On my watch

A long time ago, on wrists far, far away, people wore watches that weren’t smart. Rather they were functional. Fun. Stylish. Elegant.

Instead of the black, battery-charged squares you see on so many wrists, that do everything from answer phone calls to measure your heart rate to tell you how many steps you take in a day, they made up for their lack of Swiss Army utility by doing one thing well: telling time.

They were, and still are, um, timeless.

I was rummaging through my drawers over the weekend— the ones in my dresser, get your mind out of the gutter—and hidden away in there were a few timepieces I’d completely forgotten about.

Like this beauty pictured above. This ACME watch was given to me by the wife when we were in New York back in the day. We were enjoying a fine afternoon of shopping at the now late, great Warner Bros. flagship store on the corner of 5th and 57th, fraternizing with characters like Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck, Superman, Wile E. Coyote, the Tasmanian Devil, Tweety Bird and Sylvester.

The only silhouette missing on the face of it is the falling anvil.

Another gem, and also a gift from the wife who may have been trying to tell me something by giving me so many watches, was this retro-chic Hamilton Electric timepiece. I can’t remember if it’s from the late 50’s or early 60’s, but it doesn’t really matter.

Bitchin’ then, bitchin’ now.

Then there’s the Xemex—see if you can guess who gave it to me. It belonged to our friend Francois, and I had admired it so much that the wife (dammit, now you know) made a secret deal to buy it from him for me. The watch weighs just under seventy-five pounds. Alright, maybe not. But it feels like it. It’s a huge, heavy, shiny object.

I’ve had apartments smaller than that watch.

Years ago, an art director I worked with named Neil Muller wore this Seiko Chronograph. At the time I didn’t wear a watch (does anyone really know what time it is? Does anyone really care?), but I couldn’t stop thinking about how beautiful it was. So I ran out and bought the exact same watch for myself.

I still don’t know what most of the dials do, but they look impressive, yes?

Finally, have to go with a classic. This Mickey Mouse watch was purchased on one of my many trips to the happiest place on earth. My Apple Watch lets me have a digital Mickey face on it, but it ain’t the same.

I was going to tie this up with a line about being out of time, coming back for seconds or even tick-tock Clarisse.

But it’s been a rough day. I think I’ll just kick back and unwind.

Pack it in

Arthur Schopenhauer once said, and I'm paraphrasing here, that the reason we buy so many books is because we believe we're actually buying the time to read them.

I believe the same holds true for luggage. We buy it because it holds the promise of travel.

I'm a big fan of luggage, which I briefly mentioned here.

The wife and I have been in need of some new luggage for awhile now. We have a whole passel of carry on bags, all of which are black except the pink/plaid one my daughter insisted I buy her at Target.

The Swiss Army carry on is the family favorite, and when we all travel somewhere together, or we're traveling to different destinations at the same time, it's the one everyone wants to use. So we augmented the collection with a few more - all black, none of them Swiss Army.

We completed the set with a medium-sized Boyt suitcase, and another massive, stupid large Boyt we could pack the house in. We found the large Boyt at a luggage store in Rockefeller Center about twenty-five years ago, and had it shipped back to Santa Monica where we lived at the time.

Apparently we hadn't figured out there were luggage stores in Los Angeles.

All these years later, the large suitcase finally gave out. The interior lining, and the glue that held it together, came undone when my son packed it up and I brought it back from Austin for him. All this to say we needed some new luggage.

If you know anything about me - and really, are there any secrets left? - you know I'm all about easy. And dragging a suitcase with two wheels around the airport was just too much effort. So we went looking for what the luggage industry calls spinners: suitcases with four wheels that spin 360° with just a feather touch.

There's a luggage store in Irvine I used to work across from, and they have an extensive collection of every brand, size and price you could want. So that's where we went. We did our due diligence, opening the suitcases up on the little demonstration tables they had, comparing suitcase to suitcase. Victorinox has this feature, but Briggs & Riley has this one. TravelPro looks a little clunky, but it's the one pilots use the most, and they know a thing or two about packing and travel.

After a long talk with Paul the sales person, who was from Texas and told us about the 6600 sq.ft. house he had custom built on five acres that he paid $151,000 for eighteen years ago, we made our decision right there. We need to take a second look at Texas real estate.

As far as suitcases, we wound up buying two Victorinox (Swiss Army) 27" suitcases. God help me, I love that new suitcase smell.

So now we're working on where the first trips will be where we can put them through their paces. I'll be at Comic Con with the son this week for a few days (post to come), so that'll be the first trip for one of 'em. And I have an idea where the next trip will be, but I'm not saying just yet.

For now I'm just enjoying traveling from the front of the house to the back, effortlessly rolling the whisper-quiet spinners around on the hardwood floor.

It's my way of checking them out before I check them in.

