Editing myself

I've been doing the same thing for a long time. I'm not talking about avoiding writing these blogposts — although since the last one I posted was November 11, 2025 I suppose you could make an arguement for it.

What I'm talking about is copywriting. Creative directing. Endless meetings. Town halls. You know, the ad game. I used to tell the wife if I was still writing commercials when I was forty to just shoot me. Clearly I had blown past that deadline.

So last year, when a certain leading cybersecurity company I'd been a creative director at for three years, and I'm not naming names — CrowdStrike — aftrer having several years of outstanding growth and financial reporting with Wall Street, unexpectedly laid off 5% of its staff, which if you're keeping count came out to 500 people (apparently the only breach they couldn't stop was trust), I found myself in an interesting position. Was I going to take my newly found expertise and look for another job in the cybersecurity world? Head back to an advertising agency after five years on the client side (yes the math adds up - before CrowdStrike I was at Epson for two years)? Do nothing, or do something completely different.

The answer about the next step building a future version of me came in the form of my great friend and writer extraordinaire Cameron Day. For reasons I will never know and will always be eternally grateful for, Cameron asked me to edit the second volume of his wildly entertaining, brutally honest and endlessly entertaning advertising survival guide trilogy pictured above, Spittin' Chicklets.

Then he asked me to edit the third one.

And a book about his f*@ked up adventures from the ad trenches.

And his wild ride as an AI anarchist in his book co-authored by AI.

I happened to mention to my former client and close friend Pete Wendy how much I was enjoying this new endeavor thanks to Cameron, and come to find out Pete was writing a book his own self and asked if I would edit it.

I love it when momentum decides to do its job.

This is the book Pete wrote. I think you'll find it well written and extraordinarily edited.

As The Fixx like to say, one thing leads to another. You're welcome Jim DeCorpo (inside joke, don't even try).

Cameron referred me to his friend John Long, who, you guessed it, was in the process of writing a book about legacy brands and what they need to do to survive.

The book is called Zombie Brands, and is packed with exceptional writing, insights and solid advice for older brands looking to survive in the new world.

The thing about this newfound career is the pressure is on and off at the same time. I don't have to come up with the idea and write it. I get to shape it, and work with writers who care deeply about their work, but who don't want to suffer while improving it.

So what am I saying? I guess it's be open to things you haven't tried before. You never know where they'll lead.

Looking at that last line, I think I may have a future writing fortune cookies. Do you know anyone?

Fade In

Once upon a time, “going to the movies” was an event. You’d meet your friends, smuggle in snacks and debate whether to sit front and center or all the way in the back row. Occasionally there’d be a fight for the aisle seat (my favorite).

Now, the only event is deciding which streaming service hasn’t raised its price this month.

Theaters are hurting. Attendance is down. Popcorn costs more than a car payment. Meanwhile, the audience has evolved into restless, multitasking creatures who can’t watch a movie without checking their phones, Googling the actors, and texting every five minutes.

In case you were wondering if that trailer asking people not to talk, text or post works – spoiler alert - it doesn’t.

The challenge for theaters is why should the audience leave home when their living rooms offer parking, 4K resolution, sweatpants and the pause button?

Netflix, Disney+, Prime, Apple — the new moguls of Hollywood. They don’t release movies anymore. They release content. Mountains of it. Every week brings at least a dozen new titles, and yet somehow you still end up rewatching The Office. Or in my case Breaking Bad.

We spend 40 minutes scrolling, 10 minutes deciding, then fall asleep five minutes in. It’s not movie night anymore. It’s movie roulette.

But here’s the thing: when something really special drops — a Barbie here, an Oppenheimer there — we crawl out of our favorite television-watching chair, put pants on (I mean instead of sweatpants – get your mind out of the gutter), go to the theater and think to ourselves “Cinema is back.”

Theaters aren’t dying quietly. They’re rebranding: reclining chairs, gourmet popcorn, flavored pretzels and cocktails with names like Director’s Cut and Final Edit. Some are becoming mini-cultural centers again — showing indies, hosting filmmaker Q&As, and creating vibes no streaming algorithm can replicate.

When the experience feels like an event again, people show up. Because deep down, in places you don’t want to talk about (name the movie – never mind, I’ll name it: A Few Good Men), we want to sit in the dark with strangers, feel the collective gasp, and hear some guy three rows back say, “Whoa.”

