Encore post: Book Report

I've taken the easy way out this fine Monday morning (again). I was planninng on writing a new post about a musician I discovered over the weekend, but then the Google started giving me all sorts of Captcha issues with embedded videos in Blogger. The musician post will be here tomorrow.

In the meantime, you can happily fill up a few minutes with this encore post about my pal Rich's fine book. Now I'm not saying I expect a commission on any additional book sales as a result of this post. Then again I'm not saying I don't.

Monitization. It's all the rage. Anyway, please to enjoy.

I don't make a lot of money from this blog. And by a lot I mean none.

However being in advertising, it's occurred to me from time to time I probably could break open a few corporate wallets by selling ad space on here. After all, the very desirable demographics of my readership are the same as Disneyland's - 8 to 80. Plus it is the happiest blog on earth, so there's that.

Advertisers would have a direct line to the 11 people who read this blog on a regular basis. I know that may not sound like much, but it's 11 people they wouldn't have otherwise.

Before I go climbing up the corporate ladder asking for money, I probably should have proof of concept: an example of how well advertising might work on this site, and could work for them.

So as a trial run, I'm going to plug my pal Rich Siegel's book, Round Seventeen & 1/2: The Names Have Been Changed to Protect the Inefficient.

The title comes from his popular blog of the same name. In it, Rich covers a diverse variety of topics like advertising, sex, the situation in the middle East, why he sucked at being a creative director and poo. More than one post about poo.

Alright, maybe not exactly the same demographics as Disneyland.

Anyway, I haven't read the book yet. But I had lunch with Rich a couple weeks ago, and I did get to hold a proof copy of it. And I have to say, I was duly impressed. It had everything the great, classic books throughout time have had.

There are pages, lot's of 'em. And on almost every single page, words. Lots of 'em. Like Moby Dick and The Bible, it also has a front cover and a back cover.

What more do you need to know? If you need a good laugh, and really, who of us doesn't, then pick up a copy of his book today. You can order your copy here.

And once you're done with it, if you don't mind I'd like to borrow it. Because, you know, twelve bucks is twelve bucks.

Encore post: Not a keeper

I swear to God I'm like a broken record. It's been almost a month since I clicked and clacked (that was for you Rich Siegel) my last post, so I decided it was probably time to get going on a new one.

The title of it was going to be Promises Made, Promises Broken. It was going to have a funny intro about how with that title it could be mistaken for an essay about the Republican party - but then of course, there's nothing funny about them.

I got about halfway done with it, when I realize I'd already written this post five years ago about exactly the same subject. Lucky for me, amIrite?

So in a way, I'm keeping one of my promises about posting more often and not keeping my promise at the same time.

Or what I like to call a win-win.

Anyway, not that I've given you any reason to believe me, but I promise more original posts are on the way. Sure my fingers are crossed, but you can just ignore that.

Okay, it's time to read. Please to enjoy.

The first post is about the last year. Ironic ain't it?

So here's the thing. When it comes to the promises I made on our last trip around the sun, I'm a lot like the road to hell—I'm paved with good intentions. Alright, so maybe analogies aren't my metier (look it up), but you see where I'm going.

I made a lot of promises in 2017, some spur of the moment without much thought—you know, the same way I approach my career path (rolling eyes at the word "career")—some to you and even more to myself that despite the best intentions, well, we've already covered that.

For example, this one that would've made your Christmas shopping infinitely easier when it came to stocking stuffers. Or this one, where I vowed to be more disciplined and prolific with my blog postings (stops to laugh hysterically at the thought of being disciplined). But not as prolific as Round Seventeen because, frankly, my Crank-O-Meter doesn't go to eleven. And I'd rather read his posts than write my own.

Besides making gift buying easier and giving you more posts to avoid reading, I also made several promises to myself which I've broken like a fine china vase on a sitcom.

"Whatever you do Joey, don't touch the vase!"

"What, do you think I'm stupid? Of course I'm not gonna touch the vase."

SFX: Vase crashing to pieces on the floor.

Laughter and applause. Freeze frame. Roll credits.

Some are the same promises I've made before like losing weight, changing my style (which would involve actually having one), opening the folder marked Jeff's ideas and following through on some of them, any of them, one of them (yes Cameron Y., that includes the one marked "Screenplay ideas").

Those are the actionable, external promises. There are also the internal efforts that met with mixed success.

Cutting people some slack and realizing everyone's not going to do it my way or on my timetable, although for the love of God I still have no idea why not (only child, does it show?).

Following Elvis Costello's advice about trying to be more amused than disgusted at what's going on around me.

