Turkey time

Thanksgiving. The day we all come together to celebrate a uniquely American tradition: carb-loading like we’re prepping for the Olympics.

Every year, we gather around the table, and swear “this time I won’t overeat.” Cut to an hour later: you're sprawled out on the couch, pants unbuttoned, clutching your stomach like you're smuggling a watermelon.

It starts innocently enough. You sip a little wine, nibble on an appetizer— maybe a rogue deviled egg. Then the turkey arrives, and it's bigger than your first apartment. Followed by the mashed potatoes, stuffing, cranberry sauce, green bean casserole and the perennial mac and cheese.

And let’s not forget those soft, buttery Kings Hawaiian Rolls that seem harmless until you’ve inhaled six of them in under sixty seconds. You tell yourself you’ll space it out, but last year you didn’t get thirds on pumpkin pie and that’s not happening again.

Then there’s the conversation, the yearly revival of the same script, performed live by your family.

First, the weather commentary. Wherever you live, someone will complain it’s too hot, cold, rainy, or windy. Next there’s the politics grenade. Someone throws it in the middle of the table like a Molotov cocktail, and everyone braces for impact.

“If I ran the country things would be different,” says an uncle who couldn’t run a lemonade stand without losing money. Five minutes later, we’re knee-deep in a debate over whether pineapple belongs on pizza (it doesn’t).

And yet, as the night winds down, the vibe changes. Everyone settles into quiet resignation of a food coma. Maybe it’s the tryptophan, or the second bottle of wine. But something unexpected starts welling up inside. Gratitude.

Not the hashtag kind of gratitude, where you post a filtered photo of pie with a caption about “feeling so blessed.” This is the raw, messy gratitude that sneaks up on you when you’re hit with the realization these are your people, and you wouldn’t trade them for the world.

And there it is. The point of Thanksgiving. It isn’t to be perfect. Or poised. Or even politically correct. It’s to show up. To gather. To try.

So, this Thanksgiving, embrace the chaos, the carbs, and the conversations. And when you’re lying on the couch, full to the brim with turkey and love, remember: you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Even if you did promise yourself you’d only eat one roll.

Encore post: The right attitude

This year, Thanksgiving is going to be filled with more gratitude than most, starting with the fact we finally get to gather around the table again with family and friends. Like Joni Mitchell said, "You don't know what you've got til it's gone." The pandemic Thanksgivings reminded us of what we had. And, thankfully, have again.

So let's take this day to reflect on our blessings, hold those here and gone in our hearts, be thankful for all we have, and plot how we're going to slice a bigger piece of pumpkin pie without anyone noticing. Pro tip: turn on the TV and ask if anyone wants to watch the parade. That usually gives you a few minutes alone with the pie.

You're welcome. Happy Thanksgiving.

I don't think there's anyone who knows me, as much as anyone can know anyone, who'd argue the fact that I've gotten complaining down to an art form. I'm not proud.

Anyway, I thought it'd be good for me and everyone within earshot if I tried developing a different skill. So I'm choosing gratitude.

It's dawned on me, more than once, that in the scheme of things - the big picture - I have it pretty damn good in almost every area of my life. Not as good as some, but I'd be willing to bet better than most. And it's not that I'm ungrateful - quite the opposite in fact. But what I do know is I could make a more frequent habit of practicing gratitude. Maybe turn it into an everyday thing, because everyday, there's something to be grateful for.

It could start every morning. My pal Cameron always says any day above ground is a good day. So waking up each morning seems like a good thing to be grateful for.

I don't work in insurance or the fast food industry. I don't work on an assembly line. Not that there's anything wrong with those necessary jobs or the essential people that work hard in them. But I'm grateful I have a job that lets me make up stuff and dress like a fifteen-year old everyday.

I could've wound up working with a bunch of stiffs, boring people who make the long days even more excruciating than they already are. Instead, (almost) no matter which agency I'm at, I'm grateful I get to work with some of the funniest, most creative people in any business.

My wife and kids are healthy and love me.

My two dogs are healthy and love me.

My neighbors are healthy.

I'm finding it's doing me good to have an attitude of gratitude, even for the little things.

Finding a parking space when I turn in the lot.

Not having to wait in the slow line at the market.

Walking up to the washer just as it finishes the cycle.

I'm grateful for my friends, who support, encourage and uplift me in all my endeavors and wild schemes. I mean my current friends. I cut the whiners and complainers loose long ago - no time for them. I'm grateful I did that as well.

So that's all I wanted to say. No snarky post, no quippy little end line tonight. I'll wrap it up by saying I'm grateful to everyone who reads this on a regular, semi-regular or occasional basis.

That's it. Now I'm done with this post.

See? I even gave you something to be grateful for.