The movie industry isn’t dead. It’s just in another reboot. Streaming and theaters will coexist — like divorced parents who’ve learned to be civil for the kids’ sake. Theaters will handle the big moments. Streaming will handle the everything else, from Oscar bait to background noise while you’re folding laundry.

Hollywood’s been declared dead at least five times — when TV arrived, when VHS hit, when DVDs took over, when streaming began, and when TikTok made people prefer 12-second punchlines to two-hour epics.

And yet the lights always come back on. The projector still hums. Someone still cries in row G.

The reason is simple. Movie always find a sequel.

So long social media

As the kids say, it’s not me. It’s definitely you.

The day has come. I’m leaving social media for good. Not a “break,” not a “digital detox,” not a “see you when I feel less angry.” No, I’m deleting my Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter accounts (I will never call it X). Gone. Deleted. Vaporized.

It’s been entertaining. I’ve spent years showing the world how clever, insightful, caring, and occasionally maddeningly opinionated I am. And frankly, if you don’t know that about me by now, I don’t know what to tell you.

But let’s be honest: nothing good is coming from doom-scrolling myself into a sleep-depriving tailspin every night. On these platforms, we’re not the audience — we’re the product. Every click, every like, every second of our attention vacuumed up and monetized. Knowing that, even passively, is exhausting.

Then there’s the rest of it: the bots, the MAGA morons, the performative outrage, the endless, joyless churn of noise and nonsense. It’s all gotten so depressingly predictable. Social media has become like junk food for the brain — cheap, addictive, and guaranteed to make you feel worse afterward.

So I’m cutting the cord. Not deactivating — deleting. Accounts gone, apps deleted, notifications silenced.

This is going to probably take a few weeks. I want to archive my accounts, take a last look around and make sure everyone who wants to stay in touch has a way to. I used to think that because I was in advertising I had to be on these accounts all the time to have my finger on the pulse of what was going on. But as I see what’s going on online, I have the undeniable feeling I might be better off not knowing.

Besides, I’m sure somehow the news will filter down to me in other most likely more reliable ways.

So I’m taking back my time, my focus, and possibly my last remaining shred of optimism.

To everyone who’s followed, commented, shared, or stuck around through the chaos — thank you. You’ve been the bright spots in an otherwise bleak digital landscape.

But don’t worry, assuming you were. I’m not disappearing. I’m just moving to a quieter neighborhood. You’ll still be able to find me here at RotationandBalance.blogspot.com. Since I won’t be losing hours scrolling through other people’s hot takes, I might actually post more of my own. I’ll still be reachable on LinkedIn and by email — if you know my first name, my first and last name, and how to add a dot com, boom! Look at us, we’re talking. And like I said earlier, this process will be a long goodbye over a few weeks.

Take care of yourselves, and if you can, give your own screens a little break too. There’s a lot more life outside the algorithm.

As they like to say in the Senate, I’m reclaiming my time.

Goodbye Lupe

My friend, colleague and fellow sushi lover Lupe Escobar, in one of the more unfair turn of events ever, passed away a few weeks ago. I met and worked with Lupe at Innocean-she was a project manager on the Genesis account.

I’ve been thinking a lot about what to write today, and what I came up with is this: the last thing Lupe would want is some gushing post about her, some perfectly crafted, excrutiatingly curated wording about her life and times.

Of course, if you ask anyone who’s ever worked with me, perfectly crafted has never been an issue.

Lupe would want it real — unfiltered, like she was. So that’s what I’ll try to do.

Lupe was funny. Not just “funny haha,” but sharp, witty, and sometimes a little too honest — which, of course, made her even funnier.

She had this curiosity about people and places that was incredible. When Lupe wanted to know something, she didn’t just read about it — she went there, experienced it, lived it. And when she came back, she’d tell these amazing stories, full of the kinds of little details most people would miss. Listening to her, you felt like you were right there with her.

I can’t tell you how many times I got lost in conversation with her when I was supposed to be working. But talking to Lupe was always better than working anyway.