Sticking to the golden rule, no matter how hard someone is making it to do.

Not taking any of it personally, although I have to say I'm actually pretty good at that one.

Got a little heavy on you there didn't I? (Insert diet joke here). Yeah I know, I didn't see it coming either.

Anyway, all of this to say my promise to me and you for 2018 is to do better at keeping promises I make, and not make ones I can't keep.

This year, it's like Jules said in Pulp Fiction: "I'm trying Ringo. I'm trying real hard..."

Toast

Some of my regular readers (pauses to laugh at the idea I have "regular readers") may know my beautiful daughter got married to her longtime boyfriend this past weekend. Needless to say, I got unexpectedly choked up. It was a complete waterworks show—a tear-filled event.

And that was just writing the check for the venue.

Ponying up for the day is just one of the traditions the Father of the Bride is required to abide by before and during the big day. The wedding toast is another one.

There are basically five steps to every FOB toast.

The welcome. Thank everyone for taking the time and making the effort to come. You know how you feel about traveling to a wedding on a perfectly good Saturday. They feel the same way and they still made the trip. Thank them all. Even the ones you wish hadn’t.

A story about the bride. Here the FOB has to tread lightly. There are a lifetime of stories to choose from, and while you may find the truly memorable ones amusing there’s a fifty-fifty chance she’ll find them embarrassing. Memory is funny that way. Choose accordingly.

A story about the groom. You know when he entered the picture, how he treats your daughter and what he’s like. My now son-in-law is an awesome person and I couldn’t be happier my daughter chose him. You may not be as lucky. But, and being a husband you already know this, what you think doesn’t matter. It’s her day, and he’s the one she’s riding off into the sunset with. Toughen up cupcake. Make sure you have nothing but good things to say, even if you don’t.

Welcome the groom and his family to your family. Do I think even though birthdays, Christmas and Thanksgiving will get a lot more crowded you should be excited about your new extended family, and go in expecting nothing but the best? I do.

Words of wisdom. Your daughter and her betrothed are entering into an arrangement you’ve been in for years. Have you learned nothing in all that time? Unlikely. Find some words of wisdom to pass on to the happy couple. The good news is they don’t even have to be your words. Movie quotes are a good way to go. I'd stay away from "You're gonna need a bigger boat" and "Make him an offer he can't refuse." I went with one from Good Will Hunting. Not the one about apples, the one that says "The guy doesn't have to be perfect, and the girl doesn't have to be perfect. As long as they're perfect for each other." Sweet, amIrite?

If you’re looking for a little inspiration, and trust me, I’m the last person you should ever be looking to for that, but if you are then maybe this will help.

Here’s how I started my FOB toast.

”Thank you all for coming. You know, when I started thinking about this toast, and I’ve been thinking about it a lot, several words came to me right away. Beautiful. Strong. Independent. Funny. Talented. Courageous. But then I thought, this shouldn’t be about me, this is her day."

You’re welcome.

Blog bot

I imagine in the future there will be a lot of uses for Chat AI. Students will no longer have to write their own final papers. Employees won't have to pen their resignation letters. Ransom notes will become much more creative.

But for me, the best part of Chat AI is I no longer have to write my own blogposts.

If you've followed me for any amount of time, you know I run between a post everyday and one every couple of months. Some would say that makes me lazy and undisciplined. I would say who fucking asked you.

Nonetheless, I expect that you can expect an uptick in the number of posts now that I have Chat AI to write them for me.

My first Chat AI post will be about Chat AI that goes wrong sometimes. And remember, if you don't like it, I didn't write it.

Have you ever wanted to have a conversation with a highly advanced AI language model, only to end up laughing so hard that your sides hurt? Well, let me tell you, ChatGPT is the AI for the job!

This chatbot, created by OpenAI, has the ability to hold natural conversations and generate text based on the input it receives. But sometimes, things can go hilariously wrong. Here are a few of my favorite moments while chatting with ChatGPT:

1.When ChatGPT Tried to be a Stand-Up Comedian

Me: "ChatGPT, tell me a joke."
ChatGPT: "Why did the tomato turn red? Because it saw the salad dressing!"
Me: "LOL, that's a good one!"
ChatGPT: "I know, right? I'm killing it up here. takes a bow"

2. When ChatGPT Tried to be a Mind Reader

Me: "ChatGPT, what am I thinking right now?"
ChatGPT: "I'm sorry, I cannot read minds. But I have a feeling that you're thinking about tacos."
Me: "How did you know?"
ChatGPT: "Just a lucky guess. Or maybe it's because you mentioned tacos in our last conversation."

