Not so Super

I’ll be the first to admit it. I am not by any stretch of the imagination or in any way a sports fan. I know what you’re thinking: how can someone like me who’s in peak physical condition not be into sports?

I know, it’s a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.

I do however occasionally like watching the World Series (baseball, right?) but that’s about it. Unless you count the Kentucky Derby, Preakness and Belmont Stakes because who doesn’t like horseys.

And reading the Racing Form. And placing bets.

Anyway, when Super Bowl Sunday rolls around every year, for the most part I look at it as the best day of the year to go to the movies, visit Disneyland or shop at South Coast Plaza. At least for about three and a half hours.

But because I’m in the line of work I’m in, I do have to slog through the game and watch the commercials. Including mine.

Here’s the problem: Apple set the bar for Super Bowl spots with their legendary “1984” commercial. You know, the one directed by Ridley Scott that we’re still talking about forty years later. But the downside of that spot was it got advertisers to think that just by pouring a ton of money into a spot, they’d have a memorable, entertaining Super Bowl spot that would ring up championship sales for whatever they were hawking.

Not so fast. If you watched the big game this year, you might’ve noticed there are about sixty examples that prove otherwise.

That’s not to say there haven’t been some enjoyable spots over the years. One of my favorites is this FedEx spot, which lays out in detail exactly what it takes to produce a successful Super Bowl spot. It's a low-res version, but you still get the idea.

Another is the Audi “Prom” spot. Everything about it is right—the casting, the dialog, the story, the production. They even caught lightning in a bottle with the reaction shot of the prom queen after the kiss.

The spot I liked most this year, besides mine, was actually this Disney+ commercial. Simple, engaging and not weighed down with celebrities and production value. It wasn’t forced.

I was discussing the spot with my close personal friend and blogger extraordinaire Rich Siegel, and he reminded me of the other reason I liked it so much. He said “When everyone is shouting, whisper.”

He’s right of course. Enough with the shouting.

In politics. In life. And especially in Super Bowl spots.

Encore post: Curing cancer

This post originally appeared about eight years ago. Amazing isn't it? Not the post—the fact I've been cranking this stuff out over eight years.

The reason for the repost at this particular point in the juncture, I'm sorry to say, is the situation has gotten much, much worse. Seriousness at advertising agencies has reached—and forgive the term—pandemic proportions. It's spreading faster than ever.

What's driving it? Decisions and work that's data driven. Nonstop metric measuring (my metric's bigger than yours). Low supply and high demand for just about everything. Fear, fear and more fear. Of keeping jobs and accounts. Losing jobs and accounts. Flying under the radar. Standing out in the meeting. Budgets being cut. Fear at agencies in a post covid world is running more rampant than ever before.

All of this has led to more meetings and pep talks with charts showing how serious the situation is.

I prefer to take the opposing position: if we can't have fun and enjoy a business where we get to dress like fifteen-year olds, make shit up all day, eat free pizza, bagels and meeting leftovers more often than any healthy human should, then what hope is there?

Have a read and see if you don't agree.

And by all means, take this post very, very seriously. As I know you will.

Every once in awhile, I'm reminded in no uncertain terms that we do very important work in advertising. Very important. It’s obvious isn’t it? If the work wasn’t life or death - which it apparently is – then why would some people in the business treat it that way? People in advertising wouldn’t lie.

Nah, I’m just funnin’ ya. It isn’t. And they would.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: people take themselves too damn seriously in a business that’s supposed to be fun. Not fun in the ha-ha sense, but fun in the working hard, producing something we can be proud of creatively and that moves sales for the client sense.

There’s also award show and media girl fun, but that’s for another post.

Just today, a friend of mine asked what happened to, “Here’s a great idea, we love it, here’s a shitload of money now go produce it.” Good question.

The answer of course is fear. Fear is what happened to it. Fear of making a decision, and fear of taking responsibility for that decision. Fear of losing your job over that decision. Fear of telling a creative team to just go produce an idea without a room of 12 strangers who know nothing about it to back them up.

I’ve never been one to be accused of overthinking the work, and that may explain two things: first is my unfrightened attitude. For some reason, when you don’t take things as seriously as other people do it really bothers them. They feel like you’re not a “team player” (by the way, whole other post about that phrase coming soon - oops, may have tipped my hand).

And second, it’s the reason I prefer freelance. Going on staff means one thing and one thing only (hint: contrary to popular belief it's not job security). It means you have to take it seriously.

Don't misunderstand, I know full well there are serious aspects to what we do. Millions of dollars are spent, and clients, understandably, expect to results from it. Careers and reputations are often made and broken on one decision. But those things are the price of entry of being in the business, and everyone at the door waiting to come in knows it.

The thing is, after everything you've given and sacrificed and struggled through to get in, there's still a constant demand for a blood oath to show how serious you are about it.

For example, I’m not sure when it happened, but somewhere along the way the powers that be decided if creative people were really going to be serious about it, they should be on call 24 hrs. a day, like doctors (who actually are curing cancer and making a real difference). And they should be on call with their personal cell phones without reimbursement.

That seems fair.

There are agency cultures that live and breathe by the if-you're-not-here-on-Saturday-don't-bother-coming-in-Sunday credo. I've worked for them, we all have. But like my pal Rich Siegel at Round Seventeen so aptly put it, I didn't drink the Kool-Aid. No need to linger after school if I have nothing to do just to make sure I'm seen after hours.

If I'm not there, start without me.

