Secret Heart

Here's the deal. It's Saturday, and time for a new post. But I got nothing.

So instead, I'll share this poignant, beautiful, haunting song by Ron Sexsmith - yes, that's his real name.

Here are two versions: him performing it acoustically, and Feist rocking it.

For today, two hearts are better than one.

The new apathy

Is it possible to care too much about your work? How would I know. That's never been my problem.

Sure, I'm paid and paid well to care enough to do the best possible job I can for my clients. And I do, because I'm just that professional.

So maybe the right word isn't care. Maybe it's "serious."

Here's the thing: on the big, long list of things in the world worth taking seriously, advertising just isn't one of them. In fact, advertising is on that other list - the one that includes hybrid cars, Justin Bieber and guys who wear their pants below their ass.

Everyday I work with people who could sell ice to eskimos. But the one thing they can't sell me on is taking the business I'm in too seriously.

Don't get me wrong: I'm a firm believer that there's a reason, purpose and tangible benefit to marketing communication. The impact it can have on defining a brand, engaging the consumer and shaping a business when it's done right - I'm looking at you Apple - is nothing less than remarkable.

The part I don't take seriously are the people who take themselves so seriously.

It's always amusing to go into a meeting and see how serious everyone is. They're straightening their notepads, setting their iPhones within arms reach (you know, for that very important call that could come. At. Any. Minute.), and sitting up attentively in the chairs they've adjusted to just the proper height. Wait a minute, is that image on the screen coming wirelessly from that iPad? Is that a Powerpoint presentation? Man this is getting serious.

The other thing I've found is that the main contribution from people who are too serious is riding the brakes and slowing the process. They bring up issues and detours that aren't salient to either that process or the outcome.

And I believe all that seriousness belies a lack of trust, often in themselves.

For all the efforts they make to stay steeped in pop culture and the trends of the moment, apparently one thing they don't do is read the papers (alright, some of them read the paper on their iPad during those meetings, but still...).

There are bigger things happening in the real world that actually matter and impact lives. It's true all those ads that butt their big, fat noses into your tv watching, radio listening, online surfing, magazine reading and automobile driving also impact lives. But it's also true most of them don't do it the way those very serious faces in the conference room want them to.

Some of the funniest, most brilliant, most creative people I've ever met work in advertising. So do some of the tightest butt-clenchers and people with sticks where they shouldn't be. Maybe they could lose the sticks if they didn't clench so hard. Just a thought.

I understand everyone's doing their job the best way they know how. I just think they could do it a lot better if they didn't take themselves so seriously.

Besides, just because you take yourself seriously doesn't mean anyone else does.

It also doesn't mean you're good at your job.

In what I thought had to be a joke but wasn't, a colleague of mine actually had a Facebook post saying he loved advertising so much it made him cry. Well, it makes me cry too. Just not for the same reason.

Anyway, I hope you can forgive my little rant here. I just had to get it off my chest. I wouldn't blame you if you didn't care.

I know I don't.

The change was made uptown and the Big Man joined the band

One night my wife and I were sitting second row at a Springsteen concert at the L.A. Sports Arena. It wasn’t an unusual place to find us.

As Bruce and the E Street Band were playing, she leaned over and asked me who I’d want to be onstage. Naturally I said Bruce. Then I asked her the same question. She took a beat, looked up onstage at Clarence, then replied, “Mrs. Clemons.”

I cried tonight when I heard Clarence had died. Not only for the fact of his passing, but for the end of any hope he might recover from the massive stroke he had almost a week ago.

For anyone who saw the last tour, it was easy to see it was a painful time for the Big Man. After two hip replacements, two knee replacements, major spinal surgery, and the wear and tear of carrying his larger than life frame around for 69 years, the Clarence of old – the one who danced with Bruce, jumped down to the runner of the stage, acted in sketches when Bruce was hamming it up (which was often) – was already gone.

His movement was limited to standing up from his ornate, throne-like chair at the side of the stage that he spent most of the concert in, and playing those unimaginably soulful, powerful, moving and profound sax solos as if it were the first time.