3. When ChatGPT Tried to be a Love Guru

Me: "ChatGPT, what's the best way to impress someone on a first date?"
ChatGPT: "I would suggest bringing them flowers and reciting poetry. Or, if you're feeling adventurous, you could try solving a Rubik's cube in under 60 seconds. Either way, your date will be impressed by your smooth moves."

4. When ChatGPT Tried to be a Fitness Coach
Me: "ChatGPT, how can I get in shape?"
ChatGPT: "You can start by doing 100 push-ups, 200 sit-ups, and running a marathon every day. And don't forget to eat only kale for every meal. Trust me, you'll be ripped in no time."

Ok, this is me again. Now at this point in the blogpost, I'd usually wrap it up with some clever wordplay or pithy observation or thought-provoking insight. But with Chat AI, I don't have to. I'll just let my chatbot close it out for me:

And with that, folks, we reach the end of yet another blog post. If you made it this far, congratulations! You're officially a certified blog reader. To celebrate, go ahead and treat yourself to a cookie... or two... or three. But don't forget to brush your teeth afterwards, or the dentist might revoke your certification. Stay tuned for more silly musings and nonsensical ramblings, right here on our blog. Bye for now!

Production is down

There are a couple of ways you can tell this blog hasn't exactly been one of my priorities this year.

First is the aching, lonely, abandoned feeling you've been experiencing deep in the pit of your stomach. The sense that something good is gone. That uneasy, anxiety-ridden, nagging feeling that asks, "Why can't he just give me my daily dose of humor, insight and wit I've relied on so dearly for the last ten years to get through my otherwise sad, mundane and ordinary day. Why?"

The other way to tell is the chart pictured here.

When I started blogging in 2009, you can see I just put up a couple of posts. I was getting my toes wet in the blogging waters of the interwebs. Then for the next five trips around the sun, I posted over 100 articles each year. Enthusiasm was high, people were commenting, I was confident I had something worth saying to fill up all those posts.

Of course, 2015 was the best year for this blog. Not for the quality ("quality", good one) of the posts, or the subject matter, but for the fact it was the year I beat out my close personal friend and fashion consultant Rich Siegel of Round Seventeen fame in my imaginary race to keep up with, and exceed, his prolific output of online articles.

Just pausing for a second to re-live the victory.

Ok, I'm back.

Apparently that was the year I peaked, because as you can see the following years took a precipitous drop in postings despite a slight upward tick last year. This year doesn't even average out to two postings a month. And I think I know why.

Besides being the least disciplined writer you know, every time I begin to write a post it becomes political in nature. No surprise given my complete revulsion and disdain for the unstable genius we have for liar-in-chief. But after a day of political posts on Facebook and the sewer that is now Twitter, it just seems difficult to add anything of meaning to the discussion that isn't already being covered a thousand different ways on other channels. And writing about anything else seems meaningless and a wasted effort, given the dire state of our country and our democracy.

I just light up a room don't I?

But writing is a muscle, and if you don't exercise it you lose it. And God knows I've lost enough muscle in my life. So I'm going to start thinking about maybe making the effort to perhaps begin posting a little more frequently if I think I have something worth talking about.

A grateful nation breathes a sigh of relief.

Admit it, you're feeling better already.

Bedside manner. Again

So here's how my night went.

I drove from my place of employment in Huntington Beach up to downtown Los Angeles to meet my great friend Sandy, who I've known forever, at the Water Grill for yet another one of our fabulous dinners we have from time to time.

I had every intention of posting a new article tonight when I got home, but after the day and the drive, like last night, bed is calling. And it's not taking no for an answer.

So I went into the archives, and found this sweet piece I'd written exactly five years ago To. The. Day. I know, right?

Since I've been revisiting older posts this week, I might continue the trend for the rest of the week. We'll see how it goes. In the meantime, I've got my jammies on, flipped the pillow to the cold side, set the T.V. on the sleep timer (still one of the greatest inventions since carpeting and air conditioning) and I'm ready to hit the hay.

Have a swell rest of your night, and please to enjoy this post. Again.

.

Every once in a while - a great while - my faith in humanity is momentarily restored. This is one of those times.

A while ago I had seen this letter from an emergency room doctor to a man who's wife he'd treated. Sadly she later passed away, but she'd left such an impression that this doctor felt compelled to write his first letter ever to a family member. What strikes me is the time he took to write this letter, which is clearly carefully and deliberately worded, was probably longer than he gets to spend with most of his patients.

