Three class acts

You know all those problems, big and small in our lives? The ones we bitch and moan about. The ones that are so inconvenient.

Here's a little something to put them in perspective.

I have always been on team Letterman. I find his combination of intelligence, humor and compassion unique to late night television. Plus he made Paris Hilton cry, so what's not to love?

This past week his class and tact was yet again on display during an interview with quadruple amputee veteran, and double arm transplant recipient Brendan Marrocco. The respect Dave has for this young man's courage, persistence and remarkable attitude given the circumstances is tangible.

And Brendan, along with the doctor who headed up his surgical team, are nothing short of inspiring.

When I see an interview like this, I realize how very little I have to complain about in life.

It probably won't stop me from doing it, but it will make me think before I do.

Telling the difference

Quick, can you tell the difference between these two images? If you can, thanks to your keen powers of observation and discernment, you may not be suited for a job in advertising.

In the agency world, persuasion is the name of the game. There's the obvious job description of persuading consumers they need whatever it is you're hawking. Tacos. Cars. Insurance. Computers. Adult diapers. Cruises. Cereal. Cellular device. Web provider. Hemorrhoid ointment (two creepy words in the same sentence).

And while that effort sometimes hits and sometime misses, some of the people who have the job of persuading themselves a campaign is really good, in spite of overwhelming evidence to the contrary, almost always succeed.

Here's how it usually goes. The Emperor wants to show off his new clothes - which are invisible to those too stupid to see them - in a parade. People in the crowd all see he has no clothes on, yet no one will tell him for fear of repercussions.

If you read the Hans Christian Andersen fairy tale, you know there's a little boy in the crowd who doesn't go along with the pretense and shouts out, "He isn't wearing any clothes!"

In advertising, the little boy gets fired. Or promoted.

Sometimes it's hard to tell.

Remembering Gary

Gary May first came into our lives to solve a problem.

The people who sold us our house were, shall we say, not exactly forthcoming about a few things that were wrong with it. One of which was the ongoing water damage in the back room.

Apparently our yard sloped down towards the house - as did the patio towards the patio door. When it rained or was watered for any period of time, the back room soaked in all the water. The rest of the water came in under the patio door. And because the back room had been added on years ago, it was on a cement slab foundation. If the cracks in the corners of the windows hadn't been painted over, we would've known immediately that the water was undermining the foundation. It was a disaster waiting to happen.

We went to arbitration against the sellers, and won ten thousand dollars from them to make the needed repairs. The only thing we had to figure out was what we were going to do, and who we'd get to do it.

Our neighbors across the street were having their driveway redone, so we sauntered over and asked their contractor if he wouldn't mind coming by and seeing what he thought could be done to solve the problem.

That contractor was Gary May.

It was the first of many times over the years we'd have Gary solve problems around the house for us.

Gary wasn't just a masonry guy. He was an artist disguised as a masonry guy. I used to love watching and listening to him and my wife collaborate on a vision for whatever project he was working on. This big, booming, gentle giant of a man, discussing what would look right. What would feel right for us and the property.

There were times when we'd ask Gary what he was going to do, and he just said, "I'll figure something out. You'll like it." He always did. And we always did.

With Gary, it was easy to say the three most dangerous words you can say to a contractor: "While you're here..." Because it was so easy to trust and love the work Gary did, we just always wanted him to do more. And if it meant we had to wait because his schedule was busy, then we waited.

Gary became family over the years. He came with his granddaughter to my daughter's birthday parties. He'd stop by to show off the work he'd done on our house to potential clients because he was so proud of it. Even when he wasn't there, he was. Whenever an issue would come up we'd always say, "Let's talk to Gary about it.

Gary was there from the time my children were born. He watched them grow up, and would always ask about them and comment about what great people they were becoming.

And as much as it pains me, I'm just going to say it: Gary was my dog's favorite person on the planet. Gary had known Max since he was a puppy and loved him just as long. And it was mutual. Max would virtually come out of his skin, barking, jumping, tail wagging at a 100 miles an hour the minute he heard Gary's van coming up the street.

Gary would ask, "Why is he like this when I'm here?"

The same reason we all were excited to see him. He loved him.

The running joke in our house about Gary was that almost no matter what work he was doing, the price was $3200. Didn't matter if it was outside, inside, front yard, side yard, back yard, $3200 just was what it always worked out to.

Gary was also a man of faith. He'd been through a lot in his life. He'd lost a lot of family. He'd gotten into trouble with drugs, and was clean and in NA for 44 years. He lived his life as an example to others of what was possible. Which was everything. Because to anyone who knew him, there was nothing he couldn't accomplish.

