A pleasant run-in

Almost seven years ago, I wrote a post about running into people out of context. That is to say in an environment where you don't expect to see them. It's astonishing to me. Not running into people. The fact I've been cranking this thing out for seven years.

Anyway, running into someone I didn't expect to see happened to me again today.

As you may or may not know, the wife and I decided I should work the rest of my life to pay for the extensive kitchen, living room and bathroom remodel we currently have under way at the ponderosa. Contractors, subcontractors, city inspectors and assorted strangers come and go from our house from seven in the morning until four in the afternoon.

Our dogs hate it. But at least they're not paying for it, so quit your barking.

If you've ever done a remodel, which I hadn't until this one, you know part of the process is finding time to pick out accessories like faucets, drawer pulls and lighting. Which is how the wife and I happened to find ourselves on a Saturday afternoon date at Rejuvenation in Culver City, scoping out the many stylish, unexpected and just plain bitcin' lamps and lighting fixtures they have.

Wandering through the store, a little tired, a lot hungry and somewhat overwhelmed by all the choices, I was oblivious to other shoppers and designers-in-training circling my orbit. Then, out of nowhere, this guy walks by me, and slams into my shoulder as he passes.

There was plenty of room to get by. I'm not gonna lie, I was pissed. I turned around fast, ready to give this guy a piece of my hungry, tired, overwhelmed mind—even though if you ask anyone who knows me, they'll tell you it's something I can't afford to give away. When I did, I was met with a big smile on the face looking back at me.

It was my close personal friend Rich Siegel, Round Seventeen blogger extraordinaire and fourth place pole vault champion behind Denys Yurchenko at the Bejing Olympics.

To this day, I think Rich was robbed of the bronze.

Anyway, we introduced the wives, and chatted for a short bit. In our conversation we managed to trash open offices, throw shade on a creative director we both know and talk about the many benefits of freelance over staff positions.

Ad guys. Nothing if not predictable.

Afterwards, Rich and his wife went to Kohler to look at fixtures, toilets and sinks. My wife and I went to Father's Office and had one of their legendary burgers, along with a light citrus-y pale ale with a side of Spanish mushrooms. Spending money always works up a hearty appetite.

So as we continue our adventure shopping for the remodel, I'll be sure to keep my eyes open for Rich or anyone else I don't expect to see out in the real world.

Right after I'm done icing my shoulder.

I've always loved Nordstrom

Since this has been a stellar news day for Nordstrom, I decided to go back into the Rotation and Balance archives—all the way to May 2010—and repost an experience I had with them that's forever made me an advocate for the store as well as a regular customer.

Of course, the reason they're in the news today is that they've decided not to continue their business relationship with Ivanka Trump, which means they won't be carrying her merchandise. The reason is because it wasn't selling. Ivanka's dad, the so-called president and liar-in-chief, thinks it was a political move against him.

Here's a little lesson in economics and American capitalism, just in case he's taking a tweet break and having someone read this to him: if it sells, it stays. Simple as that.

The decision wasn't political, but it did coincidentally align with my political leanings. So naturally I was happy about it.

Anyway, I've always loved Nordstrom's, and this post will tell you why. They're an extraordinary store when it comes to customer service. For example, if you bought Ivanka Trump merchandise in the past, I'm sure they'll let you return it with or without a receipt.

You're welcome. And please to enjoy.

There are things in this world I admit I'll never understand. How deep the ocean is. The vastness of the universe. My income tax forms. And why every store can't offer the same extraordinary level of customer service as Nordstrom.

There's such a thing as going the extra step, and then there's going above and beyond above and beyond. Which is exactly what Nordstom's did for me.

If you know me at all, you know I practically live in black shirts. Specifically lightweight, black corduroy shirts from Nordstrom. These magnificent shirts are incredibly comfortable and amazingly versatile. They're equally at home whether the occasion is formal or casual. They save me a lot of decision making when it comes to what I'm going to wear - kind of like Jeff Goldblum's closet filled with all the same outfits in The Fly. (Point of fact: I'm much more careful going through the transponder).

But I digress.

When I first saw these shirts, it was love. So I bought four of them, thinking that would be plenty to last me. But the years take their toll, and the shirts became threadbare, torn, and faded. I admit I took them for granted. I always thought I'd just be able to hop over to Nordstrom and get some more.

Come to find out that wasn't the case.

When I couldn't find them in the store, I went online. They weren't there either. So I sent an email to a Nordstrom customer service person who replied they no longer carried the shirts and weren't planning on getting them in. I asked if they could special order them, and the answer was a polite no.

Here's the thing - "no" is not an answer I'm fond of taking. I decided to take my case higher up the Nordstrom food chain.

