Flush with pride

This isn't an actual picture of my house. But it might as well be.

When I woke up this morning, the trees on my front lawn and the street-side parkway were green, and the toilet paper was in full bloom.

For the second time in three weeks, one of my son's or daughter's friends thought highly enough of them to get together with even more of their friends, find someone with a driver's license and drive over here at 2:30 in the morning to TP our house.

I know it was 2:30 because before they sped off, one of the little f..darlings came up and rang our doorbell a half dozen times.

Is there a higher compliment? Apparently not.

I keep being told by my wife, and neighbors who don't have to clean up the aftermath, that it's a sign of fun and affection. They don't do it to houses of kids they don't know or like. That wasn't the case when I was growing up on the mean streets of west L.A. (north of Wilshire).

Where I lived, when a house got TP'd it was because people didn't like you. It was a "let's get 'em!" kind of thing.

A junior high lynch mob with Charmin instead of torches.

I keep getting told it'll probably happen again, usually runs through the school football season and I should just lighten up about it and ride it out.

I'll try to remember that in the coming Friday and Saturday nights, when I'm sleeping on the living room couch with baseball bat in hand, German Shepherd at my side, and the garden hose unkinked and set on jet spray just outside the door.

A game of tagline.

My pal Rich writes a cripplingly funny blog of his own called Round Seventeen. And more than once, he's posted on the always fun, highly debatable subject of taglines. For example here and here.

All copywriters approach taglines with mixed feelings of excitement and possibility, as well as pain and frustration. The pressure is always on trying to come up with that elusive combination of 2 to 7 words that will perfectly, humorously/dramatically, instantly and memorably encapsulate the essence of a brand.

We're all hoping for the next Think Different. Just Do It. Got Milk. And we've all written thousands of lines looking for it.

Eventually, we hit the wall at one point or another.

That's why I'm so excited to share what will inevitably be a valuable resource.

I've discovered a man, nay, a guru, we can now turn to for the tagline help we all so desperately need now and again.

He calls himself the Tagl!ne Guru. I can tell he's excited about that title because he put an exclamation point right there where the "i" should be (Get it? Like an upside down "i").

You don't do that if you're not excited about something.

I know what you're thinking: what's the Tagl!ne Guru's tagline? I had the same question. Obviously, anyone who's narrowed down their copywriting expertise to such a specific aspect of the craft, and who positions themself as a guru, clearly isn't going to go for a cheap, smarmy, punny line any junior copywriter fresh out of ad school with a book and a dream could come up with.

Gurus don't settle for that.

Instead, I'm guessing the Tagl!ne Guru will have a pithy, memorable, awesome line that will have every copywriter reading this slapping his/her forehead and wishing he/she had come up with.

But I could be wrong about that.

The end justifies the mean

Even with the Tea Party and the Republicans, apparently mean spiritedness isn't as in vogue as it used to be.

Yesterday I did a post about Jonah Hill. I said I didn't think he was either funny or a good actor. And I might have made some slight reference to his former weight.

While I was writing it, apparently one thing I didn't take into consideration was his big, fat fan base.

More than any other post I've done, this one has resulted in my being deluged with all kinds of comments saying how mean spirited it was. How it was so unlike me. That it was a cheap shot. A side of me people hadn't seen before.

Let me say this in all sincerity: Don't you people have better things to worry about?

Here's the thing. If you've followed this blog at all, or even if you haven't, I make it pretty easy to navigate. You can tell what direction my posts are going from the get go (unlike M. Night Shyamalan's blog. His posts always have that surprise ending). One paragraph in, and the road ahead is perfectly clear.

Nonetheless, I can tell the outrage is genuine (something I find disturbing in it's own way, but still).

So first, let's all take a big cleansing breath. Innn...and out.

My suggestion would be this: if after reading the first paragraph you don't think you'll like the rest of the post, stop. Click to another page. Click the link at the top that says "Next blog." That was easy wasn't it? After all if you don't like what's on one TV channel, you change the channel. Maybe something you like will be on the first channel tomorrow.

Also, and I really mean this, don't shed too many tears for Jonah Hill. I'm pretty sure he doesn't read this blog, so his feelings are probably still intact. If his career ended today, he'd still have made more money than I'll ever make. He'll still weigh less than me, even though he used to weigh tons more than me (see what I did there?).

Jonah Hill will live to screw up another film. He'll be fine.

Now of course, the one thing all bloggers want more than readers is readers' comments. We love getting them and we love reading them, even the ones that don't agree with us. I don't want you to think I'm being dismissive or cavalier about the ones I've received regarding Jonah.

I'm sincerely concerned what my readers think. You're the reason I do this. That and the love.

The very last thing I'd want to do is upset or offend anyone.

The luckiest actor alive Part 1: Jonah Hill

Welcome to the first in a series of "luckiest actor alive" profiles, highlighting actors that ought to drop to their knees and thank God every day for studio executives who have even less taste than they have talent, and who for some inexplicable reason continue to give them work.

I decided to start with someone I think we can all agree on: Jonah Hill.

In what alternate universe is he funny? It's not because he's fat: there have been plenty of fat, funny guys. John Goodman. John Candy. Oliver Hardy. James Gandolfini (well, it was funny when he whacked Ralphie). Kevin James. Chris Farley. John Belushi.

I'm not going for the fat jokes. First, they're too easy. Second, I could stand to lose a few myself. And third, he's not fat anymore.

Well, he's not that fat.

