Aphorisms by Phil MershonWhile I am neither Luddite nor Abecedarian, I do suspect that whenever we fail to consider how our progress may become a future generation's regress, we are giving God the Bronx cheer. I have not seen my thinking cap in the better part of a decade. I remember it as being brown with a curved top and thin leather cords coming out of it, but where it is I have not a clue. The store was all out of anti-American freedom-hating hoax-induced sheep masks, so I bought one of the regular ones and saved not only my own life, but also the lives of the miserable wretches who believe masks are some manifestation of a deep state conspiracy. If there were only a way that my mask would not protect them, then we'd really have something. More than 3000 people crammed like meatpackers into a so-called church, almost no one wearing masks, all to give praise to the sex offender in chief and all with the blessings of Governor Douche. I love ya, Arizona. Quit breaking my heart. Remember, with the new improved logic, if you don't get tested for pregnancy, you won't get pregnant. We do not need police in this country. Not one cop is needed. None. All they know how to do is escalate. They all think they are Lyndon Johnson. And before you come back with the idea that without police we would be overrun with criminals, you are wrong. No cop ever prevented a crime because cops are the criminals. Life is not a television show. You want to reduce crime in this country? Put all the cops on a chain gang in Texas in August. Don't bother feeding them. Let them eat one another. And for those few of you not yet convinced that the movie Jaws addresses itself to EVERYTHING, keep in mind that Quint refused to wear a life jacket. Shortly after announcing this, he was eaten by the shark. Hooper and Brodie wore jackets and lived. Wake the fuck up. I'm starting a new movement. It is called The Eleventh Minute. There are no meetings and no Facebook pages and no dues to join it. All that is required is that you try to understand. The Eleventh Minute refers to the fact that most people are incapable of seeing beyond the next ten minutes, which is why we have people who pollute, desecrate, defile and destroy with no concern over the consequences. For the rest of us, for those who can see how the police murdering even one man is the same thing as the police murdering every damned one of us, there is the Eleventh Minute. Have you ever noticed how--whether it is your horoscope or some Facebook personality test--you are invariably generous, self-effacing and a survivor? The lawless, anti-spiritual insanity of Tucker Carlson: The God I believe in doesn't need a twerpy compensating proselytizer of hate and infidelity to one's fellow human to speak for Him. I am often amazed at how purveyors of cruelty and racism wrap themselves in the flag, hold their inverted Bibles to their chests, try to inflame everyone who disagrees with them, then cry "Foul!" when you call them out as eunuch bullies. Speak the truth. Speak it even if your voice trembles, even if you fear retribution from businesses or being shunned by friends. Speak the truth even though others may revile you, smite you, scorn or despise you. Speak the truth even if every washed up rocker from Krist Novoselic to Ted Numbnuts blasts contrary bile back in your direction. Speak the truth and hold it up to the light so that every corrupt billionaire from Gina Rinehart to Harold Simmons and others cannot hide from the glare of that truth. Look the devils in the eye--Hannity, Rivera, Tucker, etc--and let loose a frightening laugh. Scream that truth in the faces of people who support You Know Who and then you should use the same truth to ease the pain of his victims. Speak it no matter the name of your country or the language that you speak or the accent you possess. Speak it no matter who your parents were, or who your children are. Stand on the water, cup your hands around your mouth and bellow the truth. Make sure everyone hears you. Scream until your throat is raw. Then find somebody you love and heal yourself with their presence. Speak the truth. Up is down. (This political post has not been fact-checked by the social media platform upon which it appears.) I don't care who started it. Those words sound familiar? Sure. We say them to our kids when they are fighting and one of them moans "But he started it." I don't care who started it, except this is not a playground. This is the street. And in the street an unarmed man has little chance against four stormtroopers and if you dislike that characterization then go read a book and come back when you've learned something. I don't care if a gaggle of skinhead Qanon freakazoids with mother fixations bounded into town to toss gasoline on the flames. It's all symptomatic. So while we scratch our heads and asses and wring our hands over how there are good cops out there too and golly gee hosanna let's not over react--STOP. The power that any policeman has outweighs what you have and you are constantly at risk because today they are stopping African Americans for driving or walking and guess what? Tomorrow it will be your neck under their knee, or my neck, or someone next door because if they get away with this--as they always seem to do-then they are empowered and the hate feeds the heat and that sick son of a bitch in Washington has saliva dripping off his chin. So don't you dare tell me there are good cops because I've had enough lies for a life time. Of course some police are good. Jesus, we're not stupid. But the position in society that a cop takes on puts that person in a place of remarkable power over all of us, unless what? Unless we remind them occasionally that their power is at our permission and today we say "Get back in your cop cars and if you can't protect us, then at least leave us alone." Lethal disease