Unfinished business

The road to being a couch potato, taking naps in the middle of the day and bingeing Breaking Bad - again - is paved with good intentions.

One of the increasingly dwindling perks of working in advertising is that almost all ad agencies close between Christmas and New Year's. Like the one I'm currently at. So, besides my wish list for Santa, which apparently he didn't have time to read (so much for the Audi R8 and Scarlett Johansson's phone number), I also make a to-do list of things to get done around the house during the week off that I never have time for when I'm working.

It includes seemingly simple things like clean out my closet (nope). Clean out the garage (nope). Get all the books I haven't read and are sitting on my nightstand organized (nope). Get everything off the top of my dresser (nope). Make and label files for all the paperwork I have sitting all over the house (nope). Get all the Christmas decorations organized and put away (nope). Clean and repair the gutters before El Niño strikes with a vengeance (paid someone do it).

Items like watching some movies, napping and Breaking Bad weren't on the list. Yet somehow, because I'm just that good at multitasking, I managed to get them done.

I think what actually happened is I took the idea of a work break to heart and brought it home with me for the week. And you know what? It's been a great week.

The good news is now I don't have to waste time thinking up a bunch of New Year's resolutions. I'll just use the list.

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.

My new favorite teacher

I'm not going to bury the lead, I'll just come right out with it. My new favorite teacher is Mr. Hayashino. I say new favorite, because I just met him tonight for the first time at my daughter's high school Back To School Night.

If you don't have kids you may not be familiar with Back To School Night. Almost every school has one. It happens at the beginning of the school year, usually on a night there's a major sporting event or a television program you've been waiting three months to see.

Parents follow their child's curriculum, going from class to class between bells, cramming ourselves in the students' chairs and listening to their teachers give an overview of who they are, what they teach and what they expect from both us and the students.

They have ten minutes to do it before the bell rings and everyone hustles onto the next class.

Tonight, I met my daughter's chemistry teacher, Mr. Hayashino. I know, I said chemistry. I'm sure for those of you who follow this blog with any kind of regularity, you already see where this is going. And it's going exactly where you think it is.

I'm not sure what Mr. Hayashino was saying during his allotted ten minutes. I was busy looking at the Periodic Chart, trying to find the element symbols that spelled Felina, which as I'm sure you know was the name of the series finale episode of Breaking Bad.

When the bell rang, I went up to Mr. Hayashino, introduced myself and asked if he'd watched Breaking Bad since it's required viewing for chemistry teachers. He said he saw the series - all of it - for the first time this summer. I told him I'd binged it six times. He was duly impressed.

We immediately started talking about chemicals, cooks and how we have to get together and talk some more about the show. Twist my arm.

So this semester, I'm going to be taking a keen interest in how my daughter is doing in school. I'll monitor her progress, and talk to the teachers when necessary.

When I get to her chemistry class again, I'll ask the teacher, "Who the hell are you?"

And if Mr. Hayashino's the chemistry teacher I think he is, I'm pretty sure his answer will be, "You know who I am. You all know. Now say my name."

I bought myself some Time

Today I did something I love to do, and don't do nearly enough (pausing for a minute while you get that thought out of your sick little head). I bought the latest issue of Time magazine.

My dad worked at a newsstand for years, so I think I come by my love of magazines honestly. Right up there with Springsteen concerts, Breaking Bad and eating sushi, buying magazines hot of the presses brings me great joy.

When I fly, I get to the airport early to peruse the magazines at the gift shop. It's especially rewarding because they're always the first to get the latest issues. I give careful consideration to them, but I always walk out with the same ones: usually an Esquire, GQ, People, Fortune and Entertainment Weekly. Occasionally one of the car rags, but because I get enough of those at work they're not always on the top of my list.

I talked here about how I'll never use e-readers and why I prefer the experience of real books and magazines. I still feel that way, even though I admit I find myself doing more reading online on news sites about topics I would've picked up a magazine for in the past.

The reason I picked up this weeks' copy of Time was because it's the Answers issue. Ironically it didn't have the answers I was looking for.

