Drip dry

If you follow me on Facebook - and really, haven't you had enough of me by now, I know I have - you may have noticed the post I did this past Thursday when I accidentally spilled water into my laptop.

Not my proudest moment. Besides having teenagers in the house, few things will make you feel as stupid.

It wasn't a complete submersion. I was opening the screen, and either a) forgot, b) didn't notice or c) didn't care about the plastic cup of water behind it. When the screen hit it, I heard the cup tip over and immediately shifted into that slow-motion feeling you go into when you're either in a really bad accident or have done something monumentally, inexcusably stupid (that one).

It felt like hours before I lifted the laptop up to prevent any more water from getting on the bottom of it, but in reality it was probably only a second or two. Fortunately, it wasn't a direct hit.

The water spilled on my desktop, and seeped under the laptop, which I'd just turned on a moment before. I immediately wiped the bottom of the laptop off, held it upside down to let any water that may have gotten in through the cooling vents run out, and then logged in.

It fired up (poor choice of words) just swell. Everything looked fine, and I figured I'd dodged a bullet. Right up until the screen started getting these static-y lines running through it. The second I saw them, I shut down. The good news is it didn't just crap out, it actually went through shut down and turned off. So I took that as a good sign. Then I went on an agency desktop, and started reading the interwebs about laptops that get water spilled on them and what to do.

The answers ranged from get it to Apple right away, let it dry out for three days, and start praying. The most optimistic were the ones that had let it dry out.

They said if you kept the computer upside down, somewhere air could circulate around it and let it dry for at least three days, often it would turn on fine and be like nothing had happened. So, as you can see by the picture, that's what I'm doing.

I won't turn it on until Sunday afternoon, but I'm hopeful. At the very least I'm hoping it'll come on long enough for me to back everything up to Time Machine, which, coincidentally, I was going to do Thursday morning before work but I was running late. Lesson learned.

I'll let you know how it works out.

In the mean time, I'm going to be careful not to spill any more drinks. Especially the one I'm going to have if I find out I have to buy a new computer.

UPDATE: This afternoon I fired up "'Ole Sparky" and I'm extremely happy to report it's working just fine. Nothing but grateful. Of course, I'll never get that hour I spent in the Apple store yesterday back, but it's a small trade-off.

Endorse this

The first time I ever heard of LinkedIn was about ten years ago from my good friend and sometimes art director partner Imke. She told me about it right after I’d come back to my desk after having been laid off from the agency we were working at.

By the way, if you’ve never worked in advertising, all getting laid off means is you showed up one day.

Anyway, Imke explained what LinkedIn was, how it worked and suggested it was probably a good idea if I listed myself on the site. It's probably still a good idea.

But here's the thing: the site has gotten as annoying as Facebook.

I used to draw a line, a thin line but a line nonetheless, between Facebook and LinkedIn. The former was strictly for friends in the real world. The latter was solely for professional relationships and contacts. Admittedly, sometimes they overlap.

What's happened is that the difference between the two sites grows narrower by the minute.

I attribute it to the fact the gang over at LinkedIn has seen the runaway success of Facebook, and they want a taste of it. So they’re constantly revamping their site to be more like FB. Now on LinkedIn, you can post. Leave comments on posts. “Like” a post. Does this sound familiar?

But in the contest for useless features, the winner by a clear margin is the one that lets you endorse other people on your contact list.

Now, let me just say up front, I appreciate and thank everyone who’s endorsed me in all the various categories I didn’t even know I was an expert in. This includes squirrels and plumbing.

And that’s my point. What does an endorsement really mean? What is its value?

Self-esteem wise, it’s a win. I feel great when I see someone has endorsed me for something. Professionally, I just have to believe that while HR people and agency gatekeepers are looking at my LinkedIn profile, they’re not spending a whole lot of time, as my old art director Doug Morris used to say - sorting the fly shit from the pepper - looking through all the little endorsement squares to find out who, for what and why.

