Encore post: No know how

As I've written about on here before, I'm about to embark on a bold, new, money-sucking, patience-straining, marriage-testing, argument-inducing adventure: my kitchen and living room remodel.

Like everyone who goes down this road of no return, my journey began at Home Depot and Lowe's. The wife and I didn't just go there to get ideas about bathroom vanities, kitchen sinks, drawer pulls and countertops. We were also armed with a list of items from our contractor we had to either purchase or make decisions on before they start.

If you know anything about me, you know I like figuring out how things work and, if needed, could MacGyver a way into building a house from the ground up using only a hammer, spatula, paper straws and lawn grass.

Nah, I'm just funnin' you. I can't put together a bookshelf from Ikea. But I can tell you the first film Jeff Goldblum was in—that's gotta be worth something at some point.

Where was I? Oh, right. So to paraphrase Blanche DuBois in Streetcar Named Desire, when it comes to construction I do depend on the knowledge of strangers. Of course it helps if the strangers actually know more than I do. And while there are a lot of scary things about this process, not least among them is the frightening fact I may already have more answers to my questions than the people who work at Home Depot or Lowe's. That just ain't right.

The good news is the big box hardware and lumber stores aren't the only game in town. Fortunately, thanks to a trusted recommendation, we discovered the family-owned Faucets & Fixtures in Orange. They have a quiet little storefront in a not great section of Tustin Avenue that comes nowhere near tipping its hand to the remodeling wonderland waiting inside.

In an experience that was a first, their employees know all about the inventory and are able to answer all the questions. "Yes it comes in polished nickel, but it's plastic-y on the inside." "You can get the one-piece Memoirs toilet, but the two-piece is about $400 cheaper." "That's a stock medicine cabinet, but we can custom build one for you no problem." "The sink is ten inches deep, but the porcelain finish is brighter and thicker on that one." The store has a big selection, yet isn't overwhelming.

I could make a hundred trips to Home Depot and Lowe's, and never get as much done as we accomplished in a couple hours at Faucets & Fixtures with our man Austin.

The point is this-once you've had knowledgable, friendly, patient customer service, there's no going back. It's like going from J.C.Penny to Nordstrom. Stater Bros. to Trader Joe's. Winchell's to Starbuck's (Those are big corporations, but you get my continental drift).

From now on, it's mom and pop, family-owned, highly recommended merchants for all things having to do with the remodel and beyond.

And in case you're looking to win a bar bet, his first movie was Death Wish.

Mr. T-Rex

I'm not gonna lie. I can't wait for Jurassic Park: Fallen Kingdom. Even though it'll be the fifth installment in the series, after 65 million years it still never gets old.

After the primordial mess that was Jurassic Park 3, I thought for sure the series was extinct for good. But like a mosquito trapped in amber, sequels find a way.

Being a Hollywood kid I should've known better: never underestimate the power of recycling an old idea to make new money. Besides, even though Jurassic World wasn't great, it was fun. There were enough things about it I liked to keep me wanting more. Just like my high school girlfriend.

The story hadn't gotten much better, but the technology had. Those raptors and the T-Rex were looking mighty real. Plus Chris Pratt is a personal favorite, and always good for a laugh. Put that together with Bryce Dallas Howard running through the jungle in high heels, and you've got gold Jerry. Gold!

I'll never be too old to love dinosaurs, especially when they're running rampant, devouring bad guys and chewing the scenery. And I mean chewing the scenery. Judging by the trailer, it looks like it's going to be exactly what it was intended to be, and exactly what I'm looking for: a great summer popcorn movie, wildly entertaining and satisfying if you don't stop to think too much about it.

And if I'm wrong, there's always the next one.

Office shuffle

No matter how close you're watching, you still won't know where it winds up.

You don't have to work at an advertising agency long before you go through it. In fact, you'll probably go through it several times if you're there for more than a few months. It starts innocently enough, usually with a casual stroll through reception. Everything seems normal, but then your Spidey sense alerts you to the boxes, bins and packing tape sitting against the wall, trying desperately not to be noticed. And then the realization hits you—it can only mean one thing: you're being moved to another office in the building.

Every once in a while, someone "upstairs" gets an itch that can only be scratched by inconveniencing and relocating dozens of employees who were perfectly happy and productive right where they were. The reasons, like the creation of the universe or how a dipshit like Trump got elected, might never be fully known. But when it comes to educated guesses, there is always the list.

We're putting each group all together.

We're growing and need more room.

We're giving everyone a fresh start.

And the ever popular, we're shaking things up (or in agency speak: disrupting things).

Whatever. Before I was one person in an office of four. After the move, I still am—except the office is virtually half the size of the old one. And since the desks, monitors, chairs, ideas and my stomach haven't gotten any smaller, needless to say it's going to be a tight fit.

But damn it, I'm paid to solve problems day in and day out. So after putting a little of my pricey brainpower against this issue, here's a solution I've come up with.

For starters, maybe instead of wasting everyone's day with a move they don't want they could just leave things the fuck alone since they were working fine before. Even if it wasn't perfect, to paraphrase Jeff Goldblum in Jurassic Park, "Agency life finds a way."

The other thing I'm sure isn't calculated in the bottom line is how much time is wasted while people walk around trying to find where their colleagues are sitting now.

"Oh, you're here now?" There's a seating chart, but so far no one's carrying it with them.

I'll stop my whining now (you're welcome). It's not the worst thing that's happened in my life, and I'm sure eventually I'll get used to the new world order, as I always do. Besides, it'll only be the new world order until they decide to move everyone's office again.

In a month.

