The truth must be told

What with earthquakes, tsunamis, aftershocks, radioactive waste, wars in Iraq, Afghanistan and Libya, the federal budget crisis, tornadoes in Iowa, Americans detained in North Korea, rising gas prices and everything else going on in the world, I couldn’t stay quiet any longer. I decided it was time to finally have my voice heard.

About American Idol.

I’ve never watched it before this season. I’d seen a little of it here and there. Enough to wonder why Paula Abdul wasn’t in a padded room, and who hurt Simon so bad as a child.

But this year I've become vested in the show big time.

I’m not going to go down the list of contestants one by one (seriously, can’t Scotty McCreery sell that deep-singin’, face-muggin’, microphone pointin’, sideways-smilin’ country crap somewhere else?), but here’s where I come out on it.

And where I think the show will as well.

In the show before the finale, it'll come down to Casey, James and Lauren. Then Lauren, who is quite talented, will be eliminated. James, with his Tourette's syndrome and high functioning autism has been my favorite right from the start. But I also wouldn’t be upset if Casey walked away the winner.

I know these are bold statements in trying times, and there's bound to be shock, controversy and debate over these choices.

But that’s a good thing. It’s what makes America great.

That and the fact probably no one will vote for Hailey.

Kickstart someone's dream

When you go through life like I have, as an only child, you try not to laugh out loud when people around you say "how good giving feels." Any only child will tell you that giving just ain't natural, and the idea of sharing is crazy talk.

But there's always an exception to the rule. In my case, five exceptions.

I've discovered a website called Kickstarter.com. It's a site where creative people from all disciplines - film, design, writing, music, dance, photography - post their dream projects and ask you to help fund them.

They tell you about the project, and usually there's a short video describing it (like the ones below), and incentives based on how much you donate. It's an all or nothing proposition: if they don't reach their goal amount within the given time, the project doesn't get funded.

What I love about the site is these people are putting their dreams out there, asking you to be a part of making them come true. It doesn't take much to help. And go figure, it actually feels really good.

The other thing about the site is how inspiring it is. Seeing all these great projects makes me want to blow the dust off a few of my own and get them off the ground.

Gets the wheels spinning. It's a good thing.

So, because I'm a giver, here are the five, you heard me, five projects I'm backing so far.

Check out kickstarter.com, and see if there isn't someone's dream you can make come true.

Ready? Set? Wait.

My friend Janice, a swell writer with a blog of her own, used to have this sign in her office. I think she hoped it would work as a deterrent.

But she knew better. After all, she worked in an advertising agency.

Hurry up and wait is standard operating procedure at virtually every agency I’ve ever worked at. It usually falls somewhere between their mantra and their mission statement.

The philosophy manifests itself in several forms, and when it strikes it can happen quicker than Charlie Sheen going from $2 mil a week to zero.

The way it usually begins is they - you know, “they” - hastily assemble a team of whoever happens to be unlucky enough to be in the building.

Everyone is quickly gathered in a conference room that hasn’t been cleaned since the Eisenhower administration, and wreaks with the sweet perfume of cold cuts and bagels.

Serious as a heart attack, they brief everyone with the few threadbare morsels of information they got from a casual conversation with the client. Then they send everyone scrambling to do work that has to be presented in two days.

Two days! 48 hours!

“We’re pulling out all the stops on this one people!”

"This is our chance to make a real impact!"

"We won't have this chance again so it has to count!"

So, everyone puts on their thinking caps and scrambles.

And even though we cry like babies and complain like Rosie O'Donnell when the buffet is closed, we’re all professionals. After a round-the-clock coffee, pizza and cynicism fueled night, we deliver everything that’s been asked for: tv spots, web site, emails, print, radio scripts. The whole shootin’ match.

We present our work to extremely non-committal reactions, then wait to hear.

And wait.

And wait.

Oh, the meeting got pushed back? So you didn’t need it in two days? Uh huh.

