The party line

Years ago, I worked for Wells Rich Greene, one of many New York ad agencies that had decided to open a west coast outpost in Century City. It was my second job in advertising, and it was exciting. The people were smart, funny and creative. I couldn't wait to get to work every day and spend time with them.

You know, just like now.

Anyway, there was this rather dapper and flamboyant account guy named Tom Baker, and he invited a lot of people from the agency, including me, to a birthday party he was throwing himself at his house in Santa Monica Canyon.

It was a spectacular house. Literally on the side of the mountain, you had to walk a staircase halfway down the hill to get to it. Not the famous Santa Monica staircase off 4th Street where all the joggers exercise, piss off the neighborhood and congest traffic. The other one.

Here's what I remember. It was a great party. The champagne was flowing, and I had more than my fair share. A lot more. Up until that party, I'd only had a sip of champagne here and there at a wedding or anniversary party. But it tasted like soda - really good soda - and they were pouring it like bottomless drinks at Islands, so I couldn't see any reason to stop.

The other thing you should know is I didn't have time for lunch and hadn't had a lot to eat that day. I think you see where this is going.

It didn't take long for all my champagne dreams to catch up with me. I stumbled my way outside to the stairs, and just plopped down on one of them. I was sweating, holding my stomach, rocking back and forth, groaning and grunting like Monica Seles on center court (look it up). The mountain was spinning around me, and I believe if the good Lord had chosen that moment to take me I would've been nothing but grateful.

I've never been that drunk before or since.

Ann Siegel, a girl I'd been talking to at the party who also worked at the agency, had wondered where I'd gone and came outside to find me. She immediately saw the shape I was in, put her arms around me, held me as I rocked back and forth and told me over and over it was all going to be okay.

I have no idea how long we were like that, but I do remember at one point I broke from her grip, leaned over the side of the steps and projectile tossed what seemed like bottles of champagne on the side of the hill. Ann asked if I was okay, and I remember babbling on just thanking her over and over for sitting and staying with me.

To which she said, "That's okay. Just don't kiss me."

The next day, I asked her to a movie, and we wound up going out for a year. Whole other post.

Here's what I don't remember: Saying goodbye to anyone, walking back up the stairs to my car and driving home to my apartment in Brentwood.

My memory picks up again at climbing the stairs (again with the stairs) to my second floor apartment, and pounding on the door.

My roommate Ned opened the door, and when I saw him I said, "I'm really drunk." Although he didn't have to be Columbo (look it up) to notice the fine perfume of alcohol, sweat and vomit emanating from me.

He helped me stagger to my bedroom where I collapsed on my bed. The room was spinning faster than Karl Rove on election night. Ned brought me a damp washcloth I put on my head, then standing over me, arms crossed, he took a beat and said the line I'll never forget.

"So, is this what all the girls find so attractive?"

Happy birthday America

America is 238 years old today. And I didn't even get her a card.

Still, I'm happy to celebrate it by doing all the usual things you'd expect on the 4th of July: Fireworks. Block party. Barbeque. Eating myself stupid. Maybe a beer.

But the other thing I do, and not to wax patriotic here, is take more than a few moments out of the day to remember the sacrifices made by our men and women in the armed forces to get the country this far. It ain't perfect, but it ain't Baghdad or North Korea either.

I was at the Hollywood Bowl July 4th Fireworks concert last night. It was great, but perhaps the most moving part was the Air Force honor guard that marched out on stage at the beginning of the evening, and lead the sold out crowd of 17,376 people in the Star Spangled Banner. Genuinely stirring.

Just for today, I'm going to forget the discriminatory, misogynistic decisions a partisan Supreme Court makes. A Republican congress who's job isn't to serve the people, but to obstruct any form of progress. The idiotic things that Rick Perry, Sean Hannity and Ann Coulter say on an hourly basis. And all the other things that ratchet my blood pressure up thirty points on a daily basis.

Today, I'll be glad I'm in a country where we can have the debates, say what we think, write and produce what we want - even if it is another Transformers movie (how much freedom do we need?) - and appreciate the men and women who sacrifice so much to keep it that way.

Where the hell's that beer?

Keep it safe and sane. Happy 4th of July.

This one goes to eleven

We have a flatscreen television in our living room. And while flatscreens are known for their beautiful, realistic and highly detailed pictures, what they're also known for is their awful sound.

Apparently the doctor was out when they decided to put the speakers on the back of the flatscreen, facing backwards. Which would be bad enough under normal circumstances, but when the television is in a cabinet, all the dialogue sounds muffled and muddy.

Interesting fact: Muffled & Muddy was the title of my first album.