After all, endorsements really only mean something if you know who’s doing the endorsing and the weight it carries. Still, always nice to be recognized, even if it is mostly by friends returning the endorsing favor or asking for one.

I'd like to talk about this more, but I have to go fix a leaky pipe in the squirrel cage.

Clean thoughts

Over the holiday weekend, my son was away with a friend, starting to concept his next award-winning short film. My daughter was spending the weekend as a counselor at a camp near Big Bear.

Which meant my wife and I had the very strange and rare treat of having the house - not counting Max, world's greatest dog - all to ourselves.

If you’re married with kids, I’m sure you’ll appreciate it almost as much as we did. I don’t think I have to tell you that we proceeded to do what any long-married couple does when they finally get a little private time away from the kids.

We cleaned and organized the house.

First, we decided instead of drudgery it was going to be fun. We put on the soundtrack to the movie Chef (awesome – go to iTunes now and download it, I’ll wait) and blasted it while we were working. We decided to spend twenty minutes on the living room, and take no prisoners.

Everything was on the table, figuratively and literally speaking. Books, magazines, receipts, DVDs, papers, pillows, blankets – things that had been lying around or just left out for the last few years were either put where they belong, donated to charity or trashed. It’s amazing how much we accomplished with a focused effort and a predetermined amount of time.

Then we did the other thing long-married couples do whenever they get the chance and the kids aren't around.

We took a nap.

Off the clock

When you have a plumber over, you don't ask if they could just replace a small pipe for free before they get started.

You wouldn't ask your auto mechanic to replace a few hoses for free before he does a tune up.

Alright, so I think we've learned analogies aren't my strong suit, but here's what I'm getting at.

Why do agencies like to send freelancers the creative brief, along with all the Powerpoint presentations, research, first drafts, graphic treatments and assorted other information - some useful, most not - a day or two before the job starts and ask you to review it all before you come in?

I'll tell you why. Because it doesn't cost them anything.

I'll tell you something else. I never do it.

The fact is I'm not on the clock until I am. Don't get me wrong - I don't just do this for the money. I do it for the love. Of the money (okay, who didn't see that coming). So the night before I start a new gig, when I'm with my family, watching Breaking Bad for the fifth time, walking Max - the world's greatest dog, or whatever I'm doing, it's on my time.

You know what I'm not doing on my time? Working for free.

It's not like there's any fear of coming in unprepared or uninformed. If you've ever set foot in an agency, you know meetings are the currency and lifeblood. Everything they sent you will be reviewed, reworked, rehashed and rethought a thousand times before you put pen to paper (old school expression).

And of course, by the time you start, approximately seventeen rounds of meetings later, the assignment will look nothing like what they sent you to read in the first place.

I think my high school girlfriend put it best when she said, "I'm not just giving it away."

And while I didn't appreciate the sentiment then, I certainly do now.

Pay as you go

When it comes to credit cards, I like to know I'm at least getting a little reward for my completely undisciplined spending. That's why I have two airline affinity cards I use to help me rack up the miles.

Funny thing about credit card companies - they expect you to pay them. I know, right?

Sometimes, as any freelancer will tell you, the bills get there before the checks do. The cash flow isn't always as prompt as you'd like it to be. It's not that it's not there, it's just not there right now.

A few months ago, I managed to run up one of my cards to a healthy sum. It fact, at that point in time, it was a healthier sum than I had coming in.

Eventually I paid it off, but I'm not a guy who likes to have debt. I'm not comfortable with it, never have been. I used to pay my phone and electric bills a year in advance just so I wouldn't have to think about them (I also used to spend my rent money at the track, but I don't do that anymore either - long story).

Now before you say it, don't say it. I know I could've invested that money instead of letting the phone and power company earn interest on it. But to me, my peace of mind and retaining the ability to breathe knowing those bills were paid was a good investment.

Anyway, as a result of having run up that card - little suckers just sneak up on you don't they? - I now do something I've never done. I pay as I go.

