Goodbye Jack Riley

As I wrote about here, I've been blessed to have worked with some of the greatest voiceover talent ever to set foot behind a microphone.

Sadly, today one of them—a legend, and one of my favorites—departed for that great recording booth in the sky.

Most people remember Jack Riley from his role as Elliott Carlin on the original Bob Newhart show. I'll always remember him for the many times we worked together on my radio spots over the years.

I was introduced to Jack early in my career (in the loosest sense of the word), and he instantly became part of my repertory voiceover group (every copywriter has one) that I loved to work with, and used in every spot I could. Jack, together with his dry, droll, sarcastic, hilarious reads elevated my scripts to a place they never could've gotten to with the words alone.

Besides being hilariously funny and fast, he was an incredibly kind man. Early on he patiently took direction from this junior copywriter who hadn't done much radio. He was gracious and thoughtful, hearing me out and offering nuanced suggestions about how he could make it better. Funnier. More memorable. Did I say funnier?

Tonight, my guess is Jack is in Studio C at HeavenSound Recording, along with a few other former members of my rep company like Gary Owens, Joanie Gerber and Bob Ridgely. Not sure who the client is, but I hope whoever booked the session added a nice long bumper. There's going to be a lot of improvising and laughter before the first take.

Thank you Jack for your kindness, your patience, your availability in every sense, and showing me how a true professional does it.

Rest in peace.

Trick of the trade

Freelancing at ad agencies, or anyplace for that matter, there are commonplace, everyday things I, like most people, have to tend to.

Check email. Answer said email. Check bank balances. Go on Facebook, Twitter and Instgram and tell people I'm working on a social assignment (I kid because I love). Perhaps, hypothetically, respond to a request for other freelance.

The problem is to do those things, I have to go through the agency server to connect to the interwebs. And then, the agency has the password to my bank account, and can read that email I got from the Head Of The China Treasury, who has a charitable donation of $35,000,000 only I can be trusted with (it was easy - all they wanted was my bank account and social security number. The transfer will be here any day now).

Many people far less paranoid than I am just shrug their shoulders, use the servers and surrender a certain amount of privacy for a nice day rate.

So what's a guy who loves his day rate and his privacy to do? Glad you asked.

You pick up one of these little gizmos.

This is my own personal wi-fi hotspot. About the size of a credit card, half as thick as an iPad and password protected, I connect to it and suddenly I can do all my personal business from my computer without the prying eyes of the IT guy, who really should be more worried about getting me that mouse I asked for three weeks ago.

Now, I could've used my smartphone as a hotspot, but then I'd have had to change my plan. And since I've been on AT&T with unlimited data plan since my first iPhone, I wasn't going to do anything to jeopardize that deal.

This device, cleverly called My Go Phone, lets me buy either 2G, 5G or 8G of data a month. I chose the 8G - it's seventy-five tax deductible dollars a month and worth every penny.

So if you have a personal email, a financial matter, or—hypothetically—a job offer you'd like to discuss with me, feel free to email me. Thanks to this snappy bit of technology, it'll just be between us.

Until Mike in Digital Experience hacks it.

An open letter to J.J. Abrams: Keep Chekov alive

Dear J.J.,

Having been a Trekkie since the original series, I can still feel the bolt of pain and sorrow that shot through me when the news broke about the sudden, untimely, unimaginably bizarre death of Anton Yelchin. I can only imagine the sadness of those, like you, who knew him, worked with him and loved him.

I've read your statements about the fate of Chekov in the next Star Trek movie, and I understand your not wanting to recast the character. But when the reason you give is Anton deserves better, I have to respectfully disagree.

I believe the best way to honor him and his work is to make sure the character of Checkov continues.

There have been many instances of actors who've played iconic characters extraordinarily well, then passed away.

Most recently Heath Ledger comes to mind.

Until Ledger, nobody thought there could ever be another Joker after Jack Nicolson. And until Jared Leto, the idea of someone besides Ledger playing Joker was unthinkable.

Each performance builds on the last. Each honors the prior characterization. And while the original Star Trek members thankfully didn't meet an untimely death, you've already recast them all (brilliantly) in three movies.

Leonard Nimoy passed the mantle to Zachary Quinto, whose extraordinary portrayal of Spock is testament to Nimoy's work in every frame.

Pavel Chekov is an essential part of the Star Trek cannon, an indispensable crew member whose very presence on screen honors Anton's work and memory.

Of course I didn't know Anton. But being a copywriter, creative director and card-carrying member of SAG-AFTRA, I do know actors. I'm certain he didn't work as hard as he did to create his interpretation of Chekov, only to have the character die with him.