Anyway, as a result of bad speaker placement, when my family watches TV in the living room, in order to hear each other they have to scream what they're saying. And to hear anything coming out of the TV, they have to ramp up the poorly built, bad sounding speakers almost all the way to the breaking point. Then those little suckers become deafening, they sound distorted and they're virtually unlistenable.

And the speakers sound pretty bad too.

In order to alleviate the problem, we bought a Yamaha sound bar. It delivers high fidelity sound, except because the cabinet is the size it is, the sound bar has to sit behind the flat screen. But at least its speakers face forward.

The problem is no one ever bothers to turn it on. I guess since it's behind the TV and not really visible they forget it's there. That or learning a new button on the remote is too much to deal with.

I suppose we'll just keep blasting the tinny little TV speakers until they blow out, at which point we'll be forced to use the sound bar.

Or maybe just maybe one night, while it's late and we're fast asleep, elves will sneak in the house, take the flatscreen out of the cabinet and put it in its rightful place on the mantle, where the picture will look great, the sound won't be boxed in and dad will be really happy.

You never know. It could happen.

Don't ask: Loaning you money

From the series of posts that brought you Don't ask: Sharing a hotel room, Don't ask: Picking up at the airport and the wildly popular Don't ask: Moving, now comes the one you've all been waiting for.

Money's a touchy issue with most people. In my experience, friends don't like to talk about it when they have too much, and they don't like to talk about it when they have too little.

You know when I don't like to talk about it? When you're asking me for some.

I don't mean to sound like I've never loaned friends money, I have. But the whole, "You remember you owe me some money?" "Oh yeah, yeah, I have some cash coming in soon and I'll get it to you..." dynamic is never a comfortable exchange. And in my experience, that cash coming in usually arrives around the 12th of never.

I remember one time, out of the goodness of my heart, I loaned a friend $250 to pay his rent. A few months went by - months I should mention where I never said a word about the money - and he finally sold something, got a job or whatever. He told me how happy he was, because he was able to pay back all the people who'd loaned him money. Then he started listing names and, I know this will come as a shock, he didn't mention mine.

Whether it's professionally or especially personally, I don't like chasing my money down.

There's also something that rubs me the wrong way about the assumption I have money just lying around to loan to friends in need. I wish that were the case. But the fact is I have a wife, two kids and a German Shepherd. I'm not naming names, but two of them have college coming up, one of them needs his shots and I have an anniversary with one of them in the near future.

Any money I had, have or will have is already spoken for well into the foreseeable future.

Again, don't mean to sound unsympathetic. I understand the price of everything is sky high. Jobs are shaky and in short supply. Bank accounts are red-lining.

All I can say is if you need a little cash to hold you over, you should check between the couch cushions. Or the car seats. Raid the kids piggy bank. Dip into the penny jar.

And if all that fails, remember, there's no shame in calling for help.

Just as long as you're not calling me.

Supreme stupidity

Never underestimate the ability of conservative, Republican Supreme Court justices to uphold a woman hating, base-pandering, self-serving, Obama-bashing, turning-the-clock-back decades decision.

In a 5-4 decision, the Supreme Court ruled today certain for-profit companies, on grounds of religious beliefs, can’t be required to pay for specific types of contraceptives for their employees.

Just when I thought conservative Republicans couldn’t stoop any lower. They must be breaking out the streamers and confetti at the Hannity house.

This decision would be comical and unthinkable – more like a parody of the Court on Saturday Night Live – except for the fact it’s so heinous, and so transparent in its agenda to derail Obamacare.

Justice Ginsburg, always a center of common sense and decency - not because of who she was appointed by but because of who she is and how she thinks - wrote the court’s dissenting opinion. I completely share her views, and certainly can’t word it any better than she did. Here are a few choice selections from it:

"Religious organizations exist to foster the interests of persons subscribing to the same religious faith. Not so of for-profit corporations. Workers who sustain the operations of those corporations commonly are not drawn from one religious community."

"Would the exemption…extend to employers with religiously grounded objections to blood transfusions (Jehovah's Witnesses); antidepressants (Scientologists); medications derived from pigs, including anesthesia, intravenous fluids, and pills coated with gelatin (certain Muslims, Jews, and Hindus); and vaccinations[?]…Not much help there for the lower courts bound by today's decision."

"Approving some religious claims while deeming others unworthy of accommodation could be 'perceived as favoring one religion over another,' the very 'risk the [Constitution's] Establishment Clause was designed to preclude."

"It bears note in this regard that the cost of an IUD is nearly equivalent to a month's full-time pay for workers earning the minimum wage."

