Unacceptable behavior

I'm not sure what it is about advertising, but it seems to attract the very best of humanity and the very worst.

When it comes to the second group, I suppose the lesson to remember is never underestimate the profound, almost other-worldly ability of people to be thoughtless, inconsiderate, rude jerks.

We've all encountered them. I don't need to give you examples of their douchebaggery.

Alright, here's one.

I have a close writer friend who's mom has been battling cancer. She took a turn for the worse, and wound up in intensive care in a hospital out of state. My friend's brother called and told her to get on a plane and get up there if she wanted to say goodbye.

She let her boss and co-workers at the agency know what was going on. Of course, they understood and sympathized. Then she headed for the airport.

While she was in the intensive care unit with her mom - gloved, masked and gowned because it was a sterile, germ-free environment - the agency called her. They asked her to work on some brochure copy that need revising while she was there.

I guess they thought she'd get tired of keeping her dying mother company and would want something else to do. You know, all that sitting around waiting. All you've got is free time.

Since you asked, here's another one.

Unless you've been on a news blackout, you know about the fires that have been raging in San Marcos. I happen to have a close art director friend who had to evacuate his wife and one-year old daughter from their dream house they've been in a couple years, and happens to sit at the top of the hill the fire was rapidly burning up. They grabbed the items they couldn't bear to lose, threw them in the car and drove away from their house not knowing whether or not it'd be there when they got back.

While they were at the hotel, his employer called and said they needed him to do some work, and sit in on a meeting. It was okay with them if he did it by phone.

Because, like my other friend, he should have his priorities straight, right? Forget attending to his frightened family, dealing with the uncertainty, the added expense and the crushing stress of it all. That's just crazy talk.

What it comes down to for me is this gross insensitivity really solidifies our belief in the "It's not my job." philosophy. There's no sense of personal responsibility - when you have a soldier down, you just pick up the slack without being asked. Or without passing it on to someone else to do.

It's also clear to me at the agency orientation new employees get when they start, no one's bothering to instill any appreciation for the golden rule: treat others as you'd like to be treated. If any of the people calling my friends to work were in the same position - and in spite of their supreme jerkness I hope they never are - the last thing they'd want is a call asking them to work. Especially from people like them.

All I can do is shake my head and feel sad for the people making the calls. I imagine how cripplingly unhappy they must be in their lives to be so unaware of others and their situations.

My writer friend's mother has stabilized, and is doing better despite the fact there is an inevitable outcome to her illness. But for now, she's here, she's fighting and she's winning.

As for my art director pal, he got the all-clear to go back to their home yesterday. It is intact and untouched by the fire. They were lucky.

The work they were both called to do never got done. At least not by them.

As it should be.

On the air with Burgess Meredith

This week happens to be Celebrity Week over at Rich Siegel's Round Seventeen. Being a Hollywood kid I was thinking, "Hey, I've worked with celebrities. I can write about that too." I'm not the kind of person who steals ideas, and especially since he's my friend I don't like to steal them from Rich (except those ABC ads he did at Chiat - man, they look great in my book). But in this instance, I have his blessing. So here we go.

Burgess Meredith has always been one of my acting heroes. An actor's actor, he made his most lasting impact during the golden era of television, including several classic Twilight Zone episodes, and later in his career in movies - particularly the Rocky films.

Years ago when I was freelancing at BBDO, Coldwell Banker was going through different voice overs to see who they wanted to use in their national campaign. I wasn't on the business, but on the day they were going to record Burgess Meredith, the writer who was happened to be out sick. So I was asked to fill in for him.

That autograph on the picture above reads, "Good Luck! from Burgess Meredith" I was terrified. I was going to need it.

I drove out to L.A. Studios early, just to make sure I didn't get held up in traffic. Even though I didn't know him yet, I had the distinct impression Meredith didn't like to be kept waiting.

When he arrived, it was in a black town car. Out of the car first was his beautiful, young - really young - blonde companion. She helped him out of the car and brought him in the studio. Then she simply disappeared. Never saw her again inside or outside the studio.

When we were introduced, I told him I was a huge fan of his work, to which he replied, pointing at the booth, "You want me in there?"