as a symbol of freedom. We're so free, we walk through sick wards laughing and slapping terminal cases on the back, telling them to cheer up. So first there was this crazy guy from some screaming TV show who became president on account of the backlash against what some people perceived to be minority privilege (even though the minorities in question, e.g., women, etc were in the majority) and this president was not so secretly a gangster oligarch who enjoyed a strange type of congress with his Russian counterpart and together they stripped all social protections that their tough guy supporters didn't need (the toughest of whom would not wear a cup during a ball-kicking contest) and then the whole world got sick, which certain transplants from Phoenix decided might really be the way the universe fought back against being abused for so many decades but what was actually happening was the Qanon-ers were drinking Drano to purge themselves of weakness while the National Guard just kind of shrugged and scratched their heads and people such as myself wondered if meat-packers were really as perverse as their job title indicated, even though observations such as that did seem a trifle adolescent, which is okay because I'm still emotionally 17 and can anyone remind me where my bell-bottoms are because I have not seen them in quite a while? I will be posting telepathically today. So if you think of something funny, that was me. William Barr's Injustice Department drops all federal charges against Michael Flynn. In a related story, SOLD sign appears at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. Russian Oligarchs to complete escrow this weekend. Most people I talk with want to continue with social distancing, wearing masks, and staying the hell out of meat-packing companies, old folks homes and college dorms (and other prisons). The Earth and I had a brief talk last week and She mentioned how nice it had been with the factories not puking out millions of tons of garbage every second. I repled that it is interesting how much stupid stuff we can actually live without, but She was meditating and I didn't want to bother Her. A few people interpret Stay in Place or at Home rules as some kind of infringement of their right to freely infect everyone they meet. Those are the people who motivate me to buy a big boat, buy Joyce some sunscreen and get myself a sturdy fishing pole and live on the sea with a near-perfect tan and lots of Vitamin D. Between now and then, let me urge you to follow your instincts as long as those instincts lead you to protecting yourself and others because it's the same people who cry the most about their toes being stepped on who support the companies who vomit all the bile on our planet. With the exception of Jet Blue, the somewhat greedy airline industry says they do not believe they can legally make their passengers wear masks. I ask: Can they legally make their passengers wear shirts? Pants? Funny hats? On the other hand, is your dog getting enough cheese? If we abandon the logic of protecting ourselves from this pandemic, when the virus hits with full force this Fall and Winter, we in this country will no longer have blue states and red states. We will have dead states. Dear America, I don't want to get mean here. You know from experience that I have a powerful way with words and that--should I choose to do so--I could bring you to a quivering mass of moldy jello before breakfast. So just sit there a minute, read this, and don't interrupt. It seems that over the last week, some of your "people" have decided that "stay at home" orders are somehow infringing upon their freedoms and it appears they just aren't going to take it any more. Just yesterday, people in Colorado, Illinois, Florida (natch), Tennessee and Washington state took to the streets carrying signs with misspelled words that basically translated into : "My freedom to march up and down the street crying like a well-armed prima donna dilettante with a case of aggravated paranoia and bad breath to match outweighs your right to stay healthy." Earlier in the week, similar bands of outraged borderline personality disorder adherents from California, Michigan, Virginia, Utah, North Carolina and even sweet home Ohio decided to take back the deserted streets in support of the cause of. . .of. . . well, somebody told them it was a good idea. Specifically, the DeVos family. You know, Betsy DeVos, the billionaire Secretary of Education and her brother in deceit Erik Prince, former head of Blackwater USA (they love to attach your name to their machinations, don't they?). That family. Some of these billionaires have convinced their fans and supporters among the lumpen-proletariat that all this deep state chicanery is costing working people their livelihood and therefore by God ought to by fun or by gun be brought to an ignoble end. I don't have to tell you, America, that 1200 bucks doesn't do much to feed the bulldog, but when most of that money ends right back in the pockets of rich folks who sell poor folks crap they don't need, one need not be Milton Friedman (he of supply-side fascism) to recognize the fallacies in the whole ordeal. The only people being hurt to any real extent here is in the form of a paper cut--billionaires losing out on a few extra slices of the diminishing pie. Meanwhile, grandpa is being hooked up to a ventilator and they're still burying bodies in the alleys. That all said, America, land that I do indeed love, I hope you will slap these people of yours awake this morning and set them right. Have them turn off Fox News for five minutes, have them stop injecting messianic balderdash into every reference to the tyrant, and ask them nicely to go home and play violent video games to help them sublimate their sexual yearnings for their maternal parents. Whew! So glad I did not have to get