Out of the closet

Mark Zuckerberg has had a couple of really good ideas in his young life.

One of them you might have heard about was creating this little social networking platform, where people you haven't heard from in 25 years can stalk you online, look at your personal pictures and make comments you don't care about and don't want to hear. It also lets friends in your outer, outer, outer circle remind you when their birthday is.

On the bright side, it lets you slam Donald Trump endlessly day and night, for which I'm deeply grateful.

His other great idea was his singular approach to his daily wardrobe. With the exception of weddings (his own), funerals (Steve Jobs) and dinners at the White House (Obama), Zuckerberg wears the same exact outfit every day of his life. The gray t-shirt, blue jeans, sneakers and dark gray sweatshirt with hoodie.

What Mark—may I call you Mark?—and I both love about this method is it removes the decision-making process about what to wear everyday, freeing up valuable brain space to ponder the more important choices in life.

For example, glazed or sprinkles.

Sartorially speaking, Zuckerberg's not the first person to stick to what works for him.

Steve Jobs was famous for his black turtlenecks, blue jeans and sneakers.

Albert Einstein had several versions of the same gray suit so he could think about more important matters relative to what he was going to wear (see what I did there?).

Jeff Goldblum's character Seth Brundle in The Fly also had a closet full of one outfit for the same reason (lot of good it did him after that little transporter incident).

I don't have a closet full of the same outfit, but I do have a lot of clothes working off the same color palette: black. Looking in my closet is like peering into a black hole, except mine is cedar-lined and filled with wire hangars and an overflowing bag of Damp Rid.

I know I've told this story before in a post, but it bears repeating here. The wife and I were in Seattle a few years ago and having dinner with an old boss of mine. We were running behind, and she called him to say we'd be a little late. To which he said, "What's the matter? Is Jeff having trouble deciding which black shirt to wear with which black pants?"

If I could wear the same black outfit every day I would. But I don't because I think it'd creep people out. They wouldn't know if I had a lot of the same outfit, or if I was actually wearing the same damn one every day.

The irony is Mark Zuckerberg can afford to buy all the clothes he wants, even have them custom made. He could buy 365 Armani suits to look sharp all year long. That's what I'd do.

I even know the color I'd get them in.

Fan club

Since I’m certain you’re a regular reader of this blog, anxiously awaiting each days’ post with a powerful mix of excitement, dread and nausea, I know you remember the post I wrote here about being a cool weather person.

That doesn’t just apply to the great, humid outdoors. It goes for the office as well.

I love almost everything about my current gig: the location, the commute, the many lunchtime options. On occasion, even the work. What I’m not a fan of is being hot—working up a nice sweaty sheen while I’m trying to type. Sure the place is air conditioned, but it’s just not set low enough for my liking.

So I decided I'd treat myself to one of those little desk fans, and have it aimed at my face all day. Would it dry my eyes out? Numb my face? Muss my hair? Maybe. But at least I’d be cool.

When I mentioned this to the wife, she decided I deserved far better than the average desk fan I was ready to slap down my credit card for at Target. So out of the goodness of her heart, she bought me her favorite deskman: the Chillout.

This little miracle of technology not only cools things down, it actually makes me feel downright cold—no easy task. With two speeds—arctic and not as arctic—its tower design manages to create a bubble of cool air, as opposed to an air of cool, all around me without the loud racket of fan blades rattling my nerves.

In fact I can’t remember anything this cold and quiet since my high school girlfriend.

While it does the job I want it to do, I'm sure it'd take more than one Chillout to counter all the hot air you find in an agency.

But like a hundred lawyers at the bottom of the ocean, it's a start.

A laughing matter

I, like most humans, enjoy a good laugh.

Not just a regular laugh. I'm talking about the kind of hysterical, on-the-edge, stress-relieving, people-who-see-you-think-you're-losing-your-mind, crying cause I'm laughing so hard, stopping for a minute, thinking I've got my composure and then bursting out into wailing, crying laughter all over again.

The kind of laughter where you feel like a wet noodle afterwards.

That was the reaction I had to this cartoon the first time I saw it. I can't tell you why it made me laugh so hard. Maybe it's that I've worked on so many fast food accounts—including Taco Bell three times at three different agencies—that it struck me the way it did.

Yes, Taco Bell at three different agencies. It's just the kind of masochist I am.

One of those times happened to be Tracy Locke, which is where I worked when I first saw this. It was the front of a greeting card at a store called Aahs on Wilshire Blvd. in Santa Monica. Chris Bouteé, my red-headed woman, a good friend and a fine writer in her own right and I had gone to lunch at a formerly popular, now defunct westside restaurant called the Bicycle Shop.

After our tasty yet overpriced meal, we walked a couple blocks down to Aahs so I could pick up a gift for someone. We were in different parts of the store, and I happened to be perusing the many racks of greeting cards when I saw this one. And I lost it.

It was one of those laughs that shadowed me the rest of the day (it didn't help that I'd bought the card and kept looking at it). In meetings, working with my art director, kick-offs—didn't matter. I was useless the rest of the day.

By the way, many people think that part hasn't worn off yet.