Two memories come to mind. First is I'm sure the last thing Burgess Meredith was looking for at that point in his career was some lowly agency copywriter telling him how to read a line. But what I found out was he actually appreciated it. Throughout the session, he wanted to know if I was getting what I wanted and if I had any direction for him. I don't know whether he meant it or was just being nice. Either way, it put me more at ease and made me feel as if I had some modicum of control over the session.

The second thing I remember is he had a spittoon. Right there on the floor, next to the music stand holding the copy he was reading.

Here's how it went: read, spit. Read, spit. Read, work up a good one, work it a little more, then spit. Suffice it to say there was a lot of throat-clearing, followed by a lot of hocking up some extremely colorful juju into the spittoon. Since we were in a recording studio, and he was in front of a microphone, all of us in the booth heard every take-off and landing in crystal clear, stereophonic Dolby™ sound.

I'm sure the clean-up crew was grateful he was a good aim.

If you've never worked in a recording studio, the thing to know is the engineers are like traffic court judges. They've heard it all. And the one I was working with did a masterful job editing out Meredith's long breaths between lines, as well as, shall we say, the more, um, rattle-y parts of his read.

By the end of the session I was finally comfortable giving him direction, and we were actually talking about some of his work. I only got to spend a little over an hour listening to that voice, seeing him work and giving him direction. It's still one of the high points of my, for lack of a better word, career.

It didn't go nearly that well with Hector Elizondo. I pissed him off something fierce. Another time.

Wrapper wisdom

As many of you know, and as I've written about here, I've been battling the cough from hell for about three weeks now. In that time, I've consumed my fair share of Chestal homeopathic (not that there's anything wrong with that) cough syrup, prescription hydrocodone cough syrup, hot tea, cups of lemon and honey, and bags and bags of Hall's Cough Drops.

Now, the cough drops are supposed to sooth the cough. But upon closer examination, they actually do so much more.

While I've been hacking up a lung, I've had time to read the inspirational messages found on each Hall's wrapper. They're so proud of the good these messages are doing, they've printed "A PEP TALK IN EVERY DROP™" right there on the wrapper. And yes, they trademarked the line.

Now, if you happened to catch this post, you know I've always been one who believes that inspiration is where you find it. But after reading the lines on the Hall's wrapper, I may have to re-evaluate that opinion.

In addition to the lines shown here, additional lines like "Turn 'can do' into can did!'", "Hi-five yourself.", and the ever popular, "Don't wait to get started." are also waiting to inspire the sick and hacking masses.

Somewhere a fortune cookie company is laughing and saying things like, "Damn, we're a lot better than I thought!"

The truly scary thing to me about these lines is that I know a copywriter wrote them. Either a $25 an hr. junior writer they found on Creative Circle, or, even sadder, a $25 an hr. ex-group creative director who couldn't get hired at McCann an is willing to write cough drop wrappers. It's a cautionary tale either way.

I think I've probably seen all the lines I need to see from Hall's.

It's time to stop being so inspired, and start thinking deeper thoughts.

Negotiate this

In advertising, as in most businesses, there comes that magical time in the interview where they ask you how much you're looking for salary wise. And before answering, you ask them how much they have for the position.

And the game is afoot.

I've never liked negotiating for money. It's not that I'm not good at it (Jewish, hello?), but time and time again it's just frustrating how stupid the things being said on the other side of the table are.

Here are two of my favorites.

They ask what I'm looking for and I tell them. Then they say, "Well, we're paying our current writer $50,000 less than that." To which I say, "Then keep your current writer. I'm sure s/he's great. But if you want me, you're going to have to pony up." Or something to that effect.

Sometimes you have to point out the obvious to them: that whatever anyone else makes has absolutely nothing to do with what you're being paid or your value to the company.

Which brings me to the next moronic statement I've heard many, many times in my, um, career (chuckling cause I said career).

This usually happens once I've had a job for a while where I've performed exceptionally, done great campaigns, have happy clients, been responsible for increased sales, gotten glowing reviews from my bosses, etc. The discussion of increasing my salary begins, and it's met with "Well, if I do that for you then I'd have to do it for everyone."

Hold on cowboy, let's think about that for a minute.

First of all, no, you don't have to do it for everyone. Unless of course you're letting everyone know what everyone makes. In which case then you might have to do it for everyone.