He's still as grotesquely out of proportion as he was, only in a different way. Look at his upper torso. That tucked in shirt and jacket isn't fooling anyone. He's still plenty wide, only now he has thinner legs that presumably don't chafe nearly as much when he makes his midnight runs to the refrigerator (alright, maybe one fat joke).

Let's put it this way. I still wouldn't want to try to catching him when he flies over the bar and out of the coaster at Magic Mountain.

With the vibe he puts out, he needs to come out with a line of men's cologne.

Off-putting. By Jonah.

It wouldn't sell. No one wants to smell like a bad actor.

The good news is that people are already tired of how bad and unfunny he is. Even though there's less of him to see, a few more movies like Cyrus and Funny People and we'll be seeing a lot less of him.

Pretty soon he'll be doing more voice over work than on camera, just like his pal Seth Rogen.

Ooops. May have just spilled the beans on the next installment.

Closure. When will it end?

I'm going to tell you something and you're not going to like it.

But it's the truth.

And sometimes, like flu shots and Ryan Reynolds movies, the truth hurts.

Here it is: there's no such thing as closure. Not in the truest sense of the word.

Pardon my French, but it's a bullshit, new age-y word imposed on you by people who'd be more comfortable if you just "moved past" whatever pain it is you're in.

The tenth anniversary of 9/11 is upon us, and all around are talking heads reminding us about everything that should give us closure about it. The rebuilding at ground zero. The killing of Bin Laden. The resilience of survivors. The bravery of first responders in the way they've carried on since.

I can't tell if they want us to forget the images of that day or just feel better about them. Either way it seems obscene.

Apparently, back in the day, the word closure had value. That's why all the pundits, journalists, shrinks and new age authors bought boxes of it at the height of the closure market. But it's easy to see the word's lost it's value, and now they want to unload it as fast as they can.

Truth is it hasn't been worth anything since the Kennedy assassination (by the way, still waiting for closure on that).

It seems cynical to say, but we don't really get over anything. Anything that matters.

Which is okay in my book (well, more of an outline really), because there are some things we shouldn't get over.

Collective tragedies like 9/11, the shuttle explosion, Katrina and the murder of (pick a name). To apply the word closure to these events, to say we've come to terms with them, is absurd. To even imply it means we've diminished our capacity to be shocked and moved by them.

Here's another example. On a more personal note, both my parents are dead. They've been dead a long time. In fact, I just checked a few minutes ago - still dead. They're going to be dead for the rest of the time I'm alive. If you've ever lost a loved one, and I hope you haven't because it just sucks, you know the idea of closure is fiction in its purest form. It never goes away. It gets better, more bearable over time, but it's never really gone.

Remember that boy or girl who broke your heart? Your pet you had to put down? Losing your grandmother's wedding ring? Failing your final? Crashing the car? Still stings doesn't it. It should. That's the point.

Just because you finish a chapter in your life doesn't mean you can't hold or revisit the book every once in awhile.

This whole concept of closure betrays a society that places an unreasonable amount of importance on "getting past it" and "getting on with it." You hear phrases like "get over it" and "put it behind you" an awful lot, always from people who aren't looking out for your well-being, but who are uncomfortable around your sadness.

No matter how small the incident or how long the time, we don't handle displays of grief well. We're uncomfortable around it. It makes us feel weak.

What it really should make us feel is human.

The client your client could smell like

No one's more cynical about advertising than people who create it. We're like comedians sitting at the bar in back of the the Comedy Store while the other acts are on, daring you to make us laugh.

But when a creative team manages to run the gauntlet of junior account executives, account supervisors, the management supervisor, the acd, the gcd, the ecd and actually get their awesome idea made, it's an inspiration to everyone trying to do the same thing.

You earn our loyalty and appreciation. You took a renegade "what if?" idea, hopped the fence and escaped the compound. You won the lottery by getting it produced and at the same time raising the bar for the rest of us.

You understand you either get busy living or get busy dying (yes, I went Shawshank on you).

Whenever a spot breaks through creatively and culturally, it instantly becomes the example clients point to and say, "Where's MY (insert Apple/BMW/Old Spice/Other great spot) commercial? Why can't you guys do one of those?"

Here's why.

It's because of you. Your lack of vision and aversion to risk. Your fear of failure intertwined with your ego. Your overall cowardice and inherent stupidity that makes you think you're protecting your job when you're guaranteeing your expiration date.

I believe deep down you really want a spot that smells like Old Spice. The problem is you'll only approve ones that smell like Olive Garden.

The great ideas, like great clients, aren't bound by rules. And lest you get the wrong idea, I know and believe there are incredibly visionary, unfrightened and bold clients out there. I've worked with some of them. And I see the work others approve.

They're clients who not only want the Apple spot, they embody the philosophy of it.

Did I have an idea I loved shot down? I'm not saying I did, but I'm not saying I didn't. Anyway, it's just the mood I'm in tonight. From the cleaning lady on three to the client's wife to a creative director who won't let it out the door, there are a million ways for an idea to die.

So let me apologize for the rant. And the lecture. So uncharacteristic, I know. Maybe it's time to lighten the mood with a little comic relief from the spot your spot could be.

The Perfect Storm

Looking east

Looking west

Not usually one to post about the weather, but I must admit the way the sky looked on my block at sunset yesterday has brought out my inner Al Roker (yes, all of you who thought I was actually a bald, black man with glasses were right).

As you can see, the contrast between clear skies to the east, and the gathering, nuclear-glow looking storm to the west was quite spectacular. It was hard to tell whether to break out the deck chairs or the lead shields.

While the family and I were having dinner on our patio, it started to rain. Warm weather, crisp, fresh rain.

Not only the perfect storm. The perfect dessert.