Darrin did good

At every agency I’ve ever worked at, someone somewhere has a picture in their office of Dick York as bumbling adman Darrin Stephens from the 1960's television show Bewitched. I suppose it’s always around because they can point to it and say that character is nothing like what they - real life advertising people - are like (in most cases).

The funny thing is, the character is also a million miles removed from what Dick York was really like.

By the time he was hired for Bewitched, he was an accomplished actor with several prestige projects on his resume, including a co-starring role with Spencer Tracy in Inherit The Wind. Unknown to Bewitched producers, he also was an addict, hooked on painkillers as a result of a back injury he got filming 1959’s They Came To Cordura, starring Gary Cooper. Eventually his injury forced him to leave the series after the fifth season.

He never regained his career after that, and along with his wife was forced into homelessness for years due to his inability to work. Eventually, when her mother died, they stayed in her house, with Dick as a shut-in now having been diagnosed with emphysema.

But from that house, he found a way to give to others and bring meaning to his life which he knew was coming to an end.

Their residence became a clearing house for organizations nationwide that helped the homeless and needy. Thanks to Dick York, people who would’ve had to go without food, clothing and shelter didn't.

It’s easy to get caught up in the knit-cap, tattoo, hipster attitude of agency life. It's even easier to laugh at a character from a time long past that’s nothing like you are.

Well, for all the people with the picture of Darrin Stephens hanging in their office, here’s another way you're not like him.

He did something that mattered and made a difference in people’s lives.

Yum Kippur

Quick, how many Jews does it take to blog about Yom Kippur? All of 'em.

Not that the internet needed another blogpost about it, what with this fine post at Round Seventeen, and this swell one at Ad-Aged. But I thought what the hell, I'm just sitting here: I may as well write one. After all, we're not supposed to eat today, but apparently typing is still on the table (see what I did there?).

As I've posted before, I'm not really much of a practicing Jew. I don't know if it's because of four long years of Hebrew school and being bar mitzvah'd, or in spite of it. But as a result, whether I want to be or not, I'm still hard-wired to recognize the holiest day on the Jewish calendar. And because Catholics, despite what they think, have never had the market on guilt cornered, I can't help feeling like I should be more of a participant in the customs and traditions of this day. But here's the thing: for me, actually observing it would be a bit hypocritical. Somewhat akin to all the Jews who, since they're not supposed to drive today, make a proud point of walking all the way to the synagogue.

From the parking lot.

Yom Kippur is the one day we're supposed to reflect on and atone for our sins of the past year. I'm not bragging, but I think we both know it's going to take more than one day.

Besides, there isn't a day that goes by that I'm not constantly thinking about my sins. Since we're supposed to be fasting on this holy day, each year Yom Kippur only serves to narrow down the sin I should be focusing on most.

Gluttony.

Til death do you part? Good luck with that

I’m not sure, but I think 2000 is the crown-of-diamonds anniversary.

Last week, a piece of papyrus was discovered. On it, Jesus is quoted as saying the words “My wife…” But then, the paper cuts off.

Cue the media frenzy.

“Was Jesus married?” the pundits were asking. Or even worse, stating as fact.

The answer of course is no, he wasn’t. So I hope you kept the receipt for that crock pot.

The fabric it’s written on, much less the statement itself, strike more than a few theological investigators as suspicious since this “discovery” just came to light. The truth is, as Jon Stewart showed last week, Jesus could’ve been saying virtually anything:

The Daily Show with Jon Stewart
Get More: Daily Show Full Episodes,Political Humor & Satire Blog,The Daily Show on Facebook

But I think to discover the real reason Jesus wasn't married, you have to turn to a preacher. Or former one. That's why I think Sam Kinison has the real reason - by the way, this clip is NOT suitable for younger viewers (surprise!):

And if it turns out he was married, all I can say is I hope she gets along with the in-laws.

Buckle up

I used to be terrified of my son getting his driver's permit. Then after giving it some thought, I couldn't wait. It would mean the time when I could hang up my chauffeur's hat would just be that much closer.

Well, he has his permit now. And turnabout fair play, he's become my chauffeur.

First off, let me say he's a very conscientious driver. He takes it seriously, and he's earned my trust behind the wheel.

Of course, having the parents that he does, unfortunately he has a hereditary condition called "lead foot." We'd hoped it would skip a generation as these conditions sometimes do, but no such luck.

