Twelve chairs

From agency to agency, as a freelancer you have to adapt to all kinds of situations: tiny workspaces, unreliable wi-fi, uncovered parking, bad agency coffee. However those are much more easily overcome than what I think is the worst mountain you’ll have to climb – the communal writing table (or its equivalent, open cubicle seating).

I just returned to an agency gig after a three-month stint on the client side. While there, I had something I haven’t had in a very long time – no, not a 32” waistline – an actual office. With a door. That closed.

Not only was it a trip down memory lane, it was also extremely helpful in shutting out the world and the noise that comes with it. It was significantly easier to concentrate on my writing, or to make that extra special personal phone call to my doctor, banker or wife.

In one form or another, besides the few actual offices with doors reserved for upper management, almost every agency today has an open seating plan. I like to blame Chiat\Day and it’s phenomenal failure, the “virtual office” experiment almost 20 years ago.

The idea was run an office like a college campus. No one had any assigned personal space. You’d come in, see the “concierge” and check out a powerbook and cell phone. You were then free to work from anywhere you liked in the office. What this lead to was petty turf wars, people scurrying for private space and a high absentee rate since you could literally phone it in from anywhere.

The thought was all this togetherness would foster a more creative, collaborative environment and improve the quality of the work.

It did neither.

The other thought was that instead of building out spaces and moving walls to accommodate titles, it'd simply be cheaper to throw everyone into the mix and let them fend for themselves.

Chiat abandoned the experiment when they moved to their current Frank Gehry-designed space in Playa Del Rey. It's wide open, but at least (most) people have desks to call their own.

Whether it's open space or communal seating, it's like trying to work in the world’s largest Starbuck’s, where 200 baristas are yelling orders and names non-stop, and it all echos off the open-ceiling, exposed duct design. Or as I like to call it, Chiat-lite.

Maybe I’m just nostalgic for a time when effort was better spent doing the work instead of trying to block everything else out so you could focus on it.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to throw these babies on and get back to it.

Danny

I don’t know if other industries are like this, but the ad community is a small one. Especially in L.A. Because of that, you wind up seeing a lot of the same faces at different agencies around town. Sometimes a good thing, sometimes not.

In the case of Danny Alegria, it was more than a good thing: it was a blessing.

Danny either worked in the studio or was the studio manager at three agencies I had the good fortune to work with him at: DBC, DDB and Y&R.

Ad agencies just love their initials don’t they?

Danny was always a bright light in what could be a dark environment. Being in the studio, he was ground zero for stressed out account and creative people throwing fits when it came to getting something they usually needed yesterday out the door to a client, or materials for a big presentation or new business pitches.

Regardless of the pressure and tantrums that came his way, he had a good word for everyone (something extremely difficult to do at agencies). And there was never a question about him getting what you needed done.

Even though I’d known him for years, I’d never really sat down and talked to him until one very slow day at Y&R about nine or ten years ago. We wound up sitting down and literally talking for over three hours. He told me about his time in the Navy, his background as a singer, his years as a jockey, exactly how horseracing worked (not the way you’d think or hope), his family and more.

I couldn’t believe this fascinating person had been steps away from me for years, and yet only now was I just discovering who he was and learning about him.

I had always loved horseracing. In fact, when I was in college I loved it a little too much, to the tune of rent money on occasion. Danny and I made an agreement we’d take a trip out to Santa Anita, and he’d give me the lowdown on the horses and be my betting Yoda.

Sadly, we never got to make that trip.

Danny was diagnosed with cancer. But like everything else in my experience with him, he handled it with grace, honesty and dignity.

He would post unflinchingly on Facebook about how he was doing - the progress of both the treatment and the disease.

As to be expected with cancer as widespread as his had become, there were good days and bad days. But even on the bad days, the really bad ones, there would be a thread of optimism.