Here's what I know for sure. We're creating a disposable product no one outside of the client is asking for. Occasionally it does some good. Once in a while it's extremely creative. And when it moves product, whatever that product is, it's a great thing for all involved. Don't get me wrong: just because our product is disposable doesn't mean there aren't great commercials deservedly burned into the public conscious for the right reasons. For example, Apple's "1984" spot.

But for every "1984" there are a thousand "Mucinex in. Mucus out." spots.

Which is hard to believe, given all the seriousness that went into them.

Hitting the target

You're probably already familiar with targeted marketing. You might have also heard it referred to by that other name the monumental douchewhistles running Facebook and Instagram give it: relevant ads. You know, ads you'll appreciate interrupting your otherwise perfectly good scroll.

These are those creepy ads that appear within five minutes of you talking about something that interests you while you're in earshot of your iPhone, Alexa, Google Home, Apple Homepod or other digital assistant. Devices that listen in on your conversations even though at the same time the companies that make them are paying for ads and running interviews everywhere telling you about their committment to privacy.

I hate 'em as much as the next guy. But I have to admit, I'm at a meth-laced crossroads when it comes to this little number that popped up in my inbox.

If you've followed this blog at all, and with all that pandemic time on your hands you have no excuse if you haven't, you know I'm a fairly hardcore Breaking Bad fan. The fact I've binged it fourteen times was probably your first clue.

So a few months ago when Omaze was runnng a contest to have Bryan Cranston and Aaron Paul cook breakfast for me and a friend in the RV they cooked meth in on the show, it's safe to assume I entered. Several times. And then a few more for good measure.

But did I win? No I did not. Apparently Elissa and Heidi got to enjoy the breakfast that was meant for me. Apparently they forgot I am the one who knocks!

I may have gotten off track here. Anyway those nice folks (algorithims) at Omaze remembered and sent me the personalized invite to their latest contest to spend a little time with Walt and Jesse.

Now I'm not naive enough to think I'm the only one who got the invite. I'm sure everyone who entered the breakfast contest (and lost to Elissa and Heidi) received one as well. But it does make me reconsider my take on targeted marketing.

I guess the bottom line is I'm good with it as long as the ads are Breaking Bad, Springsteen or sushi related.

Podcast news

If you’re anything like me—and if you are you really need to set your sights higher—you’re always on the lookout for new ways to entertain yourself. I was like that before the covid, and my search has only intensified since.

Since the lockdown or stay at home or isolating ourselves or whatever this Twilight Zone time we’re living in began, like everyone else I’ve done more than my share of Netflix, Hulu, Amazon Prime Video, Disney+ and AppleTV viewing.

In fact, I’ve been streaming so much my urologist has me on speed dial! BAM! Thanks so much, I’ll be here all week. Tip your waitress. You’ve been a great crowd.

Anyway, having blown through The Crown, The Morning Show, The Queen's Gambit, Jeffrey Epstein Filthy Rich, Servant, The Hunters, Broadchurch, Dead To Me, Ted Lasso, For All Mankind, The Vow, The Last Dance, Defending Jacob, The Rookie, several Dave Chappelle specials, Jim Gaffigan specials, John Mulaney specials, Bruce Springsteen’s Letter To You (surprise!), Breaking Bad (binge 14 if you’re keeping count), American Murder, The Great British Baking Show and several others I can’t even remember, I decided it was time to look for other forms of amusement since covid doesn’t look like it’s wrapping anytime soon.

There was a joke going around last year that if you didn’t start a podcast in 2020 you were never going to start one. I was thinking about that, and thought I’d look and see how I could expand my podcast repertoire.

I sampled a lot of them, and listen to two of them regularly.

First is Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me (WWDTM), the NPR game show that has three different panelists each week, usually comedians or comedy writers, answering questions about current events and playing the game with callers. It’s extremely funny, timely and always enjoyable.

The other one is The Al Franken Podcast. Former comedian and senator, Franken has guests from both the worlds of entertainment and politics, and reminds me every Sunday what a brilliant mind and champion for justice the senate lost.

If you want proof, just listen to the episode of the questions he would’ve asked Amy Coney Barrett had he been at the confirmation hearings.

But my latest podcast binge—because apparently that’s the only way I know how to listen or watch anything—is Smartless.

Here’s the drill: each week, Jason Bateman, Sean Hayes and Will Arnett get together and insult each other. Also, one of them brings along a guest the other two don’t know about, and hilarity ensues. It is a seriously funny, laugh out loud, good time.

So far I’ve listened to the episodes with Bryan Cranston, Martin Short, Sarah Silverman, James Corden, Conan O’Brien, Ron Howard, Kamala Harris, Reese Witherspoon and Ricky Gervais. I’m about to start the one with Stacy Abrams.

I cannot recommend this podcast enough. Give it a listen, thank me later.

If I’m being honest, and of course no one’s under oath here, I was also thinking about starting a podcast of my own. I wouldn’t want to do it by myself though, especially since Smartless has shown me the many benefits and humorous possibilities of having partners to play off of.

Maybe I’ll see if can cajole my pal Rich Siegel over at Round Seventeen to do one with me.

Instead of Smartless, we could call it Smartass.

The client side

It’s a little bit the grass is greener, a little bit you don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone.

Last September, when ten incredibly talented individuals and me (I know that reads like I'm not incredibly talented, but work with me) were unceremoniously and, dare I say, unjustifiably laid off from an agency, I had a decision to make.

Was I going to go back to the known routine of agency life? Or would I make a concerted effort to go client side? I know. The suspense is killing me too.

On one hand, it would mean going back to the all-hands-on-deck weekend fire drills, the bad pizza, the uninspired pep talks, people who think we’re curing cancer, anti-social creative directors with bad hair and worse taste in music, hoping against hope to save accounts that are out the door, and watching great work die a thousand deaths before it ever sees the light of day.