Anyway, whenever anything has to get done that requires driving, he drives me there. The market. The dry cleaners. The Lexus dealer. To and from school. Every minute behind the wheel is a learning opportunity for both of us.

Since all the rules of the road are fresh and top of mind to him, it serves two purposes: to make him a better driver, and to make me one as well. I've acquired some sloppy habits over the years (rolling stops, not signaling as often as I should, that "lead foot" thing) that I'm now much more aware of thanks to him. And it's not that he's pointing out my mistakes - it's just me noticing how good he's doing and seeing where I can improve.

In a couple years, when my daughter gets her permit, I have no doubt she'll be a great driver as well.

At the end of the day, all you can do is put them in a safe car, know they're paying attention, and hope they don't have a target on their back.

And making sure they're an excellent driver doesn't hurt either.

Grounded

You know what's more awesome than seeing the space shuttle fly overhead? Nothing.

Like thousands of other people in Southern California, I was on the rooftop of where I'm working to see the final ride and farewell tour of the space shuttle Endeavour. Since my current office isn't far from LAX, I was lucky enough to have a pretty good view of it (although not as good as my wife's, which is the picture you see here).

For as exciting as it was, for me there was an equal amount of sadness. I keep hearing the phrase, "Once in a lifetime." to describe seeing it. And while it's true, I can't help thinking that it shouldn't be that way.

I think about how much inspiration and how many dreams will be lost, because children won't have the excitement of a launch to wake up to.

Growing up, and even into adulthood, I am still in awe of the power and majesty of the shuttle engines as they fire up:

I'll be the first to agree government doesn't get a lot of things right. But one thing they happen to excel at is, or was, the space program. If you don't believe me, just ask any of the other countries who've landed on the moon. Oh, wait a minute.

I know it's an economy that demands tough choices. But sometimes the benefits of money spent aren't entirely tangible. How do you put a pricetag on inspiring children to be engineers, astronauts, pilots and pioneers?

For everything we've gained from the shuttle program, and as grateful as I am to have seen it, today all I can think about is what we're losing.

Rosh hour

Representation of 405 this morning

Today is the day when Jews all over Los Angeles observe the high holy day of Rosh Hashanah. In my experience, I’ve found the best place to observe it is from the freeway.

Whenever the Jewish high holidays roll around, traffic in L.A. is virtually non-existent, especially if you’re headed to the west side or any of the studios (go ahead, tell me I’m wrong).

Being the non-practicing Jew I am, and despite four long, long years of Hebrew school, I don’t really remember much about Rosh Hashanah. It’s either the celebration of the Jewish New Year 5773, or a rejoicing of the fact there’s no traffic on the usually gridlocked 405 for two days in a row.

I’m going with the second one. And I’m going with it at 75 mph.

One tradition of this high holiday is the blowing of the Shofar (this is a family blog - insert your own joke here). I prefer to participate in the alternate tradition of blowing past all the places I’d normally be stuck on the way in.

Not only are the roads empty, so is the office. Truthfully, since work is not allowed on Rosh Hashanah, I probably should’ve stayed home and gone to temple. I haven’t done that since I was 13. But you never know. It could happen.

Meanwhile, I’m sure the ride home will be equally as quick and uncongested. It’s just the kind of drive that makes me wish everyday were a Jewish holiday. But then movies would never get made, and what would I do on Saturdays?

So happy New Year to all my friends of every faith.

And just so you know, next up on the Jewish high holy day calendar in just ten days from now is Yom Kippur – the day of atonement where observing Jews are supposed to fast all day long to atone for the sins of the past year

This post will probably be first on my list.

Trader Joe's is not my friend

Like everyone else who appreciates badly-designed parking lots and checkout counters carefully placed at an illogical 75 degree angle, I shop at Trader Joe's.

I used to shop there because you could get healthier food at a cheaper price.

But the idea of eating healthy goes out the window when the shelves are stocked with tempting little numbers like these.

It's like the Pabst Blue Ribbon they sell at Whole Foods. Kind of takes the wind out of their healthy sales.

Now, I've spoken about the fact that I'm allergic to chocolate on here before, so I won't dwell on it. First let me just say thank you, but I don't need your pity. Second, I'll remind you that it doesn't close my throat or send me into shock or seizures. I just get stuffed up and sneeze - a small price to pay.