Ah, and the client’s not sure he really has the budget to do the program? Huh. Might’ve been a good question to ask up front.

So you want us to wait, and you’ll get back to us on next steps.

Okay. We'll wait here.

What’s that you say? Maybe we can think about it some more until you decide what comes next.

Yeah. We'll get right on it.

Guns and roses

There are a lot of advantages to working in an advertising agency, as opposed to, say, having a real job. Especially if you work in the creative department.

Every day is casual Friday.

You don't have to be in at the stroke of 9 (actually if you make it by the stroke of 10 you're doing good).

You get to spend a lot of time making up fun stuff.

And you get a LOT of free magazines.

I've always loved magazines. Whenever I fly, one of the things that's an integral part of the experience for me is the newsstand at the airport. I browse the racks, then stock up with the latest issues of my favorite ones for the flight (insert your own "I knew he had issues" joke here).

Right now I'm working in a very large agency. It has a computer account, two car accounts, a soft drink account, a pet food account and a sports drink account - all accounts that buy a lot of print ads. Because of that, publishers give comp subscriptions to almost anyone who has anything to do with those accounts.

Every day, the mail room lays out all the extra comped magazines on a table for anyone who wants them. If you've been by a newsstand, you've seen the literally hundreds of titles for virtually every interest. That's what the table in the mail room looks like.

But yesterday, this was the one caught my eye. Alliterative, no?

Leave it to the south to combine the genteel charm, beauty and relaxation of gardening with a .357 magnum.

In it there are lots of ads for gardening tools, as well as rifle scopes. And why not? They've got to advertise somewhere. My guess is the gun makers are targeting (see what I did there?) women with these ads. Why pull a weed when you can blow it away. Little sucker's not coming back after that.

I actually don't object to gun ads. I don't even object to guns - more kids die every year from drowning in the bathtub than gunshots. I don't object to bathtubs either.

This may be a subject for another post.

Anyway, tomorrow I'll be back in the mailroom, looking around for another magazine. And if I can find the time, maybe I'll even write one of the ads that goes in them.

I'm walkin' here

Recognize the somewhat unpleasant looking gentleman in glasses? I think we can all agree from the look on his face that he's not happy about something.

That something is probably the damage the bodies of the 10 people he killed and 70 he injured did to his 1992 red Buick La Sabre as he was plowing through them at Santa Monica Farmer's Market on July 16, 2003.

His name is George Russell Weller, and he was 86 years old at the time of the accident.

The reason he comes to mind is because I heard about another senior involved accident yesterday. It seems a 79-year old woman hit a 74-year old pedestrian in Tustin.

But wait, there's more.

Any underachieving senior citizen can mow down someone. But not realizing she hit anything or any one, she took it the extra step by dragging the woman under her car for almost a mile until onlookers stopped her and pointed out the body under her car.

Years ago there was a 60 Minutes piece about senior drivers. In it, a 92-year old man in Florida had run into eight people waiting for a bus, killing five of them including two children. He didn't even remember the accident.

Just Googling "senior involved car accidents" for this post turned up thousands of articles.

I'm tired of arguments from organizations like AARP about seniors needing to drive to hang on to their independence. Really? I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that innocent lives trump their independence.

The two highest accident/death prone age groups when it comes to driving are 16-25 and 60 - whatever. As unpopular as it may be, there should be mandatory annual driving tests for everyone in those age groups. The idea that licenses get renewed for four years at a time by mail when someone is in their 80's is a joke. How many people that age do you know with 20/20 vision, excellent hearing and cat-like reflexes? That's what I thought.

In case anyone forgot - and memory is one of the first things to go as you get older - driving in California is a privilege not a right.

Sorry this wasn't the usual humorous post with the snappy end line.

But there's nothing funny about people getting killed by senior drivers who can't remember hitting anybody.

Padding my story

 If you know me at all, you know there are some things I have absolutely no trouble stopping.

