Release the hounds

If you follow this blog with any regularity, and if you do you really need to develop some healthier reading habits, then you know this about me for certain: I loves me a high-speed chase.

And while one of the things I love is the inevitable surrender (usually) of the suspect, what I enjoy even more is watching a K-9 officer take down a suspect who's not cooperating.

I think we can paint with broad strokes here and say perpetrators who lead the police on these chases aren't nearly as smart as the trained German Shepherds who occasionally have to ply their trade.

Of course, as you know, I have a German Shepherd to call my own. I remember when I first got him, one of the asshat neighbors referred to him as a police dog. I didn't like it then, but I'd take it as a compliment now.

Although between you and me, Max hasn't read the German Shepherd manual. He'd never make it through the academy.

Anyway, last night there was a slow-speed chase through Orange County, and once out of the car, the suspect wasn't complying. You can tell from the middle right side of the picture above what happens next, but if you want to see for yourself, just click here.

You know the old saying, "His bark is worse than his bite."

Not this time.

On tour

It got here much faster than I expected. I mean, one minute I'm changing his diaper, trying to dodge his impression of Old Faithful, and the next minute I'm taking him on college tours.

As any parent who's made the tour circuit will tell you, college means one very important thing. Not that they'll get a quality education and a well-paying job in the profession of their choice. That's just crazy talk.

It means I'll be working a lot longer than I planned.

While junior is out partying Saturday nights, telling me he's studying for finals, and wondering whose kegger to hit next, I'll be long past my prime earning years, clearing dishes at Coco's on weeknights and scraping together my minimum wage earnings so he can have the education he so rightly deserves.

As we tour these institutions of higher education, it makes me realize perhaps my teachers' comment, the one I got year after year, might've had a tinge of truth to it.

"Jeff's a smart boy, but he needs to apply himself more."

Admittedly all this touring makes me want to go back to school. Maybe it's because I'm visiting campuses I never saw before. Or because I realize if I'd had a better education I wouldn't be writing banner ads and sitting through endless meetings about...well, I never actually figured out what they're about.

Still, I make considerably more a day than the average Harvard grad, so there's that.

But the biggest lesson he can learn is it's not all about the money. It's about loving what you do. And I love making money. BAM!

So anyway, applications are out, and a few results are in. He's in at some, out at others. And even though he has plenty of options and will no doubt have more soon, we still have some college sight-seeing left to do. I can't predict the next stop on the tour. It depends on a lot of things. Wherever it is, I know I'll be looking forward to it. I want my son to take it all in, to appreciate the grandeur of these institutions, and participate in the traditions that've made them great.

The scholarly ambiance. The manicured lawns. The stately libraries. The hallowed halls.

There'll be plenty of time later for toga parties, hazing and drug testing.

This is the film I've been looking for

In the eternal divide between Star Trek and Star Wars people, I've always been on the Star Trek side. Not that I didn't like or appreciate Star Wars, but Star Trek spoke to me in a way SW didn't.

With today's release of the new SWVII trailer, while my position may not have changed entirely, I think I'm now on both sides. There's no other way to say it: I geeked out completely when I saw the new trailer.

December can't get here fast enough.

There are some predictions the new SW will make $2 billion worldwide, which would make it the most successful film ever. To which I say, I could've told you that.

There's a quick cameo at the end of the trailer of one of the most popular characters from the original film. I'm man enough to admit it gave me a lump in my throat and brought tears to my eyes when I saw this person.

I was totally unprepared for how strong the force is with this one.

Know what else I feel? Grateful.

Killing time

The ebb and flow of work at an ad agency is a mystery. Like online metrics, or an account planner’s opinion, it's often unpredictable and unreliable.

Some days it's a hive of activity, with people taking stairs two at a time, foam core boards in hand, comps stuck to them with push pins flying everywhere, racing to solve some important marketing dilemna.

Other days, for reasons equally unknown, there isn’t much to do. And the day goes by slower than Interstellar.

Though if you saw Interstellar, you know nothing could possibly go any slower.

Creative people want to be creative in everything they do, including killing time. As you see from the blurry, lo-res picture above, Matt Groening had some suggestions on the best ways to do that.

I have a few more:

1) Facebook Facebook Facebook
In an era where a disproportionate emphasis is placed on social media (“I can’t wait to engage with my toothpaste online!”), you can literally spend hours brushing up your social skill set.

Sure, to the untrained eye it might look like you’re posting shots of the sunset and cute cat photos all day. But if anyone asks, you’re studying up on Facebook advertising and the algorithms that allow them to target ads to the last subject you viewed or wrote about.

TIP: Make sure no one’s watching when you post your third Most Interesting Man In The World meme.