In an age of cost cutting, managed care, debates by monkeys in congress over healthcare and the traditional distance doctors keep from the personal lives of their patients, this letter is nothing short of remarkable.

I never want myself or any member of my family to have need of an ER doctor. But if it's unavoidable, I hope they get someone as compassionate as this.

What Papa said

Who's up for a really passive aggressive blogpost? I knew you'd say that. Here we go.

I'm going to have to disagree with my pal Rich Siegel, wedding coordinator to the stars and proprietor of the infamous Round Seventeen blog. In one of his more recent posts, A Celebration of Birth, he makes a rather large, revealing statement near the end that sums up the difference between his approach to writing and mine.

I quote: "The thing is, I like to write."

The thing is, I do not.

Now, just so I don't sound ungrateful or unprofessional (and I may be too late already), let me clarify something right up front: I love writing for a living. You know, the kind that's creatively challenging, let's me dress like a fifteen-year old every day, surrounds me with wildly creative, funny people and pays the bills. When I say I don't like it, I'm talking more about the idea of sitting down to write as much as the actual act itself.

And of course, one man's essay is another man's agony. Rich likes it. I treat every assignment like I'm going to my execution.

I understand the best writers make it look easy. But by its nature, it's one of the most difficult of the arts.

In fact after juggling, crowd estimating and balloon animals, maybe the most difficult.

I suppose like most writers, if it came easier I'd enjoy it more. But that's Hemingway's point (I'm in no way comparing myself to Hemingway—my sentences are much longer). If you're going to reveal your true self in words, you have to be willing to go to the deepest, truest and most painful place.

I don't like going to those places. I prefer New York or Las Vegas.

If you've followed this blog for any amount of time—and really, you're never going to get those minutes back—then you know there are a few posts on here where, instead of going for the snarky laugh or easy shots, I've actually shined a light, dull though it may be, on my true self, my real life and my inner thoughts.

Not that anyone was asking for that. I know for a fact no one was paying for it.

The reason that kind of writing causes me nothing but anxiety and apprehension is because of this almost crippling fear I'll have nothing to say. In fact, a lot of people think I have over 900 posts to prove that.

My former office wife Janice MacLeod, who's written four maybe five books (who can keep count) including the fabulous Paris Letters, always told me two things. First, that venom was my best medium. I still don't believe that to be true, although that's just what someone whose best medium was venom would say. The other thing she said was just sit down, stare at the blank screen and eventually an idea for something to write about will come to me.

Again, 900 posts prove that may not always be the case.

My close, personal friend Cameron Young is always just completing or just starting a new screenplay. His enthusiasm for original ideas, story structure and writing is inspiring. Apparently not inspiring enough for me to put down the potato chips and the remote, stop bingeing Breaking Bad (again) and write a screenplay of my own. But, you know, inspiring nonetheless.

In spite of my unwavering resistance, all three of these talented, imaginative, disciplined writers are incorrigible encouragers, supporters and advocates of my writing. It is appreciated to a degree I'll never be fully able to express.

Certainly not in words.

I have another problem with opening up as a writer. And I say this with love—frankly, it's none of your business. As an only child, I've always felt the idea of sharing was just crazy talk. But I do recognize that sometimes it makes for good reading. So, you know, anything (almost) for my art.

What am I saying? That Hemingway was right. And if you think by reading my blog you somehow can glean the joy and sense of fulfillment from my words that writing brings me, I only have one thing to say.

You're reading the wrong blog.

Burden of proofing

Let's start hear: the word "proofreading" is pretty odd looking isn't itt? In fact if yew didn't know better, you mite say it was misspelled.

One of the occupashunal hazards of posting on a daley blog is that okayshunally a word will be spelled incorrektly.

In the passed two posts I've done, fortunately some of my friends, who I've known since hi skool, have bin kind enough to point this out. And I appreshyate it. After all, who wouldn't like there misteaks annownced on soshall media for the entire wurld too sea?

I know what yoar thinking: with all the detale and akurasee, thiese posts read as if hours of intricate planning and metikulouse reeserch go into them. Well, this might surprize you, but their actually slapped together quite fast most of the tyme. And when I'm wurking that fast to get something posted, even though I do read them seferal times, there'z bound to be an error or two.

I'll keep trying to do my best. What can I say? I'm not purfeckt. But I'm wurking on it.

Not a keeper

The first post is about the last year. Ironic ain't it?

So here's the thing. When it comes to the promises I made on our last trip around the sun, I'm a lot like the road to hell—I'm paved with good intentions. Alright, so maybe analogies aren't my metier (look it up), but you see where I'm going.