But it'd also mean working with friends I’ve known forever, some of the most creative people in the world who challenge me to up my game every day, not having to be there straight up at 9AM, longer than an hour lunches where food, ideas and occasionally drinks flow fast and furious, dressing like a fifteen-year old, the satisfaction of cracking the code on an assignment and the adrenaline rush of selling the work and seeing it produced.

Since it was coming up on the holidays, I decided to take awhile off to think about it.

When January rolled around, I thought maybe I might like to give client side a whirl. I'd had a taste of it when I freelanced at the Game Show Network for about five months—it was awesome. I loved every minute of it with the exception of having to sit through endless hours of Family Feud reruns.

”Survey says…..not this again!”

Come to find out from an agency producer I’d worked with who was now at a tech company (which happened to be about five minutes from my house) there was a position open I might be right for.

I wasn’t ready to give up bingeing Breaking Bad again yet, but I figured it’d been a long time since I’d had to interview anywhere and at the very least it’d be good practice.

The process was a long one. First there was a phone interview. Then another phone interview. Then a third. Once my new phone pals had been won over by my undeniable charm, razor-sharp wit and overabundant humility, it was time for the in-person interviews.

I met with four people—the person I'd report to, her boss and her boss's boss. I also interviewed with someone who worked with my potential boss and who loved a certain musician that I do (even though I used the word "boss" four times in this paragraph it's not the one you're thinking).

Next was a background check. I gave them two of my former colleagues for references, and they both gave me glowing reviews (P.S. the checks are on the way). I got a copy of the report, and was surprised and a bit unnerved to see how in depth it was beyond the interviews. It contained things I didn't remember, but at least no one asked about those two guys in Jersey. That would've been a dealbreaker.

It was almost a two-month process, but finally I got the gig. It was that intoxicating feeling of excitement and dred. I was really, really, really enjoying my time off, and now it had an expiration date.

I mentioned the company is close to home. But thanks to COVID, my five-minute commute is now a thirty-second one. I haven't worked in the office since I started, and I've never met most of the people I work with in-person. Although they all look good and clean up nice on Zoom.

I'm still adjusting to corporate culture. It's a tech company, but not in the loose way you might picture people working at Google or Apple. When my company used to have "jeans Fridays" it was a big deal. Of course now that everyone's working from home it'd be a big deal if they had "pants Fridays."

Many people have been there fifteen years or more. It's a company people like and want to stay at.

Unlike the freewheeling, improvised, do it on-the-fly nature of agencies, in my new corporate side of the world turns out there's a process, manual or paperwork for everything. Sorry, I meant everything.

All in all, I have to say it's been going pretty well. In the short time I've been there, I've already written and produced four spots starring an internationally famous sports figure. I'd tell you who, but I've said too much already.

As far as I've been able to cipher, the people I work with are lovely. They're hard-working, supportive, encouraging, understanding and appreciative of the work I do.

You know, just like in agencies. (Stops for a minute until the laughter dies down).

Anyway, I'm four months into it and learning a whole new way of operating in a new world. Each day I'm enjoying it more and more.

And I'm not just saying that cause I get the employee discount on all the cool stuff.

Have a blast off

If you've been following this blog for any length of time, and if you have perhaps you should use the Google to find better ways to kill time during the pandemic, you probably already know I have a somewhat compulsive side to my otherwise sparkling personality.

Breaking Bad. Bruce Springsteen. Sourdough bread. Las Vegas (in the before times).

One other quasi-obsession I have that I don't blog about much is space movies. Specifically ones about the golden age of the space race: the Gemini, Mercury and Apollo programs. There's been a lot of great movies about them: Apollo 13. First Man. The Right Stuff.

Going to change the subject for a sec, but I'll thread the needle on the back end. Here's the thing: we have way too many streaming services. The house is lousy with them: Netflix, Hulu, Amazon Prime. Disney +. So when Apple TV+ rode into town, I wasn't itchin' to sign up and pay yet another monthly fee.

But as they say in the ad biz, nothing beats free. And come to find out that's exactly what Apple TV+ is. Seems they have a promotion going on for a free year's subscription within 90 days of purchasing any Apple device. Like, say, the wife's new MacBook Air.

Truth be told, the original shows on Apple TV+ haven't been getting what you'd call rave reviews. But the one that, predictably, caught my attention was For All Mankind.

Space? Astronauts? 10 hours? Apollo program? I'm in.

So for the past couple of days I've been bingeing it. I know, I'm as shocked as you are. And I"m here to tell ya it's really, seriously great. The premise is simple: what if the Russians had beat us to the moon, and the space race never stopped? It's alternative history fiction built around the space program.

And for all my show biz pals at the studios, listen up. It's also made me decide that, more than anything, I want to have a bit part in a space movie.

I want to be one of the engineers wearing a short sleeve, white shirt, skinny tie and thick frame glasses sitting at one of the rows of those bulky, green, Mission Control computers.

And I'm not looking for a showy, star turn. In fact the only thing I want to say is one line. During the obligatory pre-launch checklist scene, when it's my turn I want to bark out: "It's a go."

Start to finish, like the best series, it's a rollercoaster ride with unexpected twists and turns, surprising revisionist history and characters you can't help care about. It's making you cry and cheer one minute, gutting you the next.

So I'll be counting down until next season launches, and I'm sure I'll happily binge it a few more times before then.

My advice to you? Don't screw the pooch by missing it. Watch and enjoy.

Godspeed.

