It's a great idea after all

Have you had the unshakable feeling that today wasn't just an ordinary day? It was different wasn't it. And if you live in Southern California or Orlando, the suspicion was even more intense. The idea kept running through your head, like an annoying song you just couldn't shake no matter how hard you tried, that today was unlike every other day.

Here's the reason. Today is the 50th anniversary of It's A Small World at Disneyland.

The ride was introduced in 1964, and, to quote Wikipedia, "The ride features over 300 brightly costumed audio-animatronic dolls in the style of children of the world, frolicking in a spirit of international unity and singing the attraction's title song, which has a theme of global peace."

Sure, whatever.

The point I'm making is that after half a century, I think it's time to update this iconic Disney attraction, with its unforgettable yet masterfully irritating theme song into something adults can enjoy just as much as the kids. And I know exactly how to do it.

Shotgun Small World. Here's how it works.

Every adult who gets on the boat gets handed a pair of noise-cancelling headphones and a sawed-off 12-gauge when they board. Of course, these aren't real weapons. They will have been made by Disney Imagineering, which means they'll look and feel real, but they'll have a Disney logo on them and replicas will be available in the gift shop.

Then, as the riders cruise through, they get points for each one of the dolls they take out (extra points if you can waste them before the start of the second verse).

Now, I know this sounds shocking at first. But at second, it sounds fun doesn't it?

Besides, it's Disneyland. The dolls will just reanimate in time for the next boatload of tired parents with really good aim.

I'm just spitballing here, but if Imagineering's too busy creating the next ride, like Frozen Mountain or whatever, maybe they can borrow the guns from Frontierland.

You want this to be the happiest place on earth for parents as well? C'mon Imagineers. Get on it.

The other hack

I’m not a good patient. Never have been. And the fact that right now I’m on my sixth day of being down with some virus obviously hatched in a deep, dark part of the Brazilian rain forest, Amazon adjacent, isn’t doing anything to make me a better one.

I’m not sure exactly what it is, but this unpleasant little bug has been making me cough my lungs up the entire time. A dry, hacking, rib-breaking cough which can be described, without getting too clinical, as “non-productive.”

This unrelenting cough of course means I’ve had absolutely no sleep to speak of for the last six nights. I have however caught up on some fine 3 a.m. cable offerings, like the original American Werewolf In London, Marathon Man and Godfather 3 (well, two out of three ain’t bad).

This all started with a sore throat last Thursday, went to chills, then to feeling a little warm – it all felt a bit flu-ey. But the main symptom is this incessant coughing that just won’t stop.

This morning I finally went to my doctor, who said they’ve been seeing a lot of this. It’s just a virus going around, and I have no real choice but to ride it out. Here’s the punchline: when I asked how long, he said it’s been running about three weeks.

Now Monday I start a new gig. And as I wrote about here, sick days aren’t one of the benefits a freelancer gets, at least not without watching the bank balance remain in an upright and locked position.

So I’ll just keep resting, drinking fluids and hope that the Vicodin cough syrup that was prescribed knocks me out enough to finally get some sleep tonight.

I’ve had this for six days, and I have six more to get over it before I start work. Not to sound completely mercenary, but all I’m thinking is what any freelancer in my position would be thinking.

With any luck, I’ll get past the cough in time for them to cough up the cash.

Act fast, and you'll always have Paris

UPDATE: As a rule I don't usually repost pieces here. But today is different than every other day, because today PARIS LETTERS has been selected as a Kindle Daily Deal. It will be featured on the Kindle deal homepage for $2.99 under biographies/memoirs, as well as on Kindle store on all devices. And you can get your copy today just by going here. So (re)read the post, then get the book. You're welcome.

One time I said to my great friend (more on that in a second) Janice MacLeod, "I'm a giver." To which she replied, "Giver? You hardly know her!"

This of course is one of the many reasons I love Janice.

I met Janice when we worked together at the advertising agency Y&R in Orange County. I remember us both complaining about the commute one day, and we came up with a solution. Every morning, she’d have her coffee, then make the slow, excruciating drive from her apartment in Santa Monica to my house in Long Beach. Then we'd hop in my car and fly in the carpool lane from my place to the agency.

And we'd talk about everything.

The problem was we always seemed to have way more things to talk about than time to talk about them. And while I don’t remember each and every subject we covered, I do recall there was a lot of laughing in the car. It was the best part of the work day for me. I’ll assume it was for her. What the hell, she’s not here to say otherwise.

What with all the talking, confiding, gossiping, joking, planning, singing, eye-rolling in meetings and saying the same thing at the same time, Janice quickly became my “office wife.”

It’s a tribute to Janice and the person she is that my real-life wife approved (which is also a tribute to my real-life wife).

There are so many things to admire about Janice it’s hard to know where to start, so I’ll start here – Not only did she think about leaving her job in advertising, a job that was making her profoundly unhappy, to pursue the life she wanted, she actually did it. That new life included traveling the world, unburdened by time or possessions, and leaving herself open to whatever experiences she chose to have along the way. She planned it, figured out how much money she’d need and saved for it.