At the end of every day, I go on the credit card site and see how much I've charged. Then I transfer money from my checking account to cover the daily balance. With a keystroke, I'm current on the card.

It also helps because knowing how much is in my checking keeps a tighter rein on my spending since I know I'll have to cover it the next night. At least that's the theory.

But with 467,000 frequent flyer miles, I'm not sure how well it's working.

Unacceptable behavior

I'm not sure what it is about advertising, but it seems to attract the very best of humanity and the very worst.

When it comes to the second group, I suppose the lesson to remember is never underestimate the profound, almost other-worldly ability of people to be thoughtless, inconsiderate, rude jerks.

We've all encountered them. I don't need to give you examples of their douchebaggery.

Alright, here's one.

I have a close writer friend who's mom has been battling cancer. She took a turn for the worse, and wound up in intensive care in a hospital out of state. My friend's brother called and told her to get on a plane and get up there if she wanted to say goodbye.

She let her boss and co-workers at the agency know what was going on. Of course, they understood and sympathized. Then she headed for the airport.

While she was in the intensive care unit with her mom - gloved, masked and gowned because it was a sterile, germ-free environment - the agency called her. They asked her to work on some brochure copy that need revising while she was there.

I guess they thought she'd get tired of keeping her dying mother company and would want something else to do. You know, all that sitting around waiting. All you've got is free time.

Since you asked, here's another one.

Unless you've been on a news blackout, you know about the fires that have been raging in San Marcos. I happen to have a close art director friend who had to evacuate his wife and one-year old daughter from their dream house they've been in a couple years, and happens to sit at the top of the hill the fire was rapidly burning up. They grabbed the items they couldn't bear to lose, threw them in the car and drove away from their house not knowing whether or not it'd be there when they got back.

While they were at the hotel, his employer called and said they needed him to do some work, and sit in on a meeting. It was okay with them if he did it by phone.

Because, like my other friend, he should have his priorities straight, right? Forget attending to his frightened family, dealing with the uncertainty, the added expense and the crushing stress of it all. That's just crazy talk.

What it comes down to for me is this gross insensitivity really solidifies our belief in the "It's not my job." philosophy. There's no sense of personal responsibility - when you have a soldier down, you just pick up the slack without being asked. Or without passing it on to someone else to do.

It's also clear to me at the agency orientation new employees get when they start, no one's bothering to instill any appreciation for the golden rule: treat others as you'd like to be treated. If any of the people calling my friends to work were in the same position - and in spite of their supreme jerkness I hope they never are - the last thing they'd want is a call asking them to work. Especially from people like them.

All I can do is shake my head and feel sad for the people making the calls. I imagine how cripplingly unhappy they must be in their lives to be so unaware of others and their situations.

My writer friend's mother has stabilized, and is doing better despite the fact there is an inevitable outcome to her illness. But for now, she's here, she's fighting and she's winning.

As for my art director pal, he got the all-clear to go back to their home yesterday. It is intact and untouched by the fire. They were lucky.

The work they were both called to do never got done. At least not by them.

As it should be.

I'd like to make a withdrawal

For the past several weeks, I've had a head-dizzying, rib-aching, throat-inflaming, dry hacking cough. I couldn't get two words out without going into a full on coughing attack. In fact I wrote about it here when it first started.

Early on, I was holding onto hope it was strep throat, or some other bacterial infection I could knock out with antibiotics.

I'm a big believer in antibiotics.

I don't pay no never mind to news reports that talk about drug-resistant strains, doctors over prescribing them or patients abusing them. Antibiotics are like buses - if one doesn't work on what I have, there'll be another FDA approved one coming along any minute.

Better living through chemistry. I'm all for it.

Anyway, three doctors, two physician's assistants and one holistic healer later, I had to face the fact that it wasn't bacterial. Instead, they all agreed it was a virus.

