The Dog Walker

I have an 80 lb. German Sheperd named Max. Short for Maximillan (that's the German part). That's not him in the picture. It's not me either. Max can't walk on a tightrope, and I couldn't catch him. Although if it were us, and the situation were reversed, I have no doubt he wouldn't hesitate to try and catch me.

Then he'd be a German Pancake.

Here's the thing about dogs: like so many relationships in life, all you have to do is feed them and clean up their poop, and in return they give you unconditional love. On days when I don't have to suffer the embarrassment of being seen carrying that steaming little plastic bag, it's not a bad deal.

The problem is a lot of the time, no one's around to take Max out for a walk. The good news is his bladder is pretty sizable. The bad news is so is his water bowl. Realizing this was going to be an issue, I carefully considered all the options.

Doggie door? Nope. If I was going to install one for a dog his size, I may as well hang a sign over it that says, "Burglars welcome. Enter here. Watch your head."

Have Grandma walk him? Don't get me wrong - I love seeing an 83-year old woman dragged down the street hanging on to a leash and screaming for dear life as much as the next guy. But not when she's my wife's mother. Well...no.

Finally I got to the option that made me the most nervous, but also made the most sense: dog walker. Now, where I live there's no shortage of professional dog walkers. But you have to be careful you don't hire someone who's just doing it as a hobby, or between classes.

Fortunately there are a few telltale signs to look for that let you know you're dealing with a professional.

First, make sure they're members of the National Association of Pet Sitters, or Pet Sitters International. Then, they need to have a glossy business card with a silly but cute illustration of an adorable dog smiling, wagging his tail or smiling disturbingly with a mouthful of human teeth. Bonded and insured are also good things to see on the card, although they don't have to actually be that to print it. Finally, there has to be a groaner of a business name. Dogdo Dog Walkers. Fur Their Sake. Wedo Fur You. Petropolis. Or my personal favorite, Dog Bless America.

The lifeblood of their business is referrals. I always check them out, and I've been very lucky. My first dog walker, Desiree, was with us five years (Max is 6, so she was as much a constant in his life as I am). Sadly, she got an offer to run a canine agility center in Seattle.

She referred me to Heidi, another dog walker who was modeling her business and training skills after Desiree. Heidi was there three weeks when her parents in Europe fell ill and she had to leave the country to go care for them.

Tonight, I interviewed Mary Ellen, our third dog walker. She was great. Her references were impeccable. Most importantly, Max loved her. Well, actually that's the second most important thing. The first is I didn't get the vibe this stranger who I happily handed my house key and alarm code to is going to rob me blind and sell my laptop and Xbox on Craigslist.

So tomorrow, Max starts walking with a new friend. I'm hopeful everything will work out fine. I want it to.

Because what I really don't want is to be left holding the bag.

On the street

I have a few loves in my life. One of them is roller coasters.

After all, what’s not to love about being strapped in the front car of a coaster by an indifferent, minimum-wage earning attendant, whiplashed up a 10-story hill by a rickety chain, then hurtling downhill at a face-flattening 75 degree angle with the ground coming at you at 65 mph.

I know, right?

Another one is Las Vegas. I love that town because everything you've ever heard about it, good or bad, is true. Name one other place like that. I already hear you tsk tsk-ing. But you know what your problem is? You’re just not focused on the right things.

Color me romantic, but I can’t get enough of daylight depravation, cigarette smoke permeating my clothing from walking through the casino, cocktail waitresses serving watered down mixed drinks 24/7, the feel of dice in my hands, crap table bets I know nothing about but make anyway, parents with 8 month-old babies slung over their shoulders walking through the casino at 3 in the morning, a one-third scale Statue of Liberty and Eiffel Tower right there in the desert where they belong, the intoxicating smell of desperation and bankruptcy.

The real question is what’s not to love?

So when my friend Janice (more about her in a minute) presented me with the idea of participating in the perfect mix of both those worlds – the stock market – I jumped on it.

After all, what could possibly go wrong?