Also, if you have to do it for everyone, does that include that creative director that does nothing all day but look busy while he's actually playing Angry Birds on his iPad? Because if it does, I don't need to work nearly as hard or smart as I do if you have to give the same increase to everyone just because I asked about it.

Salary negotiations are about one thing and one thing only. The number you'll be happy with. And if the people you're negotiating with don't think you're worth that number, then they're not worth your time. It's a lesson that takes a while to learn.

Like buying a house or a car, you have to be prepared to walk away if you don't get the deal you want. It's not always an easy thing to do.

But it's considerably more rewarding than selling yourself short.

Remembering George

I just got back from a memorial service for my great friend George Roux, who died a little over a week ago. Having known George for almost thirty years, I have a lot of history and stories to tell.

Now sometimes at services like these, they open it up and ask whoever would like to say a few words about the dearly departed to come up to the podium. And there have been times when I've wanted to say something, but truthfully I'm not at my best off the cuff with emotions spilling over, and loud sobbing as background noise.

Plus, being a writer, I like to map out what I'm going to say.

So when I heard about George, my Boy Scout instincts about being prepared kicked into merit-badge readiness. I wrote down what I wanted to say, rehearsed it and was ready for the call.

Come to find out, the call never came. George's service was beautifully planned by his wife Julie, was beyond lovely and went off like clockwork - something you can't do if you just invite people to speak willy-nilly.

Anyway, had I gotten the call, this is what I would've said:

I think the thing that surprised me most is that George’s heart failed him. Surprising because it never failed any of us.

George and I met almost 30 years ago. Being in advertising, of course I’d heard of him, how talented he was, the classes he taught at Art Center and Ad Center. For a while there it seemed like you couldn’t throw a rock without hitting someone who was mentored by George.

George and I were first partnered as a team when we worked at Tracy Locke. And let me say, work was never easier or more fun. Great ideas flowed out of George fast and furious. Besides being an incredibly talented art director, George was a great writer.

And trust me, copywriters don’t love anything more than an art director who knows how to write.

Maybe it wasn’t so much that we worked together, but that I got to watch him work. I would’ve paid for the privilege.

George and I became great and lasting friends. We were also co-conspirators. At Tracy Locke, we came up with a plan to pitch the Yamaha Electronics business by personally delivering the VP of Marketing an invitation to come to the agency. It was during the Consumer Electronics Show in Las Vegas. So we made a poster with a headline that read, “We came to your party. Now you're invited to ours.” We went to the show, found him, talked for a few minutes and gave him the poster, which he loved.

He never came to the agency, but George and I had three awesome days in Vegas.

I’m not saying that was the plan all along, But I'm not saying it wasn’t.

George and I also shared an appreciation for crappy horror films. Every time another one came out, we’d sit through it, then come out of the theater saying the same thing: “There’s two hours of my life I’ll never get back.” But we kept going, I think not so much for the films but to spend the time with each other.

George has been there for me at almost every pivotal point in my life. My dad’s death. Break ups, break downs. He was one of the groomsmen at my wedding, as well as self-appointed videographer, lending his incredible eye and talent to turning a wedding video into art. If only the DMV had known about him.

He was the first person I called when my son was born. At every juncture, George was there, offering his experience, insight, jokes, strength and friendship for me to lean on.

We freelanced as a team at several agencies over the years. I remember one conversation with him where I told him how jealous I was because he could do so many things so well: he was an art director, commercial director, illustrator, photographer. He had options. All I could do was write.

He looked at me and said, "That may be true, but nobody writes like you do."

I think he meant it as a compliment.

When George met Julie, he fell and fell hard. And while I’d seen him in relationships before, it was clear he’d just been biding his time. This was the one he’d been waiting for. Julie brought a joy to George’s life all of us who loved him will be forever grateful for.

We used to spend a lot of time together, but as often happens, life overtakes intentions and in the past few years we haven’t seen each other nearly often enough. The last time I talked to George was on his birthday in July. We had a long conversation, checking in with each other and catching up on our lives and families.

I called him on his birthday, he called me on mine. So while the call this year may be long distance, I’m pretty sure one way or another I’ll hear from him. I know he’ll hear from me.

It’s hard to get almost 30 years of a friendship into a few minutes, or to find exactly the right words to tell you about all the experiences George and I had.