On one of his good days, he invited me to come see him give what he knew would be his last singing performance. I wouldn't have missed it. Not only did I get to see Danny perform, I got to see a lot of long, lost friends from agencies past we'd worked with over the years, who were also out in force to show support for him, and his talent that we didn't get to see nearly enough.

Danny was in great form that day, but it tired him out. It was easy to see the toll his cancer was taking.

I would text back and forth with him. I told him I'd come out to where he lived in Riverside and take him to lunch, or if he wasn't up to going out, bring it to him and we'd eat at his place and talk about the race track. I believe he was confined to his bed at that point, but even so he just told me he wasn't feeling well, but as soon as he rallied we'd do it.

Shortly after that conversation, on July 10, 2012, Danny died at the age of 60.

For me, it's certainly a personal loss, as I know it is for his family. But it's bigger than that: it's a global one. The world simply can't afford to lose people as decent, caring and loving as Danny always was to not just his family and friends, but everyone he encountered.

His Facebook page is still active, and every now and then I find myself re-reading some of the posts he put up as he was going through his ordeal. They are honest, inspiring, funny, heartbreaking and hopeful. I'm also friends with his daughter on there, and though I've never met her in person I feel as though we have a strong connection.

She is funny, bright and optimistic. Just like her old man.

Not a day goes by that I don't think about Danny and the meal together I was so looking forward to.

It's comforting knowing he's finally resting in well-deserved peace.

And that he's making heaven a much more rockin' place.

Dig it

There are some days when I think to myself I could be putting my time to better use. Like the ones when I’m just vegging out on the couch, watching Source Code for the thousandth time on cable and doing my impression of a vacuum cleaner slamming Thin Mint Girl Scout cookies down my throat.

But then I think at least I’m not out digging a hole looking for Jimmy Hoffa.

I don’t actually think that, but I could.

Once again, the FBI has a tip about where the body of the former union leader may be buried in Detroit. And once again, they’re breaking out the backhoes, shovels and forensic kits and going looking for him.

I think we know how this expedition ends.

This time it’s thanks to a tip from a former mob underboss named Tony Zerilli. He was the second in command of the Detroit mafia when Hoffa disappeared. While he doesn’t have direct involvement in the crime since he was in jail the day Hoffa disappeared, he alleges he found out the location of his body once he got out of prison.

By the way, Zerilli is 85-years old now. I'm not in the FBI, but if I were I'd have a lot of questions about how reliable his memory is.

The other question is who gains and who loses in the search? The FBI does both. Their inability to solve the Hoffa matter has been an embarrassment to them for over forty years - that’s why they keep trying. If they find his remains, their perseverance and skills are rewarded. If it turns out to be like Geraldo and The Mystery of Al Capone’s Vaults, they lose. Again.

At this point, no one else besides them and whoever is left in Hoffa's family really cares. The chances are just as good Hoffa was tossed in an incinerator and there’s not even a body to find.

Still, it makes for good folklore and so-so movies with Jack Nicolson.

Father's Day 2013

I don't usually re-post on here, but today's my day and one of the perks is that I don't have to write a new post if I don't want to. Especially when this one will do just fine.

I think you dads know what I'm talkin' about..

Since today is Father's Day, I thought I'd take a minute to pay tribute to the great dads of our time. No, not the real ones, the tv ones.

It occurred to me as I was looking for these pictures that the fictional dads are as varied as the real-life ones are.

The difference is that they make great decisions almost all the time. And even when they don't, they get to resolve the situation properly in a half hour or an hour.

Sometimes they're just as much a mystery as the real ones are. For example when they appear to us after they've died and we've crashed on an island. As they so often will.

And sometimes, the people you think are least equipped to be a dad turn out to be great ones.

I used to joke that ninety percent of the job was just showing up. But two teenagers later - while it's still a big part of it - I've learned the percentage is way off.

To all the real world dads, who need more than thirty or sixty minutes to make things right, who are there for their kids at breakfast, after school, after dinner and in the middle of the night, doing their best day in and day out to provide everything and more for their kids, Happy Father's Day.