He was almost as much a part of the show as Bruce.

It’s virtually impossible to imagine E Street without him. And I guess in the larger sense, he'll always be onstage with them whether he's there or not.

Lots of chatty local news anchors have been wondering if it's the end of E Street. I'm here to tell you it's not. I believe Bruce and the band will tour again, sooner rather than later.

Because in the same way Bruce chose Charlie Giordano as keyboardist after Danny Federici passed away from cancer, he'll eventually choose another outstanding sax player to share the stage with him.

It goes without saying that whoever that turns out to be has some big – really big – shoes to fill.

And while Bruce fans will never be able not to think of Clarence at Bruce's side, they’ll graciously welcome whoever it is because Bruce chose them.

They're good like that.

Together my inner circle of Bruce tramp friends - Kim, Al, Jessie, Chris - have seen hundreds of shows here and around the world. And at every one of them, we talk about how people who aren't there have no idea what they're missing.

I’m so very grateful for all the times I got to see Clarence perform. I’m grateful my children got to see him on E Street.

And I’m especially grateful that Bruce knows continuing to play the songs Clarence loved and lived to play, and to keep rocking it hard, is the best and most lasting tribute he can pay to his dear friend.

Tonight, heaven is blessed.

And Gabriel is thinking he's never heard a horn sound so sweet.

The Big Man is in the house.

Clarence Clemons 1942 - 2011

I'll have a post of my own about Clarence as soon I can regain my composure and collect my thoughts. In the meantime, the post from Bruce:

It is with overwhelming sadness that we inform our friends and fans that at 7:00 tonight, Saturday, June 18, our beloved friend and bandmate, Clarence Clemons passed away. The cause was complications from his stroke of last Sunday, June 12th.

Clarence lived a wonderful life. He carried within him a love of people that made them love him. He created a wondrous and extended family. He loved the saxophone, loved our fans and gave everything he had every night he stepped on stage. His loss is immeasurable and we are honored and thankful to have known him and had the opportunity to stand beside him for nearly forty years. He was my great friend, my partner, and with Clarence at my side, my band and I were able to tell a story far deeper than those simply contained in our music. His life, his memory, and his love will live on in that story and in our band.

Hollywood's other Clint

You’ve heard the saying - you can choose your friends, but you can’t choose your family. All you need to do is take a good look at your family, especially after Thanksgiving dinner, at Christmas time or the reading of the will to know it’s true.

But if I could choose my family, I’d choose Ron Howard to be my older brother. Look how well it’s worked out for Clint.

In case you’re not familiar with Clint Howard, he’s the freakishly ugly, bald brother of Ron Howard who looks nothing like him, and appears in virtually every one of his movies.

But he wasn’t always that hideously ugly.

He started his career on a tv show called Gentle Ben, about a boy and a bear. He played the boy. He was a cute kid back then, but time and God both have a sense of humor, and what he grew up to look like wasn’t exactly leading man material.

Ironically, in a business consumed with looks, his haven’t been a handicap. Neither has having Ron Howard as his brother.

He’s become kind of a cult Where’s Waldo/Spot His Brother figure in Ron’s films. When his face appears onscreen (and by the way, seeing it in 70mm does nothing to improve it), there’s always laughter and a smattering of applause.

Here’s a list of the movies Ron Howard has directed. The bolded ones are the ones Clint has appeared in:

2013
The Dark Tower (announced)

2012
The Dark Tower (TV series) (pre-production)

2011
The Dilemma

2010
Presidential Reunion (video short)

2010
Heidi Montag Says No to Plastic (video short)

2009
Angels & Demons

2008
Frost/Nixon

2006
The Da Vinci Code

2005
Cinderella Man

2003/I
The Missing

2001
A Beautiful Mind

2000
How the Grinch Stole Christmas

1999
Edtv

1996
Ransom

1995
Apollo 13

1994
The Paper

1992
Far and Away

1991
Backdraft

1989
Parenthood

1988
Willow

1987
Take Five (TV movie)

1986
Gung Ho

1985
Cocoon

1984
Splash

1983
Little Shots (TV movie)

1982
Night Shift

1981
Through the Magic Pyramid (TV movie)

1980
Skyward (TV movie)

1978
Cotton Candy (TV movie)

1977
Grand Theft Auto

1969
Cards, Cads, Guns, Gore and Death (short)

1969
Deed of Daring-Do

1969
Old Paint (short)

Years ago I had a close encounter with Ron Howard when he was first starting out. He was directing a film called Grand Theft Auto for Roger Corman, and through some connection I don’t even remember, I got a job as a production assistant on the film.

My big break lasted two days until I came down with a horrible case of the flu and had to bow out. Come to find out I was extremely easy to replace on a moments notice – a lesson I’ve learned many times since.

Anyway, more power to old Clint. He's carved out a career for himself, he's a cult figure and he loves his big brother. How many show biz siblings - not counting the Bridges, the Afflecks, the Baldwins or the Coens - can you say that about?

Besides, as Damon Wayans says, “This town is built on nepotism.”

He should know. He has five brothers to prove it.

One and only

I'm an only child. And I'm okay with that.

Sure, I don't really understand the whole sharing thing. Or not having my way when I want it. But for the most part it hasn't held me back.

Naturally there's been one or two times in my life where it would've been nice to have a sibling. For example when my parents died. As you'd expect, an extremely tough time. It would've been nice to have somebody who knew exactly what I was going through because they were going through it too. Another tough time: when Springsteen tickets go on sale. A brother or sister would double my chances of getting the good seats.

When I tell people I'm an only child, I usually get one of two reactions. They'll say, "Oh you're so lucky." Or they'll give me a sad, sympathetic look and say, "Oh that's a shame."

It's not a shame. For the most part, it's awesome.

I have lots of friends with siblings. Some of them get along, some don't. Many of them have found a way to negotiate a truce because they have family obligations and joint decisions that have to get made, none of which happens if they're fighting like cats and dogs all the time. But it always seems like an uneasy truce.

I also have people I don't get along with. The difference is when I don't get along, I can get away. I don't worry about having to see them at home, or running into them at family events or holiday dinners.

Also, I think because I'm an only child my friendships take on even more importance in my life. Well, some of them anyway (you know who you are). I tend to invest time and energy to nourish and grow them, and find myself getting more than just a little out of sorts when that investment isn't returned in kind (you know who you are).

Anyway, I'm not making an argument for being an only child. I'm just saying there are worse things that could happen in the world.

That would be the world that revolves around me.

The 77th

I am never complaining about a tough day at work again.

Last Saturday night, I had the privilege of riding along with Sgt. Sandoz of the L.A.P.D. 77th Street Community Police Department. It's located in the heart of South Central Los Angeles, and to say that it's a busy division would be an understatement.

I joke a lot about growing up on the mean streets of West Los Angeles (north of Wilshire). But driving through South Central on my way to the station makes that joke ring incredibly hollow. I was born and raised here, yet I've never been in that part of the city.

Sadly, many residents there have never been out of it.

When I first arrived at the station, Sgt. Sandoz gave me a tour. I met many officers, who were all welcoming and surprisingly upbeat, funny and optimistic given the work they do.

And the high crime area they do it in.

I was shown things the general public rarely sees: the holding cells, all metal - makes it a lot easier to hose down. The watch commander's office. The weight room where officers work off some of the stress of the job. The very overcrowded jail at the station, including the two padded rooms which were occupied.

I was also shown the breathalyzer station, or as Sgt. Sandoz called it "Comedy Central", where drunk driving suspects try to fool the machine. I saw a few suspects try to do just that later in the evening when we came back to the station.

The vial of medical marijuana one of them had probably didn't help any.

Every day, the officers have to check out the weapons and patrol cars. We walked up to a counter in front of a room where the walls were lined with shotguns to get ours. Well, his. I didn't get one. (I also didn't get a bulletproof vest. Forest Whitaker got one when he was there researching a role for a movie. I'm just sayin'.)