Dare I say it’s a dream shared by, what’s the word I’m looking for…oh yeah, everyone.

I had dinner with Janice at Joe’s in Venice the night before she left for France. It was a great dinner, one of those “why don’t we do this more often” dinners. Here's one thing I remember from that meal: I don’t want to spill any state secrets, but let's just say her fall from a full vegan diet may have started a little before she fell in love with and married a butcher.

Another thing to admire is she wrote a book about the experience. Paris Letters is the third book Janice has written in the warm, humorous, observational, razor-sharp, inclusive style that is her voice.

She is what I like to call a real writer.

As opposed to myself, who’s still waiting to be found out by the word police.

The book journals her decision, her travels, meeting and falling in love with her now real-life husband Krzystzof, who is a butcher by trade and apparently has invested heavily in the consonant market.

In Paris Letters, there is a Thank You page, and the very first person Janice thanks is me. Shortly after that, she thanks Bruce Springsteen for writing Thunder Road.

Coincidence? I think not.

I haven’t read the entire book yet, but so far the Thank You page is my favorite part.

But if I’m going to be honest with myself – and if you know anything about me you know how rarely that happens – it is I who should be thanking her.

She was the one who encouraged me to start this blog when I told her I have nothing to write about (something that after 472 posts, many people would still agree with). She always says that venom is my best medium, but that’s mostly about the snarkier posts. She is equally supportive of the vast majority of them that are not written in that tone. She is living proof that there is nothing getting in the way of your dreams but yourself - always a good lesson to keep in mind. And she comments on my posts, which of course all bloggers love.

At that dinner the night before she left to travel the world, I told her that if it didn't work out to just say the word and I'd fly over and bring her back. That offer still stands.

Although I'm beyond happy for her knowing that with her new life, the life she's made for herself, the life she wanted, she won't be taking me up on it.

The real Rosalita

Sometimes you think you know everything about something, and then you find out you don't. Thanks to my great friend Cameron Day, come to find out that's the case with Bruce Springsteen.

I'd never given much thought to the song Rosalita, other than the fact it's always been one of my favorite songs. That, and the one time when I was in the front row at a Bruce concert and sang the line "I'm coming to liberate you, confiscate you, I want to be your man..." face-to-face with Bruce when he was at the foot of the stage. Still trying to hunt down that video.

What never occurred to me is there actually was a Rosalita. That is, until Cameron told me he'd met her.

Here's the story.

Cameron was working with an art director named David Jenkins. As guys will do, the conversation turned to the wives and the story of how they met. David told Cameron that when he met his wife Diana, he fell and fell hard for her. He said to himself, "She's the one." (See what I did there?)

But he was scared. He didn't know a lot about her past, and was fearful there might be deep, dark secret hidden in it that would crush him, or that he wouldn't be able to cope with. His heart would be broken beyond repair. So of course, in a manner so honest and straightforward I can only dream about, he took her to dinner and asked her.

They ordered, and then a little way into the meal he popped the question - the one about her past. Diane hesitated before answering, and David could see his whole future happiness about to Fade Away (did it again).

She paused, looked him in the eye, took a breath and said, as if it were a bad thing, "I dated Bruce Springsteen for three years. I'm the one he wrote Rosalita about."

Diane Lozito met Bruce in 1971 way before he hit it big, and they started dating. In the course of their relationship, naturally there came the inevitable point in time when Diane brought Bruce home to meet the parents. There's a line in Rosalita that goes, "and I know your daddy don't dig me but he never did understand..." The truth of the matter is Diane's dad was a classically trained musician, and hated the fact his daughter was dating a rocker.

That's how that went.

After they were married, Springsteen brought the tour to Dallas. Diane and David went to the show. Afterwards backstage, Bruce came over to talk to them, but spent most of the time talking to David. He put his arm around his shoulder and said, "Let's you and me go have a little talk." And they disappeared for about 45 minutes. When they finally reappeared, Bruce went over to Diane and said, "He's a good guy. Congratulations."

Boss blessings.

I also didn't know there was an actual Rikki (Don't lose that number), but I did know there was a real (My) Sharona because I sat with the lead singer of the Knack, Doug Fieger, one night when I was seeing a friend perform at a comedy club and he was talking about her.

But I digress.

I love the fact that even at this late stage of the game, I still have things to learn about Bruce. Thanks Cameron for giving me the first hand, inside story of Rosalita. Knowing she's around and happy will only give the song that much more meaning the next time I hear Bruce do it in concert.

And please relay to your friend David how glad I am he gets to live happily ever after with his stone desire.

CPK WTF

The California Pizza Kitchen I knew and loved is no more. It was acquired about three years ago by private equity firm Golden Gate Capital.

Sounds appetizing doesn't it?

Originally, CPK was the poor mans answer to Wolfgang Puck's legendary Spago restaurant, which ushered in the era of individual pizzas.

At the beginning, CPK felt upscale even though it was reasonable price wise. There were linen napkins. The waitstaff work black slacks, white buttoned up shirts and black ties. Somewhere down the road they changed to black shirts as well, which made it even more ritzy-ish.

And of course, there was the food.

