Gone Dogs

It's taken me years, but I've finally written something I believe people will actually want to read and enjoy (and I think we both know it's not this blog).

Not that you don't already love my spellbinding prose about twin-turbo engines in Korean sports sedans. Or my memorable musings about the unparalleled amenities, Nappa leather and 22-way adjustable driver's seat in the top-of-the-line, flagship of the fleet. And I have no doubt you're waiting with bated breath—and who would blame you—for the next installment of a little gem I like to call Exceptional Lease Offers.

I'm just messin' with ya. I don't read 'em either.

What I'm talking about here is the story I've written about the world's greatest German Shepherd—the late, great Max—in the newly released, beautifully produced coffee-table book Gone Dogs.

A project by dog lovers extraordinaire Jim Mitchem and Laurie Smithwick, Gone Dogs is a heart-warming, heart-breaking and ultimately life-affirming collection of stories about the power of love through our relationships with dogs who are no longer with us.

A call went out to parents of all kinds of pups to submit stories of their dearly departed canines, and I was lucky enough to have the one I wrote about Max selected for the inaugural volume.

Since I am in advertising—I'm not proud—I'm going to be shameless about it and just ask for the order. What you need to do right now is go to Amazon and buy several copies for your dog-lovin' friends. And their dog-lovin' friends. In fact, I know it's only August, but why not beat the Christmas rush and stock up on a few copies for the holidays.

I also want to say that I can't thank Jim and Laurie enough for including my story. It means the world to me knowing people will get to see what a magnificent dog Max was, and how much I loved him.

Here's what I'm saying: order yourself a copy today. And when it comes, just sit, stay and enjoy every one of these beautiful, heartfelt stories.

Starting with mine.

Hi honey

Being the perfect physical specimen I am, I've never been one to jump on health fad bandwagons. For example, you're not going to sucker me in with all that new age, unproven "eat well and exercise" propaganda. I may have been born, but it wasn't yesterday. I'm just not falling for it.

But I'll be the first to admit, every once in awhile something comes along that catches my interest, and makes me think I should get my flabby ass up out of my extremely comfortable T.V. chair and give it a go.

And if we know anything about me, it's that I do like to milkshake things up a bit (SWIDT?).

My art director partner, who eats mung bean salads, feels guilty when she doesn't go to the gym and takes long walks at lunch, decided she had to tell me—despite the fact I'm obviously in such perfect physical shape (did I mention that?)—about the wildly beneficial medicinal qualities of chocolate pound cake, black and white cookies and Ben & Jerry's Cherry Garcia.

No, wait. That wasn't it.

Oh right. She told me about Manuka honey.

I immediately called for a Lyft, had them drive me from my chair to my laptop and went straight to the Google to read all about it.

Come to find out Manuka honey comes from Manuka bushes (what're the odds?) which are found in New Zealand. This honey, more than any other, including the one that comes in that plastic bear bottle with the yellow cap, has been found to have all sorts of healthy and restorative benefits.

It's an anti-inflammatory.

It's rich in antibiotic properties.

Helps with low stomach acid and acid reflux.

Combats staph infections.

Treats burns, wounds and ulcers.

Prevents tooth decay and gingivitis.

Improves sore throats.

Boosts your immune system.

Helps allergies.

Improves sleep.

Because it helps sleep, it also lowers the risk of heart disease, type 2 diabetes, stroke and arthritis. And did I mention, you know, it's honey.

I could go into all the whammy-jammy about how Manuka honey is much higher in enzymes, which increases its nutritional profile by four times that of regular honey. But that's honey nerd talk, and may be a little more than anyone needs to know.

But for all the good Manuka honey does, there is some bad news: it's pricey. Very pricey.

An 8.8oz bottle rated UMF 20+ (which has the most benefits) like the one pictured above costs $64 on Amazon. And at a dosage of four teaspoons a day, it doesn't last near as long as I'd like. I suppose I could experiment with a smaller dosage. But I could also experiment with diet and exercise, and like I said before, I ain't falling into that cult.

Still, I'm going to bite the bullet, pony up and give this honey a chance.

Because if I can eliminate most of what ails me by eating a few spoonfuls of honey every day, that's a sweet deal no matter what it costs.

What looks good?

As someone who's binged Breaking Bad ten times, seen every single show—not tour, show—that Bruce Springsteen's done in Los Angeles since '78, stays standing at the craps tables long after my legs and budget have given out, and drinks Coca-Cola with the same joy and frequency as Eric Northman necking (see what I did there?) on True Blood, there's a slim to none chance of anyone ever accusing me of doing things in moderation.

But even with my compulsion to over-enjoy things I like, there are places I firmly believe a little moderation is in order. Menus for example (Menus? In order? Thanks, I'll be here all week).

