Reclaiming my time

If you know anything about me, and if you don’t by now you have no one but yourself to blame, you know that for the most part, in life and online, I'm a social butterfly. I comment, I post, I joke, I engage.

What I also do is scroll, sometimes doomscroll, first thing when I get up and last thing before I go to bed. If I'm up in the middle of the night—did I say if? I meant when—I also take a look at what I might’ve missed since I went to bed.

I’ve spent too many hours, way too many hours, going down a YouTube rabbit hole. And even though I’ve now seen every version in existence of Springsteen singing Twist & Shout, all the Breaking Bad and Friends blooper reels and discovered some of my favorite artists I wouldn’t have known about otherwise (Paul Thorn, John Moreland), I’m not getting those hours back.

So I’m reclaiming my time. I’m going on a social media cleanse for a bit, and see if I can’t put that reclaimed time to better use. SPOILER ALERT: I know I can.

I have close friends who've found themselves in Facebook jail for thirty days, and at first it sounded awful. But right now, honestly, no Facebook for thirty days sounds like heaven.

My friend and great writer Kathy Hepinstall, who's probably written another book in the time it's taken you to read this sentence, signed off of Facebook for good awhile ago. I didn't get it then, but now I recognize that, as usual, she was ahead of her time.

The first step will be to delete the Facebook, Messenger, Twitter and Instagram apps from my phone. I'm all about easy, but if I want back on I'm going to make myself work for it. And I'm not looking for more work.

As much as I'd like it to be, it won’t be an entirely cold turkey withdrawal. I'll still post the occasional link to my Rotation and Balance blogpost, but only because my seven readers demand it. What I won't do is sneak back on to see how many people liked it, cause seriously, where's the percentage in that?

Because I do what I do for a living, I’m expected to maintain a certain level of social media awareness. So occasionally I'll look but not comment. I’ll be stealthy, ninja-like and silent—just like you wish I was in real life.

You won’t even know I’m there. And I won’t be unless my job absolutely requires me to take a look.

I realize this is going to put a big dent in my wishing you a happy birthday/happy anniversary game, but it's the price I'll have to pay. And just to make sure I don't miss yours, happy birthday and happy anniversary in advance.

One of my best friends since elementary school has never been on Facebook. Never had an account, never logged on. I asked him about it one time, and he said, “Don’t worry, I’ll be your friend in real life.”

So, if you need to get hold of me, you can always text or email. We can even set up a time to have a meal, face-to-face. I realize you'll have to change out of pajamas to meet me, but that's just the price of being my friend.

Anyway, not a total goodbye to social media, just so long for now.

And of course, like a wise man once told me, I'll still be your friend in real life.

Rediscovering Raymond

Here’s how our sitcom rotation goes (I like using the word “rotation” for obvious reasons).

It started with nightly mini-binges of Seinfeld. Every night from 10 to 11pm, channel 13 runs back-to-back episodes, and the wife and I would watch them while we were struggling to arrange the five-thousand pillows on the bed before falling asleep (don’t get me started).

The problem is in that particular syndication package, there are only a limited number of episodes, which means they keep running the same ones over and over. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. It’s just that they're not as funny when you see it for the tenth time within three weeks.

So we made the move from the corner restaurant to Central Perk. Nick At Nite fills their evening lineup with episode after episode of Friends from about 8pm to midnight every night. Could it be more entertaining?

But while NAN runs more Friends episodes, if you watch them long enough you wind up with the same issue. So we decided to pivot and take a break from Friends.

While we were using the clicker to run down the channels to see what else we could binge, we discovered every evening at 8pm TV Land runs a whole bunch of Everybody Loves Raymond. It was like striking comedy gold. We’d forgotten how out-and-out hilarious, relatable and pitch perfect Raymond is. It ran for 9 years, and though it's not often mentioned in the same breath as those other two sitcoms, it's one of the best and funniest that ever was.

One of the ways you can tell how brilliant it is on every level is the fact many of the most hilarious scenes take place with the five main characters—Ray (Ray Romano), Debra (Patricia Heaton), Frank (Peter Boyle), Marie (Doris Roberts) and Robert (Brad Garrett)—just sitting on the couch or at the kitchen table just talking. Not walking around, not gesturing wildly, not being contrived. Just talking.

It’s testimony to the brilliant writing and talent of this finely tuned cast.

I know Seinfeld is a staple for a lot of people, and what with the reunion, the sad, not so funny reunion, it’s been the year of Friends again. But if you're looking for some genuine laughs you didn't even know you had, I can’t recommend enough that you drop in on the Barone family.