The other thing is I've been an orange and chocolate guy from way back. When there used to be a chain of Swensen's Ice Cream shops, they had a flavor called Swiss Orange Chip, which may be the best tasting chocolate/orange combination ever to be served on God's green earth.

A very close second, or berry close second (see what I did there?) is raspberry chocolate sticks. Flavor, texture, size - it just all works for me.

Except the sneezing part, but again, well worth it.

Anyway, the point is that as long as Trader Joe's carries these and many other sweet treats, I can't take their claims of "organic" and "healthy" very seriously.

Although I did hear that the raspberry and orange chocolate sticks are free-range and cage-free.

So that makes me feel better.

My own best censor

If we can't censor ourselves, who can we censor?

I was trying to think of something to post, and I started scrolling down my list of already published posts. Sprinkled throughout that list are drafts that I either started and never finished, or finished and never published.

The constant debate in the blogosphere is whether to self-police our posts, or just throw it all out there, consequences be damned. I've done both. But now I tend to be a little more discerning about the posts I publish.

I'd like to think the reason for this is that I've grown and matured as both a writer and blogger, and can see the value of being more selective in my writing.

Nah, I'm just messin' with ya. I just don't want to look like an ass.

Like most bloggers, I've occasionally used this forum to take after people and agencies in a big, bad, vicious kind of way. And I still say every one of them earned it. The problem is just because they've earned it doesn't mean I have to be the one dishing it out to them.

Almost always, having no filter leads you on the road to oblivion with both friends and potential employers (never a good thing for a freelancer).

If a friend of yours is wearing a hideous shirt - Tommy Bahama comes to mind - and you tell them, you've certainly told the truth. But to what end? What have you accomplished by it?

Now, this is not to say that every once in awhile I don't enjoy not only burning a bridge, but spreading dried leaves over it, some kindling wood then dousing it with gasoline and torching it. It can be very rewarding - but only if you're sure you're never coming back across that bridge again.

I've written posts, taken them down, then written apologies for having posted them in the first place. I used to dig my feet in and say, "It's my blog and I'll say what I want."

But, much like Jules in Pulp Ficition, it appears I'm in a transitional period.

9/11

Satisfaction

Consider this a companion piece to my friend Rich’s post The Way Advertising Should Be over at the fabulous Round Seventeen.

I can’t remember where I found this letter from Mick Jagger to Andy Warhol. It’s been floating around for a long time, but it always brings a smile to my face. Come to find out that Mick is exactly the kind of client we all want.

Who knew.

Let’s break it down shall we. First, Mick makes sure Andy knows how happy he is that he’s going to work on the project. A little positive reinforcement right off the bat - always a good thing.

Next, he provides the materials Andy needs to get the job done. Andy doesn’t have to have his staff call The Rolling Stones Ltd. offices to see what assets are available, what they can use, if there’s a style guide and what format they can be sent in.

Mick goes on to talk about his past, admittedly limited experience with the process, but he clearly understands something most clients don’t: the more complicated it gets, the worse it is. He then tells Andy to do “what ever you want…” , clearly expressing his complete trust in Andy’s taste, experience, thinking and opinions.

Then, he doesn’t put him on a deadline. He doesn’t try to grind him. Instead he offers him as much money as he needs to get the job done correctly.

He wraps it all up saying his representative will call with further information, but if he in anyway tries to rush the project, Mick wants Andy to just ignore it and take the time he needs to do it right.

All I can think is working with Mick must be a gas gas gas.

I have to believe there are still clients like Mick Jagger out there. I’ve even had some that have given me a few of the liberties Mick gave Andy. Still, in the same way it’s hard for a client to find all the qualities he wants in one agency, it’s even more difficult for an agency to find all the qualities they want in a client.

Which only goes to show you can’t always get what you want. But if you try, sometimes…

Home alone

This weekend is going to be awesome. It’s the kind of weekend a guy who’s been married as long as I have with two kids dreams about. And it doesn’t happen very often.

This weekend, the wife and daughter are away at a mother/daughter retreat they go to every year. My son, a student-council vice-president, is away on a student council overnight planning session/beach party. That can only mean one thing.

Saturday night belongs to me, and me alone. (rolling hands together) Muahhhhhh!

Here's how this weekend goes in my rich fantasy life. Since I have the place to myself, I decide to invite over 1500 of my closest friends for a wild, drunken, too-loud music, cigarette burns on the furniture, wine and beer stains on the carpet, cops have to be called kind of party. For reasons best left unsaid, there are hoists and pulleys, whipped cream and garden hoses involved. It goes until sun up.

