The “Weekly Review” section of today’s Seattle Times bears witness to a crushing photographic juxtaposition. In one shot, NASA space shuttle Endeavour floats tranquilly above the earth as it prepares to dock with the heaven-high International Space Station. In another, a four-year-old Haitian girl, emaciated with hunger, hangs from a sling scale as she is being weighed at a Doctors Without Borders clinic on the storm-devastated island. The first hearkens back to a time of American supremacy and leadership, the second is the face of our world’s future, should we fail to restore ourselves.
Earlier this week, I read in the New York Times about the continuing deterioration of the “humanitarian situation” in the Congo. While government and rebel factions have pledged to avoid fighting in areas where there are mountain gorillas, both sides continue to murder and rape their fellow human beings, with tens of thousands of women brutalized every year. Beginning with the Rwandan genocide in 1994, countless hundreds of thousands have died in unconscionable violence in central Africa.
Here at home we are rightly and justifiably concerned about our jobs, our economy, our retirement savings, the price of gas, the price of milk, the health of the cattle we slaughter for meat, the millions of tons of carbon we vomit into the atmosphere every year, whether the Big Three will be with us after January comes and goes, and how high unemployment might rise in this economic crisis. But this is a narrow view.
The global impact of our economic and identity crisis is in the face of a starving Haitian girl, in our failure to replace a space shuttle fleet about to be mothballed, in the anguished wails of raped women in Congo, in the chaos of Iraq and Afghanistan, in the looming specter of Islamist fundamentalism in Somalia, in the collapse of global markets that need our leadership, and in the ever-accelerating environmental desecration of the only home we have. If we, America, can no longer stand tall, having given up our role as a beacon of hope and right, who will fill that vacuum? The aid we have provided over the decades, the international direction and support for humanitarian efforts around the world, is in jeopardy. We have spent too many years eroding our political power, and now our economic power is slipping away, and we risk taking most of the world down with us into darkness unlike any my generation can imagine.
We can no longer set the direction of the world while wealth, knowledge, and influence are deserting our shores. No nation today can stand on its own, but we remain the linchpin of hope. We must begin by building here, by reinvigorating what has always been our strength — our innate optimism, ingenuity, and powerful capacity for change. We must marshal ourselves before we can muster the world. We have to lead again, and we must be strong in order to do so. If we can stand up, if we reach out, other nations will rise with us. There is fear in us all, but there is also opportunity for our nation. If we stride boldly and compassionately forward at this crossroads, we can bring the world with us. We owe it to ourselves, to the promise of Liberty, and to the generations before us who made the world safe once, to shine again, to come out of our darkness, and to offer to the world the hope and comfort that only this great nation can.
Any experience over time can become habitual, and the habitual by necessity loses its uniqueness, its excitement. In an era in which we strive en masse to celebrate the individual experience (witness the mass personalization of everything, from your very own uniquely assembled Timbuk2 tote bag to the literally myriad options available for creating your own custom-from-the-factory Harley-Davidson motorcycle), a company that delivers what we ask of it walks a fine line. No sooner have we been given what we want than we begin to recognize that it was the same thing as it was last time, or we notice with a diminished sense of uniqueness that it’s identical to somebody else’s experience. The very comfort and easy availability of an individualized experience causes it to lose its value (one of the reasons that perfect industrial diamonds and farmed pearls are orders of magnitude less expensive than the flawed items direct from nature). We begin to define ourselves by how we, as individuals, differ from each other in our achievement of being unique. Unfortunately, this comparison requires that we first have something in common.
Take, for instance, my seeking of local coffee shops and local restaurants. I drink Starbucks coffee regularly, and with pleasure. But when possible, or rather when convenient, I attempt to find something that perhaps fewer people will have found before me. With no vistas left to conquer on this earth besides the depths of the ocean, it’s pretty unlikely I’ll ever be the first person to see anything grand on a universal scale, and so I content my explorer urges with a search for whatever uniqueness I can find that is achievable within the context of my mostly urban life (the height of laziness, that I’m unwilling to personally pick my beans from the top of a mountain in Guatemala or Indonesia!).