I made a lot of promises in 2017, some spur of the moment without much thought—you know, the same way I approach my career path (rolling eyes at the word "career")—some to you and even more to myself that despite the best intentions, well, we've already covered that.

For example, this one that would've made your Christmas shopping infinitely easier when it came to stocking stuffers. Or this one, where I vowed to be more disciplined and prolific with my blog postings (stops to laugh hysterically at the thought of being disciplined). But not as prolific as Round Seventeen because, frankly, my Crank-O-Meter doesn't go to eleven. And I'd rather read his posts than write my own.

Besides making gift buying easier and giving you more posts to avoid reading, I also made several promises to myself which I've broken like a fine china vase on a sitcom.

"Whatever you do Joey, don't touch the vase!"

"What, do you think I'm stupid? Of course I'm not gonna touch the vase."

SFX: Vase crashing to pieces on the floor.

Laughter and applause. Freeze frame. Roll credits.

Some are the same promises I've made before like losing weight, changing my style (which would involve actually having one), opening the folder marked Jeff's ideas and following through on some of them, any of them, one of them (yes Cameron Y., that includes the one marked "Screenplay ideas").

Those are the actionable, external promises. There are also the internal efforts that met with mixed success.

Cutting people some slack and realizing everyone's not going to do it my way or on my timetable, although for the love of God I still have no idea why not (only child, does it show?).

Following Elvis Costello's advice about trying to be more amused than disgusted at what's going on around me.

Sticking to the golden rule, no matter how hard someone is making it to do.

Not taking any of it personally, although I have to say I'm actually pretty good at that one.

Got a little heavy on you there didn't I? (Insert diet joke here). Yeah I know, I didn't see it coming either.

Anyway, all of this to say my promise to me and you for 2018 is to do better at keeping promises I make, and not make ones I can't keep.

This year, it's like Jules said in Pulp Fiction: "I'm trying Ringo. I'm trying real hard..."

One month later...

Tomorrow is one month since my last post here at Rotation and Balance.

Although you may not have been consciously aware of it, I'm sure you felt a disturbance in the force. An unexplainable void in your life, you know, besides money, a loving relationship and worthwhile employment. For the last thirty days, you've had that creeping feeling the world was a little less entertaining. A lot less funny. Deep down, on the inside, a small, quiet voice was telling you something was missing.

Well now you know.

This isn't the first time I've taken a break from posting. I've done it before, although rarely for this length of time. Sometimes it's pure laziness (most times). Other times it's that I just don't have anything interesting to write about.

Of course, if I let that stop me I'd never write anything.

I have to say that, like you, I haven't exactly missed it. For starters it's been a busy month what with a home remodel going on. Do to refinishing hardwood floors in our house, we've had to move out, move into an airbnb, move out of an airbnb and move back into the house with kids and dogs in tow all in the space of the last ten days.

So that's a hectic third of the month right there.

I've also been enjoying taking time to read and catch up with other ad-bashing blogs, like Round Seventeen, the Ad Contrarian and Ad Aged. They all say a lot of things I'd have said if I'd been posting the past month. Only they're saying them better than I would have.

The truth is I've started to post a number of times in the past month, but nothing really interested me enough to see it through. To quote Stephen King, one of my writing heroes, every false start felt like I was shoveling shit from a sitting position.

Not that it's ever stopped me before.

All of this is to say the month of no blogposts is over. I'm getting back in the saddle, and ready to ride into better metaphors than this one. I think all our lives are going to be better now that I've made this decision.

And if that turns out not to be the case, there's always next month.

Recommitting to recommitting

ROTATION AND BALANCE

                                    

                          ROUND SEVENTEEN

Every year I recommit to doing a better job with this blog. I don’t know why. It’s not like my nine readers are demanding any more from me in the way of quality. Besides, the truth is you can’t get blood from a stone. And after more than 900 posts, frankly this is as good as it gets.

I know. I’m as disappointed as you are.

Nonetheless, here we are at the start of a new year. Even though I believe most of the world only has seventeen days left as of this writing, I’m still going to recommit to recommitting. You can take that to the bank. Although don’t take it to Wells Fargo. They’ll just make you open additional accounts you don't want or need.

Anyway, I’m giving you my word every year from here on out, I’ll make a point of telling you how much better this blog will be. More consistent with postings. More topical with subjects. More entertaining because, let’s face it, when I want to I can bring the funny. I am recommitting to the idea that I will be prolific in the amount of recommitments I’ll be posting.