Anyway, this isn't going to be the start of a new magazine subscription frenzy. My family got Newsweek for over forty years, and I continued the tradition right up until they stopped publication. That was the longest magazine subscription I ever had or will have. I even managed to save a few of the more important issues (like the Springsteen cover) and have them locked away in storage ("Hello, eBay?").

Right now I have subscriptions to Fortune, FastTimes, Los Angeles Magazine and Entertainment Weekly.

But unless my bathroom or my coffee table get bigger, I don't see getting more anytime soon.

It's getting wheel

Every once in a while it occurs to me how out of shape I am. I try not to dwell on it too much, because then I feel bad about downing a pint of Americone Dream while bingeing Breaking Bad for the sixth time.

And who wants to feel bad.

Besides, digging that spoon into the frozen ice cream is a workout. Technically.

Anyway, what brought all this on was the fact my friend Kurt and his wife are going on a ride this weekend. A bike ride. Around Lake Tahoe. A hundred miles around Lake Tahoe.

When he first told me about it, I thought it'd be the perfect way to get back in shape. When I lived in Santa Monica, I used to ride my bike on the bike path every weekend on a thirty-mile round trip to Redondo Beach.

I like riding a bike. I'd be back into it in a heartbeat.

The plan was to train with them for eighteen weeks, make the ride, then feel this enormous sense of accomplishment and well-being.

But eighteen Saturdays of training were just something I couldn't commit to, what with kids' schedules, college tours, school concerts and unopened Cherry Garcia to take care of.

So here we are at the weekend of the ride. While in years past the weather's been beautiful for the ride, this weekend it's all thunderstorms and heavy rain at the lake.

Or as I like to call it, perfect weather to stay home and binge on a show about drug kingpins and the destruction of their family.

I hope Kurt and his wife are careful out there, and have a great ride.

Even though I'm not with them in person, I'm there in spirit. And if it's any consolation, they've inspired me to map out a course for getting on my own road back into shape.

Right after I finish Season 4. Again.

Throw the book at 'em

Now that most television shows have aired their season finales, the question is what do I do with all the extra time I'll have on my hands.

There are always the go-to programs like a 6th binge of Breaking Bad, or a 2nd binge of House Of Cards. There are shows I never made time for like Treme and Shameless.

But I was thinking maybe it's time to tackle a more intellectual pursuit. Reading. Schopenhauer once said, "We buy books because we believe we're buying the time to read them." If that's true, I've bought myself a lot of time.

On the nightstand next to my side of the bed, which with a wife and two dogs is getting increasingly smaller by the minute, is no less than 27 unread books. I bought every one of them with the intention of cracking it open when I got home from Barnes & Noble.

And yes, I still buy books and I still go to bookstores. Never read a book on an e-reader, never will.

Here's the thing: I go on book jags. I don't read one for a while, then I plow through six or seven in a row. Even when I'm short on time, when I'm on one of the jags I make a point of reading a chapter when I wake up and one before I go to sleep.

Admittedly it requires discipline. Which explains the giant stack of unread books by the bed.

But I've been at a place for a while where not only do I know how Walt and Jessie wind up, I also know every event, character and line of dialogue that gets them there. So it's time to read.

Maybe I'll start with Walt Whitman's Leaves Of Grass, the collection of poems Hank was reading in Gliding Over All, the eighth episode of the fifth season of Breaking Bad. The one where he's on the toilet when he discovers Walt is actually Heisenberg.

Alright, maybe one more binge and then I'll get started on the books.

Don't ask: Writing a letter for you

It's been awhile since I've added to my wildly popular Don't Ask series of posts. If you read this blog with any regularity - and if you do you really should try to get out to a bookstore or a library - you know I've already covered moving, picking people up at the airport, sharing my food, loaning you money and sharing my hotel room.

Sharing seems to be something I'm not very fond of. I'm an only child. Does it show?

Anyway, I get asked by a lot of friends and family to write letters for them. Letters of recommendation, letters complaining to a company about someone or some slight they think they've been on the receiving end of, resume cover letters, as well as the resume itself.