It’d be a lot easier if he were here. Not only would he tell the stories better, he’d have pictures to go with them.

When Julie told me the news, we talked about George and how one reason this is so shocking is that he seemed indestructible. He’d been through a bad car accident, by-pass surgery, a home invasion robbery. All of them were like bullets off Superman. Julie also said she knew he’d had an entire life before he met her, and that she knew what she’d signed up for when she married him.

But Julie, I’m here to tell you, he also had an entire life after he met you. A complete life. The one he wanted. The one he was looking for. The one that counted. The one he found with you.

I’d also like to say something to Rachel and George. Your father was an exceptional man, and he loved you both beyond measure. I’m sure you know that. I’m also sure he’d want you to know this: life will be challenging sometimes. It’ll make you angry. It’ll make you weary. There’ll be times you’ll stumble and fall. But in those times, when you don’t know if you can get up or go on, remember, in your hearts, your dad will forever be smiling down, sending his love and cheering you on.

Let me wrap it up by saying words I’d have much preferred to say to him in person.

George, thank you for your kindness, your friendship, your brilliance, your humor, your heart, your decency, your encouragement, your work, your talent, your downright brutal good looks, and your love.

I’ll miss you friend. Before you know it. Love you George.

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 first manifesto

From airlines to peanut butter to Japanese car companies, they all want one. And not just one. One like the one that started it all. And agencies want to give it to them.

The manifesto. That crisp, concise group of words that at once lays out the philosophy, character, promise, mission and direction of a company.

My friend Rich Siegel over at Round Seventeen is the best manifesto writer working, and he's written more of them than anyone I know including me. But as he'd be the first to tell you, even when it's right in front of them, they don't always see it. In a global campaign gang...effort for a luxury car company, I won't say which one - Infiniti - Rich wrote an incredible manifesto. I walked in the conference room where it was pinned on the foam core with about 25 other, lesser manifestos, and was in awe. In fact, I gave it the ultimate copywriter compliment: I wished I'd written it.

At the end of the exercise though, Infiniti stayed with the work it was doing.

The benchmark for all manifestos is and will always be Apple. But that particular one is uniquely reflective of an uncompromising leader with a singular vision. Two things too many companies are lacking.

But don't think I'm completely against them. I'm not. They're good for business.

So here's to the crazy ones. Because people who are crazy enough to think they need to hire freelancers to write manifestos are the ones that do.

Out of site out of mind

Maybe it's because I'm a copywriter. Or because I have too much free time on my hands. Or because GoDaddy is so damn cheap. But like every other person in advertising, during the course of the day, whether I want them to or not, names for websites seem to keep popping into my mind.

I don't know how many I've registered or how much I've spent to do it over the years, but I've only actually built out one of them - my own that showcases my work.

It's like people who buy a gym membership the first of January and then never use it. I'm pretty sure this is how GoDaddy and Register.com make most of their money.

Of course there are the ones I own like Creepfactor, Shut That Kid Up and Well Placed Blame that I'm still hoping to do something with. But this year, I decided to let go of some of my URL baggage and let a few names I own expire.

So if you've been itching to start a site called AdZombies or Bad Ad Agency, I know for a fact the domain names are available.

I'm in a much more optimistic place than when I registered Career Go Boom, so it's now there for the taking.

There was the gift registry site Here's What I Want a couple friends and I were going to start. Turns out we didn't want it.

My friend Stephanie Birditt had a site called Stephopotamus, and I thought it was fun. So on a whim I registered Jeffopotamus. Had no idea what I was going to do with that one, which explains why it's gone now.

A couple years ago, our annual trip to the Hotel Del Coronado had more than a few things go wrong, so I was going to go after them with Hotel Del Hell - a site where everyone who'd ever had anything go wrong during their stay could vent.

But then they comped me a night, a dinner and a cabana and I felt better.

I suppose I'll keep registering names that occur to me in the hope that one day I'll actually do something with them.

Meanwhile, I wonder if goingbacktowatchmoretv.com is taken.

The laws of freelance

In the same way there are laws of nature (gravity, motion, slow drivers when I'm in a hurry), there are also laws of freelance.

The most inevitable one is when it rains it pours.

