itself up and speeded away, sunlight flickering off its iridescent feathers, the air currents lifting it to whatever faraway kingdom it came from.

OK, you can go back to your Twittering and Retweets now.