Eye in the sky

Sometimes I really love technology.

For example, today my daughter had a flight on Delta from Los Angeles to Nashville. I can already see you being judgmental from here, but just know it wasn't me who put her on Delta. I'm not that kind of parent. It's a school trip to a singing competition, and the choir director was responsible for booking the flight.

I'd have gone with Jet Blue or American, and my little princess definitely would've been sitting in the front of the plane because she's the best daughter in the world and deserves first class all the way.

I've scored enough dad points for one night.

The technology I love is the FlyDelta app. It let's me track where my baby is in real time with all the essential information: departure time, estimated arrival time, altitude, time in flight, time remaining and a map of where she is at any given moment.

Every airline has a similar app, but Delta's, unlike the airline itself, is fairly intuitive.

I like knowing when she lands. That way when she calls me an hour and a half later and says "I just landed." I have a card to play later on I can use as leverage for things like room cleaning, or laundry doing, or car borrowing (not that she'd ever do that, because she's as honest as the day is long - more dad points).

My son also flies back and forth a lot from his out-of-state university, and when he does I have my eyes on his airline flight app as well. My babies mean the world to me and I like knowing they've arrived safely.

To me, the airline apps that let me track flight status is technology at its peace of mind given', stress relievin', parentally reassurin', easy breathin' best.

I just hope I can find one to make sure she doesn't listen to country music when she gets back.

My left foot

If you saw the title of this post and were hoping for a nice, insightful piece about the Daniel Day Lewis movie of the same name, I'm sorry to disappoint you. But if you've been following this blog for any amount of time, you already know that disappointment rides shotgun.

Yesterday I posted about my eyes, today it's about my foot. Who knows what body part it'll be tomorrow, although this is a family blog so don't get your hopes up.

For the last few days I've had a stabbing pain in the bottom of my left heel. Last night it was unbearable, and I couldn't even make the short walk from the bedroom to the refrigerator, a well-worn path I usually traverse several times a night (WIFE: "Where'd all the leftover ham, caramel swirl ice cream and chocolate Easter eggs go?" ME: "Don't look at me, I was asleep.")

I made a call and managed to get into see my podiatrist this morning. After he took a look at the x-ray you see here, he said two things. First, if you look just below my heel, there's a small shadowy area where the beginning of a bone spur is forming. I asked if I could put that on my resume, but he didn't think it was funny either. The other thing he said was I had Plantar Fasciitis, a tightening of the thin ligament connecting the heel to the toes and forming the arch of my foot.

I figured. I'd had it once before years ago in my right foot. That time, he prescribed stretching, a little physical therapy and some more stretching. After a couple weeks when none of that worked, he gave me a shot of cortisone in the foot and poof! - it was all better the next day.

Cortisone is a synthetic version of a powerful steroid the body produces naturally. But the catch is you can only have two or three shots a year, otherwise it's no bueno and can actually do damage.

Anyway, today, he paused thoughtfully for a second and said, "You know, we went through all that stuff last time. Let's just go straight to a shot of cortisone and knock this out." Exactly what I was hoping he'd say.

First a shot of novocaine, then the cortisone. That was this morning. Tonight, my heel is virtually pain-free, the Riverdance audition is back on and the refrigerator is waiting.

When it comes to complaining, I don't do a lot of it. No one wants to hear it, and it doesn't make the problem any better. But here's the thing: having the double whammy of being Jewish and an only child, I've honed my skills for complaining about my aches and pains better than most.

Truth is, I can go toe to toe with the best of them.

The eyes have it

I've posted before here about my annual eye exam to make sure my retina isn't detaching. Which I'm happy to report it isn't. My eye doctor is the guy, the premiere retina and vitreous tissue specialist in the country. And I love seeing him (no pun intended) every year. He's incredibly reassuring, and just generally awesome.

In between my annual retina check ups, I visit my also stellar optometrist at least once or twice a year, because my vision changes so quickly. In fact it's gotten worse since you started reading this post.

