The gloves aren't off

In theory, Facebook is a good thing. I can find people I've lost touch with, catch up with celebrities and even talk to them if it’s really them posting on their page. I can follow my favorite brands for discounts and special offers, view endless vacation photos, baby pictures, inspirational sayings, favorite musician YouTube clips and German Shepherd pictures (which I personally can’t get enough of) that friends feel compelled to share with the world. It can be a fun, informative, time-killing app if used correctly.

Where it comes undone for me is the preaching, guiltifying, lecturing and cage-match quality bickering some people feel compelled to administer in the course of my Facebook feed.

I stopped getting into Facebook fights a long time ago. In fact, the post I wrote here almost five years ago was the last time I remember really losing any semblance of control, and continuing an online argument for no reason other than to hammer my point home to someone who was never going to hear it.

Oh, wait a minute. There was another time in the recent past I got into it online with a writer/director/voice-over talent/creative director/agency-owner friend I've known over thirty years. I had no idea about his extreme right wing political beliefs, but all it took to find out about them was posting something favorable about Obama and not so flattering about the way he was being treated by the Republican congress. You know, something factual he didn't want to hear.

What can you do. Some people walk around loaded for bear.

Anyway, after a certain number of back and forth posts, there comes a point in any Facebook argument where it becomes less about the topic at hand and more about energy and endurance. It forces me to ask the tough questions, like how bad do you want it kid? Will it all be worth it in the end (if it ever ends)? Am I willing to go the distance?

What I've discovered about myself, when it comes to Facebook fights, is that I am not.

I put up a post today about the general blahs of being back at work after a holiday weekend. To my way of thinking, not very controversial. I’m pretty sure it’s a universal feeling that after a three-day weekend, no one—regardless of what industry they're in—wants to be back at work after enjoying time off. AmIright?

I got some comments agreeing, and a few likes, but I also got a comment that said, “You’re booked. You should be grateful.”

Let’s disassemble that comment, shall we?

First of all, my post was a little joke, based on a universal truth. And by the way, jokes are so much funnier when you have to explain them aren’t they?

Next, does the fact I made a joke about not wanting to be at work exclude me from being grateful to have the gig? I think not.

And while I’m on the subject, I actually don’t need people telling me what to feel and when to feel that way. I don’t accept that from strangers, I didn't accept it from my high school girlfriend and I’m certainly not going to take it from friends (well, Facebook friends, not real life friends).

I’m not saying people shouldn’t put up how they feel about things. It's a free country, free speech, your right and all that. And I recognize that by posting anything, and being a part of the Facebook community, I leave myself open to whatever comments anyone with a keyboard and access to my feed wants to make.

But, like in a nice restaurant, 90% of the game is presentation. It'd be better—and, even though it might not sway me, it'd probably make me more receptive to hear their point of view—if people commenting on my posts framed it in a way that expressed their opinion without condemning me for not sharing it.

And by the way, this idea I should or shouldn't do or feel a certain way just doesn't fly. Not a big fan of the word "should"—people "should" know better than to use it with that hand-on-hip, reprimanding, wagging-your-finger tone.

To me, it's just as frustrating and insulting as people who ask you to copy and repost what they’ve posted for one hour to prove to them you’re against cancer, bullying, parting your hair on the right or whatever. I’ve written here about how I feel about those people (“What do you mean ‘those people’” “What do you mean ‘Those people’?” - see below). How much validation does one individual need?

Besides, if you're looking for it from Facebook posts, you have bigger issues than whether or not people share your point of view.

I know you all won't agree with me, but if you do copy and paste this post on your page for one hour.

How many

Never let it be said I take the easy way out. I'm not saying I don't. What I'm saying is I don't want you to say it.

Look, here's the thing: it's 11 at night, and I'm tired from a day filled with all sorts of unexpected emergencies, new-dog frustrations (post about him peeing on the barbecue coming soon) and a visit with the chiropractor that was more painful than the pain I went in for. In other words, I could use a few laughs.

So a light bulb went off in my head: how many light bulb jokes could I tell before I bored myself? Notice I wasn't concerned about boring you - I figured I passed that finish line about three-hundred posts ago.

Anyway, lets see if we can find out.

How many Oregonians does it take to change a light bulb? Five. One to change the bulb and four more to chase off the Californians who have come up to relate to the experience.

How many jugglers does it take to change a light bulb? One, but it takes three light bulbs.

