The account executive of bodily organs

Here's how my Saturday went.

In the morning when I woke up, I found my dog Max on his pillow in our bedroom. Now, Max comes and goes in and out of our room during the night, but he's never there in the morning when we wake up. But I decided to just accept it for what it was: he finally realized he couldn't tear himself away from me.

When I left the room and called him though, he didn't come. He just stayed on his pillow, looking up at me with those big, brown eyes.

Something wasn't right in dogtown.

We wound up taking him to our dog-walker's vet since our local vet's office was closed. After an X-ray, we discovered why Max was being so sluggish: a grapefruit-sized tumor on his spleen.

It sounds awful, but it's apparently quite common in larger breeds - like German Shepherds - and usually around the eight-year mark. Max is eight and a half.

We were in shock how fast this came on him. Just the day before, we were playing with him in the yard, and he was chasing, jumping, barking and just generally trying to kill us (not literally - we love to play rough with him). The day before, the World's Greatest Dog was the World's Happiest Dog.

David Feldman, a close friend of ours for over 25 years, and the world's greatest vet, explained it like this: the problem is the spleen. If it were the heart, you'd notice his troubled breathing much earlier. If it were his brain, we'd see him unsteady on his feet. But in a dog, much like in a human, the spleen is pretty much a useless organ that does nothing, which is why as the tumor grows on it you don't notice it until it's almost too late.

My wife called it "the account executive of organs." Before you get all over me for that, she was an account person in her former life.

We wound up driving Max up to David's office in West Hollywood around eleven last night, and by midnight he was in surgery. Yes there are vets and emergency clinics closer to us, but when it comes to the big stuff, David and his staff are the only ones we trust. After we dropped Max off, we were able to breathe for the first time that evening.

About 2a.m., we got a call from the doctor at David's practice who did the surgery, saying the words we were hoping to hear, "It couldn't have gone better."

Now there are a few ways this can go. The tumor they removed along with the spleen is either malignant or benign. If it's benign, Max heals up and life goes on. If it's malignant, we have maybe two to four months if we do nothing, and maybe six to twelve if he goes through chemo. And of course, chemo brings its own set of pleasantries with it.

So we'll wait for the pathology report and then we'll have some decisions to make. But while we're waiting, we'll do what we've always done: love Max as unconditionally and fully as he's always loved us.

There are four of us in this house. Max's magic is that each of us thinks he loves us the most.

Theory of flight

I have a theory about flying. It's a simple one really, and it goes like this: no matter what the destination, there is no flight too short for first.

Elitist? Maybe. Expensive? Definitely. Worth it? Without a doubt.

This shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone who follows this blog (and if you do follow this blog, you really need to get out more). After all, I've posted before here about the rapid decline in respect for air travel as evidenced by the caliber of people who fly. And by that I mean people who fly coach.

I know how I sound. And, as is typical of first class passengers, I don't care.

We used to go see family in Carmel, CA. While my wife and kids would get all excited about the six hour road trip up there (by road trip they meant monotonous drive up interstate 5, with a stop at the McDonald's in Buttonwillow being the highlight of the trip), I on the other hand would make my airline reservations. I'd fly from L.A. to S.F., then take jet-service back down to Monterey.

The flight from San Francisco to Monterey is exactly 16 minutes. Know where I sat? In the front of the plane. I'd buy upgrade coupons from United in books of four, and I wasn't afraid to use them.

So when I went to New York a couple weekends ago to see my friend Holland Taylor in the Broadway show ANN, which she wrote and stars in, there was no question what part of the plane I was going to sit in.

Which is why you're looking at a picture of the left wing and engine as seen from seat 2A.

Holland Taylor is ANN

My friend Holland Taylor is starring on Broadway in a play she wrote about former Texas governor Ann Richards. If you're in New York, go see it. If you're not in New York, get there and see it.

Meanwhile, I'm going back to my own pet project: finding out where she gets the energy to do it all brilliantly, then bottling it.

Right after my nap.

Not ready for my close-up

Agencies have a lot of camera equipment laying around. And while today, that could just mean a few iPhone 5's, I'm talking about the real thing. Actual HD cameras, with mics, lights and people who know how to use them.

Many agencies even have full blown production departments they position to potential clients as responsive and money-saving, when actually what they are is a profit center for the agency.

"Sure we can produce 10 spots for a million dollars!"

What they don't mention is that the hard costs to them are only $20K a spot. What the hell, everyone's entitled to make money. And if that money goes into the freelance budget, even better.

Perhaps I've said too much already.

Anyway, sometimes that equipment is drafted into service for a new business pitch, a party video or a clip about the agency for their site.

I've always tried to avoid appearing in these videos. They never seem to be as funny or clever as they are on paper (Yes, just like my copy - so predictable). And while everyone is yelling at you to look happy while it's being shot, I've noticed the overwhelming feeling after participating is regret for having done it.