Everyone who drinks coffee shares some aspect of the experience. I can say that I honestly love the stuff. I have a definite preference for medium-to-dark roasted, earthy, rich beans, though I couldn’t tell you what companies’ blends I like best, nor even what coffee-producing regions of the world I prefer. This probably describes most people who head for Starbucks on a regular basis but claim to prefer something local. Isn’t it grand, though, in a small way, to be able to say to a coffee-drinking friend that “I found this great little coffee shop while I was in San Diego,” knowing he has not been there, and thus can’t judge my appreciation of what is probably an ordinary cup of coffee, and instead must accept at face value the uniqueness of my experience; alternatively, to complain to another, “There are no good coffee shops in Washington, D.C.,” and receive an appropriately sympathetic response based on our shared appreciation of the minimum standard experience, Starbucks? And how true is it, really, this sweeping generalization? There must be some good coffee shop in D.C., surely. What if my friend says, in reply, “Yes there are! You need to go to X” (I’d offer an example, but I actually have yet to find a decent place in D.C. — even the Starbucks stores there seem sub par). The horror! I’m left, then to concede that my experience is not yet complete, and in the effort to one-up those around me in the generic appreciation of generic coffee, I am less unique than I might otherwise suppose.
And so, it seems that Starbucks, while creating a thriving market for gourmet coffees produced quickly and conveniently (a necessity for any American food commodity), has stepped into a trap of human behavior from which it might not emerge. By taking advantage of our innate desire to be different from each other and special to ourselves, the coffee giant has touched a nerve.
In moments of clarity, I make a choice between what will elevate, and what will not; what is an important differentiator of the individual, and what is not. Judgmental comparison of myself to others profits me nothing but a momentary sense of victory or defeat. Instead, to be conscious of how, why, and when I experience what I do, and become unconcerned with how my experience compares to others, but simply to value the experience for its own sake — here, perhaps, is the path to enlightenment through coffee. In short, consume for necessity, but not for any other purpose.
Did I just cross a line into asceticism? Momentarily, perhaps. Thankfully, “necessity” can be broadly defined, and I can still buy truly good coffee, and be satisfied.
When does a local business enterprise, lauded for being unique, different, and — because of being local — inherently good become a chain? Two stores? Four? A dozen? At what point does a business, lauded for bringing a unique experience to the masses, become vilified for the sameness and blandness of the experience, which remains the very experience we asked it to provide all along?
There are many out there, I know, who denigrate Starbucks’ coffee — let alone “the Starbucks experience” — but let’s face facts. Before Starbucks raised the bar, there simply was no significant market for gourmet coffee. In making and taking advantage of this market, they have opened the way for thousands of coffee roasters and small local shops to do business. In fact, one might argue that the cheapening of the Starbucks experience presents an excellent opportunity for another renewal in the market. I’m not talking McDonald’s, either. It will be an unseen renewal, noted perhaps only by whatever small industry groups represent the independent coffee shop. Here again, though, is a fine line to walk. How much of the ease of the Starbucks experience will we give up in order to feel fully actualized in our coffee habits again? Will we wait patiently for a better cup of coffee? Nobody makes it faster than the guys in green. Will we enjoy a more complex roast? One of Starbucks’ advantages is that it will be the same every time. Will we spend time searching for coffee shops near our hotels, instead of just asking where the nearest Starbucks is? Will we frequent the copycats (Tullys, Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf, Caribou Coffee) with the vain hope that this other experience will be more unique, by virtue of being available in fewer places and to fewer people, than the other?
Do the very patterns that enable success doom the large coffee chain to mediocrity? I’m sure these are the questions that Howard Schultz asks himself every day as he attempts to revive and revitalize his company’s brand and mission.
Well isn’t this just the best of all worlds?
I woke this morning in San Diego, California, in a small hotel in the Gas Lamp quarter, and now I’m sitting at a sidewalk table outside a small cafe sipping iced organic Mexican coffee.
Vicky is here for a conference, so I’ve been left to myself the first half of the day. I wandered a bit, mostly just spending as much time as possible outside. April in San Diego is — how can I put it? — somewhat different from April in Seattle. A bit of a shock, really, to go from a hopeful 60-degree high to weather that hit the low 70s by 9:00 AM!
