That guy

Last night my son and I watched The Green Mile. It was the first time he'd seen it. It was my millionth.

From Tom Hanks to Sam Rockwell to Michael Clark Duncan, there are lots of reasons to love it. One is because of that guy. You know, the guy who plays the older Tom Hanks character at the beginning and end. The guy who's always a judge. Or priest. Cowboy. Reporter. The guy that was on every TV show when we were growing up.

Yeah, that guy.

His real name is Dabbs Greer. It's the kind of name that could've been one of the more than three hundred character roles he played before he died five years ago.

When I was growing up (no, I'm not finished yet), I remember seeing him most on the old Superman television series. He was on it all the time, as a reporter (not mild-mannered) or one of the bad guys.

It's an interesting career being a character actor. If you're lucky, like Dabbs was, you work for decades. You avoid the spotlight and glare of the tabloids. You turn in one quality, scene or movie stealing performance after another. And absolutely everyone knows who you are: you're that guy.

There are many sites like this one dedicated to all the "that guys" who've graced the large and small screen over the years.

Every once in awhile an A-list actor becomes, either by choice or a career slow down, more of a character actor. The one that comes to mind is Alec Baldwin. Of course, as an A-lister he carried some great films like Hunt For Red October, Miami Blues (a personal favorite) and The Cooler. But the problem is you have to balance the mix. When you do films like The Marrying Man and The Shadow, people tend to forget the good ones.

Taking on character parts, he's doing some of the best work of his career. We got a hint of it from his ten unforgettable minutes in Glengarry Glen Ross. Then he sealed it with roles in The Aviator, The Departed, The Good Shepherd and State and Main.

For my money - $8.50 matinee or $12.50 after 6PM - character actors are the foundation of any great film. They put craft and art before pride and ego, and they make every actor on screen who comes near them look better. It forces everyone to raise their game.

They don't get recognized nearly as often as they should. So consider this post a thank you to all the character actors that've brought joy and memories to every person who's ever seen an image flicker on the large or small screen.

Especially that guy.

My other job

Working freelance, I expect sometimes I'm going to be asked to juggle a few jobs at the same time. It's one of the freelance rules: when it rains it pours.

When they're writing jobs, it's never much of a problem. But when you throw in the position of Mr. Mom, it tends to complicate things.

I guess I was asking for it. Freelancers, how many times has this happened to you? When you tell people you're freelancing, what they hear is that you're home all day doing nothing except surfing the net, eating Oreos and watching Dr. Phil.

He can be so abrasive sometimes.

Anyway, the reasoning is since that's all you could possibly be doing, then you're free to pick up the kids, do the laundry, feed the kids, fold the laundry, do the vacuuming, take the kids to music lessons, put away the laundry, take the kids to their soccer/volleyball/tennis games or lessons, then do some shopping on the way to picking up the kids from their games.

And pay the bills. Which you can't, because you haven't been able to get any writing done. Writing which, by the way, is what brings the checks in. Which you need to pay the bills.

The circle of life in action.

On the other hand, doing those chores and errands does give me a sense of accomplishment in a way that writing doesn't. Writing just goes on and on, revision after revision, approval after approval. But the other work has a beginning a middle and an end. Just like good writing.

Maybe the jobs aren't as different as I thought.

Besides, how much Dr. Phil can I take in a day.

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.