The bad news is my eyes are unusually sensitive, not to mention piercing: like looking into a deep, brown, knowing ocean and seeing answers to questions you've always been too fearful to ask, yet knowing the essence of your soul has been seen and reflected back at you.

Where was I? Oh yeah. What I'm saying is even a one degree change in my prescription, and it's new glasses all around.

My favorite part of the exam is the phoropter. It's the refraction measuring machine in the picture up on top that, when placed in front of your eyes, makes you look like you're going to a masquerade party. Or you're a borg.

While you have it on, the doctor keeps changing out lenses and asking "which is better, one or two?" Changes them again. "Better yet?" And again. "How about now?"

I think it'd be great if there were also a phoropter for other life decisions. Spouses, homes, cars, kids, dogs. Something that would give you a picture of what you're getting, and the chance to make it even better.

Of course, not everyone answers the "which is better?" question the right way. Sometimes it's hard to see the difference no matter how long you stare at it. But by then it's too late, your choice has been made.

Which is also the exact moment you realize hindsight is 20/20.

Goodbye Garry

I had lunch with Garry Shandling in New York.

Years ago, the wife and I had gone back to visit our friend Kevin, who was living there and working on SNL at the time. We were going to meet him and his wife at the time for lunch at the now defunct Cafe Des Artistes. When we were confirming lunch, Kevin said, "I hope you don't mind, but I invited Shandling and one of his writers to join us."

We were good with it.

We all met at the restaurant, and there was an additional person at the table who I didn't know. Come to find out later he was the president of PETA, which Kevin's wife was very involved with.

Shandling sat next to my wife, and, either not knowing or not caring, spent most of the lunch talking to her and hitting on her. As you might imagine, it was hysterical.

I don't remember many of the lines, but at one point, obviously for the PETA president's benefit, he asked my wife, "I want to get a new haircut, but I'm nervous about how it'll look so I want to try it out on my dog first. Is that considered animal testing?"

A few weeks later, the wife and I were shopping on Montana Avenue in Santa Monica (where we lived at the time), and we wandered into this antique furniture store. We were looking at one of those two-person desks when Shandling walked in. We reminded him we'd all had lunch in New York, and had a nice conversation with him for about twenty minutes.

Here are a couple things he told us: he started out as a copywriter in New York, and ironically had written on Suntory Whiskey - an account I'd worked on at Wells Rich Greene early in my career (stops to laugh hysterically for using the word "career").

Early in 1998, I sat down and wrote two episodes of his influential and landmark Larry Sanders Show. I thought they were pretty good, and I asked Kevin if he'd read them and, if he liked them, would he mind passing them on to Garry.

Well, there's good news and bad news. The good news is Kevin liked the scripts. The bad news was it was right at the point when Garry was pulling the plug on the show. In comedy, timing is everything.

A couple years ago, the wife and I saw Shandling again at Kevin's birthday party. While it was a star-studded affair, we both felt a personal connection to him. We didn't know him well, but we'd been fortunate enough to spend time on the receiving end of his remarkable humor and unmistakable kindness.

I could go on about how revolutionary both It's Garry Shandling's Show and The Larry Sanders Show were, but you'll be hearing and reading a lot about that in the coming days. Besides, the work speaks for itself.

Sadly, and all too soon, as of this morning the world is a far less funny place. However, if you know anyone in heaven, you might want to let them know there's going to be a killer set tonight around 9pm at The Laff Stop on Cloud 9. Two drink minimum. Look for the brick wall and the mic.

You're in our hearts forever. Goodbye Garry. Rest in peace.

You must be joking

You've got to be so careful these days.

Political correctness is the new normal, and the easily and unjustifiably offended have more recourse, retaliation and restitution available to their fragile sensibilities than ever before. Which makes it especially hard to tell an off color joke at work.