Don't ask: Watching your stuff

Continuing my ever popular Don't Ask series - the one that brought you such wildly popular and praised installments like Don't Ask: Moving, Don't Ask: Picking Up At The Airport, Don't Ask: Loaning You Money, Don't Ask: Sharing A Hotel Room, Don't Ask: Writing A Letter For You and the perennial Don't Ask: Sharing My Food, comes this timely post dealing with my latest irritation sweeping the nation: Complete strangers who ask me to watch their stuff.

When I work on a freelance gig that doesn't require me to be at the agency (the best kind), I like to get away from the distractions of home and use whatever Starbucks I happen to be near as my local branch office. Inevitably, as you'd expect in an establishment serving coffee in cups bigger than apartments I've had, people will eventually have to make a trip to the restroom.

For some reason, when that time arrives, I'm the guy they always turn to and say, "Excuse me, can you watch my stuff?"

I usually give them a non-committal kind of half-nod that can be taken for a yes, but that I can use for a no if their stuff goes missing and we wind up in court.

I think it's flattering people think I have an honest face (if that's what they think) and feel like they can trust me with their $3500 MacBook Pros, Swiss Army backpacks and iPhone 6's for as long as it takes them to pee. But the fact is with one house, two kids, two dogs, three cars and having to finance all of them, I have enough responsibility in my life without being a security guard for your stuff.

Plus the assumption I'm going to give chase to someone who's made off with your stuff is flattering, but misplaced. The most I'll do, and only because my sense of right and wrong is so finely honed, is try to get a plate number if they're in a getaway car.

It's an odd thing to me how unlike any place else, Starbucks and other coffee houses seem to work on the honor system. You don't leave your car running at the post office and ask the stranger walking by to watch it for a minute while you run in an mail a letter. Alright, maybe not a great analogy but you get my drift.

Anyway, it doesn't matter how nice you ask - I'm not getting shanked just because you couldn't hold it anymore.

Why not just do what I do? Get up, confidently walk to the restroom, quickly do your business and get back to your table. Make the assumption whoever's about to make off with your things doesn't know if you're watching them from the line or locked in the loo.

If your stuff is gone by the time you flush, don't blame me. I told you not to ask.

In the bag

Whether we like it or not, everyone in the ad biz deals with demographics – the quantifiable statistics of a certain group - every day.

Age, household income, habits, geographical location, political leanings, purchasing habits, consideration cycles, tv shows watched. Every thing you do and everything you are is broken down so advertisers can talk to you in a way you'll allegedly want to listen to.

It’s frightening how much information is available on any given group of people at any given moment.

What a lot of people in different demos have in common is they all take a great amount of pride in classifying themselves as non-conformists. Unique in their category. Of course, were that true, we wouldn’t be able to lump them in the same category.

One group in particular, and I have some first-hand experience with this, likes to think of themselves as rugged individualists, blazing their own trail, living life on their terms - loners not playing by anyone’s rules but their own.

Copywriters.

And while they may be marching to their own drum in other areas of life, many fall right in step with each other when it comes to a common accessory: their laptop bag.

The bag of choice? The Swiss Army backpack.

I can only speak for myself here, but the reason I love this bag is all the storage options. Zippers and pockets and nets, oh my. For someone like me, who uses the "just in case" theory whenever I pack - which is the reason I look like I'm moving in when I go on an overnight business trip - the Swiss Army backpack lets me carry every thing I need for almost any imaginary contingency I run into.

For example, I've had a deck of Bicycle playing cards in one of the netted side pockets for years. It's a holdover from when my good friend, sometimes art director partner and co-conspirator Mike Stone and I took magic classes at the Magic Castle (the first thing we learned was how to make $265 disappear). You never know, I might've been walking down the street or in a client meeting and had the sudden and unstoppable urge to show someone Stopped Aces, or The Matchmaker.

Pick a card, any card.

One of the zippered compartments has a varied assortment of computer connection cords that may be from my Powerbook 3400. Or my Macintosh Performa 6210. Maybe my Powerbook G4. I'm not sure - I've never used them.

Yet another compartment is my portable medicine chest: Aspirin. Ocean Nasal Spray. Coricidin. Pepto Bismal. Each and every one of them years past their expiration date. But at least they've been stored in a cool, dry place.

In the netted pocket on the other side is a bottle of water that should only be used to water plants. If you want to kill the plants.

And in the vast, canyon-like laptop compartment, which is what I initially bought the backpack for, is nothing. I long ago traded carrying the backpack around for a smaller, lighter Incase laptop bag. It doesn't let me carry nearly as much, but that's probably a good thing.

I guess just owning the Swiss Army bag puts me in the demo with all the other copywriters that have one. And I know what you're thinking: Just like every other writer, he's probably going to end this post with some snappy, clever line that has several meanings and works on so many levels.

But, being the non-conformist I am, I won't.