Goodbye Joe

Even though the year is still young, we’ve already lost some of the greats. Christopher Plummer. Cicely Tyson. Cloris Leachman. Hal Holbrook. And today we lost another, although famous in a different way.

Joe Allen died today.

Joe was a restauranteur whose Broadway restaurant in New York became the pre and post show place to dine. Civilians and celebrities alike came for the stellar menu, which changed daily, and the casual yet pampering service that just made you feel special.

Adorning the exposed brick walls were posters not of the hit plays New York audiences and tourists enjoyed, but the flops that opened and quickly closed—often on the same night.

When the wife and I were in NY a few years ago waiting to see Noel Coward's Present Laughter with Kevin Kline (who won the Tony for it), as usual we wanted to have our pre-show meal at Joe Allen’s. We didn’t have reservations, but we thought we’d give it a shot.

While we were waiting to speak to the host, it became obvious the person in front of us didn’t have reservations either. When he was told he couldn’t be seated he got quite irate and asked the host for his name.

The host said his name was Elizabeth Montgomery

The man left the restaurant, and when we walked up to the stand the first thing I said to him was, “Miss Montgomery I just want you to know we’re big fans of yours.” He gave me a wink and said, “Two? Right this way.”

For years there was a west coast Joe Allen’s on 3rd Street in Los Angeles. It was always one of my favorite restaurants for dates, meetings or just hanging out. I remember having lunch there on the patio with my friend Kevin Nealon years ago, and he started telling me about this sketch he and Dana Carvey had come up with about two Arnold-like bodybuilders named Hans and Franz.

So as you can imagine, I left the lunch feeling pretty pumped up.

Anyway, even at 87-years old, closing night came too soon for Joe. But we find some comfort knowing his restaurant will go on being a Broadway institution. And you can be sure my wife and I will always be there whenever we’re in town.

And on the lookout for Elizabeth Montgomery.

Eating healthier

If you work in an agency, you already know you're surrounded by many things.

Foam core. Account planners. Knit beanies. T-shirts with ironic sayings. Storyboards. Conference rooms. Ideas both great and wretched. Millennials. Broken printers. And, most importantly, food.

Agencies can come up short on the big idea, results, deadlines and insights. But one thing they're never wanting for is food.

It comes in all forms: leftovers from client and vendor meetings, food brought in for late night work (allegedly) sessions, donuts because someone felt breakfast is the most important meal. And when you work in an agency that has it's own café and barista, there are always snacks.

Snacks come in two forms: unhealthy, and the illusion of healthy. I prefer the illusion of healthy. For example today I had these. They're made with real fruit. They have 100% of my daily vitamin C requirement. Fat free. And gluten free, which means you can eat them in Los Angeles.

Right under the banner that reads Mixed Fruit is the disclaimer Natural and Artificial Fruit.

Well sure, but there's nothing artificial about the way these little gummy fruits taste.

I suppose if I was under oath I'd have to admit there are apples, bananas and those little Cutie tangerines on the counter next to the cookies, chips, candy and these "fruit mix" packs.

But then again, no one's under oath here.

The finish line. Again.

Five years ago, I put up this post about my run up to the new year.

Sad to say it's a relevant now as it was then.

Sure, I could've thought up a brand new post to start the new year off. But then I would've had to put down my bagel with cream cheese and lox, cookies, egg quiche and homemade waffles.

Of course I wasn't eating them all at once. But every time it occurred to me to get a post up, I did seem to have something in my hands on the way to my mouth.

Anyway, tomorrow or the day after I'll start bringing the funny with brand new posts again. In the meantime, please to enjoy this gem one more time.

I'm going to get dessert.

I do it every year. The resolution about losing weight. And before the clock strikes midnight on New Year's, I also do something else every year.

I pack it away like Oprah in a cupcake factory.

I'm not proud. I'm not hungry either.

It's just that I know with the resolution made and the food deadline looming, I want to make sure and stuff my face while I still can.

Without the least bit of the restraint or will-power I've resolved to exhibit in the new year, the run up to midnight is filled with cramming down every last bit of sugar-filled, cholesterol-causing, artery-clogging, waist-growing, clothes-tightening, mirror-avoiding food I can possibly get my hands and mouth on.

I'm like a runaway train. Except my train is all dining cars.

I know what you're thinking - it can't possibly be that bad. The reason I know is because that's what I thought too. Right up until I got on the scale this morning.

Truth be told, it's not quite as dire and desperate as I've made it sound. And even if it were, it's a new year and I'm on it.

After all, I made a resolution. What could possibly go wrong?

Meat of the matter

Let's start off by saying my vegan and vegetarian pals aren't going to take kindly to this post. So you may as well mosey on to the next blog until tomorrow's serving.

No matter how you slice it, if you know nothing about cuts of meat when you get to Austin you will by the time you're heading out.