Like work, cleaning, work, reading, work, eating – okay, maybe not eating.

One thing I was having trouble stopping was that two-ton hunk o’ depreciating Japanese metal I drive everywhere (although I suppose in light of recent events, there are worse things the metal could be than depreciating). Seems my rear brake pads were worn down to almost nothing (I know the feeling). Not quite metal on metal, but nanoseconds away from it.

While I had my car at the dealer for a regular service, my service writer broke the news about the brakes. Then he told me how much it was going cost to replace the pads and turn the rotors. After I shook my head and asked if I’d heard him right, that’s when I put the brakes on.

Now, I’m all about easy. I like having a relationship with my dealership, as well as recourse should something go wrong. It’s not my first rodeo - I know I pay more for that, which up to now I’ve been willing to do. Maybe that’s because up to now it hasn’t been that much more.

But I found out on this last visit that there’s only so much I’m willing to fork over for someone to smile at me while they’re picking my pocket (not exactly the phrase I wanted to use, but it’s a family blog).

Let’s get right to it shall we? $459. That’s how much they wanted to lighten my wallet for the work. Seemed a little excessive to me, so I decided to do something I should’ve done a long time ago – take my business somewhere else. After all, my car’s out of warranty, and it’s not like other places don’t guarantee their work.

I searched Yelp for brake places near me, and much to my checkbook’s delight there was a great one only three blocks from my house. I went there, and explained the situation to Bob. I assume it was Bob. That’s what the patch on his industrial, grease-stained jumpsuit said.

Bob smiled the knowing smile of a man that lives in a very big house thanks to people who are mad as hell at their dealers and not going to take it any more. Bob checked out the rear brakes, and agreed I needed the work done. For $210.

Not that I’m counting, because I don’t want to seem petty or anything like OH GOOD LORD IT'S 54% LESS!

Bob ordered the pads that day and I brought the car in the next morning. While they worked on it I walked over to the donut shop across the street for coffee and a maple twist (I told you stopping eating wasn’t my strong suit). By the time I got back, twenty minutes later, the car was ready to go. And stop.

My neighbor always asks me, “How old do you have to be before you realize you’re getting screwed by the dealer.”

Now I know the answer. This old.

Got happy?

I thought it was a skill. Come to find out it's an art.

I was looking around Barnes & Noble the other day. It's not normally the bookstore I go to, but the Borders near me has gone away, so there I was.

I'll be the first to admit it - I wasn't feeling as happy as I could. But just as I was getting sadder about the fact I wasn't happy, I stumbled into this section. And really, if this couldn't make me happy then what could?

Apparently I should've been happier since there are a lot of things to be happy about. But then I started thinking - in a world this big, 14,000 didn't seem like very many things to be happy about. I couldn't help think there should've been more. And that made me sad. Because even with thousands of reasons in front of me, at that moment I couldn't think of one.

Fortunately, thanks to Marci Shimoff, I realized I didn't need one. I could just do it. I could just force myself to be happy for the sake of it. The problem with that approach was even if it felt like real happiness, how would I know if it was?

Here's how. Authentic Happiness would tell me by showing me how to put the New Positive Psychology to work. To realize my potential for lasting fulfillment. Truth be told, it didn't need to be that lasting. I'd settle for a couple hours. Or at least enough to last while I was browsing the store. But since I wasn't going to be there that much longer, would I have enough time to find out everything I needed to know to be happy?

Turns out I would, thanks to A Short Guide To A Happy Life. I liked the idea of this one, because first of all I really didn't want to spend a lot of time reading about a happy life - I wanted to get to it. The shorter the guide, the more time for me to get to work on my happiness project. But where should I start?

I'll start here. The Happiness Project will be like a go-to manual for my happiness project. I love it when life works out.

The one thing all this browsing of happiness books made me realize is how many freakin' depressed people there are walking around bookstores.

Frankly, I was happy to get out of there.