It’s not like I haven’t dabbled in the market before. Years ago, a month before Close Encounters of the Third Kind came out, my friend Ned told me to buy Columbia Pictures stock. I did. The movie came out, made a ton of money and the stock took off faster than the mother ship. I held on to it for about two weeks then sold it for a tidy return on my investment.

I remember thinking, “I could get used to this."

My next dive into the investment pool was off a recommendation from my Taco Bell client at the time, Bob McKay. Bob started Taco Bell with Glenn Bell, and as you might imagine, had more money than God. Two things were true about Bob: he was an architect who actually designed the original mission-style Taco Bell restaurants, and became a multi-millionaire selling cheap tacos and burritos to the masses. And, he became a gazillionaire when Pepsi bought Taco Bell. Overnight he was one of the biggest Pepsi stockholders in history.

He seemed to be doing well. Why wouldn't I take a stock tip from him.

The tip was a company called Birdview Satellites. Seems they had this futuristic idea of satellites broadcasting television signals down to 18-inch satellite dishes they’d build and sell. You’d be able to mount these dishes on the patio, the roof, the backyard, wherever. Bob made a convincing case, and the idea sounded good to me. I bought a hundred shares at $20 each (I’ll save you the trouble - $2000).

It turned out as good as their idea was, it was just too ahead of its time. People - and by people I mean banks, investors, networks and the general public - thought getting crystal clear TV signals from space on small, inexpensive satellite dishes was just crazy talk. One telltale sign it was going south was when I got the statement from Paine Webber listing the stock value as “worthless.”

I remember thinking, "who needs this?"

About seven or eight years ago, I bought some shares of Apple at $52. The very next day, Apple had a press conference saying they’d overestimated earnings, and the stock value was sliced in half to $26. Yeah, I was feeling pretty street savvy right about then. The decision was whether to cut my losses or hang on to the Apple stock. I hung on to it figuring at the very least IBM would buy Apple and buy back the stock for something closer to what I paid for it.

Needless to say, I’m glad iHung on to it.

Fast forward to yesterday. I was iChatting with my aforementioned friend Janice, an awesome author, blogger and artist in her own right. As I discovered, I need to add “investor” to the list. Come to find out Janice is an E-Trade preferred customer. She’s online every day checking the stocks, buying and selling, and, as we like to say, building the empire.

I hadn’t thought about stocks in a long time, but after a little convincing from her about how much fun and rewarding buying and selling online was, it was all I was thinking about.

Today I logged into my dormant Schwab account and saw I had around 4 large sitting in a cash account. So I bought 10 shares of one stock, and 12 of another. Not many, but they were expensive shares.

I’d like to think otherwise, but I know Monday I’ll be online first thing seeing how the stocks are doing. And Tuesday. And Wednesday. You see where I’m going here. It may already be too late, but I really am going to try not to become too obsessed with it.

There are two things I know for sure. First, since I'm back in the market I'll probably be too nervous to see the sequel to Wall Street anytime soon.

And second, if these stocks tank, I’ll be having another chat with Janice.

The Event

I usually don't pay much attention to my speedometer (I have plenty of traffic school graduation certificates to prove it). I also don't care that much when particular dates line up - for example 8/9/10. Or when license plate numbers randomly wind up in sequential order.

Over the weekend I was driving with my son who always makes a point of telling me how much over the speed limit I'm going. I tell him it's the angle he sees the speedometer from the passenger seat (it only looks like 85), but he doesn't buy it. Smart boy.

Anyway, thanks to his policing of my lead foot, he pointed out something I might have otherwise missed. My mileage had reached a certain visual milestone. And while initially I didn't think much of it, the more I looked at it the more interesting I thought it was.

Not the fact I had it pointed out to me, but that thanks to my son, I recognized it as a slightly special moment that wouldn't happen again. At least not on this car.

It also made me kind of sad to think I had four chances before this to notice something similar, but either hadn't paid attention or hadn't looked down at the odometer in time.

I liked seeing all the fives in a row like that. It was neat. Orderly. Crisp. I have kids, so I appreciate those things more than the average individual.