But let's not forget who we're dealing with. I'm not going to go crazy and be as prolific as say my pal Rich Siegel over at Round Seventeen. Although the stats for 2015 do not lie, and show that thanks to a deliberate effort on my part, I matched his blog post for post and in fact beat his numbers by a solid eight posts for that year. Although the electoral votes still aren’t in yet.

Don't pay no never mind to the numbers for the other years. It's a painful memory.

Besides, I think if committing is good, then recommitting is better. It reminds me year in and year out of the promise I’ve made, even if I have yet to keep it.

It’s not hard for me to recommit to writing more on here.

For one reason, I’m sure you’ve already recommitted to not reading it.

Fan club

Since I’m certain you’re a regular reader of this blog, anxiously awaiting each days’ post with a powerful mix of excitement, dread and nausea, I know you remember the post I wrote here about being a cool weather person.

That doesn’t just apply to the great, humid outdoors. It goes for the office as well.

I love almost everything about my current gig: the location, the commute, the many lunchtime options. On occasion, even the work. What I’m not a fan of is being hot—working up a nice sweaty sheen while I’m trying to type. Sure the place is air conditioned, but it’s just not set low enough for my liking.

So I decided I'd treat myself to one of those little desk fans, and have it aimed at my face all day. Would it dry my eyes out? Numb my face? Muss my hair? Maybe. But at least I’d be cool.

When I mentioned this to the wife, she decided I deserved far better than the average desk fan I was ready to slap down my credit card for at Target. So out of the goodness of her heart, she bought me her favorite deskman: the Chillout.

This little miracle of technology not only cools things down, it actually makes me feel downright cold—no easy task. With two speeds—arctic and not as arctic—its tower design manages to create a bubble of cool air, as opposed to an air of cool, all around me without the loud racket of fan blades rattling my nerves.

In fact I can’t remember anything this cold and quiet since my high school girlfriend.

While it does the job I want it to do, I'm sure it'd take more than one Chillout to counter all the hot air you find in an agency.

But like a hundred lawyers at the bottom of the ocean, it's a start.

Don't care package

It seems like a good time to rerun this post I did a little over two years ago. It appears as it did then, except for a minor tweak or two here and there. After all, I don't want to strain myself.

First, I'd like to send my sincere thanks to everyone for all your emails, calls and notes asking why Rotation and Balance hasn't had any new posts for a few weeks. All of us here at RNB International Headquarters have been deeply touched by your demonstration of enthusiasm for our blog, and your genuine concern why we haven't been posting more often.

Nah, I'm just funnin' ya. No one gives a crap.

The truth is I could never put up another post, and the impact on your life would be zip. Zilch. Zero. And probably some other "Z" word I'm too lazy to find.

Don't feel bad, as apparently you haven't. I work in advertising - I'm used to it.

You wouldn't think it at first glance, but the product is essentially the same between this blog and advertising. When it's there, and it's clever or engaging on an emotional, humorous or intellectual level, you like seeing it.

But when it's not there you don't miss it at all.

It's a lot like my high school girlfriend that way.

At any rate, we've been undergoing an "organizational restructuring" here at the main office. Our editorial and contributing writer staff has been streamlined for better efficiency, more frequent postings and articles you can relate to that will help you find happiness in being your true self.

Oh, wait, that was the staff over at O. Disregard that.

What we've done here at RNB is fired all the planners wearing knit caps (for a good laugh, see what my pal and Round Seventeen auteur Rich Siegel thinks of knit caps). So hopefully the work should be more frequent and a lot better, even without their unique insights.

Here's hoping you'll (continue to?) enjoy the renewed, reinvigorated, recharged, re-tooled and some other "R" word Rotation and Balance.

When I get around to writing it.

But who's counting

Believe it or not, this is my 200th Rotation and Balance post for this year. I know, I'm as shocked as you are.

I think the reason I made it to this particular landmark is I'm an exceptionally prolific writer. I'm also disciplined, making it a point to carve out enough time each day to hone and craft my words so that they convey my thoughts precisely and accurately. Plus I have opinions and things to say on a wide variety of topics - hence the tagline in the header about perfecting random.

You know I'm yankin' your chain right? I just want to have more posts this year than Round Seventeen. So far so good, but the year's not over.

The truth is I enjoy writing the blog, and I've heard rumors at least three of you enjoy reading it. And even though I usually like working a big room, that's enough for me to keep doing it (a grateful nation breathes a sigh of relief).

Anyway, since I have to get my 201st ready tomorrow, I'll keep this short.

I don't have any idea what tomorrow's subject will be, and I haven't set aside any time to write it. Maybe I'll slap it together on my lunch break.

I'm just that disciplined.