I recently worked at an agency that, thankfully, has a short memory and keeps calling me back in. Repeat business is good for business.™

Anyway, one of my friends, we'll call her Ashley, likes to binge Breaking Bad, loves Better Call Saul and has a wicked sense of humor. So hard to tell why we get along.

I have two jokes I love and will tell anyone who's willing to listen and won't sue or fire me. I knew Ashley would appreciate them, but the trick was finding a place to tell them to her. It had to be someplace we wouldn't be overheard, and somebody wouldn't be offended and decide to break a land-speed record running to HR to report me.

Although frankly I'm not sure what's so offensive about a joke that starts with, "So this bus full of Catholic schoolgirls goes over a cliff..." I know, right?

That's actually not the one I wanted to tell Ashley. That one starts with, "So this guy walks into a bar, and in the corner he sees a huge gorilla in a cage..." Even just writing the opening line it's taking everything I have to resist typing the rest of the joke.

If you see me ask me to tell it to you.

I decided we had to be on neutral turf outside the agency in order to tell it to her. Fortunately, one day we went out to a group lunch with about fifteen people. In what can only be considered a bold move, or maybe a stupid one, I decided to use all the chatter and side conversation at the table as camouflage. Then I leaned over to Ashley and told her my joke.

It got exactly the reaction I was hoping for, and she couldn't wait to tell it to her boyfriend.

Even if you're not telling off color jokes, working in agencies means using your Jedi instincts to figure out who your real friends are. Note: they're usually the ones who won't get you fired for telling a joke.

I don't have time now, but in a future post I'll tell you about the time I tried stand-up comedy ("I'll be here all week..."). Not going to say how the story ends, but you might've noticed I don't do it for a living.

Which reminds me: a rabbi, a priest and a hooker are at the Pearly Gates.

I better not. You never know who's reading this.

A little bitmoji

Almost every time I text with a good friend of mine, at some point she'll reply with a caricature of herself. When I asked what it was, she said, "They're Bitmoji's! You have to get the app!"

Well, priding myself on knowing how to take direction, I decided to downloaded the Bitmoji app.

As you can see from the stunning likeness, the app allows me to build myself as a cartoon character who says all sorts of snappy little sayings I'd never say in real life.

Hello was the closest I could get to something I'd actually say.

Over time, I've found Bitmoji's are actually a handy shorthand when I don't feel like typing long, involved texts. But like personalized license plates, they're funny the first few times, and then not so much.

Anyway, if you're one of my many friends who text me, and I happen to be in the right frame of mind, I might just treat you to a reply with my own personal Bitmoji.

Although there's more than a good chance this is what it'll say.

Ad hair day

Creative directors often have an over-inflated sense of their contribution to the process.

Their value to the agency.

Their rapport with the creative department.

Their indispensability.

And, if you read the Revolving Door section of AgencySpy.com, apparently quite a few of them also have an over-inflated sense of hair styles.

It seems there's no middle ground. In the pictures that accompany the articles, they either look like a nice guy, or a douche who's trying way too hard. Which is a shame, because they might actually be the first one coming off as the second.

Part of the problem is too many creative directors want to make sure their clients, their department, their bosses and the viewing public know exactly how creative they are at first sight. And what better place to start than from the top down.

From perms to pigtails, curls to comb overs, I believe none of it makes the impression they think they're making.

Some of these people have worn their hair the same way for years. Ironic for an industry that waves the banners of change and disruption every chance it gets.

There is a great benefit to the readers of AgencySpy.com every time one of these pictures pops up: we get to read the comments. AS is kind of a lawsuit free zone, where readers can anonymously post any kind of disparaging, libelous, childish, defaming and derogatory comments they want. They're always a great read.

I think the lesson we can take away from all this is to dial down the judgment, and try as hard as we can not to judge a book by its cover.

After all, some of these salon-challenged people might be hair apparent to running the agency. All the more reason not to wig out at something as superficial as a hairdo.

Or hair don't.