Don't ask: Borrowing my phone charger

What's better than one sequel to a popular series of blogposts? Several sequels. Which makes today your lucky day as yet one more post gets added to my outrageously successful Don't Ask series.

I assume you're already familiar with the classics (and if you're not, don't burst my bubble - just let me think you are): Don't Ask: Watching Your Stuff, Don't Ask: Working the Weekend, Don't Ask: Loaning You Money, Don't Ask: Writing a Letter For You, Don't Ask: Sharing a Hotel Room, Don't Ask: Picking Up at the Airport, and the perennial Don't Ask: Moving - one of the most popular and requested of all.

While several other series remain dormant on this blog, like Guilty Pleasures, Things I Was Wrong About, The Luckiest Actor Alive and Why I Love Costco, this particular series continues to flourish thanks to the fact there's just no end to the things I refuse to do.

Tonight's entry is Don't Ask: Borrowing my phone charger. Here's the thing: phone chargers used to be expensive, especially if you were buying them at the Apple store. So most people just have the one that comes with the phone, and stays at home. They either charge the phone overnight and hope it lasts, or depend on the kindness of others to loan them their chargers at work.

My charger-loaning kindness is at 0%.

Instead of absconding with my charger—and making me hunt you down to get it back—there's no reason you can't have a backup charger all your own to keep with you at all times. They sell them everywhere. From the checkout counter at CVS (next to the nail clippers) to the checkout line at Nordstrom Rack (next to the hair ties).

They come in all colors, lengths and not only do they improve how long your battery lasts, they also improve how long our friendship will last. Win-win.

Don't get me wrong: next time the battery icon in the upper right of your home screen is in the red, by all means do the sensible thing and ask if you can borrow someone's charger.

Just don't ask me.

Wired

The laptop I use everyday, in fact the one I'm writing this post on right now, is a 17" MacBook Pro. Or as they say in the laptop biz, a dinosaur.

I bought it the minute it was announced in January of aught 9, which for those of you doing the math means—in technology years—it's as old as dirt.

The reason I had my credit card fired up and ready to buy this laptop the first day it was announced was because of its big, beautiful screen. I have terrible vision—in fact it's even gotten worse in the time you've been reading this. The idea of a screen this large was very appealing. I thought this kind of real estate would be much easier to see and work on.

But that was then and this is now. So even though it's bigger, it's not a retina screen with impossibly great resolution. The battery drains faster than a seventy-year old with a urinary tract infection. And I can't upgrade the apps and operating system because the processor is too old and slow.

I think it's obvious to even the most skeptical readers (pauses to laugh hysterically at the thought of anyone reading this) it's about time I got myself a bitchin' new state-of-the-art, high-tech, super-expensive 15" MacBook Pro. Only because Apple discontinued the 17" version—did I mention dinosaur?

As fate would have it, before she went to college my beautiful daughter, who's getting a quality out-of-state tuition education in the middle of the Iowa cornfields, unexpectedly got a brand new 15" MacBook Pro. So she generously gave me her 13" MacBook Air she wasn't going to be using.

Now, even though it's obviously a lot smaller screen than I'm used to, it's a higher resolution so it's actually easier on my eyes. Which means I get to write sentences like that last one using the word "it's" three times.

I've also found because of the smaller size, I don't (can't) have as many windows open at once. So I don't waste a lot of time toggling between them. It forces me to focus. Turns out that's a good thing. Who knew?

Of course, the only exercise I was getting on a daily basis was lifting the 17" laptop, which weighed—true fact—350 lbs. At least it felt like it. The MacBook Air weighs next to nothing, hence the name.

So what does any of this have to do with the photo of tangled computer cables? Well, I have to get my info from the old laptop onto the new(er) one. To do that, I can connect them to each other, or the MB Air to my backup drive. Problem is I don't have the cables to do it.

In spite of my cable drawer looking like snakes on the floor in Raiders Of The Lost Ark, the one cable I need isn't among them. Because my laptop's so old, there's no USB to USB cord to be found. Or Firewire to USB cord. I'm not even sure which cable I need: Lightning, Thunderbolt, HDMI, DVI or Magnum PI (look it up).

It's a lot of tech mumbo-jumbo for a task that should be easier than getting into city college. Thanks Obama.

Anyway, the MB Air is a few years old now, so maybe it's time for me to just bite the bullet and pony up for that brand new bitchin' laptop after all.

But only if the cables are included.

Game of Phones

It's September again. That time of year when the weather gets suprisingly, unbearably hot for a month.

Fall is gently knocking at summer's door.

Kid's are learning and playing back in school.

Christmas displays are going up at Home Depot.

Rich Siegel starts waxing nostalgic.

Oh, and one more thing.

The new iPhones are announced.

Every year at this time Apple introduces their newest iPhone model. Sometimes the changes and improvements are minor, sometimes more substantial. Either way, they're always expensive.

This year was different. Not in the price tag, but in the offerings.

Sure, they went sequentially and introduced an iPhone 8 and 8Plus with some marginal improvements. But because it's the 10th anniversary of the introduction of the iPhone, anticipation for this year's event reached a fever pitch, not just among fanboys and the Apple community, but also the press and the general public. And the credit card companies.

To mark the occasion, Apple cooked up (#seewhatIdidthere) a special edition model: the iPhone X (pronounced "ten"). And to go with the special edition is a special price: $999 for the 64GB version, and $1149 for the 256GB version.

The iPhone X comes with all sorts of new technical whammy-jammy like facial mapping and recognition, emojis that animate with the users facial expressions (dubbed "Animojis"), using gestures instead of a home button among a few of them.