ugly about this. Have a great day, America! The Covid-19 is a real life version of the movie Jaws. Think about it. The disease attacks from out of nowhere, with no rhyme or reason. At first, everyone denies there is really a problem because that would be inconvenient economically. Cant close the beaches, that's tourist dollars wasting! Then lots of people get killed. So a bunch of bozos show up with dynamite and try to blow the shark out of the water and bring home a dead tiger shark, which Mr Hooper says aint the killer shark, but that too is inconvenient, so it must be the killer. But it ain't. Okay, so the mayor of the town is. . .well, you know, Trump. The people blowing shit out of the water trying to be tough guys, those might be the folks who show up at all the rallies. Matt Hooper is definitely Dr Fauci. The shark is played by Covid, of course. We are still waiting for a Quint but Gretchen might be Roy Scheider. I mean, cast it any way you like. The parallels are there. Let us hope the disease has no sequels. 
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American ExpresslandTwo very good books appeared in 1992, books about a company I knew well, a company about which you yourself have no doubt heard, and a company which no longer required my services near the end of the year in which these two books emerged.
The two books were released within a few months of each other. The first was House of Cards: Inside the Troubled Empire of American Express, by Jon Friedman and John Meehan. The second book had a more sinister title. It was Vendetta: American Express and the Smearing of Edmond Safra. Neither book showed the strange culture of American Express to be very pleasant. Indeed, it was not. I endured my time there: nine years of occasional pleasure but more often than not a series of daily surprise knife attacks and gun battles against the unarmed. When I joined the corporation in December 1983, Jimmy Three Sticks was Chairman. James Robinson III was feared by employees the way people fear reaching into a sack of live snakes. One evening he was presenting his big green card at some high-end jewelry store in California. The amount of the charge was in the low five figures. I saw the name, noted the Special Review status, looked at the name again and assumed my life was over. If I brought Three Sticks to the phone to ensure that it was indeed him making the large purchase, he would no doubt chew me up and spit me out. If I deferred and simply waived the merchant on without inquiry, I would be skewered for neglecting to protect the Empire's financial resources and the good Robinson name. "Fuck," I said, jamming one cigarette into my mouth without bothering to snub out the one I already had going. The owner of the store handed the telephone to Three Sticks. I asked him polite questions that even a mental degenerate could answer and all Robinson could do was growl. The merchant came back on the phone. "Do you know who this is?" he asked with a frantic tone. I gave the guy his approval for the charge and got on with my life. Although Three Sticks was the nominal head of the business, Big Lou called the shots. Think of Big Lou as the Fixer. When Lou Gerstner took over the territory called Travel Related Services in 1982, the number of cardholders ("members") was a select 8.6 million. The Card projected status, perhaps even a sense of esteem. The rumor was that carrying one in your wallet made your testicles glow. When Big Lou moved on eleven years later, they were handing out cards to any schmuck willing to take one. I should know. I carried a Platinum one myself, a card with a $300 per year membership fee. The day Big Lou left, the count was 30.7 million cardmembers. The worldwide total today is 114 million. The culture of the company changed, as cultures often do. When I began my nine-year stint, a group of three men ran the department: John L, Bob and John Y. To this day I do not know if these three even liked one another. What I do know is that a lot of women were in supervisory positions. I noticed as well that eccentricity was the real boss. One supervisor took home every day a few styrofoam cups from the cafeteria. Another express on a routine basis that what he cared about was betting at the racetrack. Others were just riding out their tie. A few cared about the work. Two that I know of were gay. What they all had in common was that the supervisors were all friends with one or more of the managers. At the time, that seemed reasonable, if not quite normal. The stories I could tell. But I won't. I won't, for instance, tell you about seeing massive charge requests from businesses with names like Sterling Management, Bridge Publications, Religious Technology Services, Celebrity Center, Dianetics--all of which were different trademarks owned by the Church of Scientology. $5,000 charges from these establishments were the order of the day, I could tell you but will not, just as I will not mention that when asked the salesperson invariably replied that the charges were for educational materials or that the overwhelming majority of the cardholders who bought such things were either dentists or chiropractors and if you look closely in any large city you will to this day observe that where you see a sign for a dentist, one for a chiropractor will be nearby. I could but will not mention in passing how several of us pulled together sufficient data to conclude that these members were buying material they were in turning selling to others or, to put it gently, floating huge sums of cash, showing and paying huge balances and then in a flash going broke when they could--and I want to be oh so very careful how I say this, what with the litigious nature of our society--not finding anyone new interested in buying their "educational material." In short, the organization itself appeared to