Unfortunately they also agreed the only choice I had was to ride it out. They said they were seeing a lot of this, and it usually ran its course in three weeks. All well and good, except in an extremely rare example of overachieving, mine went on for eight weeks.

Beyond the obvious, one of the drawbacks was I went weeks without sleeping. I couldn't get through the night without waking up on the hour coughing up a lung. I finally resigned myself to the fact I was going to be walking through the world in a fugue state, even more than usual, until I got past this thing.

However after several holistic cough medicines, tons of Hall's Cough Drops (if you own stock in them you're welcome) and daily doses of Robitussin DM, one of my doctors finally prescribed this.

Something something Codeine.

Codeine has always been my friend. Besides gradually, gently carrying me off to dreamland, it found the off switch for the cough. It was a blessing to finally get a few hours sleep straight through.

Here's the funny part. I got really, really, really used to it.

So as the cough started to subside, which it thankfully has, I decided a few nights ago to stop taking the codeine cough syrup.

My body no likey.

Since I quit, I sleep about two or three hours, then bolt straight up - wide awake - for the same amount of time before I go back to sleep for a couple hours again.

And since (Breaking Bad) I watch (Breaking Bad) a lot of television (Breaking Bad) about drug dealers and addicts (Breaking Bad), I self-diagnosed what's been happening as codeine withdrawal.

Sure it's in its mildest form. And you'd think that since I grew up on the mean streets of west L.A. - north of Wilshire - I'd have more experience with this. I haven't, and I have to admit it's kind of interesting and scary at the same time.

I don't expect it'll last much longer. I've polished off the bottle, and soon I'll be back to my usual sleep patterns. But it does go to show how something so seemingly harmless can be quite addictive without you even knowing it.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go to Starbucks and get my double shot grande espresso, with an extra shot, and get going.

The great escape

When I hear the words escape plan, like everyone else in advertising I think it's referring to a way out of the business. A gentle transition into another career, preferably one that isn't ranked below car salesman and personal injury lawyers.

With all the rockin' and rollin' that's been going on in places like the Philippines and Mexico City, I know it also applies to earthquakes.

But the more jokes I hear about the zombie apocalypse, the more I think maybe it's no joke at all and that's what's really coming. They just want you think it's a joke. And that's what I need an escape plan for.

Hear me out.

I don't think the dead will rise and start slow-chasing down a brain buffet. At least not at first. What I think is they've already ingratiated themselves, hiding in plain sight among us. If you've ever worked in an agency, people feeding on the brains of others for survival is nothing new to you.

And while it may not result in the zombie gore portrayed in movies, comics and television, I promise you more often than not it's just as messy and no less brutal.

I believe the theory of Occam's Razor - the simplest solution being the right one - applies here.

Walk faster.

At least this'll work against the slow-walking, brain-eating zombies. However, their more subtle agency brethren have already mastered the World War Z art of the fast walk, usually while carrying a Powerpoint deck or an iPad so as to look important - and alive.

You'll have to be more resourceful planning your getaway from them. If they trap you in a meeting, you're a goner.

One of the most valuable tools in the fight against zombies is a quality shovel. Always good for clobbering them in the head and buying yourself some time.

Of course if you work in an agency, you already know it comes in pretty handy there too.

Yours, mine and hours

If you know anything about me - and you probably know more than you want to already - you know I'm not by any definition a morning person. Every day, without fail, morning gets here too quickly (it might have something to do with me going to bed after midnight every night, who's to say). I find just as morning rears its ugly, ugly head happens to be the exact same time I finally hit my deepest sleep.

Then, thanks to a clock, my wife, a kid or the dog, it's BAM! - wake up little prince.

When I'm up and moving around in the morning, it's actually not in a truly wakeful state. It's more controlled sleepwalking until I can get the haze out of my head, stop bitching about being up so early and actually get the day going.

What does help, and it's not often I say this, but fortunately I'm in advertising.

