Taking one for the team

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Of all the snappy little phrases that get tossed around in ad agencies, and God knows there are plenty of ‘em, the one I like least is “team player.”

Now, before you start getting your panties in a bunch, wagging your finger, stammering and screaming, “I knew it!” you might want to hear me out. Then again you might not.

My life will go on either way.

Anyway, just because I don’t like the term doesn’t mean I’m not one. For instance, I’m also not a fan of the phrase “slightly overweight” or "distinguished gray" but, well, never mind. Bad examples. The point is, as much as it goes against my grain, I’m a team player when I need to be.

New business presentations? My sleeves are rolled up, and I’m banging out manifestos and taglines faster than Bret Kavanaugh driving to a liquor store at closing time.

Client meetings? Point me towards the bagels and let me loose. I love presenting, the bigger the room the better. I have a slightly different way of measuring if it’s been a good meeting. Here it is: If I get the big laugh, it was a successful meeting. I know some people think if we sell the work or get the account that’s actually the measure of success.

Whatever. To each their own.

The off-campus pep talk/morale boosting/team building meetings? You don't have to ask me twice. I’d be there even if there weren’t luxury buses to shuttle me, and free food and liquor after. I just wouldn’t stay as long.

Where I seem to be unable to muster up one for the team is Halloween. To me, October 31st at agencies is like personalized license plates: once you’ve seen the costumes, the joke’s over. What starts out at 9 with everyone oohing and ahhhing over the costume you made winds up with everyone tired of looking at it by 9:30.

However, I have nothing but love for the team I work with. So when they decided our group would dress up as characters from iconic 90's movies, even though all my Jedi instincts were screaming no, I decided I'd do it.

I thought it would be good for me to get over my bad attitude and insecurities—and I know what you're thinking: besides my weight, bank balance, increased memory loss, receding hairline, bad skin tone, limited wardrobe, nine-year old car, complete inability to fix the simplest things around the house, having to wear glasses, feeling like an outsider, not liking sports and, did I mention weight, what do I have to be insecure about?

Perhaps I've said too much. You never read this.

The point is I eventually decided to come to work as one of my favorite characters and perpetual profile photo on Facebook—The Dude from The Big Lebowski.

I found an exact match for the Dude's bathrobe. I went not to a pop up Halloween store, but to a professional wig shop and got my long hair locks like the Dude. I bought L'Oreal Light Brown Root Control spray to match the Dude's hair color (I'll probably be hanging on to that). I bought the sunglasses and brown flip-flops to complete the look.

I was ready and set, but I didn't go. I just couldn't do it.

Was it that the look wasn't as exact and perfect as I wanted it to be? Or was it that I couldn't get past the image of me wearing a white t-shirt under the robe that, well, remember the "slightly overweight" phrase? Talk amongst yourselves.

And despite the fact I could've legitimately gotten wasted downing White Russians all day, told my creative director "Well, that's just your opinion man" and said things like "That rug really tied the room together" to stay in character, it wasn't enough for me to suit up.

But not wanting to let my colleagues down, I did finally decide to come in dressed as an older, overweight, gray-haired, married Jewish guy with kids.

I know, it was a stretch. But what can I tell you. I'm a team player.

Culture club

You see a lot of sameness at Comic Con. Everywhere you look, there are people dressed up in costume, engaging in one of Merriam Webster's most recent word additions: cosplay.

For four days every July, the San Diego Convention Center is lousy with Stormtroopers, Ghostbusters, Jokers, Batmans, Supermans, Laura Crofts, Sleeping Beautys, Spidermans, Harley Quinns, Wolverines, Harry Potters, every character from Game Of Thrones and more. They are collectively all part of what the press likes to smugly dub "The Nerd Culture."

The word "culture" has become the go to adjective to describe large groups of people who generally share the same interests, have the same collective experience or do the same thing, together or separately. Much in the same way "-gate" is added to even the most minuscule hint of scandal.

There's a service culture. A truth culture. Modern culture. Art culture. Social culture. Fashion culture. Hero culture. I'm even part of one—blog culture.

Ironically, there's no yogurt culture. See what I did there?

Anyway, this label seems unnecessary. In many instances, it seems the word "community" would work just fine. Besides, practitioners of nerd culture are really just pop culture lovers with more free time, fewer girlfriends and less employment than the rest of us who enjoy the occasional Iron Man film or Walking Dead Experience.

This is my tenth Comic Con, and I've spoken to a lot of the people who attend over the years. Here's where I net out (pardon the ad lingo): if "nerd culture" means feeling confident enough to enthusiastically express how much you love a certain art form, having the freedom not to care what anyone thinks, retaining the innocence to believe there is still heroism left in the world and people are capable of rising to their better selves, then I only have one thing to say.

I'm all for it.

Packing for the Con

Tomorrow is the day it all starts. Well, the night actually.

Even though Comic Con doesn't officially begin until Thursday, tomorrow night is Preview Night. The costumed crowds get admitted to the Convention Center in the early evening to get a jump on the weekend crowds walking the floor and picking up some merchandise.

Of course I'll be there.

So that means tonight I have to pack. It's something I've never quite learned to do right. You'd think being in advertising and with all the boondoggles...er...business trips I've taken I'd be better at it. I'm not unskilled in the sense I don't know how to organize a suitcase. It's my approach to the job.

I pack on the Just In Case theory. You know, just in case there's a hurricane or blizzard in San Diego. Just in case we're hit by a tornado. Just in case we're invaded by aliens, which at Comic Con is a definite possibility.

Here's what's happened every year I've gone: I drag my overstuffed suitcase to the hotel, and proceed to wear the same pair of shorts for four days. All I really need is four t-shirts (yes Rich, black ones), four pairs of underwear, four pairs of socks, a sweatshirt and sneakers. Maybe a clean pair of jeans, a nice pair of shoes and a collared shirt if I want to go eat somewhere nice.

But when you're in restaurants during Comic Con, and finally seated after a two and a half hour wait, it's not unusual at all to find yourself sitting next to Spartans, Batman, those guys from Game Of Thrones and Loki. Dressing nice becomes a relative term.

So I'll give it another shot this year, with the hope I can be a little more economical in how much I take with me.

Frankly, I think the bigger challenge will be closing the suitcase with this in it.