many of us to be a high and unnecessary risk and when we spoke with the head of the department overseeing the merchant side of our business, to our dismay we learned that person himself--though neither a dentist nor chiropractor--had incurred charges of his own from this thoughtful and reputable series of establishments. But the Credit Authorizations department within the Western Region Operations Center as part of the Card Division of Gerstner's Travel Related Services was twenty-four hour on-your-feet shouting, running, swearing, pounding and overly sexualized work. Yes, work was the order of the day because we always seemed to be just a bit understaffed, which meant that some card-carriers and many merchants had to wait what must have seemed an interminable time to find out if a charge was approved or declined. I won't tell you either that in our role of bringing members to the telephone at the point of sale--as we did in those days--to discuss the merits of approving or declining certain purchases--it came to pass that I spoke with a newscaster for one of the big networks whose account had drifted more than three months in arrears and how she expressed her chagrin at being brought to the phone, seeing as how the President of the USofA was standing but a few feet from her. I would never discuss that, any more than I would reveal how I continually blocked a certain former nightclub singer and child actor who had gone on to own a substantial chunk of the marquees in Las Vegas with his renditions of songs that all had the word "Daddy" in the title, or that when I say "blocked" I of course mean prevented from making charges on any of his several Amex accounts what with him being many months passed due, a fact not mitigated by the horrendous nature of his nightclub acts. And to boot I would never tell you that somehow or other this same guy--after a few phone calls to higher ups--always managed to get those holds removed. That said, it goes without saying that I would find it inappropriate to share a most amusing story about how the bassist and chief songwriter for a then-popular band of hedonistic hard rockers did, when brought to the phone at a time when not that many people outside the industry knew who the poor sad bastard was, bring to tears the person sitting next to me who suffered for no good reason a string of brash obscenities meant to intimidate and dissuade beneath the guise of being an indignant prima donna. The amusing part of the story occurred moments later when I positioned myself at a computer terminal and cancelled the future star's account as being "deceased," an 06 cancellation, if memory serves. I would never consider going on to tell you that when some freaky-haired illustrated man in leather and attitude presents a plastic charge card with the name of a presumably dead person on it, the authorities all too soon get involved. It would, without doubt, be wrong of me to further disclose that after this pompous buffoon at long last and weeks later verified his condition of life and received by registered mail a replacement card and written apology from God knows whom, he found that within minutes this card too had been cancelled for the same reason as before. But such as the vicissitudes of rock star arrogance. Please remember this was a department where screaming bloody murder was the order of the day and the gentle voice of reason had been strangled and incinerated long before I had even arrived on the scene. When a series of transactions were awaiting the attention of a well-intentioned Credit Authorizer, the standard method of communicating this fact was for the supervisor in charge to rise from the Control Desk located in the center of the fray, throw back the chair, lift one eyebrow while lowering the other, knock over the nearest coffee cup and--in the voice of an inebriated cockatoo-- screech, "Ay, ye bastards! We've got thirty in queue! I needs every swinging dick on the phones! I needs every screen up! Chop-chop! Suey-suey! Gimme a clear out! Use my number! Hu-yaw!" Do not feel inferior if you do not comprehend the meaning of this series of commands. I do not know now what they meant. I did not know then. No one ever did know. They were just words, verbal spasms designed to convey that the department was metaphorically in flames once again and that everyone within earshot needed to pretend to give a damn. The thing was: No one ever told us that this was all play-acting. We took it seriously. We knocked little old people out of our way as we lunged at vacant computers, keying the command 66 which made available the next pending transaction which in turn we evaluated in two or three seconds, often without so much as looking at the necessary information because clearly what mattered was the bellows of the supervisor be quenched and that doing a decent job was secondary, if not tertiary, if even important at all. One of my big successes (and one of humanity's biggest successes, for that matter, because we really are all connected and no one makes it on his own--we are all responsible for one another's successes and failures and if you don't like that point of view, find another solar system, buddy) was Lisa Ann. Yep, when I first met her, all I could think about was the way the back pockets of her blue jeans wiggled up and down as she walked away. But in no time at all I recognized that there was something very dear and special percolating inside that sweet head of hers and I wanted to get to know her, be her friend, spend serious time being silly. Instead of all the things I will not tell you, I will tell you this. One evening Lisa Ann and I were sitting in my apartment, drinking the first of three bottles of cheap white wine. At some point we got to talking about what a dummy a certain supervisor at work was (I won't say her real name, so we will call her