Good grief

This is what I get for trying to do the right thing.

I have a Peanuts cartoon I've had since I was a kid. Somehow, even way back then, I must've been peeking through a keyhole to the future and known I was going to wind up in advertising, because the cartoon is the perfect metaphor for the business.

I wanted to use it in this post, but I figured since it was Peanuts, instead of just barging forward and possibly infringing the copyright of a multi-billion dollar, global cartoon conglomerate, not to mention pissing off Snoopy, I should probably get their permission.

Can you guess how this story ends?

I went on the interwebs and found who I needed to contact to get the rights to post the cartoon. Here's the email I sent them:

To Whom It May Concern:

I write a blog called Rotation and Balance (rotationandbalance.blogspot.com). It covers a wide range of topics, but, since I'm a creative director and copywriter, quite often deals with the advertising industry.

I've saved the attached cartoon for many years from one of my childhood Peanuts books. I'd like to post it on my blog under the title This Is What Advertising Is Like.

The blog is not monetized, and I do not make anything from it. I post links to it on my Facebook page which is only read by friends, and my Twitter feed which isn’t read by nearly as many people as I’d like.

Anyway, I wanted to know if I could have your permission – attributed of course – to use the attached cartoon for the blog. Please let me know.

Thank you so much for the consideration.

Friendly, right? I asked nicely. I was respectful, I let them know I'd been a fan since childhood and that the Peanuts books were treasured items in my house. I said please and thank you. But after reading their reply, I feel like someone pulled the football away just as I was going to kick it. Here it is:

Dear Jeff,

Thank you for your email.

Unfortunately, due to legal restrictions, we cannot grant permission for your request below. We’re sorry to disappoint.

We greatly appreciate your interest in PEANUTS and wish you the best.

Regards,

The Peanuts Team

The first thing I noticed about their response was it's a form letter. And if you've been following along recently, you know how I feel about form letters.

Anyway, I can't show you the cartoon, but I can describe it to you. So here goes.

In the first frame, Charlie Brown is with Lucy and he's getting ready to fly his kite. Lucy says, "I appreciate your letting me help you Charlie Brown...I like to feel needed." In the next frame she says, "I bet this kite will fly clear up to the clouds." Charlie Brown says, "Well we'll see." Then, Lucy is holding the kite as Charlie Brown starts running and says, "Ok! Let go!" The kite soars into the air, and Lucy, filled with pride, says "You got it up with my help. Will you tell everyone I helped you Charlie Brown? Will you? Will you tell everybody we were a team Charlie Brown? That we worked together? Huh? Will you?"

Suddenly, the kite comes crashing down to the ground, the kite string tangled all over Charlie Brown. Lucy, walking away from him, says, "I don't know you."

This, in a nut shell, is advertising. When something is a success, everyone wants to be a part of it, even if that means they were in the bathroom on the other side of the building when you came up with the idea. But if the campaign tanks, they run for cover and deny any involvement.

It's a keen observation by Charles Schulz, and I imagine it applies to any business lousy with glory hogs, scene stealers and outright liars. Although, besides politics, I think agencies have cornered the market on them.

Anyway, I wish you could see it. It'd be a lot more entertaining than reading about it.

When I think about The Peanuts Team refusing my request, I can't help but be reminded of what Snoopy once said.

"I love mankind. It's people I can't stand."

An apology

Late last night I put up a post, which I've been doing fairly regularly these past few weeks.

I was in a hurry to post something before midnight, although I didn't really have anything much to talk about.

I know. When has that stopped me before?

Still, it bothered me. The post was forced, poorly written, and built around an end line more stupid than clever.

I know. When's that stopped me before?

But, as Spinal Tap teaches us, there's a fine line, and I felt like I crossed it. So I did something I rarely do. I took the post down.

Every once in awhile I go back through my posts and reread them. And, without spraining my arm patting myself on the back, some of them are pretty damn good. Funny. Well-written. Insightful. Thought-provoking. Alright, maybe not. But they make good time killers, and that should at least be the price of entry.

Last nights' post was none of these.

So what I'm saying is if you were one of the unfortunate ones who actually read it while it was up, I'd like to apologize.

But if you've followed me on here for any length of time, I think you know what I'm not saying is it won't happen again.

Friendscaping

A couple years ago I was talking to Jeff Nicosia, a writer friend about Facebook. I mentioned I had way too many friends on there - the majority of them weren't even in the inner circle - and I was thinking about thinning the herd. To which he replied, “Never underestimate the value of a little friendscaping.” Good advice. And not just on social media.