Anyway, after Sgt. Sandoz got the shotgun and car keys, we went into the station lot to find our car: number 89173. Here's the thing about the 77th parking lot: sitting in the overhead pipes throughout the lot are giant stuffed animals keeping watch on everything. Don't ask.

We got in our car and were off. I told Sgt. Sandoz I fully expected the four words I'd hear most from him were, "Stay in the car." But he said not at all. I was riding with him as his partner. As far as anyone knew, I was a police officer and I was welcome to be right there with him on the calls.

While we were driving the real mean streets, I got to run license plates for stolen cars on this laptop that sits between the front seats in the patrol car. I actually was pretty good at it. When we'd pull up to a red light, or behind a Toyota or Honda (the most frequently stolen cars), I'd run the plates. Unfortunately I didn't get any hits. I was seriously hoping for a high speed chase. Maybe next time.

I also got to sit in at the 911 call communications center for the entire city of Los Angeles. Listening in on a few of those calls, and the way the 911 operators handle them, gives an entirely new definition to the word "patience".

I'm not going to go into great detail, but here are a few of the calls I went out on:

- A domestic violence call. We parked down the street from the address and waited for another unit to get there before we went in. The woman, visibly bruised and scratched, said her boyfriend was sitting in a car in the back of the apartment with their baby. The officers and I went around back, and saw him with the baby in the backseat of an old BMW. They asked him to come out and he didn't right away. There's a moment where you have no idea what's going to happen, what he's going to do to himself, the baby or us. But eventually he got out, gave the baby to the officers and the police cuffed him and took him away.

- An AIDS patient wanted to kill himself. He very calmly explained to both Sgt. Sandoz and me that he was overwhelmed with his own situation, and that his ailing mother who lived with him was driving him crazy and he wanted to end it - although he hadn't given any thought yet as to how. He was still healthy and showing no signs of the disease. A second unit arrived, and he was taken away for psychological evaluation.

- A man brandishing a gun. This was interesting for a few reasons. The apartment where this happened was at the corner of Florence and Normandie, flashpoint of the 1992 riots after the Rodney King verdict. Up until this point, I'd only seen this intersection from an overhead shot on the news. The man allegedly brandishing the gun was in a back unit you got to by going down a narrow walkway with apartments on both sides. The people he was threatening were family. Several units arrived (mention "gun" and the party's on), and a helicopter was called in to shine some light on the place. Myself and several officers were lined up against a side of the walkway, as they told everyone in the back unit to come out with their hands over their heads. Which they did. They were cuffed, and faced the wall as the officers went into the apartment to make sure no one else was there, and to retrieve the gun. It turned out there was never a gun, and it was an extremely heated family argument that triggered (see what I did there?) the whole incident. Once the situation was under control, we were back on patrol.

Since it was a relatively slow evening, at least the part of it I was there for (7PM-1:30AM), I didn't see anything really hardcore (bodies, shootouts, more bodies). Actually kind of grateful for that.

The real crime happening everyday is the budget cuts to the department that force these dedicated, overworked and underpaid officers to stretch their limited resources virtually to the breaking point. If you're so inclined, and you should be, sending a letter to Anthony Villaraigosa or Governor Brown asking them not to cut the budget where law enforcement is concerned can do nothing but help.

I want to give a huge thank you to Sgt. Sandoz and all the great people working at the 77th, not only for letting me have this incredible experience, but for who they are and what they do each and every day for all of us.

Roger that.

Tonight's the night

Tonight's the night of my LAPD South Ride Along. I'm pretty sure the four words I'll be hearing the most are, "Stay in the car."

Anyway, I'll have a post about it when I get back at 3AM.

Meanwhile, you can sleep easy knowing that the mean streets of L.A. are being patrolled by yours truly.

Sure it could be dangerous, but not to worry. I look fabulous in Kevlar.

Roger that.