A glowing recommendation

Summer's coming, and it's never too early to start planning that vacation.

Instead of dragging the kids to some boring, expected vacation destination with things to see and do, like Hawaii or New York, why not take them someplace they'll have memories of for a lifetime? Or a half-lifetime.

The Chornobyl Tour sounds like fun for the whole family. Just read all the glowing reviews.

Like me, I'll bet you have a lot of questions about it. I know what my first question would be, and I'm sure I know what yours is too. But—and this is the funny part—it's not the first question on the website's FAQs. That position belongs to this one about cost:

Even with the answer they give, they don't address the hidden costs. You know, things like replacement shoes, burn ointment, vomit bags—lots of vomit bags, toilet paper—lots of toilet paper, wigs and more. But I'm sure you find out about those soon enough. And as far as that top of mind question you were going to ask, don't worry, they do answer it somewhere around number 11 or 12.

Anyway, I think getting a taste of what the post-Apocalyptic landscape is like is a super idea, and especially timely now that the liar-in-chief is president and will probably nuke someplace just to distract us from the Russia story.

We'll be living in it before we know it.

Of course, Chornobyl is in Russia. So the good news is if we can wait just a bit, we'll be able to make reservations for the Precedential Suite in the new Chornobyl Trump Tower.

Don't worry about finding it. The sign is lit up around the clock.

The most important burrito of the day

One of the many benefits of being a freelancer, besides working at home in your underwear—and let's hope it's your underwear—and setting your own lunch break (mine is from noon to 4PM), is that the city is lousy with ad agencies you can choose to dial for dollars or actually work at.

It seems there are almost as many agencies as Starbucks. In fact, some of them are in Starbucks.

Anyway, when I have the luxury of deciding which ones I want to work for, there are several criteria I take into consideration before taking the gig.

First and most obvious is the caliber of the work. Is it smart, entertaining, memorable and effective. You know, like me.

Next, the caliber of people. Besides knowing what they're doing—which is far rarer than you think—are they people I want to work with, that I want with me in the trenches. I don't have to have drinks with them after work or share our deepest secrets, but I don't want to be stuck with people I can't stand for the length of the assignment.

Location, location, location. I've had offers from agencies in cities all over the place, for example New York, Detroit, San Francisco, San Diego and Bakersfield. Guess which one I said no to?

After all how many pickup trucks and country stations can a city boy take, amiright?

But it finally dawned on me there's another important factor to think about before making any employment decisions. Do they serve a breakfast burrito, and how good is it.

When I worked at Chiat, the breakfast burritos were exceptional. Dare I say even good enough to get me in to work early on occasion. Chiat has their own restaurant upstairs (note to all other agencies), so not only could I order a breakfast burrito, I could get it exactly the way I wanted it.

As an only child, having it the way I want it is something I just take for granted.

The agency I'm currently at serves breakfast to the employees once every couple weeks. Today was my lucky day—it happened to be breakfast burritos. They weren't bad, but they weren't custom either.

To make it easier, they color-coded the wrappers. The red was made with ham, the green with bacon and the black with no meat at all (that's just crazy talk).

They were cut in half like the picture, and there was hot sauce and sour cream in bowls next to them—that's about as customized as they got.

Still, since my agency's tsunami adjacent, I can look out the window at the ocean, or eat out on the patio and feel the breeze, and somehow it makes the burrito taste much better than it otherwise would.

What am I saying? Just that if you're serving a quality breakfast burrito, odds are you're going to attract a higher caliber of talent.

And if you have Taco Tuesdays, dammit, I'll sign on the line.

A pleasant run-in

Almost seven years ago, I wrote a post about running into people out of context. That is to say in an environment where you don't expect to see them. It's astonishing to me. Not running into people. The fact I've been cranking this thing out for seven years.

Anyway, running into someone I didn't expect to see happened to me again today.

As you may or may not know, the wife and I decided I should work the rest of my life to pay for the extensive kitchen, living room and bathroom remodel we currently have under way at the ponderosa. Contractors, subcontractors, city inspectors and assorted strangers come and go from our house from seven in the morning until four in the afternoon.

Our dogs hate it. But at least they're not paying for it, so quit your barking.

If you've ever done a remodel, which I hadn't until this one, you know part of the process is finding time to pick out accessories like faucets, drawer pulls and lighting. Which is how the wife and I happened to find ourselves on a Saturday afternoon date at Rejuvenation in Culver City, scoping out the many stylish, unexpected and just plain bitcin' lamps and lighting fixtures they have.

Wandering through the store, a little tired, a lot hungry and somewhat overwhelmed by all the choices, I was oblivious to other shoppers and designers-in-training circling my orbit. Then, out of nowhere, this guy walks by me, and slams into my shoulder as he passes.