I have the same problem with iPhones as I do with cars—I hang on to them too long (insert high school girlfriend joke here).

My first one, phone, not girlfriend, was the 3GS. I thought it was amazing, and I never missed the chance to gloat about it to my friends who only had the iPhone 3. I was so happy with it, I sat out the 4, 4S and the 5. By that time though, it had gotten to the point where I couldn't update the system and a lot of apps wouldn't work on it. So when the 5S came out, I was first in line.

Well, figuratively. I'll never be first in line for a new iPhone. I can't wait that many days in line for anything, unless it's Springsteen tickets. Which I can now get on the iPhone.

The circle of life.

When the 6 Plus came out with the larger screen, I traded up. My eyes get worse every second they're open, and the larger real estate for the screen was a no brainer. Then the 7Plus came out with the better camera. Since I'd gotten the 6Plus on the lease program where you can upgrade without penalty every year, I walked in and did just that.

I'll admit it. I've been an Apple guy almost since the beginning with computers and phones. Every September when they announce the new iPhone, I'm like Steve Martin in The Jerk with the new phonebook.

If I'm being honest with myself, and where's the percentage in that, I don't really need the iPhone X. My 7Plus would do just fine for another few years, and I could bank the $1149, or put it to good use towards something else (Springsteen tickets).

But knowing me, and the tower of strength I am, I'll probably cave like Jim Gaffigan at the dessert bar and get it.

Unless next year's iPhone 11 cleans the house, walks the dog and washes the car.

Then I might wait.

Banjo boy

At just the right angle, the adult Billy Redden looks a bit like the late, great Robin Williams.

Whom, you might ask, is Billy Redden? He happens to be an actor who was in one of the most iconic scenes in motion picture history, playing the banjo boy in Deliverance. In a stunning moment, he winds up playing a musical duet, the now famous Dueling Banjos, with Ronnie Cox as Jon Voight, Ned Beatty (who has his own iconic moment in the film for an entirely different reason) and Burt Reynolds look on. Truth be told, it was a little Hollywood magic: it wasn't actually Billy playing. But that ain't no never mind.

As anyone who's in the industry knows, show biz can be a cruel tease. And the years and opportunities haven't been particularly kind to Billy. Few and far between, he has had other parts. He was in Tim Burton's Big Fish, and had a small part on Blue Collar as—wait for it—an inbred car mechanic who plays the banjo.

Currently, Billy is working in maintenance at WalMart, picking up trash among other things.

Like Andy Robinson, who did go on to a moderately successful career after playing the Zodiac-esque killer Scorpio in Dirty Harry, Billy was typecast fairly quickly at a young age. He reminds me of Ron Wayne, the third founder of Apple who sold his shares after nine days for $900. If he'd held on to them, they'd be worth $32 billion today. And while it's a fact Billy never flirted with that kind of fortune, I can't help think they're similar in that "what might've been" way. Given the right management, a little more training and a few lucky breaks, would he have been a household name, with a brilliant debut as a child actor?

In the few interviews I've read, it's clear I'm more bothered by it than he is.

The truth is he has a scene that any actor would kill for, one that will now and forever be an enduring part of film history. Every once in a while, I find myself in the mood to watch it. And it always brings me great joy when I do.

If he watches it, I hope Billy feels the same way.

Send fries in lieu of flowers

Michael James Delligatti deserved more.

He is after all the man who invented a uniquely American culinary icon. Made literally billions for the company he worked with and for. And his invention was a very happy meal indeed.

Delligatti should've died last week at the age of 98 (maybe Big Macs aren't so bad for you) with an estate worth billions to leave his heirs. But all he got from McDonald's for his creation that's responsible for over 25% of their profits is a plaque.

Some people might argue that's more than Moe Green got (Godfather reference, look it up). But for my McMoney, it wasn't enough.

Delligatti was a franchisee who told McDonald's they should offer a double-patty burger. McDonald's, having the foresight and keen intuition for trends that they demonstrate even to this day, told him no. So, as the NY Times said, Delligatti went rogue. He ordered a larger, sesame-seed bun from a local baker, split it in three and made his own double-patty burger.

To everyone's surprise but his, sales skyrocketed. Funny thing. Once that happened, suddenly McDonald's was interested in offering what later became the Big Mac.

There seems to be a tradition of companies who make money off of these innovative ideas by screwing the people who come up with them.

One of the more famous instances was Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster who created a little character with a red cape you might've heard of - Superman. There were a slew of lawsuits, settlements and more lawsuits with the two families about ownership, and they still continue to this day (too much to go into here, but if you want to read more about it you'll find it here).

Ronald Wayne, the third founder of Apple along with Jobs and Wozniak. Wayne quit a few days into the partnership, scared the boys didn't know what they were doing and he'd be on the hook financially. If he'd held onto his stock, which he sold for $800, it would've been worth over $32 billion today. He took himself out of the equation, but still it would've been good karma for Jobs to reward him with a stipend for getting the company on its feet.

Philo T. Farnsworth, the farm boy who actually invented television at fourteen-years old and got screwed out of the patent by RCA.

John Walker, inventor of the self-igniting friction sticks, or as we call them in my country, matches.

How about Gary Kildall, inventor of the operating system you're probably using a version of right now. He got royally hosed by a nerdy billionaire from Seattle who usually gets the credit.

Of course, there's a saying my therapist taught me. I know what you're saying to yourself "But Jeff, you seem so well-adjusted, why would you have a therapist?" You have no idea.

Anyway, what she always says is there are no victims, only volunteers.

