In the zone

Here's a sign you'll never see in advertising agencies. Not because it's a bad idea, but because you couldn't buy enough of them to cover all the areas, cubicles and open seating that would need them.

That and the fact no one would observe the rule anyway.

There are a lot of ingredients that fuel successful agencies. Coffee. Creativity. Insight. Brains. Energy. Endurance. Optimism. Pessimism. Humor. The ever shifting line between art and commerce. Those innocent, wide-eyed, crazy bounders who believe against all evidence and reason what consumers are really looking for are more ways to engage with your client's brand.

But because of the nature of the beast—buildings loaded with egos, knit caps, planners, egos, man-buns, ironic t-shirts, skinny jeans, millennials, unrestrained enthusiasm, egos, people who know better, egos, people who enjoy inhaling their own fumes, egos and meetings, help me Jesus the meetings—agencies can't help but run on another more fragrant ingredient.

It is after all a sales job. And while there are good salespeople and bad ones, tolerable ones and insufferable ones, at the end of the day (EOTD = ad term, don't get me started) it all boils down to the size shovel they're using.

I know a lot of people in the business will call bullshit on this post.

But that's only because they didn't read the sign.

Pomp you up

Tonight was my son's high school graduation. And I don't mind telling you, I took it just fine. I was a pillar of strength, unmoved by hearing Pomp & Circumstance as all these fine young adults marched down the aisles, reaching the end of their four-year journey and celebrating what they've accomplished these last few busy years of their lives.

Who're we kidding. From the minute I sat down you could've wiped the floor with me.

There's something so poignant and wonderful about seeing all these kids - many whom I've known since they were in first grade - getting ready to go out in to the world to make their marks, take their chances, learn their lessons and celebrate their successes.

The secret they don't know, can't know, is that this is the best part. Right now, when it's all ahead of them.

His graduating class is about a hundred and twenty. The entire high school is around six hundred. They all know each other. They've built relationships that will last a lifetime. It's easy to see this class is close and intends to stay that way.

I envy them. My high school memories aren't nearly the caliber theirs will be. I'm in touch with friends I want to be in touch with from that time, but it's nowhere near a hundred twenty people. As I think about it, that's probably a good thing.

My graduating class alone was the size of his entire high school. That's what I get for going to a primarily Jewish public school in the Fairfax district instead of a private Christian school in Cerritos. Not to put too fine a point on it, but Jesus was one of our boys - amIright?

Anyway, besides bursting with tears I was bursting with pride for my boy. I love him something fierce, and I can only dream of one day becoming the quality human being he already is. He's compassionate, intelligent, funny, inventive, resourceful, determined, imaginative, brutally handsome. And now, he's on his way to his next important stage in life..

One of the pastors who spoke tonight said tomorrow they're freshmen all over when they start college. Then they're freshman again when they get married. And freshman yet again when they have kids of their own. I know exactly what he meant.

I'm a freshman when it comes to letting my boy go.

Til death do you part? Good luck with that

I’m not sure, but I think 2000 is the crown-of-diamonds anniversary.

Last week, a piece of papyrus was discovered. On it, Jesus is quoted as saying the words “My wife…” But then, the paper cuts off.

Cue the media frenzy.

“Was Jesus married?” the pundits were asking. Or even worse, stating as fact.

The answer of course is no, he wasn’t. So I hope you kept the receipt for that crock pot.

The fabric it’s written on, much less the statement itself, strike more than a few theological investigators as suspicious since this “discovery” just came to light. The truth is, as Jon Stewart showed last week, Jesus could’ve been saying virtually anything:

The Daily Show with Jon Stewart
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But I think to discover the real reason Jesus wasn't married, you have to turn to a preacher. Or former one. That's why I think Sam Kinison has the real reason - by the way, this clip is NOT suitable for younger viewers (surprise!):

And if it turns out he was married, all I can say is I hope she gets along with the in-laws.

Jew see what I did there?

Much to my great pleasure, and apparently great dismay of some of our more traditional friends, my wife isn't Jewish. Far from it.

She happens to be a committed Christian.

For some reason, that seems to cause some people great amounts of - what's the word I'm looking for - tsuris.

The fact we fell in love, got married, then stayed married in our unholy interfaith union seems to be a difficult thing for many people to understand. Apparently none of these people ever dated a Jewish girl. BAM!

Before you start all the mishegas with hateful emails and comments, know this: I have plenty Jewish women friends and colleagues that I love and respect (nothing but love for Mama G. and the breakfast club girls). But this is about me, and facts are facts: I dated Ann Siegel, Sandy Izakowitz and went to Fairfax High. Trust me. It's an argument you can't win.

Anyway, the question inevitably comes up about how this works with the children. While technically it's true they're half Christian and half Jewish, or as I prefer to say, Chewish, they're being raised in the Christian faith.