In the past week, I've had no less than four inquiries about my availability - two directly from clients, and two from agencies.

That's the good news.

The bad news is all four are asking if I'm available to start working the first week in June. I know, it's a champagne problem to have.

But as nice as it is, another law of freelance is the gig ain't there until it's there. On the long list of things I can count on, like my kid's asking me for money, I know for a fact at least three of these jobs - or all of them - will not happen. Why? Well for one thing, asking about availability is not the same thing as being booked.

Jobs get pushed back all the time for a million reasons. It needs more research. The direction changes. The release date changes. The product changes. The need for freelancers changes. Any number of things can wish a job out to the cornfield.

So the only thing I can do is deal with what's on my plate at the moment for that first week of June, and say yes to all four. Because until someone books me, I'm available.

And if I'm not available when the job actually happens, then they'll either wait for me (yes, it's happened), or they'll move on to the next name on the list (happens all the time).

What I always hope is if I'm not available when someone calls, they at least ask me for the name of a writer they can call. I like being able to refer my friends and hopefully return some of the goodwill I've received many, many times over from my copywriting pals.

Now the waiting begins to see who, if any of them, get back to me.

In the meantime, if you want to have lunch or see a movie, guess what? I'm available.

The stupidest thing anyone's ever said to me in advertising

It doesn't matter whether they're just starting out or seasoned pros, every copywriter and art director I know has a "stupidest thing anyone's ever said" story. In fact, there are a bunch of websites like this one devoted entirely to stupid things people in the business say.

People more frightened, more practical and more employed than me have said I shouldn't name names, because "You never know where you'll wind up and who knows who and blah blah blah..."

So I won't name names. I'll leave clues. See if you can get in touch with your inneR Colombo and figure out the genius who said it to me.

Here's the thing. I was freelancing at this big agency that prints money off its one main automotive account. I'm tempted to tell you the name of the agency, but those same people who say I shouldn't name names also say I shouldn't name agencies, so I won't.

Saatchi.

I was writing the brochure for the 2007 Toyota Matrix. Now brochures aren't something that put a big smile on any copywriter's face. However they do put a big deposit in their bank account, so thank you very much and I'm available for any and all of your automotive brochure needs.

I mean I don't want to sound mercenary about it, but it is freelance. What do you need, a roadmap? Anyway, it's kind of the same way I feel about agency tItles. They're pretty useless. I really don't care if you call me creative director or janitor. As long as you say it with cash.

But I digress.

The person who'd hired me and another freelance writer named Lori neglected to tell us he'd given notice. So the second week we were there, he was gone. Which was fine. Lori and I are both senior people, and we just carried on creative directing each others work and getting the job done. One part of the job was that Matrix broChure. I'd written it, it'd been routed and was virtually on its way out the door.

Right at that point, a freelance associate creative director (speaking of useless titles) was brought in to oversee the work until someone permanent was hired.

Again, not naming names, but I Hope you're reading closely.

This acd (lower case intentional) stopped the presses and wanted to review all the Copy.

This is where it gets good.

In the brOchure I talked about the cargo space in the Matrix, mentioNing all the different kinds of things you could carry in it. It was something along the lines of three mothers-in-law, two surfboards and eighteen wiener dogs.

The wiener dogs are what did me in.

The project manager told me that the freelance acd, who'd been on the job and immersed in the culture of Toyota and Saatchi for a staggering total of two days, wanted to talk to me about the copy. I asked what the problem was, and she rolled her eyes and said I'd better speak to him myself.

So I called him. Here's how the conversation went:

Me: Hey, what's up?

Him: I wanted to talK to you about the Matrix copy.

Me: Okay.

Him: Here, where you say "wiener dogs", you're talking about dachshunds right?

Me: Yep.

Him: Well there could be some confusion between that and hot dogs. (by the way, that wasn't the stupid comment, although definitely a close second).

Me: I don't think it'll be a problem. Look - you're a bright guy, you figured it out.

Him: Well, the other thing I'm really worried about is that PETA might come after us. (THAT was the comment.)

I couldn't help myself - it just came tumbling out.

Me: Are you f#$&ing kidding me?!

Him: Well you know Toyota is a big target with deep pockets, and I'd hate to have PETA all over us for this. (Third runner up.)

