The take rate

Stunning picture of the earthrise as seen from the surface of the moon. I thought I'd go with this picture because when I googled the subject I'm actually going to write about, the pictures were, shall we say, less than savory.

So just gaze at the picture and enjoy while I talk about my perforated septum. As I've mentioned before here, I basically have a hole in my nose between airways that needs to get repaired.

When dealing with medical issues of any kind, especially those involving a potential surgery - major or minor - I always make it a point to find "the guy." In this case, "the guy" is the Chief of Surgery at the world-renown, major metropolitan hospital where I live. He's responsible for all the surgeries in all the specialties. And, come to find out, his specialty is Ear Nose and Throat. He was also Chief of Surgery for that particular department for six years.

Let's say confidence is high he can get the job done,

I met with him last Friday, and we discussed how he might go about performing the surgery. One way, and the way I prefer by far, is closed surgery where he just works through the nasal passages with really small instruments and precision to repair the perforation. The other far less preferable way is open surgery, where he makes a small incision in the center of my nose, then pulls it back revealing the septum more fully. It gives him a better view, and more room to move. And it only leaves a small incision when he's done that eventually heals to be unnoticeable.

See why I went with the picture of the earthrise?

Basically he has to graft a material over the hole in my septum. As we spoke about it, he told me he was going to talk to reps about which materials had the best take rate, that is the percentage of times the material is successfully grafted and holds. There's always the chance it won't take, which would just put me back where I started.

Afterwards, I started thinking about different take rates in advertising. Like the take rate of creative directors who don't want to get their fingerprints all over every idea presented to them (low). The take rate of clients buying the work unchanged (low). The take rate of planners not giving some asinine insight they think is brilliant, like "the consumer wants a better experience to engage with and advocate for."

Yeah. That's just what they want (lower than low).

I was also thinking about the take rate for people remembering this post after they read it. My take was I probably shouldn't think about that.

Welcome to the jungle

It's been getting a little steamy in the bedroom lately. And by steamy, I mean moist. And by moist, I mean damp.

Let me explain.

As you'll recall, I've posted lately about my nasal woes and my trips to my ear/nose/throat doctor to remedy them.

One of the directions I was given after he cauterized my nose - besides stop whining - was to keep it moist with saline sprays and antibacterial gels so it would heal properly. He also wanted me to use the device you see here while I'm sleeping.

It's the Family Care Humidifier. It's job is to turn the bedroom into a rain forest.

Simply fill up the tank, flip the switch and in no time a fine mist of warm steam is rising up to the ceiling, eventually making the room twenty degrees warmer than the rest of the house.

Sure, it's good for my nose, but bad for the t-shirts I sleep in (Yes Rich Siegel, they're black). I wake up drenched in sweat, as if I'd been doing an extreme workout. Now that I think about it, for me sweating is an extreme workout.

Anyway, the wife doesn't care much for the tropical climate of the bedroom these days, so she's camping out someplace cooler until my schnozola heals. It's either the living room or an oceanfront suite at Shutters. I'm sound asleep, so I really won't know which until I get the VISA bill.

I think at this point I've said all I want to say about my nose. And I'm certain I've said all you want to hear.

Thanks for putting up with me while I've been venting about all this. I'll make sure my next post doesn't have anything to do with my nose. In other words, it shouldn't be mist.

God nose, it could be worse

This week hasn't gotten off to a great start.

As you'll recall from an earlier post - and there will be a test - I mentioned I had a rather volcanic nosebleed about a week ago. But I saw my ear/nose/throat doctor, decided to buy some stock in saline gel and spray, and let it go at that.

And I didn't have another nosebleed. Until yesterday.

I was leaving the house for a gig at an agency I work at frequently, and I let the dogs out (guess that answers that question) one last time. While I was in the yard, I bent over to pick something up and blew a gasket. Like they say in the movies, it was a gusher.

The creative director at the agency I was supposed to start at has been great, and after having my nose cauterized (this post just gets better and better doesn't it?) today, I should be back on track Friday.

It all got me thinking about people who have it much worse than I do when it comes to nose issues. If there's anywhere size does matter, it's the schnoz, especially when it comes to colds, allergies or, for the overachievers in the audience, fire-hose nosebleeds.

I don't have a large nose or a small nose. I'd place it right in the middle. However, when I was in junior high school, Eddie Petroff decided to place it off to the side.

I was on the bus home from Bancroft Jr. High School in Hollywood. The bus was jammed with kids, and was pulling away from the stop when I saw Eddie walking with his girlfriend Dorinda, who I was friends with. Eddie saw me looking at Dorinda and said something to me, and I said something back. I figured I was fine since the bus was moving.

Well, besides being in a gang called the Diablos (so quaint, they used fists instead of guns), old Eddie was quite the little runner. He ran alongside the bus, and got the driver to stop and let him on. In slow motion, I saw Eddie parting the Red Sea of students, storming down the middle aisle making his way to me.

All together now: Oh shit.