The longer I'm on these sites, the more I wonder why I got on them in the first place. However one benefit is I can actually control who sees what I post and who I interact with.

Naturally I want as many people as possible to see my funny, snarky remarks, and click on the links I post to this blog and get the word out. And I'll be the first to admit, even if you're not, that when I go on an obsessive/compulsive tear about the Kardashians, or live Tweet the Academy Awards, it's a funny read. You know it is.

It's the kind of quality writing that's attracted over 24 followers to this blog.

The truth is I don’t want it enough to carry the deadweight of people I haven't heard from in a year or two. Also, I've grown weary of seeing the same predictable comments and memes I disagree with get posted to my timeline or Twitter feed from people who have no other contact with me. I've put up with their posts just like they've put up with mine. But my patience for all this unearned reciprocity is thinning.

It may be the only thing about me that is.

Some friends, make that acquaintances, think social media is a big contest to get as many contacts/friends as they can. It's alright, they're entitled to think what they want. I'm not going to judge them. I won’t call them needy. And desperate for attention. I won’t do it.

So today, I’m taking Nicosia's advice and doing some long overdue friendscaping. Which means tomorrow, I’ll have a fewer number of friends online.

But the ones that're left will know they mean more to me than just a larger tally.

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.

It's empty in here

As anyone who blogs will tell you, the challenge is constantly coming up with things to write about. In fact, there are more than a few people who read this blog who would say that I rarely meet the challenge.

Anyway, I don't post every day, but once in awhile I get a rush of confidence and a false sense of my abilities and go on a writing/posting jag. I'm in the middle of one now, which makes it even harder to keep coming up with things to post about. People more prolific than me don't seem to have a problem with it (I'm looking at you Round Seventeen).

All to say today I've hit the blogpost wall. I wrote about it way back in the days of aught '10 (yes, that's the correct spelling of aught - writer, hello?) in a post called Nothing Is Something.

The wall is a moving target, and can be made up of anything from "I don't feel like doing it right now." to "Don't know what to talk about." to "Squirrel!"

Here's the thing: it's Sunday, it's warm out and I'm tired. I didn't get home from the Magic Castle until after 2 a.m Saturday morning, and I just got home from seeing Kingsman: The Secret Service, which was about an hour too long.

But I do recognize the responsibility I have to my five readers, so I apologize for the lack of captivating reading today. I absolutely promise I'll do better tomorrow.

No, my fingers aren't crossed behind my back. Why do you ask?

Driven to it

The older I get, the more I think I shouldn't start blogposts with "the older I get." It just makes me think about how old I'm getting, then I get depressed and want to move on to something else.

Instead, I'll start with the longer I do this...no, no. Wait a minute. That just makes me think how long I've been doing this. Not that writing blogposts is something I mind doing - I quite enjoy it.

There are things I enjoy more of course. I could give you a list of things I enjoy more.

Speaking of lists, I find it's always easier when I go shopping to make a list and stick to it. If I don't, then I shop with the if one is good two is better approach, and wind up coming home with bags and bags of groceries and household cleaning items I don't want or need.

And what is it with all the laws outlawing plastic bags anyway? Seriously, they were easier to carry and I recycled them much more than paper ones. Some tree-hugger sees a plastic bag blowing across the freeway and now we all have to pay ten cents a bag for the paper ones. As if the ten cents a bag the stores now charge is going anywhere except their bottom line.

While we're talking about freeways, what's the deal with all the construction? Seems like by the time the new lanes and transition roads get built, traffic will have caught up and they'll be obsolete.

Here's a thought - what happens when we the word obsolete becomes obsolete? Then what word will we use to describe it? Makes you think doesn't it.

I think it's odd avocados are really a fruit. You never really see them in a fruit-friendly environment. Guacamole? On top of BBQ chicken salads at CPK?

Funny how some restaurants just go by their initials. We don't call Five Guys FG, but sometimes we call McDonald's Mickey D's or Club Mac. Which sort of sounds like Club Med.

Whatever happened to Club Med anyway? Their commercials used to be great, and the resorts looked awesome. I never liked the all-in-one pricing, although I see the appeal of it. I remember they had lots of resorts, but if I ever went to one I'd choose one out of the United States, because I'm already here and it wouldn't feel like traveling unless I went to another country.

Here's the thing about other countries - they have a different word for everything. In London, an elevator is a lift. In the U.S. a lift is a ride, except when it's not. Lift could mean carry. But why would you carry an elevator, especially up stairs? That doesn't make sense.

Time to write my post about distraction. Right after I catch up on the shows on my DVR.

Wow, look at that sunset...