When we re-landscaped our backyard, my wife wanted these cement squares with aggregate - the crushed, colored glass and gravel you see in it. Gary sent her to a store that sold the glass, and she picked out exactly what she wanted. He custom made the squares, and included the one heart-shaped piece of glass my wife wanted to be prominent.

We call it Gary's heart, even though it's far too small.

When his wife called and told us of his passing, it was as if a giant had fallen.

I guess that is what happened.

Whenever Gary would be working at the house and I had to go to work, he'd always say, "See you later Jeff. Write something great today."

His wife Cindy said that Gary's with God now, probably making him a giant cement column. I have no doubt that's true.

And I know exactly how much he's charging him.

Negotiate this

In advertising, as in most businesses, there comes that magical time in the interview where they ask you how much you're looking for salary wise. And before answering, you ask them how much they have for the position.

And the game is afoot.

I've never liked negotiating for money. It's not that I'm not good at it (Jewish, hello?), but time and time again it's just frustrating how stupid the things being said on the other side of the table are.

Here are two of my favorites.

They ask what I'm looking for and I tell them. Then they say, "Well, we're paying our current writer $50,000 less than that." To which I say, "Then keep your current writer. I'm sure s/he's great. But if you want me, you're going to have to pony up." Or something to that effect.

Sometimes you have to point out the obvious to them: that whatever anyone else makes has absolutely nothing to do with what you're being paid or your value to the company.

Which brings me to the next moronic statement I've heard many, many times in my, um, career (chuckling cause I said career).

This usually happens once I've had a job for a while where I've performed exceptionally, done great campaigns, have happy clients, been responsible for increased sales, gotten glowing reviews from my bosses, etc. The discussion of increasing my salary begins, and it's met with "Well, if I do that for you then I'd have to do it for everyone."

Hold on cowboy, let's think about that for a minute.

First of all, no, you don't have to do it for everyone. Unless of course you're letting everyone know what everyone makes. In which case then you might have to do it for everyone.

Also, if you have to do it for everyone, does that include that creative director that does nothing all day but look busy while he's actually playing Angry Birds on his iPad? Because if it does, I don't need to work nearly as hard or smart as I do if you have to give the same increase to everyone just because I asked about it.

Salary negotiations are about one thing and one thing only. The number you'll be happy with. And if the people you're negotiating with don't think you're worth that number, then they're not worth your time. It's a lesson that takes a while to learn.

Like buying a house or a car, you have to be prepared to walk away if you don't get the deal you want. It's not always an easy thing to do.

But it's considerably more rewarding than selling yourself short.

Waits and measures

This is going to come as a surprise to a lot of people who know me, but raspy, gritty, gravel-voiced singers seem to be the ones I'm most drawn to. That would explain the Springsteen thing. But I haven't always been the hardcore Springsteen fan you know me as today. Before there was Bruce, long before, there was Tom Waits.

When I was growing up, I lived in West Hollywood not too far from the Tropicana Motel where Waits lived for years. There was a restaurant called Duke's downstairs from the motel (it's since moved to Sunset Blvd. near the Whiskey), and it was for a long time the best breakfast in L.A. My friends and I would eat there a lot, and more often than not - if it was early enough - we'd see Waits there. I never spoke with him, but I do recall a few nods were exchanged.

Anyway, by any criteria, Tom Waits is that word that's used all too often to describe considerably lesser talents. He is a musical genius.

There are a few genuinely great, timeless songs that transport you to another place, or capture an experience and moment so well they just grab you by the throat. Or the heart. Their sad poignancy and melancholy, with visual lyricism so precise it's as if you're watching a movie instead of listening to a song, washes over you completely. For me, one of those songs is The Heart Of Saturday Night.

Over the years I've heard him perform it many times in concert. This video - which is actually just the audio off the album of the same name - is how I first heard the voice of a young Tom waits sing it.

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Waits has always experimented with all kinds of sounds and instrumentation throughout his career. And while he's never strayed too far from music, over the years he's also carved out a respectable and varied acting career for himself.

Which I think is a good thing. Because, and I'm braced for the flack I'm going to get for saying this, after years of smoking, drinking, carousing and vocal strain, it is impossible to listen to the Tom Waits of today and enjoy it.

Every singers voice changes with age. Some get richer, deeper. Others lose the ability to hit the highs and lows. But where once the grit in Waits voice lent his songs their melancholy, power and romanticism, for me the truth is now he's unlistenable.

Take a listen to this recent recording and see what you think:

I guess it could be described as beautiful noise. Or a bold expression of his art.

For me, the Tom Waits of today sounds like gravel and broken glass in a garbage disposal.

I realize how harsh that sounds. But I'm angry that the Waits I loved didn't care better for his instrument, and let it have the emotional impact of his early years even if in a more mature sound.

To those who think I've turned on him, I haven't. I will always respect and admire his genius, and will always have his library of songs to listen to.