Pannikin Coffee Tea and Spices’ Blue Planet blend, like many Mexican coffees, is a bright, light coffee with a hint of cinnamon. As I type, the portable propane roaster beside me is busily torching to perfection some other artisinal bean, likely one I will enjoy tomorrow morning.
Pannikin is more than a coffee bar. In addition to selling brewed coffee and tea, there look to be about four dozen or more loose-leaf teas, and a range of whole-bean coffees suitable for any taste preference. In addition, the store stocks a wide variety of colorful south-of-the-border candies and knick-knacks, including a make-at-home Día de los Muertos candy skull mold.
Pannikin is a local chain that, by all accounts, strives for a unique experience in each of its locations. Certainly the ambiance of this G-street spot would be difficult to reproduce in any quantity, which leads me to suspect each store likely has some individuality to it.
This location, according to one staff member, has been in operation since 1977, making it only 6 years younger than the first Starbucks store. Clearly, the owners took a different path here. It is very different from Starbucks, and very much like those other Seattle greats, Zoka, Victrola, and Caffe Vita. With Starbucks, the size and layout of the stores is usually different, but the in-store experience is as similar from place to place as — dare I say it? — McDonald’s. While Zoka and Victrola have expanded only relatively recently to more than one location, Caffe Vita has been brewing at multiple sites for nearly a decade — in addition to their Seattle stores, there is a Vita at the old Dancing Goats location in Olympia (I admit, I do miss Dancing Goats).
Naturally, that leads me to another topic. When does an enterprise cease to be thought of as a “local” business and take on the dreaded “chain” designation?
What’s in a buyout? that which we call Bear-Stearns
By any other name would smell as sweet;
So a bail-out would, were it not bail-out call’d,
Retain that dear perfection which it owes
Without that title: — bail-out, doff thy name;
And for that name, which is no part of thee,
Come to my discount window.
With apologies to Bill…
There are some words that I have trouble spelling. When I was a child, corral gave me problems. I always wanted to double the L instead of the R. As an adult, there remain a few standard words that seem to require much more thought than they deserve — vacuum, for example. Every time I write it, I want to double the C. I double the U without thought, but always pause on the C. Perhaps it’s because I use the word (and its object) so infrequently (about once a month — I’m a neat and tidy guy, and don’t get my carpet very dirty). Whatever the reason, vacuum remains one of that strange handful of words that, despite having spent about 30 years writing in English, still gives me problems. There was a punch line in here somewhere, but it seems to have been sucked up by the vacuum between my ears.
I listen to NPR. Not only that, but I count myself an annual victim of their pledge drive. If the coffee cup, fleece, jeans, and old running shoes costume didn’t already give it away, it should now be as clear as a North Cascades free-stone stream — I am a liberal Seattleite.
All other tangents aside, on my commute this morning while listening to NPR, I was amused to hear the sponsorship pitch (it’s not a commercial; this is commercial-free radio) from Chevy, promoting the Volt, which is billed as a battery-powered vehicle with “an on-board, range-extending power source” (i.e., a gasoline engine). Seriously. Who are the marketeers who thought to disguise the gas engine in the mostly battery-powered car as “an on-board, range-extending power source?”
I stopped by my local Starbucks this morning on my way to work — a treat I generally have denied myself of late, since the $1.70 for twelve ounces of drip coffee (which I rarely finish) is too much. You probably know, if you are one of the millions of people who go to Starbucks every day, that when you order coffee in one of the busier locations, the cashier “calls” the drink to the barista, who then “calls” it back for confirmation (eerily similar to the call and response used in many religious services, no?).
Today marks a watershed moment not only for Starbucks, but also in the development of the English language, for I will swear by anything you ask me to that I heard the cashier call this drink: iced, tall, non-fat, no-ice — milk.