And now, I have to share something that might make a few of you who knew her jealous: I got a hug from Lupe. Twice. I know — huge deal. Her online handle was nohugsloop, and she meant it. I watched plenty of people go in for a hug and get — let’s call it — gracefully denied. But for some reason, I made the cut: once at a holiday party, and again at my going-away party after someone — and I’m not naming names — made the questionable decision to lay me off. Don’t worry, I’m over it.

Those hugs are among my favorite memories.

Lupe and I had a standing date for years. I was going to take her to my favorite sushi restaurant, Koi in Seal Beach. Until that happened, whenever I was there I’d send her a picture of the food, who I was with or just the chopstick wrapper that said Koi. You always think there’s time, but sadly our sushi extravaganza never happened.

Lupe and I didn’t always agree. When it came to things like vaccinations, we’d have some spirited discussions. Spirited, but respectful.

Lupe was one of a kind. She was bold, curious, funny, and deeply genuine. I know she’ll stay with me the rest of my life.

When I travel somewhere new, I’ll think of her.

When I’m being more honest than people expect — or maybe want — I’ll think of her.

When I’m at Koi I’ll think of her.

And when I’m sitting with someone, laughing, enjoying the ease and realness of the moment, I’ll think of her.

I was lucky to know her, to laugh with her, to hear her stories.

She may be gone, but her spirit will travel with me always.

Godspeed.

Legacy? That's just crazy talk.

You know those crossover episodes on TV, where one show starts a story and then the characters crossover to another entirely different show to finish it?

Mork & Mindy and Laverne & Shirley. Cheers and St. Elsewhere. Chicago Fire and Chicago P.D. The Simpsons and Family Guy. You get the idea. That’s kinda sorta what RotationandBalance is doing today with the finely written and humorous beyond reason RoundSeventeen.

Over breakfast this past weekend, Rich Siegel and I had a frank, heartfelt, bagel-fueled discussion about work we’ve done over the years. What it all means in the big picture. How it will shape our respective legacies.

I’m going to digress for a second, but stay with me. There was an episode of the first Bob Newhart Show, the one where he played psychologist Bob Hartley (kids, ask your parents). Bob starts to question his profession, thinking he’s wasted the last twenty years of his life, so he visits his teacher and mentor Dr. Albert played by Keenan Wynn (kids, ask your parents) for some reassurance.

This is what Dr. Albert tells him: “I’ve studied psychology for the last forty-five years, and come to one conclusion. It’s all a crock.”

Pretty much where we landed.

In the list of art that’s defined narrative structure, such as the works of Shakespeare, epic poems like Homer’s The Iliad and The Odessey that shaped storytelling as we know it, War and Peace – Leo Tolstoy’s sweeping novel of history, philosophy, and the human condition, works that have and will stand the test of time for generations to come, that little banner ad you’re already writing your acceptance speech for will be forgotten faster than you can say “No one cares.”

At breakfast, Rich and I shared what we thought was some of the worst work each of us has done. Sadly there was a lot to choose from.

But just because our print ads won’t be framed and sitting on the shelf next to the works of Shakespeare doesn’t mean there aren’t a few of them we still like.

We both went to our old, black, heavy, dusty portfolios we used to drag around to interviews (kids, ask your parents), rumaged through the expensive and heavily laminated work of yesteryear and dug some of them out.

In no particular order, these are mine. Some are clients you've heard of, some are clients that don't exist any more, and there may be one in there that never ran but I like enough to show.

Whatever the case, one thing holds true for all of them: you’ll forget about them almost as fast as you read them. But they're not awful and I'm not embarassed by them.

But because ads, not just ours but everyones, have a shorter life span than a mayfly (kids, ask your parents), do us a favor.

Live in the moment.

Seen it befaurous

SPOILER ALERT: If you're planning on seeing Jurassic World: Rebirth you may not want to read ahead. Or you just might and then thank me later.

Stop me if you've heard this one before.

There’s an island. There are dinosaurs. Genetically engineered, of course — because nature, chaos, and the lessons of literally every previous movie in the franchise weren’t enough of a warning. Humans show up. They interact with the dinosaurs. The dinosaurs, shockingly, are not into it. Chaos ensues. People run, people scream, people get eaten.The people run back to their boat or plane or helicopter to get off the island.

Sound familiar? It should. It's the plot of every single Jurassic movie since 1993.