I got the name of a senior management person - let's call him Dave - who I thought might be a good person to talk to. After explaining my situation in an email to him, he said he'd see what he could do and get back to me.

Not only did he get back to me, he got back with the answer I was hoping for.

He said even though they didn't stock the shirts, there was a person in their product development department - let's call her Annie - who could make it happen. Annie figured out that they had enough of the material to make four sample shirts. They'd be made at the sample shop instead of on the line, dyed black, hand-stitched, and they'd be just like the original shirts.

Except custom ordered, hand-made and mine.

So the shirts will arrive this week. I'm forever grateful to Dave for his responsiveness, and Annie for her extraordinary efforts to insure I got the merchandise I was looking for. And to both of them for demonstrating that genuine customer service does still exist.

When you see me wearing one, you may not know it's one of the shirts that Nordstrom hand-made for me.

Don't worry. I'll tell you.

Shop talk

On the list of things I don’t like to do, somewhere between going to the gym, cleaning up after the dog and watching QVC, is shopping for clothes. Maybe if I was 60 lbs. thinner, could rip out a page from GQ, walk into the men’s department at Nordstrom, point at it and say, “I want that.” I’d like it a lot more.

But I’m not. I can’t. So I don’t.

Having said that, what I do love is shopping with my daughter.

She definitely doesn’t fall far from my side of the tree when it comes to sharing the same philosophy about hitting stores at the mall. Get in, get out and no one gets hurt.

We both appreciate the true fact that you can shop and shop all day long, but eventually you have to make a decision and buy something. For us, eventually comes sooner rather than later.

Neither of us has any desire to spend time in each section looking at every. single. item.. Instead we quickly find what we like, try it on, and if it fits it’s a thumbs up. If it doesn’t we move on.

Together we’re like Secret Service agents of department store shoppers – we don’t focus in on everything individually. Instead, we take in the big picture, scanning the floor looking for items that grab our interest, then we move in. We also don’t have those little wrist walkie-talkies, but I think they’d be cool.

We don’t see the point in making an entire day of looking for a shirt, a blouse or a pair of pants. There are things to do, people to see and only so many hours in a day to get it all done. Streamlining the process helps make it all possible.

There’s also another thing my daughter and I have in common when it comes to shopping.

We both like to use my credit card.

Mr. Tee

A few years ago, I was looking for something I could do to add on to the monumental fortune I've made in advertising. Preferably something not involving monster egos, all-night work sessions, talking to account planners and unimaginably bad pizza.

So my friend and art director extraordinaire Kurt Brushwyler and I kicked around escape plans for a while, and came up with a business idea we could both get behind: t-shirts.

Alright, so it wasn't the most original idea. But we were going to do it in a way that managed to combine two things we loved - t-shirts and Vegas.

I forget the name of it, but for a while there was a little newsletter/brochure you could pick up at any restaurant, usually near the restrooms by the sponsored post card rack and outdated copies of the L.A. Weekly. It listed all kinds of bizarre classes that not only reinforced every stereotype about L.A., but also that no legitimate institution of learning would ever offer.

One of them was How To Get Into The T-Shirt Industry. Coincidence? I think not.

So one night after a long day freelancing at Chiat (is there any other kind?), Kurt and I hopped in his Prius and drove over to the world-famous, two-star Marina Del Rey Marriott for a three-hour class taught by guys who'd hit it big making t-shirts and selling them to Paris Hilton for $95 a piece at Kitson.

It was actually an interesting and educational evening. Needless to say the part about having to go to Vegas at least once a year to hawk our wares at the Magic Fashion Convention was quite appealing.

Our master plan was to get those cart/kiosk things you see in the main promenade of The Forum Shops at Caesar's and sell the t-shirts off of them. It was going to be our test run. If they did well, we'd approach each of the casinos and holding companies about making exclusive t-shirts for their gift shops, with funny lines tailored specifically for each hotel.

I wrote about a couple hundred Vegas/hotel lines, and Kurt started working on designs for them. It was ours, and it was fun.

Right up until I called The Forum Shops to find out about the carts. Come to find out - and if I'd thought about it for a second I would've realized it - that Caesar's owned all the carts in their mall. They didn't rent them to outside vendors.

But since we both come from advertising, and are used to rejection, adversity, broken dreams and plans going awry on a daily basis, we knew exactly how to handle the situation.

We gave up.

Every once in awhile, when Kurt returns a phone call (my hair was black when I called him) or when I see him, we kick around rebooting the idea. But then we move on to more important things, like which sushi place to go to for lunch.

We still own the URL and still have the lines. Plus there are a whole slew of casinos that weren't there the first time around we could approach. So I'm not ruling anything out - we might come back to the idea at some point.