2) Starbucks Coffee Break
While Groening has already covered coffee break in the cartoon, he’s talking about that brown sludge that barely passes for coffee in the agency kitchen. I’m talking about Starbucks.

All you have to say is, “I’m running over to Starbucks and grab some coffee. Anyone want anything?” Everyone will immediately nod their approval, tell you no thanks they're fine, and then you can leave the building.

Whether you actually head to Starbucks is up to you. When you come back empty-handed almost forty-five minutes to an hour later, you can always say you drank it there. Or the line was too long. Or they ran out of the raspberry pump.

TIP: Don't say there wasn’t a Starbucks nearby. No one will believe you.

3) Your baby-size bladder
Repeat after me: the bathroom is your friend. No one will blame you or even think twice if you make a bathroom run hourly. It can be a little iffy when it comes to how long you can actually spend in there, but there are always lots of things to blame it on.

Like last nights' chili. Warm sushi. Or that agency coffee I was talking about.

TIP: Don't actually have bad chili or get sushi poisoning. This isn't a method acting class.

I'm sure there are a plethora of other ways to kill time. After all, I'm talking about very creative people here. And dear readers, I'd love to hear suggestions from you as well as some of your own experiences in this pursuit.

Hold that thought. I have to run to the bathroom.

An open letter to Morongo Hotel & Casino

Dear Person In Charge Of Marketing,

Being a copywriter and creative director as long as I’ve been, I appreciate better than most people how difficult it is to create great advertising. Or even good advertising, you know, the kind that at a minimum gets the communication across in a somewhat entertaining, memorable, non-offensive manner.

And of all the mediums available, from broadcast to print to online, perhaps nowhere is that more true than radio. But then, I don’t have to tell you. I'm sure it's not the first time you've heard this, but your long-running radio campaign for Morongo ranks somewhere between an east-coast sewage spill and a crime against humanity.

I’ve tried to figure out exactly why I have this extreme reaction to your radio commercials. What is it exactly about them that provokes such a visceral, negative response? After some serious consideration, I think I’ve narrowed it down. Everything.

I’ve never been to Morongo Hotel and Casino, so I don’t know exactly what the experience is like. What I do know is if it’s anything like your radio spots, I’d rather stick dull needles in my eyes. Slowly.

I'd also like to offer some constructive criticism, although granted it's hard to know where to start. So let's begin with your tagline: Good times.

In print, on TV and on radio, your announcer or on-camera talent ends the spots saying, enthusiastically, "Morongo! Good times!"

Apparently whoever wrote the spots didn't realize the phrase "good times" is used in everyday vernacular to refer to something bad. For example, one person might say, "I'm number two million twelve on the waiting list for a kidney transplant." The person they're talking to would reply, sarcastically, "Good times."

I don't think the phrase means what you think it means. And no amount of airplay and false enthusiasm will change that.

It's the same as when people say something is bad, they actually mean it's good. Or when someone hears something they want to know more about, they say, "Shut up!"

All I'm saying is a working knowledge of what words mean and how they're used is probably a good thing to have in life and before you start writing radio spots.

Let's talk about talent. I could make a snarky remark like you should try having some in your radio spots. But I'm not going to.

But you should.

Instead of the painfully obvious non-union talent blathering on in the spots, you might try to pony up for union talent that can actually make bad copy sound palatable - a skill that would come in mighty handy in this case. I know, I can hear you griping about budgets and residuals and fast turnarounds. Here's the thing: you're a casino. It says right on your website that by 2008 you had put up to $2.8 billion into the local economy. Crying poor just isn't going to cut it. Pony up for some real talent and polish your public face.

On your radio spot I heard driving to work today, the non-union woman breathlessly says, "Sunday is fun day!" Is it really? It sounded more like "Sunday is being yelled with the direction to sound excited, but not quite making it day."

Also, the phrase "Sunday is fun day!" has been used in bad advertising of everything from mattress stores to car dealerships to coffee shops since the beginning of the Jurassic era. Besides, at a casino aren't all days fun days?

I realize you can't have original music for each spot when you do so many of them. But you can use better needle drop music. Perhaps a track that isn't so forced, isn't trying so hard. Maybe one that reflects a more elegant experience (assuming of course you can provide one).

Finally, the very premise of your spots has been done to death. I'm talking about the top of the spot, where your voice-talent (and I use the word talent loosely) is supposed to be in a recording booth, and we catch him saying something funny when he doesn't think the mic is on. The other problem is nothing he says is funny.

As the movie Spinal Tap teaches us, there's a fine line between clever and stupid. And you are most definitely on the wrong side of the line.