As Frank would say, "Holy crap is that a funny show!"

With friends like these

Say what you will about advertising…no, really, say what you will. I’ll wait here. Okay, now that you’ve got it out of your system we’ll begin.

Advertising has lots of currencies depending on what time of day it is. Sometimes the currency is liquor. Occasionally it’s pizza. Once in awhile it’s the camaraderie that can only come from sitting in a dark, cold edit bay for 57 hours straight.

But the most valuable, most consistent currency in the biz is, always has been and always will be relationships.

There’s an old idiom (Who’re you calling an idiom? – BAM!) that tells you to be nice to people on the way up cause you’ll see the same ones on the way down.

Funny story. The other day I ran into someone where I’m working who I worked with at another agency. I haven’t seen this person in about three years, but he recognized me and greeted me like we were long lost war buddies, shaking my hand like it was an Arkansas water pump and asking how I was. He could not have been happier to see me.

I actually felt sorry for him, because - even though I'm not a doctor - I could tell immediately he was suffering from an serious case of amnesia. At that other agency, he was a creative director and I was a freelance copywriter. Many times I had occasion to present work to him, only to have it shot down in what I would consider an unnecessarily arrogant and rude manner.

Clearly, his amnesia has made him forget that when we worked together, he treated me like, oh, what’s the word…oh yes. Shit.

My guess, and I'm going out on a limb here, is that his newfound fondness for me is because he was unceremoniously fired from that other agency, and has been forced to take a sudden deep dive into the freelance pool. Waters which I've been swimming in for a long time.

But, and here's an example of how much I've grown and how mature I can be if I really try, I want to give him the same benefit of the doubt I hope anyone would give me. He may be a different person now than when we worked together. Perhaps he's grown as an individual and creative person. He might be more confident in his talents, and therefore has no reason to treat people the way he treated me in the past.

So I'm going to step up, put my big boy pants on, be the bigger man and let bygones be bygones.

I know you're waiting for the zinger put down at the end here. But not today. Today I'm about forgiveness and generosity to someone who treated me badly in the past.

Which is why I'm not telling him my day rate. It would only upset him.

The One About the Theme Song

I know this probably won't come as a shock to you, but I've been bingeing a TV show. The only surprise is that it isn't Breaking Bad. This time it's Friends.

Like everyone, I was a fan of the show the first time around. But now, with my newly discovered insomnia, I stumbled onto Nick At Nite, which apparently is the all-Friends-all-the-time channel late into the night. Which means I hear I'll Be There For You—the show's theme song—in all its poppy, catchy, AM-friendly glory several times a night.

And it got me to thinking about the Rembrandts, the group who sings it. The song originally appeared as a hidden bonus track on their third album when the Friends producers decided it'd be the perfect song for the show.

Could the song have BEEN any bigger? The first year it was the top selling single in the country, and suddenly a little-known group skyrocketed to stardom.

Just to refresh your memory about how big it was, have a look at the official Friends theme song video, starring the Rembrandts and the entire cast. (Fun fact: Courtney Cox is really playing the drums):

I also found a more recent video of the band playing their hit song. It's a more stripped down, acoustic version. A little less frantic, a lot less star power. Oddly enough, the song—and their voices—hold up well. I find myself thinking it actually has a subtle poignancy overlaying its hopeful and optimistic message.

But then again, I haven't been getting a lot of sleep.

See you next year

As we wrap up another spin around the sun, I can't help but feel uncharacteristically optimistic about what the next decade has in store for us all.

First and foremost, I believe a return to sanity is coming in November, when the unstable genius is voted out of office (according to the actual count he wasn't voted in - don't get me started), and forced to wear even more orange as he's perp walked out of the White House to a solitary jail cell in upstate New York with neither a gold toilet or internet connection.

Before that happens, I'm hoping as the new decade begins Nancy Pelosi will hold the articles of impeachment from the senate until the traitor-in-chief gives his Hate Of The Union speech. But only because I think a meltdown of that magnitude on national television would be once in a lifetime, very entertaining, and probably something even the red caps and mint julep senator from South Carolina couldn't ignore.

On a more personal note, I'm grateful for many things that happened this past year, not the least of which are the friends I made at my last gig (you know who you are). I anticipate many of those relationships getting even closer now that they can flourish in much saner, more fun and healthier environments. Not that advertising agencies aren't healthy environments (pausing to make my eyes stop rolling).

Also grateful I don't have to see certain people every day anymore. Well, mainly that one guy.