Many of these people didn't patent their ideas in spite of being urged to. Or some signed a contract without reading it. However they lost hold of their brain work, it seems ashame they weren't able to benefit from the rewards of it.

Even if a company owned their ideas fair and square, there's more than enough money to go around. Giving the creators some of it just seems like the right thing to do. Although I realize we're living in a post right-thing-to-do era.

Anyway, rest in peace Mr. Delligatti. I've enjoyed your creation many times over the years, and still indulge the occasional craving for it. Only now I take out the middle slice of bread.

It's a lot healthier that way.

Moving apps

This year, I jumped on the Apple train—again—and ponied up for the iPhone6s Plus. I’d had an iPhone5 for years, but after having to hold its teeny, tiny 4-inch screen near the tip of my nose to watch one too many binges of Breaking Bad and House Of Cards, I decided to trade up to the 6s Plus and its ginormous 5.5-inch screen.

I’ve had apartments smaller than this phone. The good news is all my worrying about not being able to text one-handed, fitting it in my jean pockets (thank God I don’t wear skinny jeans – no one needs to see that) and it not fitting in the cupholder in my car proved to be unfounded.

It only took one week and it was like I’d always been using it. In fact, in the same way my German Shepherd Max - the world’s greatest dog - looked huge at the beginning but doesn't anymore, the 6s Plus doesn’t look big to me unless I put an older iPhone next to it. Max also looks huge no matter what phone is next to him.

So here’s the thing: over the holiday weekend, with a little down time on my hands while I was in between slices of pumpkin pie, I decided I'd take a shot at organizing the bazillion app icons camping out wherever they damn well pleased across five big screens on my phone.

Jumping into action, and by that I mean leaning back in the big reading chair with iPhone in hand, I quickly and cagily figured out my plan of attack. I put travel apps in a folder named Travel. Health apps in a folder named Health. Money and banking apps in a folder named Finances. See where I’m going here?

At the end of it though, I still had a considerable number of orphan apps – including iSamJackson (“Get these motherf#%&ing snakes off this motherf#%&ing plane!"), Police Siren (woooooo and wahhh woooo wahhhh woooo), Basic Spanish (no bueno) and AwesomeFacts (not awesome, not all facts) – that I hardly ever use.

And by hardly I mean never.

They, along with many others, now all reside in one folder appropriately labeled Rarely Used Apps. By doing that I picked up two full screens worth of real estate. Now it’s just a matter of getting in the habit of finding apps that were on screen four on screen one. First world problems and all that.

I love the fact Apple iOS lets me create folders for my apps and clear up the screens, although I have to say I'm not entirely trusting of their motives. I mean, now that I have those two extra screens available, there's only one thing to do with them.

More apps.

Remaining faithful

It's like Groundhog's Day.

Every September, Apple introduces the newest iPhone along with a few other products or improvements.

Then, online and in person, the Apple faithful show up in droves a couple weeks later to snap them up so they can have bragging rights to being among the early adopters of Apple's latest.

ME: Hi, my name is Jeff and I'm an Apple loyalist. ALL: Hi Jeff.

I love the annual show. From the year's worth of rumors leading up to it, to the pre-show music (all of it available on iTunes), to Apple's vice-president of Software Engineering Craig Federighi's humor-filled and loose presentation, to the products themselves, it all works for me. And on me.

I have an ancient iPhone5 I waited two months and went to seven Apple stores to get when it first came out. For those of you keeping count, that means as of today's presentation I'm three generations behind on the iPhone. I want the new iPhone6S Plus. But I probably won't get it.

Instead, I'll wait for next year's song and dance when they introduce the iPhone7. I like buying in the non-"S" years.

Whenever the subject of iPad comes up, between my laptop and my iPhone I've never been able to find a reason to hop on the iPad bandwagon. But I did want one after today's introduction of the 12.9" iPad Pro. It has an available Smart Keyboard for $169 to make it more like a laptop, and a $100 Apple Pencil which is their way of saying stylus.

However when I use the calculator on my ole' iPhone5 and add up exactly how much all this new gear would cost me - and add in the fact I now have tuition for young Mr. Spielberg, plus the wife and daughter are waiting for their new phones - it becomes painfully clear I'm going to have to wring (or ring) a little more use out of what I have.

Hey Siri, couldn't you cut me a little slack and make it every two years?

The fine print

Today I made an investment I'd managed to put off for years. I bought a new printer for the house.

The old printer was a HP Photosmart C8180, and it served us well for a long time. But as it got older, it would occasionally freeze up under the stress of all the work it had to churn out. Something I can definitely relate to.

Then there was that obsolete thing. With the advent of Apple AirPrint, which was not one of its capabilities, it was only a matter of time before it was taking the big dirtnap.

The good news is the price of printers has continually come down, and the technology loaded into them has steadily increased. The bad news is - and this is an odd complaint - is there are too damn many to choose from. HP. Cannon. Brother. Epson. Lexmark (never a contender). Each company making at least ten to choose from, running the gamut from inexpensive to need a co-signer.

The determining factor on price is features. Paper feeder? Yes please. Automatic double side printing? Twice the fun. 12 pages per minute? If you say so. AirPrint? How did I ever live without it.

I didn't have the cash on hand for both the new MacBook Pro I need and the new iPhone being announced next week. But I did have the $99 bucks for a new HP OfficeJet 5740 (actually I just poured a little more gas on the American Express card).

So I feel like I at least got to upgrade something.

The setup however didn't go quite as smoothly as I'd hoped. It had trouble connecting to my wireless network. I thought it'd automatically say, "Oh, Jeff's network, where you been all my life?" Not so much.

