A shot in the dark

If you know anything about me, and really, shouldn't you know something about me by now, you know that I do loves me a good game of craps every once in awhile.

Well, come to find out that thrill of rolling the bones and not knowing exactly if my number's going to come up apparently extends well beyond Vegas.

In fact, all the way to my doctor's office.

Every flu season, my doctor offers me a flu shot. It's an offer usually met with cynicism and a polite refusal. I rarely get the flu, and the ones I have gotten haven't been that bad.

Until now.

I remember the great flu panics of years past: Swine flu. Avian flu. Hong Kong flu. I also remember everyone in the media getting the message out, telling people to get their flu shots.

This time, I wish I'd listened.

I've just spent ten days down - way down - with the flu. This was no lightweight virus. This was a wicked, ass-kicking, anti-Semetic, vindictive, petty, vengeful flu that was relentless in making me feel as bad as it possibly could for no reason at all.

I'm not sure what its official name is. I call it the Creative Director flu.

Fortunately it didn't come with some of the messier symptoms that can sometimes accompany the flu. It was mostly fever after fever, 24/7 aching from head to toe, and a fatigue that would necessitate three hour naps after a walk from the bedroom to the bathroom.

The good news is I lost my appetite as well as a little weight, and now have a newfound appreciation for mango juice from Trader Joe's.

As a result of this latest bout, I'm now even more of a hand-washing fanatic than before. On the hand-washing scale, I'm way north of my kids and just slightly south of Howard Hughes.

I've learned my lesson. Next year, I'm rolling the dice on the flu shot.

Even if it only lessens the misery, I'll consider that a win.

Unmistakably extortion

I'm going to tell you the truth: it's not cheap being me. One of the reasons is that being a theater arts major (Really? Which restaurant?), and a lover of the thee-a-tah, I like going to plays. Not that I don't get enough drama in my real life. I work in advertising. I'm used to farce on a grand scale.

For me the stage holds a particular magic not found anywhere else.

Here's the other thing: I'm at a point in my life where, not only am I not willing to sit in the fourth balcony, I also won't beg, borrow, steal, wait, connive, cajole, call in favors and con people to get good seats.

I save that for Springsteen concerts.

Instead, I pony up the bucks and subscribe.

Now the alleged benefit of subscribing is you get better seats than the general public, and enjoy the same ones for each production. The most positive experience I've ever had with a subscription was the Shubert Theater in Century City. It's long gone, and in its place sits the Death Star (CAA). What the Shubert subscription gave me was killer seats - fourth row, dead center. Every season, every production.

When the Shubert went away, I became a subscriber to the Ahmanson Theater. I've been a subscriber over 10 years, and that entire time these have been my seats.

Fortunately the Ahmanson isn't a ginormous theater, so these are reasonably good.

However, each and every time we see a production there, I can't help noticing there are 17 rows in front of us, each one closer to the stage than we are.

But the Ahmanson wants to keep their subscribers happy.

So they enclose this form with the season subscription renewal that lets you check a box if you want to improve your seats by moving them closer to the front and center.

We've checked these boxes every year for ten years.

Guess where our seats are?

Really, who do you have to upstage around here to get better seats at this place?

I decided to read through the renewal package a bit more thoroughly. I thought somewhere inside there it might tell me how, after subscribing for 10 years (did I mention that?), I could guarantee myself better seats.

Well, of course it did. I just hadn't seen it before. Switch on the light bulb and cue the choir. Suddenly, it was all so very clear to me when I came upon this cheerily written yet profoundly disheartening little paragraph:

See the problem?

I thought by being a loyal subscriber for over a decade, at some point that loyalty would be rewarded with better seats. Come to find out that's not the way it works. Says right there in black and white you have to become a "donor" to get put on the "fast track" for better seats. It kind of begs the question: how much do you have to donate?

One year, we decided to test the waters and donated a tax-deductible $600 to see what that did for us.

Guess where our seats are?

Luckily, the Ahmanson provides a valuable service for its current and future subscribers. Instead of taking up valuable time making up your mind whether you want to donate and how much, they conveniently suggest a donation when you renew your subscription.

They even have a little box you check to show your desire to "support the theatre I love."

Funny, I thought that's what I've been doing for the last decade by subscribing.

And since I know $600 doesn't buy better seats, what exactly does their suggestion of $265 do besides prime the pump to get you in the habit of handing them money season after season.

Actually, if I'm going to be honest, the $600 we donated did buy us one thing: unrelenting calls for months on end at dinner time and weekends, sometimes three and four a week, asking us to donate more.

Thank God for caller I.D.

If the Ahmanson ever has a production where an actor has to portray a character who'd just as soon rob you than look at you, I know a great place they can research the part.

The subscription office.

Groundhog's meeting

How many times has this happened to you?