I'm also planning on bringing some projects I've kept on the back burner to a full boil this year. A screenplay based on my favorite book. Another based on a sci-fi story from a famous author that I'm this close to getting the rights to. And a script for a show with one of my aforementioned friends, who is a far better, funnier and talented writer than I am (you know who you are). Oh are those your coattails? Yeah, I can hang on.

Crap, I just put it in writing. Does that mean I have to do it? I mean, no one's under oath here.

Anyway, if there's ever been a year where you could say, "There's nowhere to go but up" this is it. Here's wishing you and yours best year ever. I hope it's everything you want it to be.

Except that one guy.

Nothing but grateful

Despite the fact I’m an only child and the world revolves around me (that’s just science, look it up), I’ve always had a grateful heart and a thankful attitude. I appreciate there’s one day a year designated for celebrating our gratitude, but I think a better approach is to practice it everyday.

Ok, so it’s not going to be my funniest post.

Anyway, between the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade hosted by Savannah Guthrie and Hoda Kotb (It’s the Riverside City College marching band!) and the generically titled National Dog Show (where the German Shepherd came in fourth – rigged), I started thinking about things I’m grateful for, not just today but everyday.

I know what you’re thinking: is he going to tell us or not? I won't keep you in suspense - I am.

I’m grateful for my wife and children. I’d say they somehow manage to put up with my craziness and idiosyncracies and love me in spite of them, except that—and they’d be the first to tell you this—I’m the perfect husband and father. I know, they can hardly believe it either.

I’m grateful I enjoy almost all the people I work with. They’re creative, funny, smart and they challenge me in a positive way to raise my game. I spend a lot of my life with them, so it’s a good thing I feel that way. Except for that one guy—he’s a total asshat.

Grateful for my long-time friends, the one’s I’ve known forever and even though I don’t see as much as I like, can pick up right where we left off. The conversation usually goes something like this: ME: Hey, remember that $500 I loaned you that time we were in Vegas? THEM: I’m pretty sure I paid you back. ME: You didn’t. THEM: Huh. Ok. When I get home I’ll get it to you. (Fast forward ten years) ME: Remember that $500 I loaned you that time we were in Vegas?

I’m grateful for my good health. Despite having to do a little more maintenance than I used to, I’m in pretty good shape. Could stand to lose a few pounds, but I don’t think this is the day to be thinking about that. In fact, I probably won’t worry about it until after the Olympic trials.

So grateful for my dogs. Unconditional love in both directions. They’re both beautiful and smart, but they still don’t pick up after themselves in the yard. If they only knew how many treats were waiting for them if they ever do.

I’m grateful my dear friend, ex-office wife and person who encouraged me to start blogging (blame her) Janice has been declared the winner in her bout with cancer. She’s someone I love and hold in my heart in a way reserved for a special few, and a world without her just would not have been acceptable.

I can’t name all my friends here—not because I have so many, I’m just bad with names—but if I'm lucky enough to call you my friend, know that I am grateful for you every day of the year. Each of you in your own way make my life richer and more frustrating. I meant meaningful.

Finally, I’m grateful for Robert Mueller. And I hope with all my might to be even more grateful to him very soon.

Happy Thanksgiving to all.

Body of work

When my pal Rich Siegel first saw this picture, his reaction was I should wear a hat more often. I know (think) he was kidding, but the funny part is even though I know that fabulous looking, thin, brutally handsome, dark haired guy on the left is me, or a former version of me, in my mind's eye I see myself as the guy on the right. I have issues.

Anyway, what you're looking at would be the before picture of me. Today's after picture would be an older—and by older I mean more distinguished and attractive—grayer (my dad went gray at 25, I never stood a chance), fuller version of myself. But nowhere near as full as the gentleman on the right.

Of course I'd be wearing black in both pictures, because, you know, black.

In my head, I've always felt like I was overweight, even though much to my everlovin' surprise I keep stumbling on to more pictures that prove otherwise. So the question is if I was that thin once, could I be that thin again?

And I'm starting to think the answer is fuck yeah.

For starters, it's not like someone stuck an air hose up my ass, tattooed Goodyear on it and sent me flying. I'm carrying slightly more weight than I should be, and might I add carrying it quite well. But I am getting tired of my doctor and my pants telling me to lose a little. So I'm making small, manageable changes to my routine I think will result in slow, steady progress towards getting me back into my 32-inch 34-inch waist pants that have been hanging in back of my closet since, well, that's not important right now. I know it's an ambitious goal, but if we can put a man on the moon...