Then, just as I'm really enjoying the fact I got to see it, this happens:

The moment was gone.

If you've read this far you're probably thinking, "Here it comes. He's going to start shoveling some New Age crap about his stupid odometer being a metaphor for life, and how you have to be aware of the little moments that are happening all around you, all the time, every day, because they won't come around again and you'll be sorry you missed them."

So not me. Nope. Not going to do that.

But I will say that when a moment somewhat out of the ordinary happens - no matter how small - and you're aware of it, there probably is something to be learned from it.

For example, I learned two things.

I need to dust my dashboard more often. And I better unload this rustbucket before it hits 60,000.

Doesn't matter if it's black or white

There are two truths here. Yes, I'm allergic to chocolate. And no, it doesn't stop me from having it.

Usually.

It's not like I go into shock, or my throat closes, or I break out in a hideous, angry red rash (that hasn't happened since I dated Susie Harding in high school, and I'm pretty sure chocolate had nothing to do with it). Anyway, if that happened every time I'd never have it. But fortunately, my reaction is on the mild side. All that happens is I sneeze and get stuffed up for a couple of days.

So the decision I'm faced with is how important is quality breathing versus the chocolate.

What I usually wind up deciding is that it's a small price to pay, especially for the good stuff - which is what I try to limit myself to. After all there's no sense in going through it for a Tootsie Roll or a Hershey Bar. Now Milky Way, that's another story.

My friends who know this about me somehow always seem to conveniently forget it until they're holding a plate with a thick slice of chocolate cake right in front of my face. Then, just as the rich fragrance of the chocolate reaches me, they snap it away, saying, "Oh, I forgot. You're allergic." My reply, in my head, is, "Oh, I forgot. You're an a#%&*(@."

You'd think since I've had to involuntarily take chocolate off my plate that I'd be thinner. But sadly there's no shortage of substitutes to satisfy my sweet tooth.

Not too long ago I read that if you keep exposing yourself to the thing you're allergic to, eventually you build an immunity to it.

I don't know if that's true. But I'm definitely willing to find out.

The Pep Talk

Courtesy Getty Images®

Endless meetings. Bad coffee. People judging your ideas who should be paying for the privilege of watching you work.

These are just a few of the things advertising agency creatives have in common.

Another is The Pep Talk.

Unlike many aspects of agency life that are unforeseeable, The Pep Talk is actually one of the more predictable ones. Because certain events are bound to trigger one, you can usually see it coming.

The agency's biggest account is "in review." Or walking out the door. Your boss gets fired. The lead creative team is opening their own shop. There's a new VP of Marketing. The agency gets bought.

The irony of The Pep Talk is while its intended purpose is to reassure, comfort, energize and instill a sense of camaraderie and teamwork, it usually has exactly the opposite effect.

And if you've been through more than one of them, like anyone who's worked ten minutes in an agency, you already know that apparently there's only one script for The Pep Talk.

By no means a complete list, here are a few telltale things you'll hear that let you know you're in the middle of one:

I know you've all heard about (person's name/account/other agency).

We're sorry to see (person's name/account name) go.

It was a mutual decision, and we wish them well.

We're restructuring the department.

Nobody else is going to be leaving.

Everything is going to be fine.

You'll all be fine.

Now more than ever we need to pull together.

We'll keep doing the great work we've been doing.

You have nothing to worry about.

When we lost (account name) it was the same situation, but we came through that and we'll come through this.

Everything is fine.

We're going to come out of this stronger.

Onward and upward.

And no Pep Talk would be complete without the classic "I don't have the answer to that, but I'll get back to you."

What happens next is almost as predictable as the talk itself.

People go back to their desks, call their friends at other agencies, tell them the ship is sinking and ask if they're hiring. Flash drives go into overtime saving years worth of work.

Predictably, everybody gets together and talks about how predictable The Pep Talk was.

I don't envy the people that actually have to give the talk. It's a tough position for them because they know that you know that they know it's all a crock.

And nobody really knows what's going to happen next.