My suggestion would be if you have an agency creating your advertising, fire them and get a better one. And if you don't have an agency, get one. (At the very least, bring in a freelance writer for a fresh point of view. I'm just sayin'...)

There's a huge segment of the population who'd love not to drive all the way to Nevada to gamble and be entertained. And gamble. I believe with media buys that run your spots as frequently as yours do, you can change their perception of Morongo by upping the quality of your radio advertising.

Without attracting new clientele, you can't expect to expand and thrive. Then, if the current customers decide to reduce their visits and average spending, Morongo could wind up just another empty husk of a building, a symbol of excess and broken dreams. A reminder of what could've been if only you'd done better radio.

Good times.

Home alone. The sequel. Sorta. Not really.

Since this past Thursday night, I've been on my own. The family's been out of town, and it's just been me, the dogs and the goldfish. The goldfish was still alive last time I looked, although frankly, I haven't looked in a while.

Naturally, being alone for a few days is perfect fodder for a blogpost. Just like it was the first time I wrote about it.

So rather than write an entirely new post about the same subject, tonight the editorial staff at Rotation and Balance is going to do something they very rarely do. Give you an encore presentation of a post written awhile ago.

You could think of this as an opportunity to reevaluate the subject matter. Or to once again enjoy the humorous stylings. Some of you might get a kick out of a second chance to laugh at the visuals.

Then again I suppose there are always a cynical few among you who'd say I'm just too lazy to come up with something new late on a Saturday night. I'm sure people with that mindset would say I'm taking the easy way out.

To those people, I have only one thing to say: Who am I to argue.

Please to enjoy. Again.

This weekend is going to be awesome. It’s the kind of weekend a guy who’s been married as long as I have with two kids dreams about. And it doesn’t happen very often.

This weekend, the wife and daughter are away at a mother/daughter retreat they go to every year. My son, a student-council vice-president, is away on a student council overnight planning session/beach party. That can only mean one thing.

Saturday night belongs to me, and me alone. (rolling hands together) Muahhhhhh!

Here's how this weekend goes in my rich fantasy life. Since I have the place to myself, I decide to invite over 1500 of my closest friends for a wild, drunken, too-loud music, cigarette burns on the furniture, wine and beer stains on the carpet, cops have to be called kind of party. For reasons best left unsaid, there are hoists and pulleys, whipped cream and garden hoses involved. It goes until sun up.

Now here's how this weekend usually goes in my real life.

I have to make the important decision about dinner. It usually comes down to In-N-Out or Five Guys. I'm thinking this might be a Five Guys kind of Saturday. Then once I'm home, I catch up with the two nights of America's Got Talent and a week's worth of The Daily Show and The Colbert Report that have been sitting on the dvr. I'll finish my Gillian Flynn book. I'll somehow find the energy to get up off the couch and walk and feed Max, world’s greatest dog. Once that's done, I'm back on the couch and asleep by 9, a 48 Hours Mystery blaring in the background (Spoiler: the boyfriend did it).

I hope the family doesn't wake me when they come back. I'll need the rest after the weekend I'm going to have.

Goodbye Richard Dysart

I've posted before about the many great people I've had the good fortune to work with.

Richard Dysart was one of them.

I was casting a radio spot and I need a homey, Pepperidge Farm kind of voice. When I heard Richard's read of my script, I knew I'd found it.

At the time, he was enjoying his long-running ride as Leland McKenzie on L.A. Law. Because of that, he was in demand and I recall scheduling the session was difficult. I was asked more than once to recast with a different talent so we could get moving on it, but after hearing Richard that just wasn't going to happen.

I remember the session well. We recorded it at L.A. Studios (always a favorite place to work). It was the day before I was going to have surgery for the second time on my right arm, which I'd broken in three places in a serious car accident years earlier. The doctors had to put in a steel plate to hold the bone together while it healed. Once it did, there was no need to keep the plate in, but there was also no need to have another surgery if I didn't have to. So it stayed in for seven years, until one day, while playing volleyball and taking several direct hits where the plate was, my arm swelled up to twice its size. The muscles were inflamed from the hits and the repeated action of them rubbing the edge of the plate.

I decided then and there it was coming out.

Talking to Dysart after our session, we talked about my upcoming surgery the next morning. He could see I was anxious about it, and he went out of his way to take the time to comfort and reassure me it would all turn out fine.

Which it did.

After the surgery, I don't know how but Richard got my home phone number and called to see how things turned out. I was surprised to hear from him - to say the least - but extremely appreciative for his call.

I never worked with him again, but enjoyed many of his performances beyond L.A. Law, including the doctor in John Carpenter's The Thing.

I'll always remember Richard Dysart as a great actor. But even more than that, a class act.

Rest in peace.