Here are a few of the steps I'm taking to look as thin as Chandler did on season 3 of Friends.

Soda is off the menu. Mostly.

I've always loved Coke. And I used to drink a lot of it, but not so much anymore. I now go almost all week long without having one, or any soda for that matter, and try to stick strictly to water (preferably lemon flavored and carbonated). Sure I might have a sip or two of my son's soda at the movies on the weekend, but he gives me the side eye when I ask, doesn't like to share, and lets out a disapproving, judgmental sigh because I know he thinks it's just hastening my demise and he doesn't know where the insurance policies are. I'm just kidding. He knows exactly where they are.

Timing is everything.

Grazing used to be a 24/7 proposition. I think the electric bills were so high because of all the times I'd stand at the refrigerator with the doors open just staring, hoping something I wanted to eat would appear since the last time I opened the doors and stared. Ten minutes ago. Now, mealtimes punch a clock. Breakfast, lunch and dinner happen, with healthy snacks in between. But when dinner is over, the diner is closed and it's only water and Lipitor until morning.

Up the down staircase.

I work on the 2nd floor of my office, but I park on P2. I'll do the math for you—it works out to six flights of stairs. I'm excellent going down them, and getting better going up them, except when the weather is hot and humid. Since I sweat like Albert Brooks in Broadcast News anytime it gets over sixty degrees, I haven't abandoned the elevator just yet. But I do try to think about Rosalind Shays in L.A. Law when I press the up button, and that seems to motivate me to make the climb manually.

Staying in for lunch.

I'm a social animal. I like going out to eat, and spending tons of money I don't have on lunch. But the lunch hours they are a changin'. For a more than reasonable price, my friend Maria prepares clean meals for me to eat everyday. If you don't know, clean meals are just like healthy ones except they have flavor, fill you up and leave you excited about the next day's meal. Other people in the office have seen the meals Maria has been making for me, and asked if she can make meals for them too. She has a built in market for her budding business, and I'm ready to pony up the bucks to invest in her commercial kitchen. She's a clean-eating food empire waiting to happen.

Skipping is a good thing.

This three meals a day, food pyramid, five food groups bullshit is just the man's way of keeping you round. I'm learning to listen to my body more, which is good cause lately it's been doing a lot of talking. And it's saying, "Hey chubby, maybe you don't need lunch today." Maybe I don't. The new rule is if I'm not hungry, I'm not eating. And if I'm only a little hungry, then I just eat a little. Then I burn off some calories getting mad at my body for calling me chubby.

In addition to those steps, I'm making it a point to exercise more. I have an expensive mountain bike with flat tires sitting in the garage. I also have an expensive air compressor sitting there with it. I don't need a roadmap to see I'm minutes away from getting back in the saddle and biking all around town. Although I won't be doing it in bike shorts. No one needs to see that.

While I'm talking about exercise, I may as well mention I'm finally joining a gym. When I used to live in Santa Monica, I'd get up at six in the morning, walk over to the legendary Gold's Gym in Venice and work out surrounded by world-class body builders and steroid abusers. In fact my former personal trainer was a Mr. Nebraska. I could've found it intimidating, but instead it was inspiring. Being the Hollywood kid I am, one of the things I loved about Gold's was the occasional celebrity I'd see working out there. During the Gold's years, I like to say I worked out with Jeff Goldblum, Laura Dern, Jennifer Connelly, Keanu Reeves and the late, great Gregory Hines to namedrop a few. I'm not sure if they bragged about working out with me, but I like to think so.

Inspiration also happens on the local level. My once and always neighbor Sebastian just lost 35 lbs. and is still going. Other friends have lost weight as well, and somehow their lives seem to be going on just fine and no one appears to be going hungry.

So there you have it. I don't usually like to share about this particular topic, but I felt the picture called for it. I'm uncharacteristically optimistic, and looking forward to the new me.

But just in case things don't work out, I did ask Mr. Red Hat where he got his pants.

Cutting the cards

It's that time of year again.

The one where I'm making last minute runs to the post office for stamps, and can't stop thinking about that Seinfeld episode where George's fiancé dies from licking envelopes.

What you're looking at is this year's crop of Christmas cards. Maybe some of you loyal readers (stops to laugh for thinking anyone's loyal, or for that matter that I have readers) will be receiving one of your own in the mail. The thing is, I can't guarantee that.

There's a master list of friends and family we send cards to. But from year to year, through a series of seemingly and sometimes actually random criteria, people get added and subtracted from the list. It's like getting a home loan, a job, knowing how planes fly or bread rises. You're never exactly sure how it happens, you just know that it does.