Only now, it's not the songs that make me sad.

Getting mugged

While my close friend and personal life coach Rich Siegel is busy over at Round Seventeen writing about issues of the day like Islamic clerics, Israel and Palestine, the Holocaust and the sorry state of advertising, I notice he has yet to tackle a vital subject that affects us all on a deeper, even more visceral level.

Of course I'm talking about celebrity mug shots.

It's always good, wholesome fun to have a laugh at someone else's expense. So let's start with one of the classics: Nick Nolte. Now the go-to choice would've been to contrast and compare a glamour boy shot of Nolte from the Rich Man Poor Man days with his now infamous Don King-esque, "Have you ever heard of conditioner?" hairstyle mug shot.

Instead, I chose an earlier mug shot of Nolte as a counterpoint to the one we all know and love. In fact, as you'll see, I've pretty much restricted all my choices to celebutards who have enjoyed the luxurious accommodations of an 8x6 holding cell more than once.

It's hard to know exactly what's more embarrassing about this early Tim Allen mug shot. The '70's stache? That he was busted in Kalamazoo (which coincidentally is the word magicians use when they forget "abracadabra"), or the fact people kept mistaking him for Geraldo Rivera?

Clearly his success from Home Improvement and voicing Buzz Lightyear is reflected in the more recent, more styled shot on the right. You can tell he's aware of the lighting, as well as his best angle. It could almost be the head shot his agent sends out for roles on shows like, you know, Oz or Prison Break.

Unfortunately for Tim, thanks to the interwebs these mug shots will be around to infinity and beyond. (See what I did there?)

                                        

Ladies and gentlemen, the man who's single-handedly putting the glamour back in anti-semitism, the one and only Mel Gibson.

This suitable-for-wallet-size mug shot on the left is from Mel's drunk driving episode a few years back on Pacific Coast Highway. Clearly, Mel still has plenty of alcohol in his bloodstream. You can see the sly smile, the sparkly eyes - the look that says "Hey, I know Jews run the business, but guess which ten-year old, independently financed film shot in a dead language grossed the most money in history?"

I'll give him this: it was a good film, even if I did know how it ended.

But see, you can't smack talk the people who run the business and still expect to have a career in it, as an older, paler and jowlier Mel knows judging by the photo on the right.

I suppose everybody's human and nobody's perfect. But sometimes stupidity just rules the day, and the mistakes we make have a way of sticking to our shoes.

Oh, and just in case you were wondering, I was going to post Lindsey Lohan's mug shots. But even on the internet, there just wasn't enough room.

Guilty pleasures Part 5: The Faculty

Last night, while I was up from about 1:30 until 4:30 in the morning, I came out in the living and turned on the picture box. And as luck would have it, one of my favorite guilty pleasures - and part five in my series of the same name (feel free to enjoy parts 1, 2, 3 & 4) was on: The Faculty.

It's yet another variation on one of my all time favorite films, Invasion Of The Body Snatchers (I'm particularly fond of the 1978 Philip Kaufmann-directed remake with Donald Sutherland, Brooke Adams, Jeff Goldblum and Veronica Cartwright - with a hilarious turn by Leonard Nimoy as a psychiatrist).

This time, instead of mysterious pods blooming all over town and taking over everyone who comes in contact with them, an alien life force is taking over the students and faculty at Herrington High School in Ohio.

As a parent of two high school students my own self, there are many times I believe this may have already happened.

The trouble starts when students begin noticing a change in attitude among the teachers. Eventually, the chemistry teacher played by Jon Stewart (yes that Jon Stewart), discovers the alien connection. SPOILER ALERT: It doesn't end well for him.

They quickly realize they have to kill the Queen alien if they're going to put an end to the takeovers. But the trick is finding out who the queen is. Could it be the new student played by Laura Harris? Nurse Salma Hayek? Phys Ed coach Robert Patrick? Student Jordana Brewster? Principal Bebe Newirth? Teacher Famke Janssen?

One of those people I just mentioned has a scene where they're walking naked through the school gym locker room. Not saying which one. I point this out because, you know, it's essential to the story.

Anyway Elijah Wood plays Casey Connor, the student who eventually figures everything out and does something about it. And even though Josh Hartnett is in the film, I still like it.

Keep your peepers peeled for a pre-The Voice Usher (credited as Usher Raymond) in a cameo as one of the football team players.

I should also mention The Faculty was the fourth feature film directed by Robert Rodriguez, which explains why the effects look so good. If only he'd kept the alien threat alive in the Spy Kids series, they would've been a lot more enjoyable.

Anyway, if you like Invasion Of The Body Snatchers-esque films, make it a point to catch The Faculty on-demand or Netflix.

Or my couch at 2 in the morning.