Eddie got to me, grabbed me by the collar, said something stupid that made me wonder, again, why Dorinda was with him, then punched me in the nose and broke it. My friend Sandy was in the seat behind me, and years later, when I asked him why he didn't do anything to help me, he gave me a disarmingly honest answer. He said, "I figured why should I get killed."

Anyway, ever since having my nose broken by Eddie, I've had problems. I've had surgery twice to correct a deviated septum (Septum? Damn near killed 'em!). Apparently during one of those surgeries, my septum was perforated so I now have a small hole in between airways. Sometimes late at night, when the moon is full and the sky is clear, if the air's cold or I'm breathing hard enough, like from walking to the kitchen to stare into the open refrigerator, or looking for the remote, if you listen carefully you can hear my nose whistle.

I'm thinking about taking it on America's Got Talent. Still undecided.

The point, and yes there is one, is despite my nasal distress since junior high and this past week, it could've been worse. Thankfully, it's all manageable.

If someone were to ask me what I think of this post, I'd have to say snot the best I've ever done, but at least it doesn't blow. Sorry, couldn't help myself.

I'll take my leave now with my favorite big nose joke of all time. Pay attention, it happens early around the :47 second mark. Please to enjoy.

Same clowns, different circus

This is one of those posts that make my friends crazy, immediately emailing to tell me why I shouldn't have published it. I recognize they're looking out for my best welfare, which is what they think I'll be on if anyone who hires freelancers reads this. Duly noted.

Let me start by saying - as I've said many times before - that I've met some of the smartest, most creative, hugely interesting people working in agencies. Many of who form the first inner circle of great friends of mine.

If agencies were just populated with them I'd have nothing to write about.

But if you've worked at more than one agency, you already know, sadly, those aren't the only types that work there. There are about four or five personalities that keep showing up. Sure, they come in different packages, but essentially you see them over and over, coming and going at the agencies you work at.

There's Mr. Smarmy, who'd like to present my copy to the client, but "...I know you can do so much better." I don't think you're paying me the compliment you think you are.

Next, The Hostess, who really wants to like the copy, but "I just don't get it. And if I don't understand it, how will the consumer?" I'm going with the consumer's smarter than you are. Call it a hunch.

The Boss Man (not Springsteen) who brings their own work to the pitch, but promises "It'll be a level playing field. I don't have a favorite." It's okay. I didn't want to be away on production anyway.

Mr. Could'a Been A Contender, who recommends a director because "..when he took me to sushi at Urasawa I knew he'd be right for it." And besides, his reel looked great on that home theater system he gave you.

And yes, Mr. Hemingway, the copywriter who wouldn't mind making a small change, but "you have no idea how long it takes me to find the PERFECT words" You do realize the movie Precious wasn't about your copy, right?.

Here's what I know about clowns. Whether they're wearing big, floppy shoes, yellow power ties or hipster knit caps they've always made me uneasy.

Especially the ones whose noses aren't red.

Welcome back cauter

Nice picture isn't it? It's sunrise over the Caribbean Sea.

The reason it's here is because it's considerably more pleasant to look at than the images I got when I Googled "nasal cauterization."

Take my word for it.

The reason I was looking that up is because I had to have it done last week. I was sitting on one of our newly reupholstered couches at home, and I sneezed. Hard. When I did, the wall of a weakened blood vessel very near the surface on the inside of my nose blew, and I started bleeding profusely.

It was like a scene out of Dexter.

Thank God I managed to get into the bathroom and over the sink so I could bleed there instead of the couch.

Now, the site of my nose gushing blood like the well in There Will Be Blood (no pun intended) would normally be enough to scare me into a panic. Fortunately, I knew what was happening because it's happened before.

The same thing occurred a couple years ago, and I had to have vessels in both sides of my nose cauterized. In case you're not familiar with cauterization - and why would you be - it's a minor procedure where they burn the vessel either electrically or, as they did in my case, chemically with silver nitrate to stop the bleeding and seal the blood vessel with scar tissue so it doesn't happen again. At least in that vessel.

It works in theory. But here's the thing: once you have it done, your body says, "Hey, what the heck! How am I gonna get blood to this guys schnoz?" So it regrows the vessel(s).

It's not necessarily the location that makes it happen. It's the fact the nose dries out and weakens them. Hence the small bottle of saline solution you'll see me spraying up there five times a day for the next month.

The other thing is that while it heals, I can't blow my nose or sniffle too hard. And I have to sneeze with my mouth wide open, which takes the pressure off the nose, not to mention scares the hell out of anyone within earshot cause it's so loud.

That part is fun.

Then there's the Neosporin that I have to apply very carefully each night with Q-Tips so my nose doesn't dry out during the night. I'd like to take a moment to thank the Santa Ana winds for their impeccable timing.

So, all in all, it looked a lot worse than it was. And at the end of the day, I realize it could've been symptomatic of something much worse. I have a lot to be thankful for.

Not the least of which is finding that picture of the Caribbean. Trust me.