Then there's the picture. For years the cards have had a shot of the kids, or what used to be the kids. Now they're like our kids, except bigger and older. And they're not exactly fond of having to sit for the Christmas card picture. Again. They humor us because, after all, there is car insurance, food and college tuition in play. But frankly, they'd rather we just send out cards with a picture of a surfing Santa, a wreath or lights on a tree.

I'm hopeful that doesn't come across in the picture.

Anyway, if you get a card, you're welcome. And if you don't, it's nothing personal. Try to move past the disappointment, enjoy the holiday, have a merry Christmas, and know the odds are 50/50 you'll probably get one from us next year.

Unless you wind up on the naughty list.

In defense of thoughts and prayers

Sadly there's been no shortage of horrific events where people are moved to offer thoughts and prayers to those who've been involved in them directly or indirectly. What I don't understand is the (mostly online) hostility I see about people who extend that kindness.

The argument seems to be A) it doesn't accomplish anything B) It simply isn't doing enough or C) There's no God to hear your prayers anyway.

I'm not sure where the notion that just because someone offers comfort to another in their thoughts and prayers, it means they aren't doing other things—like donating money, volunteering, taking action, protesting—at the same time.

The two actions are not mutually exclusive.

What I think happens is Republican politicians who control the government right now (hopefully not much longer) make a giant photo op out of sending thoughts and prayers, then having a moment of silence, then going back to business as usual destroying Obama's legacy and lining their pockets. They cheapen the currency of concern and compassion.

Here's the thing: I can't tell you how many times, and there have been many, when friends who are quite vocal about their atheism and skepticism haven't hesitated a nanosecond to ask me to pray or keep a good thought for their sick child or parent.

That they get a job they're up for.

They can find the right words to say to a loved one.

They can make rent.

That the dog comes home.

That the diagnosis is negative.

And when they ask, each and every time, I'm more than happy to do it.

I believe in the power of prayer, and the comfort and peace it can bring people just knowing they're being thought of and loved. I've experienced it in my own life, for example when my parents died and a close friend was dying of AIDS.

In a world that's more and more demanding and uncertain, thoughts and prayers—along with other things—is an easy, meaningful offering I can give to comfort friends or strangers who need it. I don't see the downside.

By the way, I'm fine if you don't believe it, or think I'm foolish for doing it. To each their own. I'm just not sure where the venom and vitriol come from (unless it's the asshat Republican politician posers causing it—see above).

At any rate, I think there are more important things to rage against than me offering or someone taking comfort in the fact I'm thinking about them, hoping for the best and wishing them well along with anything else I may be doing to help their cause.

But if you happen to be one of those who gets angry just seeing the title of this post, you know what I'll be doing to wish you peace and calm.

Lecture series

I know one of the things that makes life a horserace is the fact friends can sometimes have differing opinions. God knows there's only a scant few who aren't fed up with me talking about Springsteen, Breaking Bad, sushi and Vegas as much as I do. I know it, you know it and the American people know it. Yet, I love those friends anyway. I have no choice—it's right there in small print on the friendship contract.

And, because I'm also passionate about certain points of view, I completely understand someone wanting me to see things their way. Often times, after giving it some thought or reflection, I will. I'll eventually come around to their thinking.

I'm nothing if not open-minded.

There are usually two approaches people take when asking me to change my mind about something. One is objectively giving me the facts to consider, and then allowing me to consider them. The other is bludgeoning me with their opinion, especially if they know I may not be entirely on board with it, and then continuing to bludgeon me when I don't immediately come around to their point of view.

Here's which way works better for me: Spoiler Alert: it's the first one.

There's someone I've followed regularly for a long time. I get a lot of good out of their teachings, and they've helped me view the world in a more compassionate, less fearful, more confident way. But recently I've had cause to question their character, and whether I should continue investing time in them.

Here's my process. First, I consider the context of events. I listen to both sides. I take into account the good I've gotten out of it until this point. Then, I make a decision.

What I require is a little patience from the person arguing the other point of view.

And the understanding that mocking, condescending and badgering comments—because I don't instantly agree with them—make it less interesting to give their argument the consideration they'd like me to.

And that I'd like to. Because I'm nothing if not a giver.

All the continual bombardment does is crowd the field. It makes me focus on the diversion and attitude, not the topic at hand. It does not make the argument they think they're making.

I get we're in a time when passions run high, feet get dug in, lines get drawn and everything is black and white. Gray area? That's just crazy talk.

