A-maize-ing

Johnny Carson was born there. So was Ashton Kutcher. And The Duke himself, John Wayne. Herbert Hoover is from there. As are comedian Adam DeVine and actor Elijah Wood. TV Superman George Reeves hails not from Krypton, but from Woolstock, Iowa.

The point is a lot of famous things come out of Iowa. Not the least of which is corn.

I had my very first experience with Iowa this past weekend. Instead of going to one of the premier universities in the California system located virtually around the block from our house, my daughter had her heart set on a private college in Iowa, which we moved her into this past weekend.

Sure, it would've been nice to have her closer to home, but then we wouldn't get to pay out-of-state tuition, take two airplanes, drive two hours and travel 1,692 miles to see her. Apparently she doesn't know there's an east coast and it would've been even further from us. Maybe she'll learn about it in college.

Here's the thing about Iowa: cornfields everywhere. And by everywhere, I mean everywhere.

There's a certain beautiful monotony (Note to Rich Siegel: Beautiful Monotony, The Whiskey '06) to the rows of corn as you zip by them on the two-lane highways. And what it made me think about—besides how I was going to die when the driver of one of the eighteen-wheelers coming the other way fell asleep and slammed into me head on—was just how big a part cornfields have played in some of my favorite movies.

I know people don't like Signs because a) it stars Mel Gibson b) it's directed by M. Night Shyamalan and c) it's a story about faith lost and found, and not aliens (for the most part). But it does have Joacquin Phoenix, German Shepherds and cornfields, so that makes it a must see in my book.

The ultimate father-son film couldn't help but be corny. Field Of Dreams takes place almost entirely in an Iowa cornfield. One of the ball players in the movie asks Kevin Costner, "Is this heaven?" To which he responds, "No, it's Iowa." Boy is it.

The first film anyone mentions when I say cornfield is Children of the Corn. Not exactly quality motion picture faire, but a horror classic for it's kitschiness and that tall, ugly red-headed kid. That short kid is yelling and chewing scenery all throughout the movie. Good thing most of it's edible.

Lions and tigers and corn, oh my. Perennial favorite The Wizard Of Oz not only has a cornfield, but a talking, singing and dancing scarecrow right in the middle of it. Ironically, the song the scarecrow sings is the same one our fake president sings to himself every night.

The other thing Iowa (and South Dakota where I connected through) have plenty of are the nicest people I've ever met anywhere. It's startling how genuine they are. Glad to see you, ready to help, open and honest, it really is a refreshing change of pace.

Now if they could just truck that to the big cities the same way they do their corn.

You're gonna need a bigger box

It never stops.

If you work in an ad agency, you know there's one thing people working there love to do more than anything. SPOILER ALERT: It's not creating ads.

It's complain.

Two disclaimers right off the top: first, there are plenty of valid things to complain about. Second, I've definitely contributed to the culture. I have a reserved seat on the complain bandwagon. Ok seat, could be closer. Armrests don't work as well as they should. More padding wouldn't hurt. SWIDT?

Ad agencies, while sometimes a hotbed of creativity, can also be an unrelenting cacophony (waited 780 posts to use that word) of privileged, overpaid people who have it good whining about how bad they have it. Cue the violins.

They work too hard. Nobody understands them. People just don't get it. The traffic sucks (well, that one's true). There are too many meetings (also true). They should be promoted. That guy should be fired. The food guy always has the same sandwiches. This isn't as fun as it used to be. This coffee is awful. They hated my ideas. They only had an hour forty five for lunch. They had to work the weekend. The client is an idiot.

I used to work with this art director who liked to quote an old boss of his. He used to say, "You get paid four-times what the average person makes. I expect you to work at least twice as hard."

It's like the kid who cried wolf, and keeps crying. At first it's deafening, then after awhile you don't even hear it anymore. Somebody call a waaaaaaaaambulance.

I know what you're thinking: who the hell are you and what've you done with Jeff? I get it. And I'll be the first to admit, for the second time, I'm as guilty as anyone else - it doesn't take much of a push to get me started. When the complaint wave hits, I want to hang ten just as much as anyone. But when I complain about work, at least somewhere far below the surface - in a quiet little voice only I hear - I'm at least grateful I have work to complain about.

As I crawl at a snail's pace into the office every day on the world's largest parking lot, the 405, I look around at the coffee grinders, rust buckets, rattletraps and jalopies slogging it out in the lanes next to me, and that same little voice tells me to be glad I have a really nice car to wait it out in.

In my experience, complaining about people is a useless exercise. I've found they're not changing on my account anytime soon, so I try not to let them get to me. I make an effort, often unsuccessful but at least I'm trying, to use a little grace in dealing with people I disagree with. And by disagree, I mean they're wrong. At the very least, even when that's true I go out of my way to try and treat them as I'd want to be treated.

Since every agency I work at has open floorplans, maybe the complaining just seems louder because it echoes off the polished concrete floors.

Don't get me started.

But it's become a runaway train. Everyone wonders why it's gotten so, so bad. It's like the person who crosses the middle of the street, gets mowed down by traffic (when it's moving), then denies their contribution to the accident.