"The exemption sought by Hobby Lobby and Conestoga would…deny legions of women who do not hold their employers' beliefs access to contraceptive coverage"

Conestoga Wood Specialties and the Hobby Lobby were the companies that brought the case to the Supreme Court. On the Hobby Lobby website, co-founder Barbara Green posts the decision as “A victory for religious liberty,“ which is one way to look at it - if you happen to share Ms. Green’s religious point of view, which I'm willing to bet not each and every one of the Hobby Lobby's female employees do.

What will probably, and should, happen now is the Obama administration will find a work around to this lamebrain decision. It will probably end up covering contraception in one way or another. And of course the lawsuits against the insurance companies will start shortly.

So hats off to the Republican party by way of the Supreme Court. Your misogyny, your hatred for Obama (Huh, wonder what could be the reason for that?), your desire to set back progress time and time again either by doing nothing or by undoing what's been done, has today handed you a victory I have absolutely no doubt will backfire on you in a way so huge, it'll have Karl Rove babbling like an idiot again saying you've won when the numbers say you've lost come election time.

If this wrong-minded, partisan decision didn't hurt so many, that might almost make it worth it.

Giving her away

Despite what it looks like from the picture, this isn't a post about the movie Father of the Bride. It's about what I learned at a wedding tonight about being one.

Someday my baby girl is going to get married, and I'll be the one who walks her down the aisle and gives her away. Well, I hope I'm walking. I could be rolling down the aisle in my wheelchair with my oxygen tank clanging behind me. I prefer to think that won't be the case.

Anyway, as my daughter will testify, I've been known to say some wildly inappropriate things sometimes (I know! I'm as shocked as you are). On the (frequent) occasions when that happens, my beautiful, brilliant daughter just rolls her eyes and says in a stern, reprimanding way, "Dad. So wrong." I'm sure I've embarrassed her more than enough in her life.

Tonight I learned that I will never do it on her wedding day.

The father of the bride this evening gave a speech before the father/daughter dance. He talked about how "dramatic" she was growing up. He mentioned all the things she'd wanted to be but never managed to accomplish. He went into some story about how one time she'd cut her eye on the zipper of a sweatshirt she was taking off and started screaming for a plastic surgeon. He told the groom he hoped he could deal with all the "drama" that follows her.

He stopped just short of saying, "Good luck. She's your problem now."

It was a genuinely cringe-worthy speech, and everyone at the reception was praying he'd stop talking. I imagine no one more so than his daughter. And eventually he did, thanked everyone for coming to the wedding, and had his dance with his daughter.

As I was listening, it became clear with every word he was focusing on all the wrong things.

He didn't say how grateful he was to have a daughter as loving, beautiful and smart as her. He neglected to say what a lovely young woman she'd grown up to be. He never mentioned that his heart was breaking because his little girl was getting married, and even though he'd always be the man in her heart, he wouldn't be the first one anymore. He left out that the happiest day of his life was when she was born. And he never told the groom he'd better treat her like a queen, or he'd have to answer to him.

In other words, he didn't say all the things I will.

The inner circle

When it comes to friends, in everyones life there's the inner circle, the outer circle and the circles in between. If I'm minding my relationships properly, the ratio of people in the inner circle should be a lot less than the number of friends in the outer circle.

The in-betweens are really more acquaintances who I have varying degrees of fondness for, depending on things like what they do or say, how I feel that day or if they remember my birthday (hint: it's not on Facebook).

The thing about friendships is they aren't always clear cut.

Sometimes people move from one circle to the next, then back again. And the definition of what keeps them in which one is a moving target.

When that happens, the diagram starts to look less like a circle and more like a maze.

The point I'm taking my sweet time getting to is I have a group of friends who, even though I've known them for years, I don't know as well or as long as my best friends. I don't see them as often, yet they're quickly advancing towards the center ring.

These are people I respect. I think are funny. I get excited about seeing a comment from on Facebook or my blog. These are friends who challenge me, and push me past roadblocks to accomplish things I never thought I could.

These are people who aren't afraid to tell me when one of my blogposts starts sounding like an Apple manifesto.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not talking about neediness. I'd call it more of an investment in friendship and feedback.

I feel like I'm rambling a bit here. But only because I'm rambling a bit here.

I'm not going to name names, because I don't want to embarrass anyone or hurt their feelings. Although, really, if you're feelings are so easily hurt by a blogpost that at most three people read on a regular basis, you're probably in the outer circle anyway.

Anyway, next time we meet, if you want to know what circle you're in I'll let you know.

Especially if it's the inner one.