Anyone who's ever worked in the creative department of an agency knows the hours we keep are anything but conventional. Creatives don't arrive until anywhere from 9 to 11, and don't leave until between 5 and 10.

My sweet spot is the 9:30 range. By then I'm awake, I'm alert and not only am I ready to hit the road running, I'm ready to work smart.

The working smart part is the reason I'm not one of the creatives there until 10 or later.

My pal Rich Sigel at Round Seventeen wrote a great post about not working late unless it's absolutely necessary. Which on the rare occasion it is. But for the most part, working into the night, eating bad pizza and hanging out with the boss who doesn't want to go home for reasons only he/she knows is a suck-up move.

It can be a test of loyalty. I can be loyal without taking the test.

In more conservative, traditional industries - like insurance, law, finance or government for example - it's difficult for people to understand the laxness when it comes to workday hours in the agency business.

I'd be happy to meet with them one morning and explain it. Anytime after 11.

On the air with Burgess Meredith

This week happens to be Celebrity Week over at Rich Siegel's Round Seventeen. Being a Hollywood kid I was thinking, "Hey, I've worked with celebrities. I can write about that too." I'm not the kind of person who steals ideas, and especially since he's my friend I don't like to steal them from Rich (except those ABC ads he did at Chiat - man, they look great in my book). But in this instance, I have his blessing. So here we go.

Burgess Meredith has always been one of my acting heroes. An actor's actor, he made his most lasting impact during the golden era of television, including several classic Twilight Zone episodes, and later in his career in movies - particularly the Rocky films.

Years ago when I was freelancing at BBDO, Coldwell Banker was going through different voice overs to see who they wanted to use in their national campaign. I wasn't on the business, but on the day they were going to record Burgess Meredith, the writer who was happened to be out sick. So I was asked to fill in for him.

That autograph on the picture above reads, "Good Luck! from Burgess Meredith" I was terrified. I was going to need it.

I drove out to L.A. Studios early, just to make sure I didn't get held up in traffic. Even though I didn't know him yet, I had the distinct impression Meredith didn't like to be kept waiting.

When he arrived, it was in a black town car. Out of the car first was his beautiful, young - really young - blonde companion. She helped him out of the car and brought him in the studio. Then she simply disappeared. Never saw her again inside or outside the studio.

When we were introduced, I told him I was a huge fan of his work, to which he replied, pointing at the booth, "You want me in there?"

Two memories come to mind. First is I'm sure the last thing Burgess Meredith was looking for at that point in his career was some lowly agency copywriter telling him how to read a line. But what I found out was he actually appreciated it. Throughout the session, he wanted to know if I was getting what I wanted and if I had any direction for him. I don't know whether he meant it or was just being nice. Either way, it put me more at ease and made me feel as if I had some modicum of control over the session.

The second thing I remember is he had a spittoon. Right there on the floor, next to the music stand holding the copy he was reading.

Here's how it went: read, spit. Read, spit. Read, work up a good one, work it a little more, then spit. Suffice it to say there was a lot of throat-clearing, followed by a lot of hocking up some extremely colorful juju into the spittoon. Since we were in a recording studio, and he was in front of a microphone, all of us in the booth heard every take-off and landing in crystal clear, stereophonic Dolby™ sound.

I'm sure the clean-up crew was grateful he was a good aim.

If you've never worked in a recording studio, the thing to know is the engineers are like traffic court judges. They've heard it all. And the one I was working with did a masterful job editing out Meredith's long breaths between lines, as well as, shall we say, the more, um, rattle-y parts of his read.

By the end of the session I was finally comfortable giving him direction, and we were actually talking about some of his work. I only got to spend a little over an hour listening to that voice, seeing him work and giving him direction. It's still one of the high points of my, for lack of a better word, career.

It didn't go nearly that well with Hector Elizondo. I pissed him off something fierce. Another time.

A cautionary tail

I worked with this art director once. He'd been a friend for years, but was also the most ambitious person I'd ever known. At the expense of anyone and anything - including his friends - he put his ambition above everything else.

