For those of us who travel a lot, one of the many headaches is traveling with liquids.  Specifically, not being able to take your water bottle with you.

Water.

Very, very dangerous stuff.

In the TSA handbook it is potentially lethal.  And we’re not talking drowning.  Who knows what that colorless liquid could be?  A potential molotov cocktail.  Battery acid.  Ammonia, chlorine and other colorless liquid material that when shaken (not stirred) will blow the cabin to smithereens.

The result?  Each time you go through the TSA lines you pass mountains of perfectly good (and expensive) Aquafina, Dasani, and, Fiji … yes … Fiji … the water that traveled thousands of miles to reach a store shelf only to be jettisoned out of fear that it could explode in transit like some South Pacific volcano.

Well, the Chinese have the simplest and best answer to this nettlesome security problem.

You can only bring it if I see you drink it.

According to wire service reports, as part of security in Bejing, “commuters are being asked to take a swig from water bottles on the subway to ensure they do not contain suspicious substances.”

It’s the “take a swig” test.

You want to bring it?  Then let me see you drink it.

If you don’t choke, vomit, blow smoke, writhe in pain, or otherwise groan and complain like the fat guy in the Batman film Dark Knight … well then you get a free pass.

As the folks at Guiness would say … BRILLIANT!

[NOTE:  The Chinese also ban anyone from coming  to the Olympics who has “mental illness” or a “a sexually transmitted disease.”  There will be no streaking (a sign of mental illness) or waving of insulting signs (no worry … football is not an Olympic sport).]

I think China’s on to something.  They don’t let you get on a domestic plane with a lighter (we do) but you can go on board with a liquid as long as you are willing (and able) to drink it.

The TSA allows lighters, but not water.

That is, they make it easy for you to start a fire, but not to put one out.

Do you believe in evolution?  Survival of the fittest?

A big part of the theory of evolution is that over time we get better.  Or if not better we get stronger.  Or taller.  Or healthier.  Or better looking.  Or something that we could chalk up to “improvement.”  Indeed there are quite a few people who’d make that claim and quite a bit of evidence to support it.

While I think we’ve evolved, I personally, don’t see much improvement over the millenniums.  I think there’s a lot of evidence that we’re not much better than the alleged brutes that proceeded us.  You look around at all the stupidity, violence, and overall creepiness that infests society (and us!) and it is hard to see how this is progress.

I bring the history of humor to support my case.

According to Reuters, there earliest recorded joke could have come right from an elementary school yard.  And those close behind will hearken you back to locker-room humor.  Here, according to Reuters, the world’s first known joke was a saying among Sumerians (currently Iraq) went something like this …

“Something which has never occurred since time immemorial … a young woman did not fart in her husband’s lap.”

OK, I’m sure something got lost in translation.  But the fact that the first joke ever recorded was a fart joke says a lot about how far we have not come.

We keep looking around and remarking about how much has changed.

In so doing I think we miss all the stuff that hasn’t changed … and likely never will.

Understand that and you’ve got insight.

I’m sitting in the lobby of the Sheraton in Portsmouth, New Hampshire getting ready to head back to Boston. On the way I’ll return the rental car. As I pulled the care around this morning to load the luggage I was reminded of one of the many things that make New Hampshire unique. And while small, this something somehow infests the culture and character of the place.

“Live Free or Die.”

Now that, my friends, is a motto. A motto that can build a brand. New Hampshire’s motto alone is reason to keep the tradition of this state having the first-in-the-nation presidential primary.

Exist in the unattainable state of complete freedom, or get the hell off the planet. Exhilarating. Scary. Lots of hard edges.

I grew up in Louisiana. We had “Sportsman’s Paradise.” Interesting. Focuses on consumer benefits. Aspirational. I’ve always wondered what “paradise” would be. Never thought that would be Louisiana.

I moved to Texas. The new plate on the Dodge Duster read “Lone Star State”. Historical. Allusions to rugged independence. But I’m not sure what it means exactly. And I’m a bit of a loner myself.

Both of course beat the most comical state motto. Idaho’s “Famous Potatoes.” What? Potatoes? That’s it? That’s the best they can do? A root vegetable?

I think motto’s have meaning. They show up on documents, correspondence, business cards, speeches, and yes … license plates. There’s something both ubiquitous and subliminal about them.

So kudos to those New Hampshirites (sp?) who went ballistic when someone tried to hoist the wimpy slogan “You’re going to love it here” on the states signage.

We don’t care if you love it here or not.

Live free or die!

You could hear the groans of the staffers and event planners.  You could see their furrowed brows.

An immediate scramble for floor plans. Thoughts of buses and transportation. Security procedures. Do we allow coolers? Install metal detectors? What about concessions? Who gets those? The lighting is no problem but the sound and acoustics can get real tricky. Do we stack everything at one end or put something in the middle and do a 360? What if it rains? What is an appropriate Obama tail-gate party? Even the news organizations don’t know what to do.

