No no, thank you

One time I said to my great friend (more on that in a second) Janice MacLeod, "I'm a giver." To which she replied, "Giver? You hardly know her!"

This of course is one of the many reasons I love Janice.

I met Janice when we worked together at the advertising agency Y&R in Orange County. I remember us both complaining about the commute one day, and we came up with a solution. Every morning, she’d have her coffee, then make the slow, excruciating drive from her apartment in Santa Monica to my house in Long Beach. Then we'd hop in my car and fly in the carpool lane from my place to the agency.

And we'd talk about everything.

The problem was we always seemed to have way more things to talk about than time to talk about them. And while I don’t remember each and every subject we covered, I do recall there was a lot of laughing in the car. It was the best part of the work day for me. I’ll assume it was for her. What the hell, she’s not here to say otherwise.

What with all the talking, confiding, gossiping, joking, planning, singing, eye-rolling in meetings and saying the same thing at the same time, Janice quickly became my “office wife.”

It’s a tribute to Janice and the person she is that my real-life wife approved (which is also a tribute to my real-life wife).

There are so many things to admire about Janice it’s hard to know where to start, so I’ll start here – Not only did she think about leaving her job in advertising, a job that was making her profoundly unhappy, to pursue the life she wanted, she actually did it. That new life included traveling the world, unburdened by time or possessions, and leaving herself open to whatever experiences she chose to have along the way. She planned it, figured out how much money she’d need and saved for it.

Dare I say it’s a dream shared by, what’s the word I’m looking for…oh yeah, everyone.

I had dinner with Janice at Joe’s in Venice the night before she left for France. It was a great dinner, one of those “why don’t we do this more often” dinners. Here's one thing I remember from that meal: I don’t want to spill any state secrets, but let's just say her fall from a full vegan diet may have started a little before she fell in love with and married a butcher.

Another thing to admire is she wrote a book about the experience. Paris Letters is the third book Janice has written in the warm, humorous, observational, razor-sharp, inclusive style that is her voice.

She is what I like to call a real writer.

As opposed to myself, who’s still waiting to be found out by the word police.

The book journals her decision, her travels, meeting and falling in love with her now real-life husband Krzystzof, who is a butcher by trade and apparently has invested heavily in the consonant market.

In Paris Letters, there is a Thank You page, and the very first person Janice thanks is me. Shortly after that, she thanks Bruce Springsteen for writing Thunder Road.

Coincidence? I think not.

I haven’t read the entire book yet, but so far the Thank You page is my favorite part.

But if I’m going to be honest with myself – and if you know anything about me you know how rarely that happens – it is I who should be thanking her.

She was the one who encouraged me to start this blog when I told her I have nothing to write about (something that after 472 posts, many people would still agree with). She always says that venom is my best medium, but that’s mostly about the snarkier posts. She is equally supportive of the vast majority of them that are not written in that tone. She is living proof that there is nothing getting in the way of your dreams but yourself - always a good lesson to keep in mind. And she comments on my posts, which of course all bloggers love.

At that dinner the night before she left to travel the world, I told her that if it didn't work out to just say the word and I'd fly over and bring her back. That offer still stands.

Although I'm beyond happy for her knowing that with her new life, the life she's made for herself, the life she wanted, she won't be taking me up on it.

Bringing it

There's something to be said for asking for the order. For example, when Michael Pollock, an accomplished pianist went to a Billy Joel Q&A on his college campus, he had a question for the piano man.

He wanted to know if he could accompany him on New York State Of Mind. And Billy said yes. Then, as you can see in the video, he went on to win over not just Joel, but the audience as well. The reason? Because he brought it. He saw his moment, and he carpéd it.

It's always bonus points if you can bring it when these once-in-a-lifetime situations present themselves. But, even if you can't, more often than not the audience is with you just for having the moxie to take the shot.

Sarah Horn is another person who brought it. When the person in front of her didn't know the words to the hit Broadway show tune For Good from Wicked, Sarah screamed out that she did and she was chosen. The fact she's a vocal coach probably has something to do with how much she loves musical theater. And how great she is.