My suggestion is we all - including myself - try to dial it down a bit, and focus on the more positive things about agencies (yes there are some) for awhile. Like the fact we don't work in the insurance business. What we do isn't exactly breaking rocks or digging ditches (although I've occasionally watched someone dig their own grave). And that paycheck, at almost every level, is at least twice the national average.

Maybe November will be the No-complaining month. Let's see how that works.

Of course, if you don't like that idea, by all means feel free to complain about it.

I bought myself some Time

Today I did something I love to do, and don't do nearly enough (pausing for a minute while you get that thought out of your sick little head). I bought the latest issue of Time magazine.

My dad worked at a newsstand for years, so I think I come by my love of magazines honestly. Right up there with Springsteen concerts, Breaking Bad and eating sushi, buying magazines hot of the presses brings me great joy.

When I fly, I get to the airport early to peruse the magazines at the gift shop. It's especially rewarding because they're always the first to get the latest issues. I give careful consideration to them, but I always walk out with the same ones: usually an Esquire, GQ, People, Fortune and Entertainment Weekly. Occasionally one of the car rags, but because I get enough of those at work they're not always on the top of my list.

I talked here about how I'll never use e-readers and why I prefer the experience of real books and magazines. I still feel that way, even though I admit I find myself doing more reading online on news sites about topics I would've picked up a magazine for in the past.

The reason I picked up this weeks' copy of Time was because it's the Answers issue. Ironically it didn't have the answers I was looking for.

Anyway, this isn't going to be the start of a new magazine subscription frenzy. My family got Newsweek for over forty years, and I continued the tradition right up until they stopped publication. That was the longest magazine subscription I ever had or will have. I even managed to save a few of the more important issues (like the Springsteen cover) and have them locked away in storage ("Hello, eBay?").

Right now I have subscriptions to Fortune, FastTimes, Los Angeles Magazine and Entertainment Weekly.

But unless my bathroom or my coffee table get bigger, I don't see getting more anytime soon.

Shame the shamers

I saw this on the news last night.

There's this asshat riding around on his bicycle in some city in California. Every time he sees someone watering the lawn, or water runoff, or a leaking hose spout, he yells at them and takes pictures of the alleged offense. Then he posts them online.

He knows nothing about water conservation, the new state conservation laws, what government department to report them to or much of anything else. But that doesn't stop him from water shaming these people.

It's only a matter of time before someone has the good sense to turn a fire hose on him and knock him off his tricycle into the next zip code.

For some reason, the act of shaming people for things we don't like is the newest sport. People are shamed for how fat they are. The color of their skin. Their hair. Their religion. The number of people they've slept with. Their sexual orientation.

There are less damaging forms of shaming, like late shaming (always arriving late). Or selfie shaming (chastising people for taking and posting too many selfies - alright, that one may be legit).

Bullies shame people for being weak. Democrats shame people for being Republicans, which is ridiculous because any right-thinking (see what I did there?) Republican is already ashamed.

When did treating people like shit become acceptable? It doesn't come from any real desire to point out what you perceive as something that can help them improve. Shaming is strictly for making the shamer feel superior to the shamee.

Here's the thing: enough. Let's stop tearing people down, making them feel bad for who they are - and about some things they can't do anything about - just to make ourselves feel better.

Unless it's trying to shame your kids into cleaning their rooms. Then it's for a good and righteous cause. But it still doesn't work.

It's hard enough trying to carve out the life you want in a world that's so demanding, increasingly frightening and moving so fast. No one needs to be shamed by some stranger on a bicycle. Or worse yet, friends.

Even the word shaming has taken on the feeling of a fad that was so fifteen minutes ago. Try to be a better person. Show a little restraint and resist the douchebaggery of the moment. Rise above it.

If you can't do it because you're a decent person, then do it because idiot shaming is probably next. And if you haven't stopped by the time it gets here, you're on the list.

Kim Jong-un and a nice chianti

Cannibalism isn't something you run into a lot in real life. Sure there's the occasional Jeffrey Dahmer, or Rudy Eugene who liked to snack on homeless people, but I think it's safe to say it's frowned upon in most places by most people.

Unless those people are in North Korea.

According to this article, the sanctions against North Korea for being the bad boys they are have begun to take their intended toll. The already poverty stricken, brainwashed and fearful population is running out of what very little food they had to begin with.

Since Kim Jong-un, who, judging by his picture seems to be eating more than lady fingers (unlike his citizens who are eating lady fingers), has decided to put his country's money against military hardware and Hasbro rockets rather than food for his people, the people have been forced to turn to each other for sustenance.

And by turn I mean gently for one hour over a 450 degree flame.

Here in the US of A, where you can walk into a supermarket and get anything from fresh meat (which by the way is how North Koreans refer to their neighbors) to dessert toppings (the other way they refer to their neighbors), it's hard to imagine a situation so dire people have to resort to this kind of depravity just to survive.

But apparently some people can grasp it.

I just heard the Adele, Oprah and Rosie O'Donnell North Korean tour has been cancelled.