I know why they ask. I'm a writer. I do it for a living, and I'm not bad at it. But when I'm done writing all day for my job, I don't even want to write things for myself, much less you, when I get home.

I just want to binge Breaking Bad or House of Cards again.

I do appreciate the compliment of you asking. That you think my words would get better results than yours, or would communicate what you want to say more clearly. Which no doubt they would - I mentioned I was good at this, right?

Anyway, there's no secret to getting results. Address your grievance to the CEO, not to the underlings. Use spellcheck. And say what you need to say without trying to be fancy or funny. Simple advice, no?

You might want to write it down.

Just don't ask me to do it for you.

My darling Clementine

I have a somewhat compulsive personality. For example when I like a song, I play it into the ground until everyone including me is sick of it. When I see a movie I like, I see it several times, looking for nuances, lines and performances I didn't notice the first several times. When I'm at the craps tables in Vegas, I'll roll the bones until I've gone all the way through the college fund.

Just kidding. What college fund?

And does anyone need to be reminded of my four-starting-on-five binges of Breaking Bad? Anyone? So it should come as no surprise that when I was introduced to clementine oranges - and liked them - that I would eat them six and eight at a time.

Besides, what's not to like. This small, tasty hybrid of a mandarin and sweet orange is seedless, easy to peel and just sweet enough. Not unlike my high school girlfriend (that joke is also something I'll use until you can't stand it anymore).

They're best when refrigerated, although they don't have to be. And you can eat them almost anywhere. They're juicy, but not in that spill-all-over-the-place naval orange kind of way.

At the market, they're usually sold in netted bags or small boxes called Cuties or Halos. I wouldn't care if they were called Cha Cha's or NumNums. They're awesome.

Occasionally I wonder how long it'll take me to tire of them, and what semi-healthy snack I'll move on to and obsess over next.

But not before I check to see if there are any more of these left.

Hot enough for ya?

If you know anything about me from this blog, and I’m guessing you probably know more than you want to, you know I’m most definitely not a morning person. The reason I’m not a morning person is because I’m a late night person. I’ll stay up until all wee hours of the morning, catching up on shows I have waiting for me on the DVR, binging again on Breaking Bad, or thinking of things to post on this blog.

Which as anyone who reads it will tell you I have mixed success with.

To the point. I had a 10 a.m. meeting this morning. You’d think because I knew about it last night I would’ve gone to bed early in order to wake up early. You’d be wrong.

So when the alarm went off, I shuffled into the shower (no, it didn’t wake or refresh me), got dressed and headed out to the office to be in by 9 to prepare for the meeting.

And by prepare, I mean get coffee, chat it up, check Facebook, read Round Seventeen, and then, if there’s time, take a look at what I’m supposed to be presenting.

Being disciplined and focused has never been my strong suit.

Anyway, apparently I forgot about the fight the 405 south and I had years ago. To this day, it still spends every waking moment trying to exact it's revenge with me. And it succeeded this morning. Traffic was more horrendous than usual, so I was forced to get off and take surface streets into work in order to make it on time.

I rolled into the parking lot at 9 straight up, only to be greeted by people pouring out the doors of the building, a fire truck parked in front of it and people in bright orange vests, who looked like Walmart greeters, directing everyone to the far side of the parking lot away from the building.

Not being awake enough to really have anything register, I started walking into the building. I was stopped by one of the greeters, who told me it was a fire drill. It’s the exercise office buildings are required to go through to make sure they’re ready in case The Towering Inferno 2 ever gets made, and they use their building.

Once the drill was over, everyone went back into the building. Since everyone who was going to be in my meeting was in the parking lot, the meeting got pushed back almost an hour.

Nevertheless, I learned a valuable lesson about fire safety, taking the stairs and staying calm in an emergency.

I also learned to sleep late even when you're not supposed to. It won't matter.

The in betweens

In the freelance world, there are all types of people and personalities. Most noticeably, there are the ones who shouldn't be freelancers. They simply don't have the finely honed skills to deal with what I like to call the in betweens.