So much for the Autumn Equinox. Not one-month into the season of Football, the Fall Classic, Thanksgiving and my favorite (Apple Pie) and I found myself driving around in the first daylight snow fall of the season (2000 feet or less ASL) on 12 October. While there had been one previous snowfall it occurred in the middle of the night and left little indication it had come at all. Evidence of its occurrence remains on the ground however, in heavily forested areas facing north (where the sun don’t shine). That said all is well in the north and all is relatively quiet on the western front.
In case you haven’t seen it much on the news the Russian Air Force has been flying expeditionary long range bombers over the Bering Sea recently (dating back to the summer). Apparently they are flexing their muscles. With the polar ice caps not covering as much of the Arctic Ocean as they used to Russia seems to be exploring the possibility of utilizing new shipping lanes and seems intent on keeping those lanes protected through a show of force. More power to them. Their actions could not have come at a better time. While most of the Department of Defense (and America for that matter) has turned a blind eye to activities in the far northwestern portions of our continent most of our facilities (long range radar, power generation, and remote living facilities to name a few) have become extremely degraded and have operated far longer than their expected life span. This is a fact that, until recently, only those individuals charged with their upkeep seemed to really care about. With recent lapses in radar coverage and power supply due to mechanical degradation coupled with increased Russian military activity suddenly all eyes are back on us. We have received more funding recently than in years past to alleviate some of our problems but the overall issue of equipment modernization will exist for the time being. My job, and those I work with (and for) is to ensure the facilities listed above continue to provide the abilities to detect incoming aircraft and missiles, and provide a mean of defense against them. As recently demonstrated by a successful missile engagement, our defense capabilities are 100% mission ready. The infrastructure that supports those assets is what causes some concern. It is my job (for those truly interested) to ensure that we receive as much funding as I can convince the DOD to provide our northwestern defense sector, to prioritize where and how that funding is spent, and to clearly communicate the risks/consequences for not obtaining further funding (not that additional funding is even possible, but the powers that be must be absolutely aware of the potential risks we face should certain things be left unfunded). The sites are as follows: Eareckson Air Station (1 10,000′ emergency divert runway with associated support facilities, cargo receiving/shipping and hangars, 1 massive and very old power plant, 1 ICBM and space object tracking facility, 1 Missile Interceptor Data Terminal, 1 long haul satellite defense communications system, several dorms, 1 dining hall, a gym, 4.5 million gallons of fuel storage tanks, 1 dock (for ocean barges), 1 waste treatment facility, 1 landfill, 1 water treatment plant, and a couple hundred employees) located near the western most point in the Aleutian Islands; 15 Long Range Radar Sites with 1-5 permanently stationed personnel (living quarters, power supply, some have airfields, and other interesting communication devices); and 1 Forward Operating Location at King Salmon (about 400 miles west of Anchorage, a significantly smaller operation than Eareckson, but used as a Fighter Forward area during times of imminent foreign threats). All of these facilities require several hundred thousand to several million dollars in modernization and infrastructure upgrades and the annual operating budget (just to keep the running) is in excess of $70M. Making an abbreviated story even shorter I am responsible for the western defense of our nation from air or space based threats. This job probably has the most responsibility I will see during the remainder of my military career. My flight (or unit) now consists of me (the flight commander) a deputy (a junior Captain coming in two months), 4 civilian installation managers, 2 civilian financial managers, 2 Senior NCO supply/logitics troops, 1 NCO communication/electronics troop, 1 NCO civil engineer, 1 security NCO, 1 meteorology / navigation NCO, and 1 flight chief (Senior NCO) for a total of 15 of us. We also manage contracts that include about 300 contracted personnel.
So back to the changing seasons… Alaska is great, I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to resist the call of the wild. Every day I consider taking a day to climb a nearby mountain. There are so many places where you can sit peacefully without any human interruptions and just gaze upon God’s creation in awe and wonder. The world around me is turning darker and colder again, but the peace the stillness brings is a blessing. The neighborhood has already slipped into the silent mode (not the vibrant bustle of activity it is during the summer months). I put my Christmas lights up yesterday (1300 of them). I will put up several hundred more in the ensuing days. I am waiting for drier weather. We were going to drive down to the wildlife refuge but it has been raining since last night (the snow-pack continues to build in the mountains).