The Salt Lick. Franklin's. Lambert's. There's no shortage of bbq places here and everyone seems to have a favorite. So far mine is Lambert's, but only because I haven't had five hours to kill waiting in line at Franklin's.

Sure Austin's a town known for its music, restaurants, art community and, as my checkbook knows all to well, its university. But it's also known for the fact you can look as far as the eye can see, and you won't find an iron-deficient person anywhere.

I've had more brisket, pulled pork and ribs in the last five days than I've had in my entire life - each bite more delicious than the next. I'm sure some of you are thinking that's a lot of meat to be eating. Don't worry. I've been wielding my Lipitor almost as much as my steak knife.

Others might be saying I don't have to order meat every time. I could order something healthy like a salad. Well, in case you forgot, this is Texas. That's just crazy talk.

My love of smokey meats (by the way, Smokey Meats - one of the best jazz musicians ever) won't come as a surprise to anyone who knows a few years ago, my good friends Tena Olson, Alan Otto and I were going to start an ad agency called The Beefery. We had t-shirts and hats made, and used the butcher chart you see above as our logo, only instead of labeling the cuts, we replaced them with snappy ad-related items.

After a lot of meatings at Starbucks about how we were going to get the agency going, we finally put the idea out to pasture. We did however continue the meetings at Starbucks, you know, because why not.

Anyway, I've decided to cut way back on my meat consumption starting tomorrow.

In fact I just may cut back on food consumption in general before that picture of the cow has my face on it.

Squirrels love HBO

Two days ago, I get a call from my wife. Nothing unusual about that - we talk frequently. I'd probably talk to her a lot even if we weren't married, although I imagine we'd talk about different things.

I may be getting off topic here.

Anyway, as happens every once in awhile, the internet at the house had gone out. So adopting my best Apple Care/Charter Cable rep voice, I walked her through the reseting everything process that always gets it back up and running.

Well, almost always. Not this time.

Of course, the moment that the internet went down just happened to be the exact moment when she needed it to get some important work done. Joking, she said, "I guess the squirrels have been eating the cable line."

I think you see where this is going.

We called Charter, and scheduled a service call for the next day. When the guy came out, he realized that the problem wasn't in the house, but on the line coming into the house.

Come to find out three other houses on the block lost cable service. The reason? Squirrels eating the cable lines.

Apparently squirrels chomping on basic cable is a common problem that just took a while for us to experience. I know from my German Shepherd going crazy and barking out the window that the squirrels use the power and cable lines in the neighborhood for their personal freeway to get around.

I just didn't know they also used them for dinner.

Anyway, they - the cable company, not the squirrels - had one of the main streets blocked off for about four hours while they replaced the damaged cable and got everybody their Daily Show and Food Channel again.

There's a joke here somewhere about how nuts it is that squirrels would eat cable. It's right there in front of me, but I'm not going for it.

Guess I'm not that cheeky.

Bacon makes everything better

Sometimes answers to the most complicated problems are sitting (sizzling) right in front of you.

Since my annual vacation to the Hotel Del in August and snowballing right through the just-ended holiday season, it's been nothing but a non-stop food fest. And along with my scale, I have to say I've been a willing participant in all of it.

To paraphrase Brad Pitt in Inglorious Basterds, "We're in the business of eating. And business is booming."

While it may seem like it, all that holiday food isn't free. The price of it all is the stress of the season, the family jousts before, during and after dinner, the shopping conundrums that never seem to end and the overall deja vu-iness of the whole thing.

But you know what makes it all better? Bacon.

I know what you're thinking. Well here's the answer: I don't care. In the fight between Judaism and bacon, in this house bacon wins. And I don't even feel bad about it. You know why?

Because bacon makes everything better.

In fact, there's an entire website - jews4bacon.com - devoted to the whole "why not?" argument.

Well, it's actually less a website than a link to a store (go figure) with funny jews4bacon merchandise.

Crispy or greasy, dry or fatty (the bacon, not me), on a plate or a paper towel - it's all awesome.

The other thing is the nutritional value: it doesn't have any. So it goes with virtually every diet (that almost sounded like it made sense).

No matter how often I wave the bacon flag, the argument persists as it has for ages: can the concept of bacon be taken too far?

Hell, I was just jokin' with you. Of course it can't. Bacon toothpaste? Bring it. And if you bring it on a plate on top of a paper towel, even better.

Now, I don't want to seem insensitive to my vegetarian, vegan and PETA-sympathizing friends. I understand your point of view. I saw the movie Babe. But I didn't invent the food chain, and I can't help it if we're at the top of it. Besides, I think Babe and friends would be happy knowing how much pleasure their sacrifice is bringing to the human race.

Like it says on the poster, "A little pig goes a long way."

The best words I heard this season weren't Merry Christmas. They were, "The house smells like bacon."

And even though you can see it coming down 7th Avenue, there's only one way I can possibly end this post.

That's all folks.