Listen, I'm not a delicate little flower, and if you're my friend and you want to rant and rave at me, have at it. I'm a big boy and I can take it. But if you want me to take it seriously, here's some free advice: there's a better approach.

Why free advice? Told you I was a giver.

You must be joking

You've got to be so careful these days.

Political correctness is the new normal, and the easily and unjustifiably offended have more recourse, retaliation and restitution available to their fragile sensibilities than ever before. Which makes it especially hard to tell an off color joke at work.

I recently worked at an agency that, thankfully, has a short memory and keeps calling me back in. Repeat business is good for business.™

Anyway, one of my friends, we'll call her Ashley, likes to binge Breaking Bad, loves Better Call Saul and has a wicked sense of humor. So hard to tell why we get along.

I have two jokes I love and will tell anyone who's willing to listen and won't sue or fire me. I knew Ashley would appreciate them, but the trick was finding a place to tell them to her. It had to be someplace we wouldn't be overheard, and somebody wouldn't be offended and decide to break a land-speed record running to HR to report me.

Although frankly I'm not sure what's so offensive about a joke that starts with, "So this bus full of Catholic schoolgirls goes over a cliff..." I know, right?

That's actually not the one I wanted to tell Ashley. That one starts with, "So this guy walks into a bar, and in the corner he sees a huge gorilla in a cage..." Even just writing the opening line it's taking everything I have to resist typing the rest of the joke.

If you see me ask me to tell it to you.

I decided we had to be on neutral turf outside the agency in order to tell it to her. Fortunately, one day we went out to a group lunch with about fifteen people. In what can only be considered a bold move, or maybe a stupid one, I decided to use all the chatter and side conversation at the table as camouflage. Then I leaned over to Ashley and told her my joke.

It got exactly the reaction I was hoping for, and she couldn't wait to tell it to her boyfriend.

Even if you're not telling off color jokes, working in agencies means using your Jedi instincts to figure out who your real friends are. Note: they're usually the ones who won't get you fired for telling a joke.

I don't have time now, but in a future post I'll tell you about the time I tried stand-up comedy ("I'll be here all week..."). Not going to say how the story ends, but you might've noticed I don't do it for a living.

Which reminds me: a rabbi, a priest and a hooker are at the Pearly Gates.

I better not. You never know who's reading this.

The right attitude

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 jobs. 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.

Tired

A lot of people would say it's manipulative of me to post a picture of a cute puppy, who's obviously so tired it can't keep its eyes open.

I agree. It would be if the picture had nothing to do with my post, which fortunately it does.

Because that's how tired (and cute) I feel tonight.

For whatever reason, I haven't slept well the past week. A couple hours at a time at most, up for an hour, then a couple more. That kind of interrupted sleep pattern, together with Friends reruns at 3:30 in the morning takes a toll. And tonight I'm paying it.

So I'm going to do something I haven't done in a very long time ("Put up an interesting post!" I heard that). I'm going to bed early.

I start a new gig tomorrow, and I want to be refreshed and ready to tackle a couple things: the assignments waiting for me, and scoping out new sushi places for lunch. Not necessarily in that order.

Anyway, as this Sunday night winds down - at least for me - let me wish you what I wish for myself: A great nights' sleep, sweet dreams and a cool breeze to carry you away on.

I'll save Scarlett Johansson and the winning lottery ticket for another post.

The Grandstands of Heaven

Every once in awhile, it occurs to me how many people I’ve lost along the way. Can you tell this isn’t going to be one of my more humorous posts?

I suppose it’s no more or less than anyone else. But on those days and nights when I let my thoughts roll around to them, it occurs to me how much I miss my dearly departed friends and family. I was trying to figure out the reason I don’t dwell on it more often than I do, and I think it’s because I still feel surrounded by them. Not in the ooo-eee-ooo kind of way, but in the “they’re never really gone, love never dies, they’re watching over me” kind of way.

I heard a great phrase the other day: the grandstands of heaven. That’s where I believe they’re all sitting, looking down and cheering me on. Of course, since they were my friends and family and probably did some traveling with me while they were here, I'm sure they're sitting in the clubhouse and not the general bleachers.

No flight too short for first class.

Right about now I’m sure some of my atheist friends are having a good laugh at this. It’ll give them something to make fun of and mock, because sometimes being content not believing in God or Heaven just isn't enough. Have at it. I love you anyway, and believe I’ll see you on the other side - even if you don’t.