Still, there never seems to be a shortage of volunteers. I call it the Kardashian effect: the 15 minutes of fame theory reduced to 2 minutes while it gets shown in a staff meeting.

The powers that be where I'm working right now asked me to appear in a New Hire video today (I'm using "asked" as a euphemism). The idea was a group of people - a representative from every department - around a conference room table having a fake brainstorming session. I guess it was going to be shown in the HR waiting room. I made them swear a blood-oath and put in writing that it would never make its way to YouTube, social media or the company website.

They assured me it wouldn't.

The upshot of it all was that shortly before they were to begin shooting, they said I couldn't do it because I was only a temp employee. They were going to use a staffer instead. Personally, I think I was being such a pain in the ass they just uninvited me to the dance. It wouldn't be the first time.

Fine with me.

Besides, until they invent a camera that subtracts ten pounds, I don't think I'll be appearing in agency videos any time soon.

The first manifesto

From airlines to peanut butter to Japanese car companies, they all want one. And not just one. One like the one that started it all. And agencies want to give it to them.

The manifesto. That crisp, concise group of words that at once lays out the philosophy, character, promise, mission and direction of a company.

My friend Rich Siegel over at Round Seventeen is the best manifesto writer working, and he's written more of them than anyone I know including me. But as he'd be the first to tell you, even when it's right in front of them, they don't always see it. In a global campaign gang...effort for a luxury car company, I won't say which one - Infiniti - Rich wrote an incredible manifesto. I walked in the conference room where it was pinned on the foam core with about 25 other, lesser manifestos, and was in awe. In fact, I gave it the ultimate copywriter compliment: I wished I'd written it.

At the end of the exercise though, Infiniti stayed with the work it was doing.

The benchmark for all manifestos is and will always be Apple. But that particular one is uniquely reflective of an uncompromising leader with a singular vision. Two things too many companies are lacking.

But don't think I'm completely against them. I'm not. They're good for business.

So here's to the crazy ones. Because people who are crazy enough to think they need to hire freelancers to write manifestos are the ones that do.

The thrill is gone

There's a saying when you like a car so much, you can't get it out of your mind. Since this is a family blog I'll paraphrase it: "If it were a person I'd marry it.".

I remember how completely smitten I felt the very first time I ever saw the PT Cruiser. It was a blue-line drawing in Motor Trend magazine two years before Chrysler actually put it into production. And it looked awesome. The retro styling, the street-rod, American Graffiti-ness of it. It appealed to me on a completely visceral level. It was sexy.

But because you think something is sexy at one point doesn't mean you'll always think it is. Just ask my high school girlfriend.

Anyway, having fallen hard I immediately made it my mission to learn everything I could about it. I also started saving my pennies and counting the days until Chrysler actually rolled it off the line. I wanted to be one of the first in California to own one.

Then a funny thing happened. I was over it.

When they came out, they looked tamer than I'd expected. They also looked like a fad car - there was nothing timeless about the design. In fact just the opposite: it evoked a very specific time, you know, the one that's passed. Because of that, it was just a novelty.

When I finally rode in one, turns out it wasn't fast (It had the Neon engine in the first model, although to be fair they boosted the power in subsequent versions). It was roomy but not comfortable. And after the Highway Institute and insurance companies had a chance to rate it, come to find out it wasn't all that safe either.

I saw a black one on the road today, waxed to a gloss and reflecting the sun into my eyes. And in the same way you see an old flame and can't help but wonder what might've been, I tried to picture myself behind the wheel of that Cruiser today.

I couldn't. All I could see was the white-haired, 65-year old lady straining to see over the wheel, going 45 on the freeway.

My kind of kid

As the kid lottery goes, I think I hit the jackpot. I have two extremely incredible kids who never cease to surprise and amaze me.

Like magicians, except with fewer bunny casualties.

I've already posted here about how crazy proud I am of the poem my daughter wrote. Now I want to relay a little anecdote about her brother.

My son is currently on a trip to Chicago with his school choir group. They have scheduled performances and competitions for the next few days. They also have plenty of extra time to tool around Chicago and take in what makes it such a great city.

Anyway, I was taking him to school yesterday, the day he was leaving, and he asks me the question I get almost every time I take him to school - "Can I play you a song?"

Now, when he asks, I immediately roll my eyes, let out a deep sigh and assume I'm going to be held hostage to one of the bands he likes that make me want to blow my brains out.

It's a very mature reaction to have in front of him. I'm nothing if not a role model.

So I said, "Sure, go ahead."

He plugs in his iPhone, hits play and out comes the last thing I would've expected: Sinatra singing My Kind Of Town.

I was smiling, but I felt like crying tears of joy. At how beautiful Sinatra's tone and phrasing are. How perfect a song choice it was. How much he loved surprising me with it.

And how much I'll miss him until he gets back Monday.