Why I Love Costco Part 4: Big wieners

As you already know from parts 1, 2 and 3, for me there's no shortage of things to love at Costco. But so far everything has been inside the store. This time, the object of my affection is waiting right outside the front doors.

Big wieners.

Like everything else at Costco, when it comes to their hot dogs size matters. These huge frankfurters are not only filling, they're also delicious and in demand. People are lined up like it's the DMV to get their hands on these wieners.

After all, again like everything else at Costco, the price is right.

For a mere $1.50, you get one of these giant wieners, all the toppings you want and a large soft drink. If I were a homeless person - and of course, being a freelancer I'm always teetering on the edge of that - I'd hone my panhandling skills so I could score at least a $1.50 a day to eat at Costco.

I'd be the fattest homeless person at the offramp. But I'd be the happiest.

Next time you're at a Costco, after you're done shopping and have worked up an appetite pushing that mammoth shopping cart overflowing with gallon jars of mayonnaise, a two-year supply of toilet paper and 42-inch flatscreen TV, set yourself down and enjoy a cheap, delicious, filling meal.

Believe me, nothing's more satisfying than a big wiener. Especially at Costco.

I didn't do that ad. Why do you ask?

Campaign ideas don’t want to be bad, but like Jessica Rabbit said, sometimes they're just drawn that way.

The fact is an idea can often look good on paper, then get lost somewhere along the way to executing it.

And I'm just man enough to say that sometimes bad work happens to good writers: the lousiness of some of my spots has been my creation and mine alone.

For example, the am/pm mini mart spot where I made a joke about the son in the family being adopted. Immediately after it aired, they started routing all the complaint calls from adoption advocacy groups to me so they could tell me, in very raised voices, why adoption jokes weren't funny. I listened patiently, then told them I was adopted and I thought it was hilarious.

I’m not, but sometimes you just want the noise to stop.

Then there was the absolutely awful campaign my partner Doug and I presented for Suzuki cars using the cast of LOST. There were several spots, but the highlight (lowlight?) was one where instead of a blue VW van, we had them discover a Grand Vitara on the island. We liked the show and we wanted to go to Hawaii, so sue us.

It's a good thing it never went anywhere. It wouldn't have been nearly as good as this one:

I don’t remember this, but my wife swears years ago I wrote a radio spot where the characters were building a house out of meat (SFX: Hands slapping ground beef). This was pre-Lady Gaga. Obviously I was way ahead of my time, which is so rare (see what I did there?).

This isn't the first time I've written about good and bad ads. I posted a piece here about it.

But I'm beginning to think putting up posts running down the list of bad ads I've done is probably not the most career-enhancing move I can make. So forget you've seen this.

Just like you did with all those bad ads.

Hurts donut

This is why the terrorists are going to win. We're going to do it for them.

A chef named Charlie Boghosian at a place called Chicken Charlie's (it gets more appetizing by the second) wondered what would happen if he crossed a Krispy Kreme donut with a Sloppy Joe sandwich. You're looking at his answer.

Coming as absolutely no surprise, Charlie is a vendor of fried foods at the San Diego County Fair. And this little beauty sits right next to his other deep-fried culinary creations: Twinkies, bacon-wrapped pickles and fried Kool-Aid (you heard me).

Spokespeople for the Krispy Kreme corporation have been frantically denying they have anything to do with this abomination of a sandwich. As heart-stopping good as it may be, apparently they don't want to sully their reputation for healthier fare.

I have to admit I'm curious. Not for an entire one, but I have to say I wouldn't mind taking a bite. You know, for the same reason I saw Sinatra before he died.

Just so I could say I did.

Anyway, I don't know if I trust Charlie entirely. Sure he fries everything he comes near in the kitchen, but he does it with a fervor that might be bordering on crazy.

In fact, the last person to buy one insisted he had a glazed look in his eyes.