Clock in

Every clock in my house reads, acts and sounds different from the other ones.

Not unlike my high school girlfriends, some are fast, some are slow. Some are loud, some are quiet. Some are easy to read, others not so much.

My friend Kelly Kliebe posted a picture of the Word Clock on his Facebook page awhile ago (although interestingly, he didn't mention what he had for breakfast, which team he was rooting for, or how I could get free tickets on Southwest).

The minute I saw it I had to have it.

For obvious reasons, it's a real writer's clock. And if I ever run into a real writer, I'll make sure and tell him about it (who of us didn't see that one coming?). Because the time is in words, there's no mistaking what time it actually is. I don't have to make an educated guess about the proximity of the hands to the numbers. There's no annoying ticking while I'm trying to sleep. And it serves a dual purpose: it also makes a great nightlight.

I ordered it from Doug Jackson at Doug's Word Clocks in Australia. I ordered it at the beginning of December, and actually forgot that I did until it arrived today.

Time gets away from me like that sometimes.

On his page you can see some of the variations in colors and materials you can order. I know it'll come as a surprise to all who know me that I chose black. Each one is custom ordered and hand-made, which makes it even more special. And more expensive.

I can see from the clock on the wall that IT IS TWENTY MINUTES PAST EIGHT.

An excellent time to wrap this up.

Torture device in disguise

The bane of agency existence is meeting after meeting after meeting. They always drag on forever.

Fortunately the agency I'm working at now has found a unique solution to the problem.

Torture chairs.

I always used to make fun of the black, cushy, faux-leather, Mad Men looking chairs around agency conference tables. That was until I planted myself in one of these hard, cold, badly designed little torture devices.

Cushy faux leather chairs, I take it all back.

These are bar none the world's most uncomfortable chairs. It's like some junior high kid taking metal shop saw an empty tin can and thought, "You know what, I could make a chair out of this."

Every time I have to sit in one for a meeting, all I think about is how much money the government could save on water, plywood and Guns 'N Roses cd's at Gitmo if they just shipped a few of these bad boys down there.

One good thing can be said for them: once a meeting starts, there's none of the usual chit-chat or preamble. Everyone gets right down to business. No one wants to be sitting in them a second longer than they have to.

It is entertaining to watch everyone constantly shifting position to try and get - not comfortable, because that's the impossible dream - but to a place that won't require a chiropractor or orthopedic surgery afterwards.

In spite of the chairs, almost every one who calls a meeting here thinks it's been a successful and productive one.

Maybe that's because they're all standing room only.

Saving me from myself

No doubt about it. Sometimes, more often than I'd care to admit, I'm my own worst enemy.

Fortunately I have friends, good friends, who don't hesitate to roll their eyes, shake their heads and take action to save me from my impulsive ways.

I worked for this creative director at Chiat years ago. The operative words in that sentence are "years ago." And he was a miserable person who made my life and everyone else's he came in contact with miserable. For some reason, this individual was taking up way too much brain space with me yesterday. So I did what I almost always do when that happens.

I wrote a scathing blog post about him that I thought revealed him for the monster he was (today I'm saying "was", because yesterday the thought never occurred to me that he may have changed in the years since we worked together).

But that's not the bad part. The bad part is I posted it.

Within moments, my friend Cameron rode up on his white horse in the form of an email that read, "Wow. This is how you make enemies. And you got a family and a mortgage."

Now if you know anything about me - and why wouldn't you by now - you know that making enemies isn't a particular concern of mine. This wasn't a creative director who held me in high regard anyway, if he held me in any regard at all.

Still, it was a venomous attack on someone who, deserving of it or not, shouldn't have ever been posted. It was me spending way too much time looking backwards instead of forwards.

Two more of my friends, Rich and Rob, also let me know they thought it made me look a lot worse than the person I was writing about. My friend Dale, while he thought it was good that I got it out and down on paper (screen), agreed with them.

So instead of doing what I should've done in the first place, which was not write it, I did the next best thing. I took the post down.

I was yelling at this person and tearing his head off online while criticizing that he used to do the same thing at work. I stooped to his level. Bad move - definitely not proud about it.

Anyway, a big thank you to Cameron, Rich, Rob and Dale for having my back, and good judgement, even if I didn't. Thanks to them I'm coming away from this having learned a valuable lesson.

Don't make enemies until the economy gets better.

Bad apple

I just finished reading Steve Jobs biography, and I have two thoughts: what an incredible person to work for. And I thank my lucky stars I never worked for him.

Visionary? Of course. Innovative? Without question. Son of a bitch? Absolutely.

What's revealed in the book is perhaps the worst secret in the tech community: Steve Jobs was just a miserable person to be around. Abusive to colleagues and family, his lifetime of bitterness seemed to come from the fact his birth parents put him up for adoption.

He wound up emotionally savaging virtually everyone he came in contact with. Whether it was his use of his "reality distortion field" or "the stare", Jobs only ever wanted things one way: his. Fortunately most of the time his way was the best thing for Apple and the remarkable products they make. But when it wasn't, he wasted no time blaming someone else for the failure.

He would've made an excellent creative director.

Those around him thought that after his cancer diagnosis he might soften a bit, change his ways given the limited time he had left. What he actually did was become even feistier and more determined to control everything he came in touch with.

Near the end of both the book and his life, he writes an uncharacteristically touching letter to his wife on the occasion of their 20th anniversary. And he does acknowledge people were right to think he was an a#%&@$e.