I think the number of items listed on a menu should be like the food itself: not too little, not too much. Just enough to satisfy. When I'm hungry, I don't want to sit down with a spiral-bound menu the size of the yellow pages and read through it. I want to see sections I like, find the item, get the order in and start scarfing.

Of course what makes a monster menu easier to navigate is the same thing that makes shopping on Amazon quicker: knowing what you want going in. If the menu's that big, they'll either have whatever I'm in the mood for or probably be able to whip it up.

At the restaurant, not Amazon.

For my dining dollar, the best menu in town is In-N-Out.

Simple, friendly, easy to navigate in a hurry, it's essentially the same as it was the day they opened in 1948.

They're a little sly about the fact they have more items than they list, but with the tiniest bit of detective work you'll find the additional dishes on their not-so-secret hidden menu.

What's great about the hidden menu is when I ask for something no one around me sees on the displayed menu, I feel like a real insider, a person in the know. It makes me feel special.

Okay, it's just a hamburger place, but I'll take my self-esteem where I can find it.

Where was I? Oh right. To the everyday diner, the regular In-N-Out menu is a quick glance and an easy decision, which is exactly the way menus should be at every restaurant. To be fair, I suppose there's a certain mood-setting that happens when you have to ponder the menu for a while. But if I'm at a restaurant, my mood is already set on hungry.

I'm not gonna lie, after all this talk of menus and food I'm starving. It's probably time to drag myself out and get something to eat.

Right after I finish Season 4, Episode 7 of Breaking Bad. Again.

Through the looking glasses

I got new glasses over the weekend. This may not seem like a particularly big deal to you, but the fact is I’ve worn my same glasses for more years than I can remember.

It’s not that I’m slow to change, it’s just I have a hard time finding a pair of frames I like.

My old ones were smaller on my face. Not John Lennon granny-glasses small, but small. However over the years, my face - along with the rest of me - has gotten, shall we say, fuller. And my old glasses were looking less like glasses and more like a vise squeezing my head to pop my brains out.

At least that's how I saw them.

Fortunately for me, bigger frames are all the rage now, so I finally found a pair of Ray Ban 5225’s that fit me perfectly. Big, wide lenses. Stylish design. Distant borrowed cool from Risky Business. Cheap as hell on Amazon. Everything I was looking for.

When I came in to work today, I have to say I was expecting much more of a reaction than I got. After all, I’d worn the same glasses for years, and the new ones were distinctly different. Everyone seems to notice when I get a haircut. Or a new shirt. Even new shoes. Since they notice those little things, I was braced for a barrage of complimentary comments about my new glasses. I mean they’re right there on my face.

Instead of a slew of comments, I only got one – from my friend and sometimes art director partner Kurt who happens to have the exact same pair I got. Except his are blue and mine are black (Surprise!).

I think the lesson here is don’t go looking for compliments or attention. I need to just be happy that - after years of trying on frames and checking the mirror to see how they looked except I couldn't see how they looked cause I need my glasses to see - I finally found some I like.

Besides, exactly when did I start giving a damn what other people think? Oh, I remember: it was the 12th of never.

As anyone who knows me will tell you, once you get past the sarcasm, cynicism and general skeptical nature, I'm basically a glass-half-full kind of guy. And I've managed to find a silver-lining to this shocking lack of attention.

Apparently I have a superpower I didn’t know I had. For only $450, I can make myself invisible.

Book report

I don't make a lot of money from this blog. And by a lot I mean none.

However being in advertising, it's occurred to me from time to time I probably could break open a few corporate wallets by selling ad space on here. After all, the very desirable demographics of my readership are the same as Disneyland's - 8 to 80. Plus it is the happiest blog on earth, so there's that.

Advertisers would have a direct line to the 11 people who read this blog on a regular basis. I know that may not sound like much, but it's 11 people they wouldn't have otherwise.

Before I go climbing up the corporate ladder asking for money, I probably should have proof of concept: an example of how well advertising might work on this site, and could work for them.

So as a trial run, I'm going to plug my pal Rich Siegel's book, Round Seventeen & 1/2: The Names Have Been Changed to Protect the Inefficient.

The title comes from his popular blog of the same name. In it, Rich covers a diverse variety of topics like advertising, sex, the situation in the middle East, why he sucked at being a creative director and poo. More than one post about poo.

Alright, maybe not exactly the same demographics as Disneyland.

Anyway, I haven't read the book yet. But I had lunch with Rich a couple weeks ago, and I did get to hold a proof copy of it. And I have to say, I was duly impressed. It had everything the great, classic books throughout time have had.

There are pages, lot's of 'em. And on almost every single page, words. Lots of 'em. Like Moby Dick and The Bible, it also has a front cover and a back cover.

What more do you need to know? If you need a good laugh, and really, who of us doesn't, then pick up a copy of his book today. You can order your copy here.

And once you're done with it, if you don't mind I'd like to borrow it. Because, you know, twelve bucks is twelve bucks.