And while usually anything starting with "naked" is something you want to see, when the next word is ambition it isn't very pretty. It doesn't always work in your favor.

For example, not too long ago I was in an interesting position. For several reasons, a leadership vacuum had been created where I was working. In spite of it, the team pulled together to make sure everything got done and nothing fell between the cracks. Everyone on the team was freelance, including the last person in who was a junior art director of debatable talent.

The debate wasn't how much, it was if he had any at all.

But even though he was a junior, he had big plans. He taught us all that apparently there is an "I" in team, because one Friday he scurried in to the head of marketing's office, and without telling the rest of the team who'd been there considerably longer, and worked considerably harder, presented a plan for a huge project that the team was supposed to meet about and work on together. He said he wanted to be the point person on it, and in what can only be described as a complete lack of judgment, if not consciousness, the head of marketing said okay.

I suppose there are two ways to look at the situation. One is you could admire the fact this junior art director saw an opportunity to advance and took it, consequences be damned.

The other way - the way I see it - is that this under-qualified, universally disliked and obnoxious little twerp basically betrayed everyone he worked with for his personal gain, without having thought through the fact no one else on the team would lift a finger to execute whatever alleged vision he had for the project.

When the team refused to work with him, it reminded me of that scene in The Right Stuff. He wanted to do it by himself. We were happy to oblige.

Shortly thereafter, the rest of us also went into the head of marketing's office and gave our point of view on the art director, his vision, and his lack of ability and talent to execute it - and made sure he was clear on the fact that the art director would not be receiving any help from us.

Interestingly enough, the following day was this art director's last. And the team carried out the project - with our original idea of how it should work as well as a brutal deadline - without a hitch.

I'll be the very first to admit I've always had a healthy disdain for the phrase "team player."

Imagine my surprise to find out I've been one the whole time.

Guilty pleasures Part 6: Peggy Sue Got Married

Welcome to the sixth installment of my Guilty Pleasures series. I don't know if you happened to catch posts 1, 2, 3, 4, or 5. But if not, now's the perfect time to hop on board. Go ahead and read them. I'll wait.

Done? Okay. Good. Let's light this candle.

As an only child of older Jewish parents, a blog series called Guilty Pleasures could apply to a wide variety of things. Anything from a grilled ham and cheese sandwich to a Phillip Roth novel. But this series is about movies.

And the movie this post is about is Peggy Sue Got Married.

It's the story of a girl named Peggy Sue who goes back in time to when she was in high school. She gets the chance to map out a different course for her life, speak to long-departed relatives and change the future for people she likes. For example, she advises one friend, the nerdy Richard Norvik played by Barry Miller, to buy Apple stock in the future (later on in the movie, Richard is the one friend she confides to about her time travel).

Nic Cage plays her husband Charlie, and he's also the reason many people hated the movie. One acting choice he made was to play the character in a really high, nasally, whiny voice. Like Chandler's girlfriend on Friends except without the accent. Another was to wear fake teeth that were gigantic and white like Mr. Ed's.

In high school, Charlie has dreams of being a singer like Dion, even auditioning for a musical agent without telling anyone. But since Peggy comes from the future, she knows his destiny is to be the "Crazy Eddie" of his time, famous not for his singing but for his loud, corny and sad television commercials.

While back in time, Peggy meets Michael Fitzsimmons, played by Kevin J. O'Connor, a kind of beat poet character who represents all the wildness and freedom her life hasn't given her. But during her time in the past, even though there are problems, she remembers what it first was about Charlie that made her fall in love with him.

The premise of the movie - going back - is something I'm strongly drawn to. There's a point in the film where Peggy answers a phone, and it's her grandmother. It takes her breath away, because her grandma has been gone for years. It resonates (apologies for using a marketing word) strongly with me. It's not hard to figure out why. There are a lot of people - my parents, my grandparents and too many friends - that I'd give anything to talk to one more time.