You're in a creative meeting with other teams, and the creative director is telling you about the television spot he wants you to come up with. He says the spot should be moving. Should make the consumer feel something besides nauseous or insulted. You should make it unlike anything the competition is doing. Unlike anything that's been seen or done before.

Here's the funny part.

Immediately on the heels of instructing you and your colleagues to make it different, he starts subtly dropping code words that every creative recognizes. Words that tell you to make it exactly like what everyone else is doing.

If you're not in advertising you may have a hard time understanding this. The only way you'd have a harder time is if you were in advertising.

The truth is that in creative meetings at agencies across the country, this kind of thing happens more often than a Charlie Sheen interview. It's the reason so much advertising looks alike.

A writer friend of mine (who had a joke in the meeting that I'm still laughing at) told me that he never bites the hand that feeds him. Excellent advice.

So I'll work on the spot, using the directions I was given. One of which was to make it great.

I'll start by looking at a great spot the competition did.

My Jesus moment

It was a genuine turn-the-other-cheek moment.

Yesterday I took my son and daughter to see the new movie Thor. If you've seen the lead actor in the ads, you know he's tanned and has long blonde hair.

I call him Malibu Thor.

And if you've seen me, you know how incredibly similar Thor and I are built. I swear, during the scene where he had his shirt off it was like looking in the mirror.

But I digress.

Anyway, we cut it close getting to the theater in time, but were lucky enough to get three seats just a couple steps up the stadium-seating theater. I sat on the aisle.

At some point early on in the movie, I noticed a father with a young baby in his arms come down and stand in the hallway to the theater, just the other side of the rail for the stairs up to the seats. After a little while, his baby started banging on the rail, and frankly the reverberation of the metal every time his kid hit it wasn't enhancing the soundtrack in the slightest.

After letting this go on for a longer time than was reasonable, I leaned over to the dad and politely asked in a whisper if he could stop his baby from banging the rail. With that, he turned to me, bouncing his baby in his arms, and said, loudly, "He's just a kid man. F&#k you!"

Needless to say, not the response I was expecting.

Two things immediately went through my mind: first, it's going to be interesting to hear baby's first words when he's old enough to speak. Second, since I had my kids next to me, and they (and most of the theater) heard the entire exchange, this might be an excellent teaching/learning moment for them.

So instead of engaging this moron, I just kind of laughed it off and returned to watching Malibu Thor. When I did this, I noticed that he retreated back a bit, and moved his baby out of banging range of the rail. He didn't say another word to me, and stood there for the entire film, scared his baby was going to start crying in the theater.

Personally, I don't see why. What is it about seeing an ear-shattering, violent movie about the warrior Norse God of Thunder that would make an 8-month old baby cry?

When I got up to go to the bathroom and walked right by them, I realized I had about 60 lbs. on the guy. He saw me get up, and took a step back as I came around to pass him. When the movie ended, his wife came down from wherever she was sitting, and they quickly left without giving me another glance.

Now, I work in advertising. Believe me it's not the first time I've been F-bombed. But I was proud of myself for going completely against my true nature and not engaging with the guy.

Like I said, a genuine turn-the-other-cheek moment.

By doing so, I had returned the compliment without ever having to say it.

Plus my kids got to see that you don't have to engage every asshole who comes at you.

So all and all, an interesting and educational afternoon at the movies.

Of course, if I'm being honest with myself - which I so rarely do because where's the upside in that - I know if my kids weren't with me, this is probably the Jesus I would have followed.

Chrome wheeled, fuel injected

There's not much to be said about taking my car in for service. It's time consuming. It's expensive. It means I actually have to talk to people who work at the dealership. The rewards of doing it - aside from getting my car back with the problem (sometimes) solved - are few and far between.

However, there is one benefit I always look forward to.

The loaner car.

Since I drive a Lexus, I usually get a pretty nice loaner. It's almost always a step up from my model, and it always has something my car doesn't: satellite radio.

The reason that brings me so much joy is it means I get to listen to E Street Radio. All Bruce all the time. It's a little bit of heaven for a Bruce tramp such as myself, who along with my other Bruce tramp pals live for the tours and chase him to stadiums and arenas all across the country and back to see him.

The beauty of Bruce is that even if I hear a song thirty times, each version is different in some way. Especially the concert versions E Street Radio frequently plays. There's always a new phrasing, different intonation, alternate name of "the girl" from the recorded version to pick up on.

The concerts they play - both official and the bootlegs - give a glimpse of the man as he's developing into the artist he is today. It's fascinating to listen as the sometimes silly banter of youth gives way to the thoughtfulness and insight that goes into the craft of a more mature Springsteen.

I personally can't imagine a better job than being an E Street Radio DJ and getting to listen to Bruce day in and day out.

Now, I know there are people who disagree with me. In fact, a good friend and colleague of mine thinks hosting a channel that only plays Bruce is a version of radio purgatory.

Of course, he's entitled to his opinion.

Even if it's wrong.