Me: First of all, driving small dogs in a car isn't animaL abuse. And second, I'm pretty sure PETA has better things to do than go looking through Matrix brochures for things to sue over.

Him: Alright, I'm still worried, but go ahead and use your best judgement.

Me: I already did, but thanks.

Now I know I sounded a little hostile. But the stupid needle was way in the red, and, as anyone who knows me will tell you, I have a low threshold. Especially when it's coming from the new kId on the block.

Funny thing is apparently the new kid had a low threshold for my hostility, and the next day, out of the blue, my services as well as Lori's were no longer needed.

So there you go. It would've been nice to finish the gig, but judging from this one conversation we both had sized up each other pretty quickly: he was going to continue to say unbelievably stupid, chickens#&t comments, and I was going to keep calling him on it.

I don't know if this person is a good writer or not. I know he's had a lot of automotive experience. I may have just been on the receiving end of one incredibly stupid comment in an otherwise brilliant career. And now that some time has goNe by, even though I know there's no chance he's reading this, I want him to know I wish him luck no matter where his journey takes him.

Unless it takes him to an agency I'm working at.

Then I wish he just shuts his trap and gets out of the way.

A game of tagline.

My pal Rich writes a cripplingly funny blog of his own called Round Seventeen. And more than once, he's posted on the always fun, highly debatable subject of taglines. For example here and here.

All copywriters approach taglines with mixed feelings of excitement and possibility, as well as pain and frustration. The pressure is always on trying to come up with that elusive combination of 2 to 7 words that will perfectly, humorously/dramatically, instantly and memorably encapsulate the essence of a brand.

We're all hoping for the next Think Different. Just Do It. Got Milk. And we've all written thousands of lines looking for it.

Eventually, we hit the wall at one point or another.

That's why I'm so excited to share what will inevitably be a valuable resource.

I've discovered a man, nay, a guru, we can now turn to for the tagline help we all so desperately need now and again.

He calls himself the Tagl!ne Guru. I can tell he's excited about that title because he put an exclamation point right there where the "i" should be (Get it? Like an upside down "i").

You don't do that if you're not excited about something.

I know what you're thinking: what's the Tagl!ne Guru's tagline? I had the same question. Obviously, anyone who's narrowed down their copywriting expertise to such a specific aspect of the craft, and who positions themself as a guru, clearly isn't going to go for a cheap, smarmy, punny line any junior copywriter fresh out of ad school with a book and a dream could come up with.

Gurus don't settle for that.

Instead, I'm guessing the Tagl!ne Guru will have a pithy, memorable, awesome line that will have every copywriter reading this slapping his/her forehead and wishing he/she had come up with.

But I could be wrong about that.

Now I know why it's called Tide

Here's one of my dirty little secrets. Okay, not so dirty. I love doing laundry.

I can't really explain it, other than this: to me, laundry is like a good story. It has a beginning, middle and end.

As an advertising copywriter, I'm not used to things having an end. I'm used to them going on forever and ever, revision upon revision, with everyone including focus groups, the client's wife and the cleaning lady on three opening their big, stupid, gaping pieholes and chiming in with their unqualified opinions about how their ad - the one that I've just slaved over and honed to gleaming perfection until 3 in the morning - should be rewritten and why what it's saying isn't the way it should be said.

Okay, I may have digressed.

Anyway, when the spin cycle is finished, the genuine feeling of satisfaction and accomplishment is just getting started.

Washing machines are like cars to me. I know how to run them, but I don't know how to fix them. So when my 12 year-old Whirlpool Heavy Capacity 8-cycle 2-speed top-loading washer decided to spring a leak and turn our small laundry room into an indoor pool, needless to say I found myself momentarily baffled.

Keeping my wits about me, I leapt into action. I called my son in and had him clean it up. Once he was done I told him to wash the towel. He didn't appreciate the irony.

Fortunately we have an extended warranty on our creaky old washer. I just called it in and the guy came out. After checking the washer thoroughly, he made his diagnosis and said I had a leak in my drainage hose.

I get that a lot.

Sadly he didn't have the part on the truck. But he was able to do a temporary repair using what I like to call "the miracle of duct tape." When the part comes in I'll call again and have him install it.

Until then I'll be at the laundromat, my fist full of quarters, writing my story.

Then folding it.