Those periods of time - sometimes long, sometimes short - between gigs where you've finished one job and have no idea where the next one is coming from.

Some call it limbo or purgatory. I call it heaven.

I just finished up working on a national car account at one of my favorite agencies to freelance at. I liked the people I worked with, I enjoyed the work I did and I love the creative services person who brings me in whenever they can.

Here's the thing: that gig is up, and I have no idea what's waiting on deck. But I do know from experience and faith that something is, and it'll get here eventually.

This is the skill I have people who aren't cut out for this don't: I don't go crazy when I'm not working. I don't climb walls or stress out. I learned long ago if all I think about is working when I'm not working, and wanting time off when I am, then it's a lose-lose proposition and I'm not going to be happy either way.

Maybe it's a gift, but I take my in between time off for exactly what it is. Time off. I catch up with things around the house and things I've wanted to do but don't have the time when I'm employed. The garage gets cleaned. Books get read. Screenplays get worked on. Posts get written. Shows on the DVR get watched (I'm particularly good at this one). Dogs get walked. Kids get picked up. Lunches get taken. Laundry gets done (I love doing laundry - one of the long list of reasons I'm a catch).

Sure it's always nice to know where the next check is coming from, but if I don't know now I will when I'm supposed to.

Don't get me wrong, I don't just leave it all up to chance and the universe - I would never be that cavalier with my career (trying to stop laughing cause I used the word "career"). I do make the effort. I send out emails, check in with friends and find out what's going on around town. Like all freelancers, I play dialing for dollars on a regular basis. But I don't play it all day every day. And it's not the only game I know. Besides, a watched pot, well, you get my drift.

Anyway, as much as I'd like to talk more about this, I really have to get going.

After all, Breaking Bad isn't going to binge watch itself.

Breaking Dad

This is a picture of Bryan Cranston as Walter White. It's also pretty much the same position I've been in for the last ten days, minus the stacks of cash and plastic storage containers full of 99.1% pure blue meth. For the record, I also had an open laptop in front of me.

The reason is that after several conversations with extremely insistent friends who wouldn't take no for an answer, and a Twitter feed that was on fire as the series finale approached, I finally jumped on the Breaking Bad train. And it was every bit the wild ride everyone promised it would be.

I'd heard of the show of course, but frankly - what with Homeland, Dexter, Person of Interest, Modern Family (which one of these is not like the other?) - I felt I already had enough tv show commitments.

Besides - FIRST WORLD PROBLEM ALERT! - recording everything in HD only leaves so much room on the DVR.

But once I saw the opening scene from the first episode, I was - pun intended - hooked.

Fortunately I wasn't working the last couple weeks so I had the time to devote to it. I sat in my chair, streaming seasons 1 through 5 on Netflix. Season 5 has 16 episodes, broken into two parts. Netflix has the first 8, and I had to pay to download the rest from iTunes. Money extremely well spent.

I would watch in the day, the night, late at night, middle of the night and early in the morning. My daughter said it should be called Breaking Dad because I was neglecting pretty much everything and everyone to get through this extraordinary show.

A little OCD sometimes? Perhaps. And check again to make sure that door's locked on your way out.

The beauty of it was no commercials, so instead of a full hour each episode was around 45 minutes give or take. I went through all 62 of them, many of them twice because I couldn't believe how great they were.

As far as series endings go, it was genius. Every loose end was tied up, every question answered. And it all made perfect sense and felt right. It was brilliant.

The downside is now, unsurprisingly, I'm experiencing severe withdrawal. Going through all 5 seasons in less than 10 days didn't give me nearly the fix I need. But thanks to iTunes, season 5 is on my laptop and I can revisit it whenever I want.

You should know you can't immerse yourself in the meth world for such a concentrated period of time without lingering after effects. For example, I now recognize every RV on the road as a mobile meth lab. I use the phrases "Tread lightly" "I am the danger" and "Say my name" almost daily. I'm suspicious of fried chicken restaurants.

And worst of all, I like a Badfinger song.