Blowin' in the wind

There are some experiences in life you reflect back on fondly, through the flattering haze of nostalgia, wishing you could go back and re-live them. Then there are those other experiences, like my high school girlfriend, that you'd never go through again even if someone paid you a million dollars in 1962 money.

For me, the Palm Springs Aerial Tramway is one of the second ones.

I'd actually managed to forget I ever went on what I like to call the Tram O'Terror until this afternoon, when I was enjoying a brief respite and chocolate donut with my good friend Lori, who I'm working with at my current gig. I asked her if she had any big plans for the weekend, and she told me she was going to be in Palm Springs.

That's when it all came rushing back.

Years ago, in a galaxy far, far away before I even knew my wife, I used to go out with a girl named Anne Siegel (not my high school girlfriend). Her parents owned a condo in Palm Springs, and every few weekends we'd hop in her brown Camaro, head out there and enjoy the weather, the restaurants and the pool.

On one of our visits, we decided to ride the Tram O'Terror.

Here's something you should know about me: I'm not afraid of heights. I like flying, tall buildings and standing on top of hills looking down at the city. I took helicopter lessons for awhile, although I never flew enough hours to get my license. Altitude doesn't phase me.

What does phase me is riding in a little death cart hanging by a thread, while traveling 8500 feet up a ridiculously steep hill, swinging in the breeze all the way up.

I don't remember how long the ride actually was, but it seemed like an eternity. It was also thirty-five degrees cooler at the top than at the desert floor where we started (fortunately at the top there was a gift shop selling souvenir sweatshirts - what're the odds).

I know I took the tram back down, but I don't actually remember that either. I might've been passed out, hyperventilating too much or honing my spot on impression of a little girl screaming to really pay much attention.

At any rate I'm pretty sure that somehow, someway, that tram trip and the raw, crippling fear it sent coursing through me had something to do with the fact that now there are only two mountains I'm comfortable riding all the way to the top of.

Space Mountain and the Matterhorn.

This is what advertising is like

So many metaphors, so little time.

Not too long ago, 20 people boarded the Windseeker ride at California's other amusement park, Knott's Berry Farm. It takes riders up 300 feet, spins them around, takes their breath away and then lowers them safely back to the ground. All in about three minutes start to finish.

I have a big appreciation for things that take 3 minutes start to finish.

Anyway, that particular day was a little different than every other day because the riders got stuck at the top for over three hours until ride mechanics rescued them.

This is exactly what advertising is like.

At first you're whisked away to dizzying heights, and what with big production budgets, location shoots, vendor lunches, comp subscriptions and days at a time out of the office, the view is spectacular. In fact, you can't see another job you'd want for miles and miles.

You start to think it'll be like that every time, but then one day you get stuck. Fighting for the work. Fighting for the budgets to execute the work you've been fighting for. Fighting the client to get them down to one thought instead of ten in a :30 second spot.

The bad news is no one's coming to rescue you. You have to do that yourself.

It often involves getting off one ride and hopping on another. And another. And another.

It's an odd way to manage a career (pause for laughs for using the word "career"), yet it's just standard operating procedure.

Besides, when it comes to amusement, you can't beat it.