All I know for sure is if we do, there'll definitely be a lot of research involved.

T'was the day after Christmas

T’was the day after Christmas and all through the house
Gifts were scattered - a book, a toy, a blouse
The socks that were hung by the chimney with care
Are gone now as if they’d never been there

The family was here, there are telltale signs
Wrapping paper everywhere with Christmas designs
Some gifts were great ones, some not so much
Trinkets, knick-knacks, re-gifts and such

When the family wakes up, there’ll be such a clatter
But the day after Christmas it just won’t matter
They’ll stumble to the living room and look at the tree
But without all the presents it’s not much to see

Now Dasher, now Dancer, now Prancer and Vixen
Can start on the sleigh, it needs some fixin’
For next year will be here before they know it
And with so much to give, they don’t want to blow it

For breakfast there’s always cookies and cake
Leftovers are ready, we don’t have to bake
We’ll just stuff our faces like the holiday’s not over
Then after we’ll sit and feel bad about ourselves and wish we hadn’t and wonder what the hell we were thinking.

Christmas lights

They say the two happiest days of owning a boat are the day you buy it and the day you get rid of it. I think the same can be said for Christmas trees. I know what you're thinking. Why's the Jewboy talking about buying Christmas trees?

I'll tell you why.

For starters, I love the trees. The fresh scents, the lights, the decorations. I also happen to be married to a woman who isn't a member of the tribe, so Christmas has always been the big December holiday in our house for as long as I can remember. And not to advance any stereotypes here, but I'm pretty good at math. 8 days of Hanukkah, 12 days of Christmas.

After four years of Hebrew school, a bar mitzvah and dating enough Jewish girls who made "till death do us part" sound more like a goal than a vow, I decided to opt in for a holiday a little more festive than what I'd grown up with, even if the point of the celebration wasn't exactly in my wheelhouse (although He was a member of the tribe, just saying).

Plus why would I limit myself to just blue and white lights when I can have so many different colors?

Anyway, every year we go to Brita's nursery in Seal Beach, and re-enact Goldilocks & The Three Bears as we pick out our perfect tree. "This one's too small." "This one's too large." "This one's just right."

But the secret about Christmas trees is that the exact moment it's up, decorated and ready to be enjoyed is the exact moment my 6000-year (5775 to be exact) history of worrying kicks in.

Has the tree been watered? Is it taking the water? Are the pine needles dry? Why is it dropping so many? Did we turn off the tree lights when we left? Is it going to go up in flames and take the house with it? And can the presents be saved if it does?

After a minute of standing back and admiring it, the moment has passed, my mind is spinning and I can't wait until it's out of the house (which is also how I felt about my high school girlfriend).

Every day we have to vacuum the needles that've dropped so the puppy doesn't eat them. Suddenly, what started out as a joy and spirit-lifting visage has become something I can't wait to get rid of (girlfriend joke again).

Sometime after New Year's, long after everyone else has taken their tree down, we'll finally get around to putting the hand-made, antique, mercury glass, Salzburg-bought decorations away, then kick the tree to the curb for the recycling truck to come take it.

It's sad thinking about something that brought me so much joy - although briefly - being gone so suddenly. To snap myself out of it, I just do what I did when it first got here. Stand back, look where it stood and admire the pure beauty and joy of what I see.

All the living room space I get back.

Heaving her Christmas cookies

I can hear the season laughing at me, and it sounds like Ho Ho Ho.

Until now, this Christmas seemed to be shaping up nicely. It wasn't nearly as hectic as ones in the past. The lights were up in time. We found everything we wanted shopping wise. And it all managed to get here in time.

We still haven't gotten Christmas cards out, but the bright side is now they'll turn into New Year's cards. Yet another Christmas miracle.

We were going to have family over to our house on Christmas Eve, then visit more family on Christmas day. It was shaping up to be a Christmas full of fun, merriment, egg nog and family. And lots of bourbon in the egg nog.

That was right up until my daughter, through no fault of her own, started heaving her own cookies when we got home today.

She'd been complaining of a bad tummy all day, but she has that every once in awhile and it usually passes and then we move on to more important things- like what's for dessert.

She was a trooper today in spite of feeling bad. I took her to our dentist in Santa Monica and had her teeth cleaned (something she might be needing again). We had lunch at The Counter, although she really didn't have much appetite.

But once we were home, she asked for the bucket and started spreading a little Christmas cheer of her own into it. Very thankful her aim is true.

So it looks like our Christmas plans are in a holding pattern until we see if she's feeling better.

But as Christmas' go, sitting on the couch with my girly next to me, looking at our beautiful tree and watching tired Christmas movies isn't a bad deal.

The bad deal is having to empty the bucket.