I'd ask that for the fans, and for Anton's legacy, you reconsider recasting the role. And in doing so, assuring both Anton and Chekov continue to boldly live on.

A little housekeeping

Jerry Seinfeld does a routine about the contract we have with movie theaters. They rip us off, and we get to throw our trash on the floor. I believe when it comes to linens, a similar agreement exists with every hotel I stay at.

Ever since the environmental movement transitioned from social consciousness to fashion trend and marketing tool, hotels have sported these nice little table tents like the one above, printed on recycled paper and almost always with green ink. It asks us to help them Go Green!, to join them as allies in the sustainable, recycled, reuse of almost everything in the room.

It's a nice notion. But I'm calling bullshit.

Let's take a look at the ways they want us to help them. First, they'd like us to use our towels and sheets more than once. The new policy is sheets are changed every three days unless requested otherwise, and towels aren't swapped out at all unless you leave them on the floor.

Now let's see, who does this help more? The environment, or the bottom line on the hotel P&L sheet because they don't have to launder items as much, saving them water, electricity and labor. Don't say anything. I know the answer.

Here's the thing: for what I'm paying for this room, the floor is the only place I'm putting the towels when I'm done. They can more than afford to give me clean towels every day. I don't need the sheets changed daily, but only because I don't want housekeeping snooping around the room longer than they have to.

They'd also like me to turn off the lights, TV and air conditioning when I leave. Yeah, about that - I like coming into a cool if not freezing room. Especially when it's in a city having a heat wave, like the one I'm in right now. I always leave the TV on when I'm out of the room. Here's the reason: it makes it sound like I'm not out of the room.

As their guest, what's their cost to value relationship for making me feel safer?

Just so you think I'm not being cavalier towards their profits...I mean the environment altogether, as long as there's a light switch near the door I'm glad to turn off the lights.

I'd like to think the hotel has good intentions, but it's just too transparent. I know they don't. But if you know anything about me, you know I'm nothing if not Mr. Glass Half Full. Despite my griping, I can still see the silver lining.

At least they're not asking me to drive a Prius.

Glass slipper

While it's not a picture of my foot, it may as well be. Here's what happened.

About nine days ago, I woke up in the middle of the night with a craving for cold, clear, healthy water from the dispenser in our refrigerator. I'm absolutely sure it had nothing to do with the leftover cheesecake that was also in there. No one's under oath here. Anyway, somewhere on the well worn path between the bedroom and kitchen, I stepped on a small piece of glass. Funny how that'll wake you right up.

I reached down, pulled it out of my foot, threw it away and continued on to the cheesecake. Excuse me, water.

Fast forward to last night. I came home from having lunch with my great friend Carrie (Petros in Manhattan Beach - chicken souvlaki is the hot tip), got out of the car, set my foot down and could barely walk. I managed to make it into the house, fell into one of our living room chairs (the one without the dog on it), and stayed there most of the night.

Since the glass stepping happened a week and half ago, and I'd been fine since, I didn't give it a second thought. Instead, I figured it was the new orthotics I'd gotten about five days ago and was still getting used to.

Whatever it was, it hurt like hell. And the bad news is that I was supposed to leave with young Mr. Spielberg for Comic Con this morning.

However, it was not the pain-free foot morning I'd hoped for. I was going to tough it out and just go - always a good idea with four days of walking and standing in lines ahead - but the wife put her foot down (SWIDT?), insisting I call my podiatrist and get it seen.

So my son drove down to Comic Con with his friend Austin at 7 this morning, and I saw my doctor at 10.

My foot was clearly swollen, with a redness emanating out in a circle from one spot on my foot. He pressed the center of the spot, and I believe there may still be a hole in his ceiling where I went through.

So he decided to scrape my foot, which is exactly what it sounds like.

Scraping skin off the bottom of my foot, he wasn't having any luck finding anything. Then, he stopped for a moment and said, "Ah, there it is - don't move." I didn't move, and he got a tweezer-looking thing and pulled out a small chunk of the glass I'd stepped on nine days ago.

I couldn't believe it. He said if I'd come down here to the Con with it, I probably would've wound up in the ER with a fever and nasty infection. Instead, he got it out, gave me an antibiotic to take if it didn't feel better by the end of today (which it does) and suggested I soak it in hot water with epsom salt (just finished my second soaking).

Fortunately tonight was Preview Night at Comic Con, so I didn't miss much except walking the exhibition hall, which I couldn't have done anyway.

My son and his friend scored tickets to the world premiere of Star Trek: Beyond, so that's where they are tonight. My excellent friend Dale is here, so he met me at the Fox Sports Grill in the hotel and we had dinner (it didn't involve walking, just an elevator ride).