How many Zen masters does it take to change a light bulb? Two. One to change it, and one not to change it.

How many cops does it take to change a light bulb? None. It turned itself in.

How many members of U2 does it take to change a light bulb? One. Bono holds the bulb and the world revolves around him.

How many actors does it take to change a light bulb? Just one. They don't like to share the spotlight.

How many Apple employees does it take to change a light bulb? Seven. One to change it and six to design the t-shirt.

Alright, I'm completely bored - I can't even imagine how you feel. I promise I'll try to do better and put a little more effort into tomorrows' post.

But for now, how many tired, sleep-deprived, vapor-locked bloggers does it take to end a post? Just one.

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 someday lunch

I understand some things are extremely difficult in life. There are challenges we all have to overcome, sometimes against seemingly impossible odds.

From health issues, to business dealings, family discord, freeway traffic, account planners and bad customer service, there's no shortage of situations lying in wait to test our energy, resourcefulness, commitment and patience.

But I'm thinking lunch shouldn't be one of them.

If you were to ask most people I know about me - and I hope to God you're not doing that - I think the majority opinion would be I'm a bit of a social butterfly. Not exactly a people person, but I do like to chat it up. And I love an audience. If they're laughing at my jokes I love them even more. Which is the reason I didn't love the audience the one time I tried standup at the Comedy Store.

I may be getting off point here.

Anyway, be that as it may, I'm not an easy lunch. I'm selective about the company I keep during lunch hour, especially on days off. On days I'm working, I don't care nearly as much as long as I can get the hell out of the office.

Here's the thing: I have a great friend I love having lunch with. We schedule it as often as we can. Notice I said schedule, and not have. This most recent round has gone five or six times, and we have yet to hit a day that winds up working. For one legitimate reason or another, one of us always has to jump the lunch ship.

It's not like we've never had lunch. We have. Which is why I look forward to it so much, and am disappointed when we can't manage to pull it off.

But I'm convinced persistence will rule the day - I know eventually we'll get together. And when we do, I'll have more stories to tell, and more stories to listen to. Plus by then I'll probably be a little thinner.

So maybe this postponing business isn't so bad after all.

I didn't do that ad. Why do you ask?

Campaign ideas don’t want to be bad, but like Jessica Rabbit said, sometimes they're just drawn that way.

The fact is an idea can often look good on paper, then get lost somewhere along the way to executing it.

And I'm just man enough to say that sometimes bad work happens to good writers: the lousiness of some of my spots has been my creation and mine alone.

For example, the am/pm mini mart spot where I made a joke about the son in the family being adopted. Immediately after it aired, they started routing all the complaint calls from adoption advocacy groups to me so they could tell me, in very raised voices, why adoption jokes weren't funny. I listened patiently, then told them I was adopted and I thought it was hilarious.

I’m not, but sometimes you just want the noise to stop.

Then there was the absolutely awful campaign my partner Doug and I presented for Suzuki cars using the cast of LOST. There were several spots, but the highlight (lowlight?) was one where instead of a blue VW van, we had them discover a Grand Vitara on the island. We liked the show and we wanted to go to Hawaii, so sue us.

It's a good thing it never went anywhere. It wouldn't have been nearly as good as this one:

I don’t remember this, but my wife swears years ago I wrote a radio spot where the characters were building a house out of meat (SFX: Hands slapping ground beef). This was pre-Lady Gaga. Obviously I was way ahead of my time, which is so rare (see what I did there?).

This isn't the first time I've written about good and bad ads. I posted a piece here about it.

But I'm beginning to think putting up posts running down the list of bad ads I've done is probably not the most career-enhancing move I can make. So forget you've seen this.

Just like you did with all those bad ads.

Those three little words

Nothing says Merry Christmas like the subject of poop.

Ever since my daughter was a little girl, we've had our own father/daughter jokes between us. They often send us into hysterics, while innocent bystanders wonder what time we'll be taking our medicine. Some of them are quite funny and tasteful, perfectly acceptable for telling at the Christmas dinner with family gathered all around.

Some not so much.

There's really no way to explain this gift she got me for Christmas without getting into way more detail than I'm sure any of you want or need to know. Suffice it to say I laughed harder than I have in months when I unwrapped this little gem.

It's an awesome gift, based on a particular joke - one of our less savory ones - that goes way back. Maybe right there is a good place to leave it (figuratively speaking). Except to say that the three little words referred to in the title aren't the ones on the mug.

They're "neat and clean." Enough said.