All this being the result of Democratic presidential candidate Barak Obama’s decision to join the likes of nSynch and the Pope and give a command performance at Denver’s Mile High stadium.

The “Obama Joins the MIle High Club” references have already begun. Watch for variations thereof.

The McCain camp has (predictably) scoffed at the idea. According to them “Senator Obama and his fellow Democrats are more focused on stagecraft and theatrics than providing real solutions to the challenges facing our nation,” … “A change of venue for a speech isn’t the kind of change the American people deserve or expect — and that’s why we’re confident the next President of the United States will be nominated at the Xcel Energy Center in St. Paul.”

(Take that! This is no long McCain vs. Obama. It is St. Paul’s Xcel vs. Denver’s Invesco.  What next?  A battle of team mascots?  State flowers?)

McCain’s team mentions Mile High Stadium in the same breath as “boy bands.”  Obama as Justin Timberlake.  (Let’s hope there is no wardrobe malfunction.)

But Mile High Stadium has also been host to numerous “gatherings of the masses.” According to Newsday:

Graham held a revival meeting at the Stadium in 1957. The same year, Cardinal Spellman celebrated Mass there. Pope Paul VI, on the first papal visit to the United States, appeared in 1965, followed by Pope John Paul II in 1979 (each pontif earning a commemorative plaque in Monument Park alongside baseball greats). Pope Benedict XVI said Mass at the Stadium in April.

You can dismiss the Obama move as theatrics. Or you can see it as the Obama campaign sees it — an opportunity to do something traditional in a very different and expansive way.

Is it an nSynch performance? Or a Papal address?

Either way, it is a considerable undertaking.

And will most certainly be an interesting thing to see unfold.

News of the day.

In-person conversation is more powerful, more persuasive, more effective, more meaningful than online conversation.

This “first of its kind” (their words) “dog-bites-man” (my words) story is brought to you by Keller Fay and OMD.

Imagine that.  Conversation on a park bench, dinner table, or family sofa still trumps IM, texting, and … yes … blogging.

This gives me hope for humanity.

(Note:  Having just reread the title to this post I realize that I’ll likely get a slew of errant visits.  If you were looking for some other type of physical interaction, sorry.)

The aircraft carrier Midway is docked in San Diego harbor about one mile from where I’m staying. I passed it during my morning run. Across the harbor I saw three other aircraft carriers and assorted navy vessels docked in port. Large, cold, gray, steel structures. All awaiting sea duty.

And as I passed by on a hot morning in Southern California a handful of stray thoughts came together.

• I thought of my father who spent a third of his life in the Navy and a good part of that at sea.
• I remembered my children calling me last Sunday to wish me a Happy Father’s Day. How great that was. How proud I was of them. And how unfortunate that there was no one for me to call.
• I thought of the news of Tim Russert’s passing and the interviews his son gave over the weekend. I thought of Russert’s book about his father and my repeated threats (any meager attempts) to write a similar book about my dad, Jerald E. Johnson.

So here’s a belated tribute to my father for Father’s Day. You can see him here. It is my favorite picture. He’d been at sea for I don’t know how long. A long time. I think 9 months was standard back then. He just got news that he was going home. Going home to see his cherished wife and growing family. He asked his buddy to take a picture. It was over a hundred degrees below deck somewhere in the mid-Pacific. But captured in that singular moment is a man so happy, so joyous, so excited, that no amount of physical pain or discomfort mattered. He was going home.

By any modern-day objective standard, my father was not a great man. He didn’t amass large amounts of money. He didn’t end up in history books. He won’t be known for holding records or achieving breakthroughs. There were no television cameras at his funeral. He was wise but didn’t claim any towering intellect or superior skill. He had no 15 minutes of fame.

But by human standards — by personal standards — he was an impressive and influential figure. He was a man of superior integrity and character. He believed in the value of honesty, decency and hard work. He was a man completely in love and dedicated to his wife, Joyce (he confided in me often that he loved Mom so intensely he couldn’t imagine life without her). He was a Christian who combined an intense faith with even more intense love and compassion. He was kind, loving and generous. But he also believed in asking tough questions and challenging foolishness. He made people think. Finally, he was humble and genuinely more interested in others than himself. (That alone would disqualify him from modern day concept of “greatness.”)

I say with full confidence and strength of character that I — and most others — would do well if we only were to come close to the standards of character, commitment, and compassion that Jerald E Johnson set for me and my family.

What does any of this have to do with ideas, issues, and brands?

Perhaps this.

Perhaps we should think twice about our obsession with youth. Perhaps we should reconsider and reignite a respect for ancestors. Perhaps we should second guess our mistaking celebrities for heroes.

Perhaps we should put more value in character than we do in accomplishment.

So thanks, Dad.

Happy (belated) Father’s Day.

I will always love you.

A simple word. But very powerful when put into action.