Anyway, to Jim, George, Babs, Peter, Uncle Jimmy, Pete, Gommie, Jacques, Mark, Paul, Uncle Lou, Mom, Dad and the rest, since I can’t send you a thank you note (postage is outrageous) I want you to know I appreciate your continued support and love, and look forward to seeing you guys again. Not soon, but again. Save me a seat.

By the way, I heard you can eat as much of whatever you want up there and not gain weight. If that’s true, I’d appreciate one of you sending me a sign.

Maybe something like this.

Picture this

Last night was the high school graduation party for young Mr. Spielberg before he goes off to one of the top ten film schools in the country, and his good friend Trevor, who is graduating with him. It was a fun-filled evening, with many of his friends he’s literally grown up with and known all his life.

I’ve also known most of the kids there since they were in kindergarten. Which was great, because I never get enough reminders of how fast time is going by. Wasn’t it just yesterday they were asking me for 5’s instead of 20’s?

Anyway, besides the portable pizza oven catering the party, candy table, impromptu stage where my son (did I mention he plays five instruments?) sang with Trevor, was a wall with items representing who both boys were, their interests, where they’ve been and where they’re going. My boy was on the left. Trevor was on the right.

Each of our families had room for nineteen pictures. So late Saturday, we went online and had a ton of pictures printed out at Fromex. And they came out spectacularly.

The other thing they did was remind me how much I hate digital pictures. Not digital photography, just digital pictures.

Once you have the pictures in your hand, spending as much time as you want with them, they become time machines. They have the ability to take you right back to the moment they’re showing you.

I think too often we get caught up in the technology of seeing pictures on screen, and lose the meaning of the pictures themselves. I was reminded last night of something I've known but had forgotten - I'd much rather pass hard copies of pictures around than watch a digital slideshow any day of the week.

My beautiful son moves to Texas in August. But thanks to these pictures, and the many more I’ll be printing out, I’ll still be able to hold on to him.

Home alone. The sequel. Sorta. Not really.

Since this past Thursday night, I've been on my own. The family's been out of town, and it's just been me, the dogs and the goldfish. The goldfish was still alive last time I looked, although frankly, I haven't looked in a while.

Naturally, being alone for a few days is perfect fodder for a blogpost. Just like it was the first time I wrote about it.

So rather than write an entirely new post about the same subject, tonight the editorial staff at Rotation and Balance is going to do something they very rarely do. Give you an encore presentation of a post written awhile ago.

You could think of this as an opportunity to reevaluate the subject matter. Or to once again enjoy the humorous stylings. Some of you might get a kick out of a second chance to laugh at the visuals.

Then again I suppose there are always a cynical few among you who'd say I'm just too lazy to come up with something new late on a Saturday night. I'm sure people with that mindset would say I'm taking the easy way out.

To those people, I have only one thing to say: Who am I to argue.

Please to enjoy. Again.

This weekend is going to be awesome. It’s the kind of weekend a guy who’s been married as long as I have with two kids dreams about. And it doesn’t happen very often.

This weekend, the wife and daughter are away at a mother/daughter retreat they go to every year. My son, a student-council vice-president, is away on a student council overnight planning session/beach party. That can only mean one thing.

Saturday night belongs to me, and me alone. (rolling hands together) Muahhhhhh!

Here's how this weekend goes in my rich fantasy life. Since I have the place to myself, I decide to invite over 1500 of my closest friends for a wild, drunken, too-loud music, cigarette burns on the furniture, wine and beer stains on the carpet, cops have to be called kind of party. For reasons best left unsaid, there are hoists and pulleys, whipped cream and garden hoses involved. It goes until sun up.

Now here's how this weekend usually goes in my real life.

I have to make the important decision about dinner. It usually comes down to In-N-Out or Five Guys. I'm thinking this might be a Five Guys kind of Saturday. Then once I'm home, I catch up with the two nights of America's Got Talent and a week's worth of The Daily Show and The Colbert Report that have been sitting on the dvr. I'll finish my Gillian Flynn book. I'll somehow find the energy to get up off the couch and walk and feed Max, world’s greatest dog. Once that's done, I'm back on the couch and asleep by 9, a 48 Hours Mystery blaring in the background (Spoiler: the boyfriend did it).

I hope the family doesn't wake me when they come back. I'll need the rest after the weekend I'm going to have.

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.

Growing growing gone

I was trying to find a good analogy about friendship, which isn't easy for me because, as I've proven time and time again here at Rotation and Balance, analogies are like, well, they aren't my strong suit.

But I'm going to go with this one.