I've always loved Nordstrom

Since this has been a stellar news day for Nordstrom, I decided to go back into the Rotation and Balance archives—all the way to May 2010—and repost an experience I had with them that's forever made me an advocate for the store as well as a regular customer.

Of course, the reason they're in the news today is that they've decided not to continue their business relationship with Ivanka Trump, which means they won't be carrying her merchandise. The reason is because it wasn't selling. Ivanka's dad, the so-called president and liar-in-chief, thinks it was a political move against him.

Here's a little lesson in economics and American capitalism, just in case he's taking a tweet break and having someone read this to him: if it sells, it stays. Simple as that.

The decision wasn't political, but it did coincidentally align with my political leanings. So naturally I was happy about it.

Anyway, I've always loved Nordstrom's, and this post will tell you why. They're an extraordinary store when it comes to customer service. For example, if you bought Ivanka Trump merchandise in the past, I'm sure they'll let you return it with or without a receipt.

You're welcome. And please to enjoy.

There are things in this world I admit I'll never understand. How deep the ocean is. The vastness of the universe. My income tax forms. And why every store can't offer the same extraordinary level of customer service as Nordstrom.

There's such a thing as going the extra step, and then there's going above and beyond above and beyond. Which is exactly what Nordstom's did for me.

If you know me at all, you know I practically live in black shirts. Specifically lightweight, black corduroy shirts from Nordstrom. These magnificent shirts are incredibly comfortable and amazingly versatile. They're equally at home whether the occasion is formal or casual. They save me a lot of decision making when it comes to what I'm going to wear - kind of like Jeff Goldblum's closet filled with all the same outfits in The Fly. (Point of fact: I'm much more careful going through the transponder).

But I digress.

When I first saw these shirts, it was love. So I bought four of them, thinking that would be plenty to last me. But the years take their toll, and the shirts became threadbare, torn, and faded. I admit I took them for granted. I always thought I'd just be able to hop over to Nordstrom and get some more.

Come to find out that wasn't the case.

When I couldn't find them in the store, I went online. They weren't there either. So I sent an email to a Nordstrom customer service person who replied they no longer carried the shirts and weren't planning on getting them in. I asked if they could special order them, and the answer was a polite no.

Here's the thing - "no" is not an answer I'm fond of taking. I decided to take my case higher up the Nordstrom food chain.

I got the name of a senior management person - let's call him Dave - who I thought might be a good person to talk to. After explaining my situation in an email to him, he said he'd see what he could do and get back to me.

Not only did he get back to me, he got back with the answer I was hoping for.

He said even though they didn't stock the shirts, there was a person in their product development department - let's call her Annie - who could make it happen. Annie figured out that they had enough of the material to make four sample shirts. They'd be made at the sample shop instead of on the line, dyed black, hand-stitched, and they'd be just like the original shirts.

Except custom ordered, hand-made and mine.

So the shirts will arrive this week. I'm forever grateful to Dave for his responsiveness, and Annie for her extraordinary efforts to insure I got the merchandise I was looking for. And to both of them for demonstrating that genuine customer service does still exist.

When you see me wearing one, you may not know it's one of the shirts that Nordstrom hand-made for me.

Don't worry. I'll tell you.

No know how

As I've written about on here before, I'm about to embark on a bold, new, money-sucking, patience-straining, marriage-testing, argument-inducing adventure: my kitchen and living room remodel.

Like everyone who goes down this road of no return, my journey began at Home Depot and Lowe's. The wife and I didn't just go there to get ideas about bathroom vanities, kitchen sinks, drawer pulls and countertops. We were also armed with a list of items from our contractor we had to either purchase or make decisions on before they start.

If you know anything about me, you know I like figuring out how things work and, if needed, could MacGyver a way into building a house from the ground up using only a hammer, spatula, paper straws and lawn grass.

Nah, I'm just funnin' you. I can't put together a bookshelf from Ikea. But I can tell you the first film Jeff Goldblum was in—that's gotta be worth something at some point.

Where was I? Oh, right. So to paraphrase Blanche DuBois in Streetcar Named Desire, when it comes to construction I do depend on the knowledge of strangers. Of course it helps if the strangers actually know more than I do. And while there are a lot of scary things about this process, not least among them is the frightening fact I may already have more answers to my questions than the people who work at Home Depot or Lowe's. That just ain't right.

The good news is the big box hardware and lumber stores aren't the only game in town. Fortunately, thanks to a trusted recommendation, we discovered the family-owned Faucets & Fixtures in Orange. They have a quiet little storefront in a not great section of Tustin Avenue that comes nowhere near tipping its hand to the remodeling wonderland waiting inside.

In an experience that was a first, their employees know all about the inventory and are able to answer all the questions. "Yes it comes in polished nickel, but it's plastic-y on the inside." "You can get the one-piece Memoirs toilet, but the two-piece is about $400 cheaper." "That's a stock medicine cabinet, but we can custom build one for you no problem." "The sink is ten inches deep, but the porcelain finish is brighter and thicker on that one." The store has a big selection, yet isn't overwhelming.

I could make a hundred trips to Home Depot and Lowe's, and never get as much done as we accomplished in a couple hours at Faucets & Fixtures with our man Austin.

The point is this-once you've had knowledgable, friendly, patient customer service, there's no going back. It's like going from J.C.Penny to Nordstrom. Stater Bros. to Trader Joe's. Winchell's to Starbuck's (Those are big corporations, but you get my continental drift).

From now on, it's mom and pop, family-owned, highly recommended merchants for all things having to do with the remodel and beyond.

And in case you're looking to win a bar bet, his first movie was Death Wish.

Out of the closet

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

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

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

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

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

For example, glazed or sprinkles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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