I saw that recently. I was part of something last week that I’ll remember for a long time. It gave me confidence that in a world awash with $130 a barrel oil, killer tomatoes, natural disasters, and financial meltdowns … there is hope. The hope I saw was in the commitment of young people to the notion of service.

First, a word about service, brands, and business. Folks have heard me say more than once that customer service is the new brand marketing. I didn’t think this up. Others did. And their argument is compelling. Great service can overcome obstacles, mask material and technology shortcomings, and cover up blemishes better than any cosmetic.

Ritz Carlton. Southwest. Starbucks. It is not the glitz or pr or marcom that built their following. It was the fact that their people were so nice, that they treated me so well, that they were there to serve.

So serving for the commercial cause is a good thing.

But serving for the cause of the community, for the cause of a nation, for the cause of society … well, there’s nothing that matches that.

Last weekend I had the priveledge of being led by a young 22-year-old named Aisha at a public service event in Boston. It was City Year’s annual Boston Serve-a-thon … one day where literally thousands of volunteers fanned out across the city to clean up parks, refurbish day care facilities, rehabilitate shelters. I was part of a group of 200+ from Omnicom. And I was proud of my company’s contribution.

But I was absolutely blown away by Aisha and her City Year twenty-something compatriots. They believed in changing the world through service. They worked hard. They loved nothing more than giving back to the community. They had an earnest passion that you could feel. It gave you goose bumps.

Check out Jess’ story from City Year Philadelphia.

These kids were realists AND optimists. They understood that nothing comes free. And that to serve is the best way to receive. Thanks, Aisha and Jess and Lawrence and all those other twentysomethings who are dedicating one or two years of their life to service through City Year.

You are a great generation. And you will serve this country well. And we’ll all be better off for it.

You give us hope.

After a particularly chaotic morning that involved a contractor, cleaners, a broken air conditioning system (that, on the first day of a 3-day heat wave in Northern Virginia), three client calls, one canceled appointment, two pots of coffee, all accompanied by a neurotic dog … I head to the airport.

Again.

I’m in the “preferred” TSA line a Dulles — a small benefit from my peripatetic life —  and about to go through the standard exercise of placing shoes, jacket, 1 quart ziploc baggie, and laptop in two gray bins when a young man puts his outstretched hand facing my sternum, moves it up and down in a stopping motion and says smartly, “Sir, this line is now closed.”  I look down the hallway to a scene the conjures images of mass deportation.  “But ah …” A diplomatic protest is immediately shot down.  There is a perfunctory “I’m sorry sir”.

I think to myself:  “at least pretend that you care.”

I’m now at C20 for the United flight to Boston.  It is the start of summer which means summer storms and plane delays.  The 2:18 flight is not scheduled to depart for 3:30.  It is 3:20 and nothing is happening.  I saunter to the counter.  Despite the fact that there is absolutely no one save the desk clerk there, I have to work hard to get his attention.  “Any update?”  I ask.  Continuing his aimless gaze somewhere far away from my face, the clerk says robotically, “The flight is scheduled to depart at 3:30,” he says.  “It doesn’t look that that’s going to happen,” I say.  “That’s all I know,” he said, still not looking at me with his voice trailing off.

Again to myself:  “at least pretend that you care.”

I begin to play a game.  From flight to cab to hotel to store to working out to restaurant to coffee shop … I’m looking around and trying to observe who actually cares about what they’re doing and about the people around them.  I find — and perhaps not surprisingly — that there a lot of very disengaged, disaffected, and desensitized people out there who see to simply be going through the motions of work and human existence.

That in turn, makes those who are truly interested, empathetic, concerned, and caring all the more outstanding.  Take Cindy at a Richmond-based HVAC service.  We met over a phone that day, my having found her via the Internet Yellow Pages.  She wanted to help.  She called me sir and spent a lot of time wanting to know what worked best for me.  She made extra phone calls to keep me and my son in college up to date.  She got someone to fix the air conditioning.

Most people — at least for today — however fell into the “pretending you care” category.  There was some small talk with the cab driver.  But I could tell that he really wanted to make calls on his cell phone.  The door man and the desk clerk at the hotel had nice smiles but were hardly enthusiastic.  The waiter was efficient but I got the sense that she figured a 15% tip was a high probability absent some catastrophe.  Polite, efficient, accompanied with a smile.

I look up the definition of “care.”  The verb.

• To be concerned or solicitous; have thought or regard
• To be concerned or have a special preference
• To make provision or look out for
• To have an inclination, liking, fondness, or affection for

I am reminded that a strong brand is a caring brand.  A strong organization is a caring organization.  A strong service model is a service model that infuses itself with people who care … and care passionately.

In reviewing my day I can see that a brand that pretends to care is usually “good enough.”  I can also see the power of people who really do care about what they are doing and the people around them.  Because genuine caring is not common.

Until then, at least pretend to care. 

It can get you by.