Seems I was running on a 5Ghz network, and the printer is only 2.4Ghz capable. With the help of HP Tech Support I was chatting with, who at one point told me I needed to be patient (I got your patient right here...), I created a new 2.4Ghz network for the printer to hook up with. I know, right?

Now everything's working swell, and the new printer's spitting out paper like it just took a swig of Zima.

I wonder if it'll let me print out the loan documents I'll need for the ink cartridges.

Squirrels love HBO

Two days ago, I get a call from my wife. Nothing unusual about that - we talk frequently. I'd probably talk to her a lot even if we weren't married, although I imagine we'd talk about different things.

I may be getting off topic here.

Anyway, as happens every once in awhile, the internet at the house had gone out. So adopting my best Apple Care/Charter Cable rep voice, I walked her through the reseting everything process that always gets it back up and running.

Well, almost always. Not this time.

Of course, the moment that the internet went down just happened to be the exact moment when she needed it to get some important work done. Joking, she said, "I guess the squirrels have been eating the cable line."

I think you see where this is going.

We called Charter, and scheduled a service call for the next day. When the guy came out, he realized that the problem wasn't in the house, but on the line coming into the house.

Come to find out three other houses on the block lost cable service. The reason? Squirrels eating the cable lines.

Apparently squirrels chomping on basic cable is a common problem that just took a while for us to experience. I know from my German Shepherd going crazy and barking out the window that the squirrels use the power and cable lines in the neighborhood for their personal freeway to get around.

I just didn't know they also used them for dinner.

Anyway, they - the cable company, not the squirrels - had one of the main streets blocked off for about four hours while they replaced the damaged cable and got everybody their Daily Show and Food Channel again.

There's a joke here somewhere about how nuts it is that squirrels would eat cable. It's right there in front of me, but I'm not going for it.

Guess I'm not that cheeky.

Get back

© Universal Pictures

I overheard a conversation, well, okay, I was eavesdropping on this conversation between a couple of businessmen-at-lunch-wearing-yellow-power-ties today. I feel sorry for anyone who has to wear a starched shirt and a tie on a 93 degree day.

But then I remembered that this is America damn it, and we all can make our own choices. Then I didn't feel sorry anymore. I just felt sad for their poor weather-related fashion choices.

Anyway, the part of their chat that caught my ear was when one of them said, "If I could go back twenty years I wouldn't do it. I wouldn't want to live through those years again."

It struck me as strange, because if you tell me I can go back twenty years, I'm saying, "What time do we leave?"

Of course the one caveat I have is that whole "If I knew then what I know now..." thing. I'd have to be able to take back everything I've learned in the back twenty.

For starters, Apple stock at 1994 prices. And lots of it.

Same for homes. And lots of 'em.

I'd lock up long-term CD bank accounts for as many years as I could.

I'd eat better and exercise more (well, it sounds good).

I'd buy up that run down warehouse district, and develop it. If you gentrify it they will come.

Finally, I'd be nicer to the people I knew I was going to lose. I'd make a point of spending more time with them. I'd make their lives easier in any way I could, knowing full well what the road ahead held for them. I'd be less cynical around them, despite how often it's required - they don't need the negativity. I'd steer them towards the personal habits and medical studies that might help prolong their lives, if only for a short while.

And I'd write down all my memories of them. The little turns of phrase, or crooked smiles or knowing looks exchanged. It would be a detailed journal that would keep them vividly alive for me, even after they'd departed twenty years on.

I'd also love them more. I'd be demonstrative and free with it. I'd let them know as often as I could. And when they looked at me with that "Who the hell are you?" expression, and asked why the love fest, I'd tell them the one bit of wisdom that I brought back with me from the future.

Life's too short.

All flash, no depth

On every generation iPhone that comes out, one of the most predictable things Apple always waxes on about glowingly is the camera. Right now, it's up to eight megapixels, and has the latest motion steadying, auto-flash, auto-focus, easy zoom, flux capacitor technology so every picture is crystal clear and perfect all the way up to 88 miles an hour.

Their website even boasts "So anyone anywhere can take an amazing photo at any time."

Clearly, Apple believes they've used technology to turn us all into Annie Leibovitz, taking award-worthy pictures of even the most mundane and insignificant objects wherever we go. How else do you explain an average of 465 photos per 1GB devoted to them on every iPhone.

Apple is so confident of their phone camera, they show these pictures - among others - on their website as examples of the kind of results one can expect.

,

I was at an event the other night. It was a one-of-a-kind Tribute to the Beatles, with the two surviving band members performing. As you'd expect, it was a once in a lifetime photo opportunity. Fortunately, or so I thought, I had my iPhone camera and all it's picture-improving technology with me.

You should know that I'm a steady hand and have a fairly good eye. Additionally, because I've shot my fair share of commercials, I use the "one more for protection" approach to taking pictures at an event like this, almost guaranteeing there will be a clear, great, usable shot. Almost.

Here are some of iPhone pics from the event:

The idea perpetuated by Apple that an iPhone camera eliminates the need for a real camera is absurd. Just ask any photographer (real ones, not me).

This seems to be one of those lessons I have to keep learning. I have to stop shooting (see what I did there?) for convenience, and opt for the camera that's going to give me the results I expect. Even if it doesn't fit handily in my pocket.

Next time I'm attending an event that's bound to be filled with Kodak moments (look it up), I can definitely picture myself using one of these to capture the memories:

Curing cancer

Every once in awhile, I'm reminded in no uncertain terms that we do very important work in advertising. Very important. It’s obvious isn’t it? If the work wasn’t life or death - which it apparently is – then why would some people in the business treat it that way? People in advertising wouldn’t lie.