Whether it's a film called Creator with Peter O'Toole where he played a college professor trying to clone his departed wife, or the departed Jor-el telling Superman what he'll mean to the people of Earth, the idea of going back, having one more chance to say what needs to be said, is a powerful one for me.

If you look closely, you'll see Peggy Sue Got Married also has more than a few recognizable faces in supporting roles, including Jim Carrey, Catherine Hicks, Joan Allen, Maureen O' Sullivan, Helen Hunt, Marshall Crenshaw and Sofia Coppola.

The movie was directed by Francis Ford Coppola long after The Godfather, Rumble Fish and The Conversation. It's fair to say Peggy Sue Got Married is considered one of his most inconsequential efforts.

Unless you've ever had a dream, lost a loved one or wanted a second chance.

In the midnight hour

There was a time, back in the day, when midnight shows were special. Not just the time slot, but the films themselves. It was the witching hour, a twilight time reserved for something you couldn't get during the day. Something that would scare you. Make you think. Make you laugh. Or, in the case of Pink Flamingos, completely gross you out.

Long before the word interactive applied to a screen, it applied to a bigger screen. The midnight showings of The Rocky Horror Picture Show were the first genuine interactive movie theater experience.

People would come to the theater dressed in costume, yell back lines at the screen and act out scenes in the aisles. During the wedding scene, the audience threw rice at the screen. When they proposed a toast, the audience threw toast. During the storm, they sprayed water in the theater.

If you've never seen the movie, it stars a very young Barry Bostwick and Susan Sarandon. Tim Curry, in the role that made him, plays Dr. Frank N. Furter. He's the one in fishnets.

Sadly, today the studios have turned the midnight show into a money-making time slot the night before the official opening of a movie. Any and every movie. It bumps up the box office, and lets them brag about it in bigger type Monday morning.

But if you can find a midnight show of Rocky Horror - and there are still a few - it's an interactive experience you'll never forget.

And if you don't know the Time Warp, it's just a jump to the left, and then a step to the r-i-i-i-i-ght.

Tread lightly

Is it wrong to love a tire?

Here's the thing. I used to drive a performance car. In fact, I've written about it here before. If I may quote myself, and really, who's going to stop me:

"I used to drive an Audi A6. Of all the cars I've owned, it was my favorite (my least favorite was my first - a 1965 Plymouth Fury, don't get me started). I'd get behind the wheel of my A6 and hit the curved freeway onramp by my house at 70 mph. It stuck like glue. After all, it was a car built for the autobahn. I’ve since tried it with my Lexus ES350. Come to find out it's not exactly the same experience."

Well, after I pulled the onramp stunt with the Lexus, I decided when the time came to replace the Bridgestones that came with the car - and it couldn't come fast enough - I was going to get performance tires and see if it made any difference on a car built for luxury.

SPOILER ALERT: The answer is "Hell yeah!"

When the Bridgestones finally wore down, I went to America's Tire Store for replacements thinking I'd get something like the sporty Michelins. I'd never really considered Yoko's because they were expensive, low profile, the tread wore fast, yada yada yada. But then the tire guy helping me said the magic word: Grip.

From that point on, money was no object. I can't remember which model Yoko's I got, but he wasn't lying.

The minute the car was done, even on the slow roll out of the parking lot I could feel the difference. When I hit that onramp again at 70mph - and if my kids are reading this you should never, ever do that - it was amazing. Like I was Krazy glued to the road.

After that Lexus was totaled (read all about it), I got another one. And I once again find myself playing a waiting game until the tires wear down, or until I have a few hundred to spare for new Yoko's.

I've always liked tire stores. I love the smell of new tires, the pressurized air, the way you can bounce and roll the tires from one end of the shop to the other. I am easily entertained.

I've discovered that, besides new wiper blades, tires are the cheapest investment you can make in your car that offer the most tangible difference.

I was going to end this post with "something something, because that's how I roll."

But I think we both know I'm better than that.