Now here's how this weekend usually goes in my real life.

I have to make the important decision about dinner. It usually comes down to In-N-Out or Five Guys. I'm thinking this might be a Five Guys kind of Saturday. Then once I'm home, I catch up with the two nights of America's Got Talent and a week's worth of The Daily Show and The Colbert Report that have been sitting on the dvr. I'll finish my Gillian Flynn book. I'll somehow find the energy to get up off the couch and walk and feed Max, world’s greatest dog. Once that's done, I'm back on the couch and asleep by 9, a 48 Hours Mystery blaring in the background (Spoiler: the boyfriend did it).

I hope the family doesn't wake me when they come back. I'll need the rest after the weekend I'm going to have.

Guilty pleasures Part 3: The Master Of Disguise

Try to keep the groaning down. I can hear it from here.

Unlike guilty pleasures 1 (Final Destination 5) or even 2 (The Three Stooges), I'm certain I'm going to take a certain amount of ridicule for this third entry in the series. You can't change my mind. Have at it.

I'll say straight off the bat that The Master of Disguise isn't a good film (which has never been a requirement for a guilty pleasure), but it is an entertaining one.

In the ugly realm of kids films parents are forced to endure, when both of mine were younger we used to watch TMOD over and over and over. It wore out it's welcome fast, especially since my kids would repeat lines from the film. Over and over and over.

But watching it recently after not seeing it for a very long time, I found myself laughing out loud at Dana Carvey (for the right reasons). He plays a character named Pistachio - stay with me - and he just commits to it. I've always respected people who put themselves out there - consequences be damned.

Except Adam Sandler. Enough already.

See if you can keep a straight face during his (bad) Al Pacino in Scarface impression and the "...stuck in my esophagus" or "...little weiner and some tiny nuts" lines:

Alright, so maybe that clip went on a little too long and I should've warned you about the dancing over the credits at the end of it.

To make it up to you, please to enjoy this clip of Dana Carvey as Robert Shaw - Quint - from Jaws:

Yeah, yeah, I know. What can I say?

I have enough mindless drama in real life. Sometimes I just want some mindless comedy.

12 step program

NEIL: Hi, I'm Neil and I'm a moonwalker.

ALL: Hi Neil.

I'm sure there isn't a Moonwalkers Anonymous. But if there were, the first step would be to admit you've been 239,000 miles from Earth.

There have been 44 presidents. 1153 billionaires. 549 Nobel prize winners. But there are only 12 people in the history of recorded time who've walked on the moon.

I imagine at the annual People Who've Walked On The Moon reunions, who will sadly be one more member short when they next meet, the conversation is always the same:

"Can you believe we were there?"

"That's some view wasn't it?"

"Yep, it's really something."

"See you next year."

There's a famous story about how Buzz Aldrin was pissed he wasn't going to be the first man to walk on the moon. He even went so far as to complain to NASA mission control once they'd landed there. But Neil Armstrong was not only the mission commander, he had the seat next to the lunar lander door. Because of the large, bulky space suits and the small space inside, there was no way Aldrin could've climbed over Armstrong to get out first even if mission control had okay'd it.

If they had, I imagine it would've been an even longer ride back.

Understandably, not many people remember Aldrin's quote when he set foot on the lunar surface: he said, "Beautiful view...magnificent desolation." What he did do that everyone remembers (besides going to the moon) is take the haunting, timeless picture you see above of his footprint that will live on the surface forever.

In case you're wondering, here's a complete list of the club roster:

Neil Armstrong

Buzz Aldrin

Pete Conrad

Alan Bean

Alan Shepard

Edgar Mitchell

David Scott

James Irwin

John W. Young

Charles Duke

Eugene Cernan

Harrison Schmitt

I suppose a better name would be the Dream Makers club. I don't know a single person who saw the landing and didn't dream of going up there, jumping around in 1/6th the gravity of Earth and taking a joyride in the lunar dune buggy.

In the 40 years since the last moon landing, the club has gotten smaller with the passing of Armstrong, Shepard, Conrad and Irwin.

This past month, with it's two full moons and clear nights, I've been thinking that maybe with their passing they're back up there again, looking down at us, once more knowing and experiencing things we mere mortals can never know.

And of course, enjoying the view.

Godspeed.