Anyway, while the cartoon doesn't make me laugh as hard as it did the first time, it still brings a smile to my face every time I see it. I think it's part brilliance of the cartoon, and part of my original hysterical laughter echoing through the years in my head.

The good news is I still laugh plenty in agency meetings. Except now it's to myself, and for entirely different reasons.

Goodbye Jack Riley

As I wrote about here, I've been blessed to have worked with some of the greatest voiceover talent ever to set foot behind a microphone.

Sadly, today one of them—a legend, and one of my favorites—departed for that great recording booth in the sky.

Most people remember Jack Riley from his role as Elliott Carlin on the original Bob Newhart show. I'll always remember him for the many times we worked together on my radio spots over the years.

I was introduced to Jack early in my career (in the loosest sense of the word), and he instantly became part of my repertory voiceover group (every copywriter has one) that I loved to work with, and used in every spot I could. Jack, together with his dry, droll, sarcastic, hilarious reads elevated my scripts to a place they never could've gotten to with the words alone.

Besides being hilariously funny and fast, he was an incredibly kind man. Early on he patiently took direction from this junior copywriter who hadn't done much radio. He was gracious and thoughtful, hearing me out and offering nuanced suggestions about how he could make it better. Funnier. More memorable. Did I say funnier?

Tonight, my guess is Jack is in Studio C at HeavenSound Recording, along with a few other former members of my rep company like Gary Owens, Joanie Gerber and Bob Ridgely. Not sure who the client is, but I hope whoever booked the session added a nice long bumper. There's going to be a lot of improvising and laughter before the first take.

Thank you Jack for your kindness, your patience, your availability in every sense, and showing me how a true professional does it.

Rest in peace.

Trick of the trade

Freelancing at ad agencies, or anyplace for that matter, there are commonplace, everyday things I, like most people, have to tend to.

Check email. Answer said email. Check bank balances. Go on Facebook, Twitter and Instgram and tell people I'm working on a social assignment (I kid because I love). Perhaps, hypothetically, respond to a request for other freelance.

The problem is to do those things, I have to go through the agency server to connect to the interwebs. And then, the agency has the password to my bank account, and can read that email I got from the Head Of The China Treasury, who has a charitable donation of $35,000,000 only I can be trusted with (it was easy - all they wanted was my bank account and social security number. The transfer will be here any day now).

Many people far less paranoid than I am just shrug their shoulders, use the servers and surrender a certain amount of privacy for a nice day rate.

So what's a guy who loves his day rate and his privacy to do? Glad you asked.

You pick up one of these little gizmos.

This is my own personal wi-fi hotspot. About the size of a credit card, half as thick as an iPad and password protected, I connect to it and suddenly I can do all my personal business from my computer without the prying eyes of the IT guy, who really should be more worried about getting me that mouse I asked for three weeks ago.

Now, I could've used my smartphone as a hotspot, but then I'd have had to change my plan. And since I've been on AT&T with unlimited data plan since my first iPhone, I wasn't going to do anything to jeopardize that deal.

This device, cleverly called My Go Phone, lets me buy either 2G, 5G or 8G of data a month. I chose the 8G - it's seventy-five tax deductible dollars a month and worth every penny.

So if you have a personal email, a financial matter, or—hypothetically—a job offer you'd like to discuss with me, feel free to email me. Thanks to this snappy bit of technology, it'll just be between us.

Until Mike in Digital Experience hacks it.

An open letter to J.J. Abrams: Keep Chekov alive

Dear J.J.,

Having been a Trekkie since the original series, I can still feel the bolt of pain and sorrow that shot through me when the news broke about the sudden, untimely, unimaginably bizarre death of Anton Yelchin. I can only imagine the sadness of those, like you, who knew him, worked with him and loved him.

I've read your statements about the fate of Chekov in the next Star Trek movie, and I understand your not wanting to recast the character. But when the reason you give is Anton deserves better, I have to respectfully disagree.

I believe the best way to honor him and his work is to make sure the character of Checkov continues.

There have been many instances of actors who've played iconic characters extraordinarily well, then passed away.

Most recently Heath Ledger comes to mind.

Until Ledger, nobody thought there could ever be another Joker after Jack Nicolson. And until Jared Leto, the idea of someone besides Ledger playing Joker was unthinkable.

Each performance builds on the last. Each honors the prior characterization. And while the original Star Trek members thankfully didn't meet an untimely death, you've already recast them all (brilliantly) in three movies.

Leonard Nimoy passed the mantle to Zachary Quinto, whose extraordinary portrayal of Spock is testament to Nimoy's work in every frame.

Pavel Chekov is an essential part of the Star Trek cannon, an indispensable crew member whose very presence on screen honors Anton's work and memory.

Of course I didn't know Anton. But being a copywriter, creative director and card-carrying member of SAG-AFTRA, I do know actors. I'm certain he didn't work as hard as he did to create his interpretation of Chekov, only to have the character die with him.

I'd ask that for the fans, and for Anton's legacy, you reconsider recasting the role. And in doing so, assuring both Anton and Chekov continue to boldly live on.