Think of friendship as a garden. You can come in, water it and watch it grow and flourish. Of course for it to do that, you have to tend to it on a regular basis. Which, if you appreciate the beauty of the garden and the happiness it brings, isn't a problem. It's something you want to do.

Or you can just be a garden killer, leave it unwatered, keep taking stuff from it until it dies and has nothing left to give.

It's a busy world, and everyone has a life in progress. So it becomes more and more challenging to nurture friendships. I think too many of them enter the "what've you done for me lately?" phase far too easily. They forget about support you've given them when they needed it, the shoulder to cry on you provided when they were looking for one.

What've you done for me lately?

Understandably, sometimes a few of the items in the garden disappear on their own. And sometimes a little weeding needs to be done.

That angry plant that just sucks the energy out of you and kills everything around it? That's gotta go.

The one over there, that didn't like the way you watered it one day, somehow forgetting all the other days you watered it just right, well that one decides to just die on you.

More a weed than a plant, there's the one that expects to be taken care of when it needs it, offering nothing in return in the way of beauty, peace or appreciation. In fact, it would be fine if you just sent the water on it's own.

Friendships aren't fragile things, at least the good ones aren't. They can take a lot of abuse. But that doesn't mean they can't be killed off if you try hard enough.

Or don't try at all.

Don't ask: Loaning you money

From the series of posts that brought you Don't ask: Sharing a hotel room, Don't ask: Picking up at the airport and the wildly popular Don't ask: Moving, now comes the one you've all been waiting for.

Money's a touchy issue with most people. In my experience, friends don't like to talk about it when they have too much, and they don't like to talk about it when they have too little.

You know when I don't like to talk about it? When you're asking me for some.

I don't mean to sound like I've never loaned friends money, I have. But the whole, "You remember you owe me some money?" "Oh yeah, yeah, I have some cash coming in soon and I'll get it to you..." dynamic is never a comfortable exchange. And in my experience, that cash coming in usually arrives around the 12th of never.

I remember one time, out of the goodness of my heart, I loaned a friend $250 to pay his rent. A few months went by - months I should mention where I never said a word about the money - and he finally sold something, got a job or whatever. He told me how happy he was, because he was able to pay back all the people who'd loaned him money. Then he started listing names and, I know this will come as a shock, he didn't mention mine.

Whether it's professionally or especially personally, I don't like chasing my money down.

There's also something that rubs me the wrong way about the assumption I have money just lying around to loan to friends in need. I wish that were the case. But the fact is I have a wife, two kids and a German Shepherd. I'm not naming names, but two of them have college coming up, one of them needs his shots and I have an anniversary with one of them in the near future.

Any money I had, have or will have is already spoken for well into the foreseeable future.

Again, don't mean to sound unsympathetic. I understand the price of everything is sky high. Jobs are shaky and in short supply. Bank accounts are red-lining.

All I can say is if you need a little cash to hold you over, you should check between the couch cushions. Or the car seats. Raid the kids piggy bank. Dip into the penny jar.

And if all that fails, remember, there's no shame in calling for help.

Just as long as you're not calling me.

The inner circle

When it comes to friends, in everyones life there's the inner circle, the outer circle and the circles in between. If I'm minding my relationships properly, the ratio of people in the inner circle should be a lot less than the number of friends in the outer circle.

The in-betweens are really more acquaintances who I have varying degrees of fondness for, depending on things like what they do or say, how I feel that day or if they remember my birthday (hint: it's not on Facebook).

The thing about friendships is they aren't always clear cut.

Sometimes people move from one circle to the next, then back again. And the definition of what keeps them in which one is a moving target.

When that happens, the diagram starts to look less like a circle and more like a maze.

The point I'm taking my sweet time getting to is I have a group of friends who, even though I've known them for years, I don't know as well or as long as my best friends. I don't see them as often, yet they're quickly advancing towards the center ring.

These are people I respect. I think are funny. I get excited about seeing a comment from on Facebook or my blog. These are friends who challenge me, and push me past roadblocks to accomplish things I never thought I could.

These are people who aren't afraid to tell me when one of my blogposts starts sounding like an Apple manifesto.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not talking about neediness. I'd call it more of an investment in friendship and feedback.

I feel like I'm rambling a bit here. But only because I'm rambling a bit here.

I'm not going to name names, because I don't want to embarrass anyone or hurt their feelings. Although, really, if you're feelings are so easily hurt by a blogpost that at most three people read on a regular basis, you're probably in the outer circle anyway.

Anyway, next time we meet, if you want to know what circle you're in I'll let you know.

Especially if it's the inner one.