Cleared for takeoff

I've scribbled here before about fundraising auctions at my kids' high school. In fact, because they were so impressively written and made such an indelible impression, you probably recall those posts about the south central L.A.P.D. ride-a-longs I won in previous auctions.

If for some odd reason your memory fails you, now might be a good time to refresh it by reading this post. Or this one. Maybe this one. Who could forget this one? Some think this one was the best. I think this one was one of my finest. And of course, this one is a classic.

I think that's enough self-promoting for one post. Let's get on with it

Last night was this year's auction for the school. Since my kid's are in college and I don't have a horse in the race anymore, I find myself not having to go to their former high school events much. But my wife does work at the school, and she likes to show me off for the trophy husband I am. Plus the auction is an event I've always liked. So we went.

There are two parts to the evening. One is after dinner, where bidders raise their assigned I.D. numbers to bid on items the auctioneer is calling. But before that is the silent auction, where you add your bid to a list for a particular item. When that auction closes, the highest bid wins.

I see it. I guess the highest bid wins in every auction.

Sadly, there were no police ride-a-longs to win this year. However, there was a 90-minute experience in a 737 flight simulator which I wanted. And when I want something bad enough, I usually figure out a way to get it. I'm like the MacGyver of school auctions.

Anyway, the way I did it this time, and every time before, was by sniping. Since it was a silent auction item, I hovered around the list of bids until about thirty seconds before the auction closed. Then, at the last second, right before pens down, I wrote my number and bid on the list—$20 higher than the last bid.

BAM! Auction closed, and I'm on my way to pretend flying a 737 somewhere in Anaheim.

It's part of my Fly But Don't Get My License tour. Years ago, I took helicopter lessons. I have about 30 hours of airtime, but never completed getting my pilot's license. It's a long story. You can read about it here.

Ok, I snuck in one more self-promoting link. So sue me.

I'll be scheduling my 737 flight later in the week. I even get to take a couple people with me. Play your cards right, and maybe you'll be one of the lucky ones to join Captain Jeff on my flight to nowhere.

I can't guarantee it'll be a smooth one, but I can promise even though it's simulated it'll still be a lot better than United.

Unfinished business

The road to being a couch potato, taking naps in the middle of the day and bingeing Breaking Bad - again - is paved with good intentions.

One of the increasingly dwindling perks of working in advertising is that almost all ad agencies close between Christmas and New Year's. Like the one I'm currently at. So, besides my wish list for Santa, which apparently he didn't have time to read (so much for the Audi R8 and Scarlett Johansson's phone number), I also make a to-do list of things to get done around the house during the week off that I never have time for when I'm working.

It includes seemingly simple things like clean out my closet (nope). Clean out the garage (nope). Get all the books I haven't read and are sitting on my nightstand organized (nope). Get everything off the top of my dresser (nope). Make and label files for all the paperwork I have sitting all over the house (nope). Get all the Christmas decorations organized and put away (nope). Clean and repair the gutters before El Niño strikes with a vengeance (paid someone do it).

Items like watching some movies, napping and Breaking Bad weren't on the list. Yet somehow, because I'm just that good at multitasking, I managed to get them done.

I think what actually happened is I took the idea of a work break to heart and brought it home with me for the week. And you know what? It's been a great week.

The good news is now I don't have to waste time thinking up a bunch of New Year's resolutions. I'll just use the list.

Not that there's anything wrong with that

Back in the day, when I was a lot thinner and I dressed a lot better, every once in a great while someone would ask me if I was gay. And I always gave them the same answer.

Gay? Hell, I'm not even happy.

I don't get asked that anymore, even though according to The Advocate I live in the 14th gayest city in America.

The first, surprisingly, is Salt Lake City.

Using extremely unscientific criteria and some "edgier metrics like the number of International Mr. Leather competition semifinalists and the presence of nude yoga classes", the list includes places like Little Rock and Grand Rapids.

Both of which I'm hoping aren't punch lines to gay jokes about Indian names I'm better off not knowing.

You can see the article and the entire list here. If your city, like mine, is on the list, you can take pride (see what I did there?) in the fact you live in a tolerant and diverse part of the world that probably has lots of meticulously restored Craftsman homes and drought-resistant gardens everywhere you look.

Perhaps not surprisingly, on the list of most conservative cities, none of the top fifteen line up with The Advocate's list, even though some of them are in the same states.

They're mostly red states.

Although there's no reason they couldn't be made over to be a fabulous purple and chartreuse.

The List

Here's the thing about upper management.

The guys at the top do not go down with the ship. They push people off so they can continue sailing.

They inspire a false sense of trust through breezy conversation and carefully parsed out praise. They conspire with you by whispering a risque joke, and sharing what appears to be a confidence but in reality isn't. When there's a grievance, they take you in their office, close the door, give you a well-practiced sympathetic and understanding look as they tell you how they feel your pain. Then they assure you that "if I could do something about it, I would."

Here's the lesson: despite carefully constructed appearances to the contrary, they're not your friend. But they act like it, as long as you're cost effective and the challenging comments you make or errors and stupid decisions you point out don't reflect directly on them.

As long as that's the case, then your position isn't on The List.

At this point you might be wondering what's triggered this line of thought. Don't worry, I haven't been fired (you need a real job for that to happen). Actually, someone I used to work for happened to cross my mind. Someone I believed to be my friend.

Admittedly it's a line that's easily blurred for me.

You'd think for as many times as I've seen The Godfather, I'd know by now - it's not personal, it's business. The thing is, because of the masquerade, it feels personal.

Here's the funny part: I still like this individual. Even though when given the choice, they wound up putting my name on The List. Which is the very reason I believe they're not my friend. See the conflict?

I hope this person is happy, and not in the "I hope you're happy now" sense. I mean it.

While I'm sure I'm giving this person much more brain time than they've given me since I left - or maybe even than when I was there for that matter - I can't help but feel a profound sadness that this was a person I thought was my friend, and who I counted on to have my back.

Turns out they did. Just not in the way I thought.