It's hard to imagine now, but at the time their Original BBQ Chicken Pizza was all the rage. Plus they offered an original selection with toppings no one had thought to throw on a pizza before. California Club pizza (essentially a BLT on pizza dough). Hamburger pizza. Thai pizza. They had those and more - something for every taste.

I can't even count the number of meals, meetings, dates and family dinners I've had there over the years. And because they were a quality chain, from my first meal at the original restaurant on Beverly Drive, to the one in the Mirage in Vegas, to the one on Geary St. in San Francisco, I always looked forward to my meal and knew I was going to enjoy it.

But of course, as my high school girlfriend told me on our final date, there's a last time for everything.

Since Golden Gate Capital acquired them, everything has gone downhill except the prices. The uniforms are now open-collar checked or brightly colored shirts and jeans. It feels more like a Texas Roadhouse than a CPK. It's only a matter of time before there's sawdust on the floor and a mechanical bull.

And under the heading of fix it when it's not broken, they've changed the crust of the pizza to something considerably less tasty. They've taken many of my favorite items off the menu - Roast Garlic Shrimp pizza, I'll never forget you.

They've also done a little Three-Card Monte with the names of some menu items. What was their spectacular Original Chopped Salad is now called the Italian Chopped. And the BBQ Chicken Chopped now has "The Original" in front of the name.

One change I'll admit to liking is the bread, now a more Italian look, taste and presentation.

But the bread isn't enough to justify the ridiculous prices they now charge for a decidedly lower brow, too casual experience. With a family of four, ordering the very minimum we can get by with and no drinks (water for everyone), we're hard pressed to get out for under $60 before tip.

Fortunately, the new owners realized one thing missing from the old CPK was a manifesto - that precise group of words to let the dining public know their philosophy about what California stands for, what it means and why they needed to rework the menu into something really special.

Manifestos are something I happen to have some experience with. I've written my fair share of them, and since Apple have yet to encounter a client that doesn't want one.

Reading theirs, it's apparent to me the words, sentiment and their take on California are as authentic as the notion they won't unload the chain in a heartbeat for the right price.

It's complicated

I don't know any parent who hasn't wanted to write a letter like the one shown here. Especially if they've tried to help their kids with math homework.

The Common Core curriculum is a ridiculously complicated, long-way-around to solving even the simplest of math problems. A point which this father - with his degree in Electronics Engineering - so succinctly points out.

But this example of going from A to B by first going from A to Z then back again is representative of a much bigger problem.

We over complicate everything.

From our relationships (which are complicated enough) to deciding which Mocha Grande Chocolate Iced Half-Caf Vanilla Latte we're going to have at Starbucks.

On second thought, make it a frappuccino.

While no business runs as simply as it could, nobody (with the possible exception of the public school system and the federal government) is more guilty of complicating things more than they need to be than ad agencies (I can't quantify that statement - go with me on this).

In the name of "process", agencies have several layers of people who are paid for one thing and one thing only: to complicate the work. They over think, over analyze, over test, over route, over question, over accentuate, over react, over compensate, over control, over exaggerate, over dramatize and over inform every assignment they come in contact with.

My friend Rich Siegel at Round Seventeen has another dirty word for it: Collaboration.

But by doing all that, they usually also overlook the fact that by the time they're done with it, no one will want to watch, read or listen to it.

Anyone who's suffered the slings and arrows in an agency creative department knows it should be easier. Instead of ten page briefs (Hello? They're called "briefs") they should be one. Instead of several bullet points that need to be crammed into the work, it should be one. Instead of twenty people around a conference room table for every kick-off meeting...well, don't get me started on meetings.

Life is demanding enough without complicating it more than it has to be. Sometimes the simplest answer is the best one.

I hope I haven't left out any of the points I wanted to make in this post.

Maybe I'll run it by a few more people just to make sure.

Disappearing act

Disappearing hasn't always been just for jumbo jets.

In 1983, there was this little film called Eddie and The Cruisers. Michael Paré played Eddie Wilson, a 1960's rocker who died tragically in a car crash. Or did he? Eddie's body was never recovered. The tapes for Eddie's second album, considered by his record company to be too dark to release, also disappeared that night with Eddie.

In the movie, set in 1983 with flashbacks, a reporter is doing a documentary about Eddie's disappearance. I won't tell you how the movie ends, but if you look at the poster for the sequel it pretty much gives it away.

I guess just the fact there's a sequel gives it away. Sorry about that.

Anyway, one reason I liked the movie was because of the music. Eddie and the Cruisers had an anthemic sound, with songs that often featured a solo by his black saxophone player and sung by Eddie with his raspy sounding voice.

I know, so hard to imagine I'd like a sound like that.

The music was actually sung by John Cafferty and the Beaver Brown Band, a New Jersey band who started out at The Stone Pony the same time as this other New Jersey band I write about once in awhile.

What this little film did manage to capture was the romance of rock 'n roll, the hopefulness of it, the anger of it and the sense of something lost.

Today, Eddie and the Cruisers would probably be touring C venues with a different guy they called Eddie as the lead singer.

But rock 'n roll never forgets. The dream lives on, and so does....oh crap. Almost gave it away again.