Katherine), and how it might be fun to annoy her. I stood up and announced, "Let's explore the distinctions between annoyance, irritation, and making someone totally insane!" Lisa Ann stood up and said, "Yes! Let's do!" I picked up the telephone, this being in the days before caller ID and that type of buzz kill, and rang up Katherine the Supervisor, a woman who at that very moment was sitting at the Control Desk in the Authorizations department at American Express in the Western Region Operations Center, which was where Lisa Ann and I worked. Katherine answered the phone and I said, "I need to speak with Bubbles." "Bubbles?" she said, all sorts of background noise and confusion dying down as if she had said "E.F. Hutton." "Is that someone here in this department?" "Most certainly," I replied. "I need to speak with her right away." Katherine said she would try to find her for me. She sat the phone receiver down and I could hear her marching up and down the many aisles of cubicles, asking in that strangled cat voice of hers, "Is your name Bubbles? Does anyone know Bubbles? Who the hell is Bubbles?" At long last she returned to the Control Desk, retrieved the telephone handset and--with heavy breath--said, "Sir, I'm sorry. I cannot find anyone here named Bubbles?" "Is this American Express?" "Yes, yes it is American Express." "Oh, well, my mistake then," I said and hung up. Upcoming Webinar: Finding Big Money in Small BusinessJoin SCORE Monmouth and Mariel Miller, The Franchise Advisor, to talk about LESS is more - Local Essential Service Solutions in today's world. Franchises are today's hottest opportunities, learn how to find and fund opportunities and the general principles of owning a franchise. SCORE, America’s premier source of free, confidential small business advice, was founded in 1964 as a nonprofit resource partner of the U.S. Small Business Administration (SBA). Because SCORE receives government funding, and thanks to their more than 10,000 dedicated volunteers, they are able to deliver most of our offerings at no cost. 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SCORE also provides virtual mentoring services via phone, email, and video, plus webinars and other online resources for budding entrepreneurs and established business owners. Monmouth SCORE offers Always FREE Business Mentoring from experienced Local Business leaders and Business Owners. Register here: https://bit.ly/318JgOo  Things to know about seoIf there was ever an acronym that has been beaten to death over the last ten years or so, that acronym would have to be SEO--search engine optimization, a phrase that means your website's ability to be botted and scanned and pushed upwards by search engines according to the rules of the game as established by a growing little enterprise called Google. A lot of companies will charge you up your darling little wazoo for the privilege of telling you about all kinds of things you simply must do or else your site will never rank and one out of a thousand of those companies might accidentally get it right. That said, here come the facts. Anyone who tells you otherwise has a hidden agenda or else just does not know what he or she is talking about. We've done the research and here are the results. 1. Your website gets points for having a high domain authority, as proved by Ahref. The trick to remember is that the higher the position on SERPs, the higher the domain authority. Correlation is not causation. Which causes which, if either? Our our research shows that if you have a broadly interpreted website--meaning whatever you are selling is sold by lots and lots of others--your search position affects your authority. If you sell something close to being unique, your domain authority impacts your SERP. 2. The more backlinks you have, the higher your position on search engines. Most sites have no backlinks at all, so get some. When I say most sites, I mean 95%. It helps to have backlinks from a wide spread of website topics and the higher the domain authority of the linking site, the more impact the specific backlink will have. A variety of referring domains also helps more than you think. 3. Remember how everybody and his uncle used to say that content is king? Well, if it is, then comprehensive content is queen. Comprehensive content is content that covers a specific topic all on one page. This information comes straight from Clearscope. Put another way, your content needs to be highly relevant and that means being precise as well as accurate, staying on point, citing sources and not wasting everybody's time. 4. Your website's title tags need to be an apt description of what the site or page is about. Even Google says so. See the Google scoop. 5. Word count correlates with first page ranking. To be specific, the ideal number of words per page is 1,447. How anyone can get their page to contain precisely this number is beyond my kin to fathom. Humor aside, a longer page tends to attract more backlinks, while a page that is very long doesn't get read and attracts dust. 6. If you must choose between a short URL and a long one, pick the short one, although the benefit is slight for ranking. The actual benefit is that people can remember a short url. 7. A relationship exists between time on site and favorable SERP placement. The average time a visitor spends on a website is 2.5 minutes. No one knows whether this relationship is correlation or causation and if they tell you they do know and they do not own a major search engine, they are delusional at best. You know what else is important? Other things than SEO. Get your images optimized, reduce HTML rendering, make sure your site is mobile friendly, and all the other things we talk about elsewhere on this Return on Initiative website. And our website scores a 99% on SEO.  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