With my foot feeling considerably better, the Con will start for real for me tomorrow.

I still don't know what broke in our house or where that piece of glass came from.

But I think the lesson is don't have cheesecake leftovers, and I won't have to walk to the kitchen.

Packing for the Con. Again.

If this post has a familiar ring to it, then you probably read it just about a year ago when it was first published. I rarely repost on here, but this post says everything I want to say about Comic Con starting tomorrow. And my preparations for it tonight.

So, enjoy it, again, and excuse my taking the easy way out by reposting. But if it ain't broke don't fix it. And besides, that Game Of Thrones costume isn't going to pack itself.

Tomorrow is the day it all starts. Well, the night actually.

Even though Comic Con doesn't officially begin until Thursday, tomorrow night is Preview Night. The costumed crowds get admitted to the Convention Center in the early evening to get a jump on the weekend crowds walking the floor and picking up some merchandise.

Of course I'll be there.

So that means tonight I have to pack. It's something I've never quite learned to do right. You'd think being in advertising and with all the boondoggles...er...business trips I've taken I'd be better at it. I'm not unskilled in the sense I don't know how to organize a suitcase. It's my approach to the job.

I pack on the Just In Case theory. You know, just in case there's a hurricane or blizzard in San Diego. Just in case we're hit by a tornado. Just in case we're invaded by aliens, which at Comic Con is a definite possibility.

Here's what's happened every year I've gone: I drag my overstuffed suitcase to the hotel, and proceed to wear the same pair of shorts for four days. All I really need is four t-shirts (yes Rich, black ones), four pairs of underwear, four pairs of socks, a sweatshirt and sneakers. Maybe a clean pair of jeans, a nice pair of shoes and a collared shirt if I want to go eat somewhere nice.

But when you're in restaurants during Comic Con, and finally seated after a two and a half hour wait, it's not unusual at all to find yourself sitting next to Spartans, Batman, those guys from Game Of Thrones and Loki. Dressing nice becomes a relative term.

So I'll give it another shot this year, with the hope I can be a little more economical in how much I take with me.

Frankly, I think the bigger challenge will be closing the suitcase with this in it.

Pack it in

Arthur Schopenhauer once said, and I'm paraphrasing here, that the reason we buy so many books is because we believe we're actually buying the time to read them.

I believe the same holds true for luggage. We buy it because it holds the promise of travel.

I'm a big fan of luggage, which I briefly mentioned here.

The wife and I have been in need of some new luggage for awhile now. We have a whole passel of carry on bags, all of which are black except the pink/plaid one my daughter insisted I buy her at Target.

The Swiss Army carry on is the family favorite, and when we all travel somewhere together, or we're traveling to different destinations at the same time, it's the one everyone wants to use. So we augmented the collection with a few more - all black, none of them Swiss Army.

We completed the set with a medium-sized Boyt suitcase, and another massive, stupid large Boyt we could pack the house in. We found the large Boyt at a luggage store in Rockefeller Center about twenty-five years ago, and had it shipped back to Santa Monica where we lived at the time.

Apparently we hadn't figured out there were luggage stores in Los Angeles.

All these years later, the large suitcase finally gave out. The interior lining, and the glue that held it together, came undone when my son packed it up and I brought it back from Austin for him. All this to say we needed some new luggage.

If you know anything about me - and really, are there any secrets left? - you know I'm all about easy. And dragging a suitcase with two wheels around the airport was just too much effort. So we went looking for what the luggage industry calls spinners: suitcases with four wheels that spin 360° with just a feather touch.

There's a luggage store in Irvine I used to work across from, and they have an extensive collection of every brand, size and price you could want. So that's where we went. We did our due diligence, opening the suitcases up on the little demonstration tables they had, comparing suitcase to suitcase. Victorinox has this feature, but Briggs & Riley has this one. TravelPro looks a little clunky, but it's the one pilots use the most, and they know a thing or two about packing and travel.

After a long talk with Paul the sales person, who was from Texas and told us about the 6600 sq.ft. house he had custom built on five acres that he paid $151,000 for eighteen years ago, we made our decision right there. We need to take a second look at Texas real estate.

As far as suitcases, we wound up buying two Victorinox (Swiss Army) 27" suitcases. God help me, I love that new suitcase smell.

So now we're working on where the first trips will be where we can put them through their paces. I'll be at Comic Con with the son this week for a few days (post to come), so that'll be the first trip for one of 'em. And I have an idea where the next trip will be, but I'm not saying just yet.

For now I'm just enjoying traveling from the front of the house to the back, effortlessly rolling the whisper-quiet spinners around on the hardwood floor.

It's my way of checking them out before I check them in.