Part of the fun of this video is watching how she knocks it out of the park, and the other part is seeing how blown away Kristin Chenoweth is by her talent.

Sometimes bringing it doesn't mean the voice. Sometimes it means the cute.

At shows where Bruce sings Waitin' On A Sunny Day, he almost always pulls a kid out of the audience to sing with him. And it almost always goes like this.

She gets to sing with a rock star. Twenty-thousand people cheer her on. She has a memory to last a lifetime. And she can watch it on YouTube whenever she wants.

My moment of greatness was within my grasp in Springsteen's Tougher Than The Rest video (don't blink or you'll miss it). You'll notice at the 3:29 mark, in the very lower right corner, second row, there's a guy with glasses wearing a black t-shirt with white lettering, fist-pumping to the music.

It's easy to recognize it's me, because I look pretty much the same as I do now - young, full beard, black hair and thin. What can I say? I have good genes.

Yes, it's me. Yes I was there. Yes I knew every song on the set list that night. Yes I was definitely ready to bring it.

Problem was nobody wanted it.

Springsteen & I. Almost.

I swear to God, sometimes I don't need to have anyone else working against me. I can do a fine job of it myself.

Ridley Scott made a documentary about this up and coming singer named Bruce Springsteen. You may have noticed I've mentioned him a time or two on here. Anyway, it's called Springsteen & I, and it's a series of concert footage (already worth the price of admission) and video from fans talking about what Bruce means to them.

It should come as no surprise I knew about the filming and call for videos long before the general public. I have my ways. When the website went up and the call went out, I was one of the first people there.

Bruce stories? I'm lousy with 'em.

Unfortunately, one of the first things I read on the site, word for word, was the release I'd have to sign in order to submit my video to Ridley Scott's production company. And things like using my likeness in any media, existing now or in the future, in perpetuity just didn't sit well with me.

Fast forward. The documentary had a brief theatrical run, and is now about to premiere on Showtime. I just saw this trailer for it on Showtime, and the only thought I had is one that, sadly, is not unfamiliar to me.

What the hell was I thinking?

It reminds me of the time my wife-to-be and I were fighting in the middle of Bullock's in Westwood about the pattern on our wedding china. I was dug in, and I was not going to budge. Right up until I had a revelation: I didn't care what the pattern was. It was important to my bride, but I wasn't quite sure just why or what I ground I was trying to take. So I just let it go.

That's what I thought when I saw the trailer - I should have just let all my concerns about the release go. I deeply regret not having just signed it and submitting a video of myself (the camera loves me) telling one of my many, many Bruce stories.

This is a lesson I seem to have to keep learning over and over again. The one about getting over myself, and being a little less stressed out about the things that really don't matter in the long run. Maybe one of these times it'll sink in.

So when it airs, and all my friends who know how I feel about Bruce ask if I submitted a video, or why I wasn't in it, I'll have the self-inflicted pleasure of looking them right in the eye and telling them the truth.

Because I'm an idiot, that's why.

Same clowns, different circus

This is one of those posts that make my friends crazy, immediately emailing to tell me why I shouldn't have published it. I recognize they're looking out for my best welfare, which is what they think I'll be on if anyone who hires freelancers reads this. Duly noted.

Let me start by saying - as I've said many times before - that I've met some of the smartest, most creative, hugely interesting people working in agencies. Many of who form the first inner circle of great friends of mine.

If agencies were just populated with them I'd have nothing to write about.

But if you've worked at more than one agency, you already know, sadly, those aren't the only types that work there. There are about four or five personalities that keep showing up. Sure, they come in different packages, but essentially you see them over and over, coming and going at the agencies you work at.

There's Mr. Smarmy, who'd like to present my copy to the client, but "...I know you can do so much better." I don't think you're paying me the compliment you think you are.

Next, The Hostess, who really wants to like the copy, but "I just don't get it. And if I don't understand it, how will the consumer?" I'm going with the consumer's smarter than you are. Call it a hunch.