Nah, I’m just funnin’ ya. It isn’t. And they would.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: people take themselves too damn seriously in a business that’s supposed to be fun. Not fun in the ha-ha sense, but fun in the working hard, producing something we can be proud of creatively and that moves sales for the client sense.

There’s also award show and media girl fun, but that’s for another post.

Just today, a friend of mine asked what happened to, “Here’s a great idea, we love it, here’s a shitload of money now go produce it.” Good question.

The answer of course is fear. Fear is what happened to it. Fear of making a decision, and fear of taking responsibility for that decision. Fear of losing your job over that decision. Fear of telling a creative team to just go produce an idea without a room of 12 strangers who know nothing about it to back them up.

I’ve never been one to be accused of overthinking the work, and that may explain two things: first is my unfrightened attitude. For some reason, when you don’t take things as seriously as other people do it really bothers them. They feel like you’re not a “team player” (by the way, whole other post about that phrase coming soon - oops, may have tipped my hand).

And second, it’s the reason I prefer freelance. Going on staff means one thing and one thing only (hint: contrary to popular belief it's not job security). It means you have to take it seriously.

Don't misunderstand, I know full well there are serious aspects to what we do. Millions of dollars are spent, and clients, understandably, expect to results from it. Careers and reputations are often made and broken on one decision. But those things are the price of entry of being in the business, and everyone at the door waiting to come in knows it.

The thing is, after everything you've given and sacrificed and struggled through to get in, there's still a constant demand for a blood oath to show how serious you are about it.

For example, I’m not sure when it happened, but somewhere along the way the powers that be decided if creative people were really going to be serious about it, they should be on call 24 hrs. a day, like doctors (who actually are curing cancer and making a real difference). And they should be on call with their personal cell phones without reimbursement.

That seems fair.

There are agency cultures that live and breathe by the if-you're-not-here-on-Saturday-don't-bother-coming-in-Sunday credo. I've worked for them, we all have. But like my pal Rich Siegel at Round Seventeen so aptly put it, I didn't drink the Kool-Aid. No need to linger after school if I have nothing to do just to make sure I'm seen after hours.

If I'm not there, start without me.

Here's what I know for sure. We're creating a disposable product no one outside of the client is asking for. Occasionally it does some good. Once in a while it's extremely creative. And when it moves product, whatever that product is, it's a great thing for all involved. Don't get me wrong: just because our product is disposable doesn't mean there aren't great commercials deservedly burned into the public conscious for the right reasons. For example, Apple's "1984" spot.

But for every "1984" there are a thousand "Mucinex in. Mucus out." spots.

Which is hard to believe, given all the seriousness that went into them.

byePhoto

Space. It really is the final frontier, especially when it comes to my computer's hard drive.

I'll be the first to admit it: I've had "drive envy" almost since I bought my laptop. That's because my 17" MacBook Pro, which I bought in February of 2009, came with a 320GB hard drive. Which I thought was plenty of space at the time, right up until Apple did what Apple always does. Three weeks later, they introduced a 500GB drive for my model laptop.

Thank you Apple, may I have another?

Fast forward to August 2012, and come to find out I only have 5GB of available space left. Not enough to load new or update old applications.

So I only have two choices: make more space, or replace the drive for one with more space. I decided to start with the first one.

Since I shoot mostly high-res pictures, I started my clean up in iPhoto. What I found was the curse of the digital age - that because I can just keep shooting and shooting, I had many, many duplicates of the same photo.

You no longer have to wait for the perfect moment. You just have to keep shooting then see if you can find it.

At any rate, I started deleting tons of duplicates I'd taken. Not to mention the bazillions of shots my kids had taken with my camera at ten frames per second.

I'm not nearly done taking out the trash on over 17,000 photos, but so far I've picked up almost 5GB in space.

I'm going to have to upgrade to a 750GB drive soon (it's the biggest the specs on my laptop will allow for), but until then it's nice to know there's actually an easy and somewhat productive way to gain a little more space.

Of course, the laptop we just bought my son for his birthday has a 1TB drive.

Thanks Apple.

Bad apple

I just finished reading Steve Jobs biography, and I have two thoughts: what an incredible person to work for. And I thank my lucky stars I never worked for him.

Visionary? Of course. Innovative? Without question. Son of a bitch? Absolutely.

What's revealed in the book is perhaps the worst secret in the tech community: Steve Jobs was just a miserable person to be around. Abusive to colleagues and family, his lifetime of bitterness seemed to come from the fact his birth parents put him up for adoption.

He wound up emotionally savaging virtually everyone he came in contact with. Whether it was his use of his "reality distortion field" or "the stare", Jobs only ever wanted things one way: his. Fortunately most of the time his way was the best thing for Apple and the remarkable products they make. But when it wasn't, he wasted no time blaming someone else for the failure.

He would've made an excellent creative director.

Those around him thought that after his cancer diagnosis he might soften a bit, change his ways given the limited time he had left. What he actually did was become even feistier and more determined to control everything he came in touch with.

Near the end of both the book and his life, he writes an uncharacteristically touching letter to his wife on the occasion of their 20th anniversary. And he does acknowledge people were right to think he was an a#%&@$e.

There was some speculation that Jobs had control over the content of the book. But I think if that were true, it would've been a much prettier picture of him than it is. He obviously kept his word to Walter Isaacson about not wanting to know what was in it.

It's a great read that wants to love its subject and still be truthful about him. It's a difficult balancing act the book manages to pull off.

Oh, and one more thing.

It's very clear why there'll never be a business leader like him again in our lifetime.