It doesn't bother me. Because I'm pretty much the worst Jew you know - in the practicing the religion sense, not in the as a human being sense - it's just not that important to me the kids be raised Jewish. Given how little I practice it, it'd be straight up hypocritical if it was.

I don't care if my daughter is bat mitzvah'd or my son is bar mitzvah'd. As I recall, my bar mitzvah was mostly a big party for my parent's friends. I'm still looking for the envelope with all the checks in it.

It is however important to my wife that they're raised as Christians. Fine by me.

For starters, they're going to an exceptional private Christian school where they're excelling at the first-rate education they're getting. I also have no problem with the overall values and principals they're learning.

If I'm being truthful, which always seems to get me in trouble but, you know, onward, I'll admit sometimes it's hard having the kids come home and hearing all the Jesus stories. But whenever I feel that twinge, I just remind them Jesus was part of the tribe - one of our boys.

The funny part is that my wife is much more insistent they learn about their Jewish heritage. She's the one who makes sure at Hanukah we light the candles in the menorah, although not too close to the Christmas tree.

Still, there are so many shmendriks who like to kvetsch about us not being the same religion. Which I always like to answer with this non-denominational question: what the f#@& business is it of yours?

I think there's so much about the Christian agenda in the news it just raises curiosity about our situation. Narrow-minded people like to paint in broad strokes (you know, like I do about Jewish girls), and make the assumption all Christians are on that extreme fringe. I can tell you from experience they're not, although granted my support of gay marriage isn't exactly met with open arms on Sunday mornings.

I'm also a bit surprised and upset how effortlessly some friends bash the Christian faith, painting all Christians in a way they'd never tolerate people of their own religion being portrayed if the sandal were on the other foot.

What chutzpah.

Don't you worry your pretty little heads - I still know which side my matzoh is buttered on. I'm proud of being a Jew, even if I'm not a practicing one. I'm proud my kids will grow up, thanks to their mother, with an understanding of both sides of their heritage. And I love a good "rabbi and a priest walk into a bar..." joke more than you can possibly know.

Maybe the people who make it a point of pride and claim to be so accepting will find a way to show it when it comes to respecting not only the two of us, but both our faiths.

God willing.

My Jesus moment

It was a genuine turn-the-other-cheek moment.

Yesterday I took my son and daughter to see the new movie Thor. If you've seen the lead actor in the ads, you know he's tanned and has long blonde hair.

I call him Malibu Thor.

And if you've seen me, you know how incredibly similar Thor and I are built. I swear, during the scene where he had his shirt off it was like looking in the mirror.

But I digress.

Anyway, we cut it close getting to the theater in time, but were lucky enough to get three seats just a couple steps up the stadium-seating theater. I sat on the aisle.

At some point early on in the movie, I noticed a father with a young baby in his arms come down and stand in the hallway to the theater, just the other side of the rail for the stairs up to the seats. After a little while, his baby started banging on the rail, and frankly the reverberation of the metal every time his kid hit it wasn't enhancing the soundtrack in the slightest.

After letting this go on for a longer time than was reasonable, I leaned over to the dad and politely asked in a whisper if he could stop his baby from banging the rail. With that, he turned to me, bouncing his baby in his arms, and said, loudly, "He's just a kid man. F&#k you!"

Needless to say, not the response I was expecting.

Two things immediately went through my mind: first, it's going to be interesting to hear baby's first words when he's old enough to speak. Second, since I had my kids next to me, and they (and most of the theater) heard the entire exchange, this might be an excellent teaching/learning moment for them.

So instead of engaging this moron, I just kind of laughed it off and returned to watching Malibu Thor. When I did this, I noticed that he retreated back a bit, and moved his baby out of banging range of the rail. He didn't say another word to me, and stood there for the entire film, scared his baby was going to start crying in the theater.

Personally, I don't see why. What is it about seeing an ear-shattering, violent movie about the warrior Norse God of Thunder that would make an 8-month old baby cry?

When I got up to go to the bathroom and walked right by them, I realized I had about 60 lbs. on the guy. He saw me get up, and took a step back as I came around to pass him. When the movie ended, his wife came down from wherever she was sitting, and they quickly left without giving me another glance.

Now, I work in advertising. Believe me it's not the first time I've been F-bombed. But I was proud of myself for going completely against my true nature and not engaging with the guy.

Like I said, a genuine turn-the-other-cheek moment.

By doing so, I had returned the compliment without ever having to say it.

Plus my kids got to see that you don't have to engage every asshole who comes at you.

So all and all, an interesting and educational afternoon at the movies.

Of course, if I'm being honest with myself - which I so rarely do because where's the upside in that - I know if my kids weren't with me, this is probably the Jesus I would have followed.