There was some speculation that Jobs had control over the content of the book. But I think if that were true, it would've been a much prettier picture of him than it is. He obviously kept his word to Walter Isaacson about not wanting to know what was in it.

It's a great read that wants to love its subject and still be truthful about him. It's a difficult balancing act the book manages to pull off.

Oh, and one more thing.

It's very clear why there'll never be a business leader like him again in our lifetime.

Not that there's anything wrong with that

Back in the day, when I was a lot thinner and I dressed a lot better, every once in a great while someone would ask me if I was gay. And I always gave them the same answer.

Gay? Hell, I'm not even happy.

I don't get asked that anymore, even though according to The Advocate I live in the 14th gayest city in America.

The first, surprisingly, is Salt Lake City.

Using extremely unscientific criteria and some "edgier metrics like the number of International Mr. Leather competition semifinalists and the presence of nude yoga classes", the list includes places like Little Rock and Grand Rapids.

Both of which I'm hoping aren't punch lines to gay jokes about Indian names I'm better off not knowing.

You can see the article and the entire list here. If your city, like mine, is on the list, you can take pride (see what I did there?) in the fact you live in a tolerant and diverse part of the world that probably has lots of meticulously restored Craftsman homes and drought-resistant gardens everywhere you look.

Perhaps not surprisingly, on the list of most conservative cities, none of the top fifteen line up with The Advocate's list, even though some of them are in the same states.

They're mostly red states.

Although there's no reason they couldn't be made over to be a fabulous purple and chartreuse.

A blog that actually means something

In this April 13, 2011 photo, Jessica Rees, 12, of Rancho Santa Margarita, Calif. shows "Joy Jars" she delevoped. Buyers get a t-shirt inside a jar and then fill the jars with "Joy" and pass them on to someone else. The proceeds go to pediatric cancer research. Rees, 12, who started a blog and a Facebook page to raise awareness about child cancer has died of brain tumors. Her family says Jessica died Thursday, Jan. 5, 2012 after a 10-month battle with cancer.

One reason I have a tough time coming up with a couple posts a week for this blog is because of the randomness of the subject matter. I'm sure you've noticed the posts here seem to wander aimlessly from topic to topic. They lack focus. Just like their author.

This wasn't a problem 12-year old Jessica Rees had with her blog. From beginning to the sad end, it was about her brave fight with brain cancer.

The words she lived by - never ever give up - were the inspiration for the NEGU Foundation which builds awareness and support for kids with cancer.

I'm in awe of children with cancer. I've seen the TV specials with afflicted kids, some with hair but many without because of the chemo, and marvel through my tears at how positive and brave they all are. I realize you never know what you can handle until you get there, but I think the safe bet is I'd be something considerably less than a positive example of how to deal with a terminal illness.

People who know me, feel free to double down on that bet.

When I think about accomplishments, I think about the tacos, cars, packaged goods, electronics and other items I've helped sell during my career. And I think about what impact or meaning it has on anyone's life. It's a thought you shouldn't let cross your mind if you work in advertising - there's no percentage in it.

Jessica Rees accomplished more that matters in her brief 12 years than I have or will in a lifetime.

She knew it wasn't necessary to be a hero to inspire people. And she knew you could become one just by being brave and wanting to do good in the world.

I'm going to try to remember that.

So many blogs, including this one, are often so self centered. I suppose it's the nature of a blog. But it's also why it's so startling to see one so selfless.

It's not possible to know how many lives will be positively affected by her having been here. But when I read about her, and I least expected it, mine was.

Rest in peace Jessica.

Apparently child killers have feelings too

The first thing I have to say is I feel sorry for the dog.

If you can stomach watching the first installment of child-killer Casey Anthony's video diary, you'll be interested to know that she adopted a dog. She says she loves the dog as much as any family she's ever had. Which of course means we're only days away from finding out Rags is missing, only to be later discovered in a ditch with a band-aid on his forehead and duct tape around his snout.

Let's all take a moment to say a big goodbye to the dog.

She also mentions at one point that she doesn't like having her picture taken. I think it's good that she brought it up, because if you looked at these pictures of her partying while her daughter Caylee was missing, you might get the mistaken idea that she's just an attention-whore-party-girl.

Which she's not. She says as much in the video.

What she never mentions is Caylee, her murdered daughter. Probably best not to bring that up. It'll only remind people that, like OJ, despite all the evidence beating a path straight to her door, she was acquitted. Doesn't matter. There's not a person alive who doesn't know she did it.

I don't know what makes me hate her more (aside from the obvious): that she was out partying while law enforcement officials and concerned citizens were out combing every inch of the countryside around the clock for her missing daughter, or the fact she completely threw the only person who still liked her - her father - under the bus at trial.

If there's any silver lining here, it's that she's so universally hated I don't think she can even pull off a reality show at this point. Or at least a reality show that isn't produced by her for YouTube.

While Casey makes all of this about her, let's take a moment to remember the reason she's even a topic of discussion: her beautiful, too soon departed daughter Caylee. If there's a YouTube in heaven - and there should be or else it wouldn't be called heaven - I'm sure Caylee is watching the video and thinking three things:

1. I can't believe I drew the short straw and got her for a mother.

2. I think I'll stop watching YouTube.

3. At least I know I won't be running into her here.

My friend Rich just started a series on his blog called People We Need To Kill.

I'd like to nominate Casey Anthony.