They shouldn't have called it Jurassic World: Rebirth. They should've called it Jurassic World: Again.

The main difference I can see is that this latest one stars Scarlett Johansson — who still won't return my calls — and also stars unbelievably great looking dinosaurs. This is because CGI technology has evolved quite a bit in the 32 years since the original Jurassic Park movie.

Is it entertaining? Not really. But there are worse ways to spend a couple hours.

I did quite like Rupert Friend, who seriously deserves to work more. He played Peter Quinn in Homeland and was one of the best characters ever. He's a bad guy in this, and he eventually gets his. Not saying how, because that would take the bite out of the story (SWIDT).

The good news is the theater was air conditioned and the popcorn was fresh, so there's that. But in the end, the real horror isn’t the dinosaurs. It’s the realization that after 65 million years, fresh ideas are what’s actually gone extinct.

And now, please to enjoy the trailer they should've used:

VO: In a world where scientists still haven’t learned their lesson…

billionaires still think nature is a toy…

comes the sixth cinematic reminder that playing God never ends well.

DRAMATIC INCEPTION-STYLE BWAAAAAM]

VO: They said it couldn't happen again. They said it shouldn't happen again. So of course...

it happened again.

CUT TO HELICOPTER LANDING ON LUSH ISLAND. SCREAMING. TEETH. MORE SCREAMING.

VO: Starring Scarlett Johansson, because Marvel gave her some free time…

and Rupert Friend, because someone in casting actually has taste.

CUT TO DINOSAUR ROARING DIRECTLY INTO CAMERA. A GUY IN KHAKIS FALLS OVER.

VO: Watch as humans make the same terrible choices with even shinier dinosaurs.

Experience all your favorite moments —like “Don’t go in there," “Why is it always bigger than the last one?” and the classic: “RUN!”

RAPID MONTAGE OF EXPLOSIONS, TAIL WHIPS AND SLOW-MO SCREAMING.

VO: This summer…originality is extinct. Again.

TITLE CARD CRASHES IN: JURASSIC WORLD: WHATEVER

Rated PG-13 for peril and poor decision-making.

WTF WTF?

Well, here we are. The sky is orange. Billionaires are arguing about whose rocket is better. Democracy is hanging by a thread. So naturally, Marc Maron has decided now is the time to wrap up his WTF podcast.

I get it. Sixteen years. Over 1,400 episodes. Hundreds of "lock the gates!" intros, cat updates, coffee slurps, refrigerator bitching and brutally honest introspective spirals. That’s a lot. And that’s enough. For him.

But what about me, Marc? What about us?

Let’s be clear: WTF was never just a podcast. It was an emotional scavenger hunt with a healthy helping of neurosis. It was a comforting ritual—like therapy, but cheaper and with better celebrity cameos. Marc didn’t conduct interviews; he had conversations. Real, raw, occasionally meandering, frequently hilarious conversations.

And I was there for it all. Every Monday. Every Thursday. Want to know how deep I was in? I even listened to the Orny Adams episode. The Orny Adams episode, Marc.

Sure, there are other entertaining podcasts. Polished. Clever. Hosted by duos and trios that make it a misplaced point of pride to avoid politics and meaningful discussions while they keep referring to each other as “besties.”

But WTF had something different. Bravery. Heart. Humor. Insight. Chutzpah. The nerve to let silence sit. The guts to go weird. The refusal to put on a fake voice or banter.

And Marc wasn’t just talking to his guests. He was talking to us. He was there for us.

So now, as the world is melting like a cheap popsicle on a Vegas sidewalk in August, Marc has decided to sign off? Really? Is this the moment we’re saying goodbye?

I'm not saying he can’t take a break. He's more than earned it. But what if, and I’m just spit balling here—what if instead of stopping WTF, he just...tapered? Like a prescription med (he knows a little about those).

Maybe just one episode a week. Or biweekly. Or once a month. Just a little something to keep the darkness at bay and remind us that we are, in fact, still here.

Because the truth is, Marc Maron you’re the hero we need. Flawed. Funny. Smart. Sad. Human.

Thank you Marc. For the laughs. For the tears. For the time you had President Obama in the garage. Thank you for all of it. I’ll miss you. I already do.

But seriously—Orny Adams?