The whole ritual would be less insulting if they could just weave in a bit more of the truth. Not even the whole truth, just a little more. For example, they could say "Well, didn't see that coming." Or "Yeah it's going to be strange." Or "I was as shocked as you were. Who knows how the hell this is going to turn out?" Or "We are so screwed."

It wouldn't be any more reassuring, but at least it'd be honest.

The funny part is that once The Pep Talk is over, and the aftermath dies down, everyone gets back to work doing what they do. Because we're all professionals, and we all know the work has to get done. We also know that while some agencies live or die by one account, none of them live or die by one person. Agency life goes on.

And why shouldn't it? After all, everything's going to be fine.

Job Security

The ad agency I'm freelancing at, like every ad agency, has lots of nice, shiny things lying all around the office.

Laptops. Monitors. DVD players. Speakers. Headphones. iPads. iPods. Cameras. Things like that. Tools of the trade.

There are also the things people who work there bring in and leave in plain sight.

Family pictures in pricey frames. Open, wide open, purses casually tossed on to a desk or the floor. Giant backpacks, filled with all kinds of confidential information and personal I.D. in virtually every one of the 67 zippered pockets.

All things thieves looking for a quick, easy score are drawn to.

There are security cameras throughout the agency. Everywhere you look, they're looking back. It's like being at Macy's. Or the casino at the Bellagio.

The eyes in the sky are supposed to provide a sense of security. After all, they're for our protection. But no matter how hard I try, I can't shake the feeling there's something a little more sinister at play.

For example, the camera outside the bathrooms. Really? Even though people going in say they're going to take something, usually what they do is leave something. I wonder exactly what the company thinks is going to get stolen out of the men's room.

Or the one hiding in the corner of the tiny kitchen that's aimed at the cabinets. Just try and make off with those decaf packets that don't work on any other machine. In. The. World.

I'm usually extremely slow to jump on the conspiracy theory bandwagon. But here's what I think: the cameras are there to keep tabs on us.

Being placed where they are, whoever is monitoring them can see how much time we spend in the bathroom. Or the coffee room. (I suppose if you spent less time in one you'd spend less time in the other).

It's not as if we're in an office you can easily stroll through. You need a roadmap and an experienced tracker to find the front door and elevator. Once you're there, you have to have a key card to ride up the elevator and get in and out of the office. And the stairwells. And the parking lot. Our office is spread across three buildings. You can't get from one to the other without the card.

And while nothing's impossible, it's just not an easy place for someone to get into unnoticed and stroll through stealing things.

The cameras are an additional layer of security, but the layering is suspiciously thick. There are more cameras than there are points of entry.

There's something murkier at play here.

Don't get me wrong. If my laptop ever goes missing, I'd definitely feel better knowing there's a chance they got a picture of whoever took it.

And if the thief has to pee before he leaves, he's really screwed.

Judgement day

There's an odd sort of posturing people do when they make a judgement about someone or something.

They dig their heels in. They don't like to be questioned about it. And they really don't like to be told they're wrong, even in the face of overwhelming evidence that they are.

I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess we all have friends who are like that. I know I do. They know what they know, even if what they know isn't right. Their patience for giving someone a second chance or admitting they might have been wro...wro....wrong about something is non-existent.

If you work in advertising, you know agencies are lousy with people like that. People who feel that just the act of making a decision is more important than the decision they make.

It's frustrating as hell.

But sometimes they really do believe that a bad idea is a good idea. That's even more frustrating.

I've already written here about the fact I have trouble cutting people slack sometimes. The good news is I keep learning the lesson over and over.

Not going to go into details, but there was a person I'd made a decision about. Based on a few things, I viewed them a certain way, put them in a certain box.

Come to find out that wasn't all there was to this person. I even wound up having a day of email exchanges that were funny, interesting, welcome and most of all unexpected.

I feel like I'm rambling a bit here (so what else is new?), but the bottom line is maybe once in awhile it pays to put the brakes on, attach the filter and think a little more before I dig my own heels in and make a decision or a judgement about something or someone with such brazen certainty.

This is good advice. Trust me, I know I'm right about this.