The Boss Man (not Springsteen) who brings their own work to the pitch, but promises "It'll be a level playing field. I don't have a favorite." It's okay. I didn't want to be away on production anyway.

Mr. Could'a Been A Contender, who recommends a director because "..when he took me to sushi at Urasawa I knew he'd be right for it." And besides, his reel looked great on that home theater system he gave you.

And yes, Mr. Hemingway, the copywriter who wouldn't mind making a small change, but "you have no idea how long it takes me to find the PERFECT words" You do realize the movie Precious wasn't about your copy, right?.

Here's what I know about clowns. Whether they're wearing big, floppy shoes, yellow power ties or hipster knit caps they've always made me uneasy.

Especially the ones whose noses aren't red.

The change was made uptown and the Big Man joined the band

One night my wife and I were sitting second row at a Springsteen concert at the L.A. Sports Arena. It wasn’t an unusual place to find us.

As Bruce and the E Street Band were playing, she leaned over and asked me who I’d want to be onstage. Naturally I said Bruce. Then I asked her the same question. She took a beat, looked up onstage at Clarence, then replied, “Mrs. Clemons.”

I cried tonight when I heard Clarence had died. Not only for the fact of his passing, but for the end of any hope he might recover from the massive stroke he had almost a week ago.

For anyone who saw the last tour, it was easy to see it was a painful time for the Big Man. After two hip replacements, two knee replacements, major spinal surgery, and the wear and tear of carrying his larger than life frame around for 69 years, the Clarence of old – the one who danced with Bruce, jumped down to the runner of the stage, acted in sketches when Bruce was hamming it up (which was often) – was already gone.

His movement was limited to standing up from his ornate, throne-like chair at the side of the stage that he spent most of the concert in, and playing those unimaginably soulful, powerful, moving and profound sax solos as if it were the first time.

He was almost as much a part of the show as Bruce.

It’s virtually impossible to imagine E Street without him. And I guess in the larger sense, he'll always be onstage with them whether he's there or not.

Lots of chatty local news anchors have been wondering if it's the end of E Street. I'm here to tell you it's not. I believe Bruce and the band will tour again, sooner rather than later.

Because in the same way Bruce chose Charlie Giordano as keyboardist after Danny Federici passed away from cancer, he'll eventually choose another outstanding sax player to share the stage with him.

It goes without saying that whoever that turns out to be has some big – really big – shoes to fill.

And while Bruce fans will never be able not to think of Clarence at Bruce's side, they’ll graciously welcome whoever it is because Bruce chose them.

They're good like that.

Together my inner circle of Bruce tramp friends - Kim, Al, Jessie, Chris - have seen hundreds of shows here and around the world. And at every one of them, we talk about how people who aren't there have no idea what they're missing.

I’m so very grateful for all the times I got to see Clarence perform. I’m grateful my children got to see him on E Street.

And I’m especially grateful that Bruce knows continuing to play the songs Clarence loved and lived to play, and to keep rocking it hard, is the best and most lasting tribute he can pay to his dear friend.

Tonight, heaven is blessed.

And Gabriel is thinking he's never heard a horn sound so sweet.

The Big Man is in the house.

Clarence Clemons 1942 - 2011

I'll have a post of my own about Clarence as soon I can regain my composure and collect my thoughts. In the meantime, the post from Bruce:

It is with overwhelming sadness that we inform our friends and fans that at 7:00 tonight, Saturday, June 18, our beloved friend and bandmate, Clarence Clemons passed away. The cause was complications from his stroke of last Sunday, June 12th.

Clarence lived a wonderful life. He carried within him a love of people that made them love him. He created a wondrous and extended family. He loved the saxophone, loved our fans and gave everything he had every night he stepped on stage. His loss is immeasurable and we are honored and thankful to have known him and had the opportunity to stand beside him for nearly forty years. He was my great friend, my partner, and with Clarence at my side, my band and I were able to tell a story far deeper than those simply contained in our music. His life, his memory, and his love will live on in that story and in our band.