There was plenty of room to get by. I'm not gonna lie, I was pissed. I turned around fast, ready to give this guy a piece of my hungry, tired, overwhelmed mind—even though if you ask anyone who knows me, they'll tell you it's something I can't afford to give away. When I did, I was met with a big smile on the face looking back at me.

It was my close personal friend Rich Siegel, Round Seventeen blogger extraordinaire and fourth place pole vault champion behind Denys Yurchenko at the Bejing Olympics.

To this day, I think Rich was robbed of the bronze.

Anyway, we introduced the wives, and chatted for a short bit. In our conversation we managed to trash open offices, throw shade on a creative director we both know and talk about the many benefits of freelance over staff positions.

Ad guys. Nothing if not predictable.

Afterwards, Rich and his wife went to Kohler to look at fixtures, toilets and sinks. My wife and I went to Father's Office and had one of their legendary burgers, along with a light citrus-y pale ale with a side of Spanish mushrooms. Spending money always works up a hearty appetite.

So as we continue our adventure shopping for the remodel, I'll be sure to keep my eyes open for Rich or anyone else I don't expect to see out in the real world.

Right after I'm done icing my shoulder.

Stuck in the middle with you

It's impressive to see the line of black, armor-shielded Chevy Suburbans (Made in America!) pull up to an event. Even if the person getting out is the so-called president and de facto racist, homophobe, misogynist, sexual predator, pathological liar, traitor and spokesperson for the white nationalist movement. And Satan.

Nonetheless, it is important that we, as Americans who love this country dearly, make sure he's greeted at each and every appearance in a way reflective and deserving of the class, elegance, judgment and maturity he brings to the most powerful office in the world. It's in that spirit I offer several examples of people giving what can only be called the most appropriate salutation for the man he is. If in fact he is a man. I hear things.

Anyway, you don't even have to see him in person to show him the respect he deserves. I give him this greeting every time I see his fat, orange face and whatever the fuck that is on his head on TV, magazine covers or in my nightmares.

Hold 'em firm and hold 'em high. This one's for you Donald.

Room to spare

Here's a lesson I learned early on: no matter how nice my room is, the producers' is nicer.

Years ago, I was in New York on a food shoot for Taco Bell. As anyone in advertising—and by anyone I mean copywriters—will tell you, it's essential to the process to have a copywriter on a food shoot. After all, those bagels on the craft services table aren't going to eat themselves.

Our producer happened to book us at one of my very favorite places to stay in New York, the Essex House on Central Park South.

He met us in the lobby, and before he got us checked in he handed us all envelopes full of cash, which was our "per diem", money to be used towards food, incidental items and other miscellaneous expenses. I looked in the envelope, and it was filled to overflowing with hundred-dollar bills. It was the kind of envelopes you see in the movies.

"Mr. Kensington appreciates you keeping this between us."

I couldn't have spent all the money in my envelope even if the shoot was two weeks, and even though it was New York. But God knows I tried.

I got up to my room, and I was amazed. I actually thought I was in the wrong room. It wasn't a room at all, but an enormous suite overlooking Central Park. The only thing better than enjoying New York on someone else's dime is enjoying it in style.

The little red light on the phone started blinking, and it was a message for the team to meet in our producers' room before we headed out. When we got to his room, I'd fully intended on thanking him for the spacious accommodations he'd somehow managed to arrange given the budget we had. I'm not sure I ever got that thank you out. When he opened the door, all I could see was a long, long hallway that we had to walk down before we even came into the room itself. Come to find out that for as nice as our rooms were, he hadn't skimped on himself. He booked a penthouse. My room looked like the maid's quarters by comparison. Don't get me wrong—I was mighty happy I had it as good as I did, but did he really need this palace all to himself?

Did I mention three bedrooms?

Anyway, I always have and always will love the Essex House, despite the fact it's been bought and sold about twenty times since this all happened (It's currently a Marriott, in case any of my close personal friends happen to work on that account). I'm trying to figure out a way to afford it on an upcoming trip to the city. It's been years, but maybe I'll call and drop the producer's name. No matter how many owners they've had, hotels have a way of remembering parties who book as many big rooms as we did.

Of course this time, it'll be on my dime.

On second thought, the maid's quarters will be just fine.

A slight dust up

I've talked about it a bit on here, but back at the ponderosa we're doing a little remodeling. Hopefully by the end of April, our kitchen, living room and bathroom will have been turned into showcase rooms ready to be featured on Houzz, pinned all over Pinterest and cover-ready for Dwell.

In the process I'm also remodeling my bank account about $20,000 at a time. Don't get me started.

Anyway, when I mentioned to colleagues and friends we were going to do this, they were more than happy to share all sorts of warnings and red flags about what it was going to be like. Since I've never remodeled anything—hard to imagine I know, what with me being so handy and all in that way all Jewish boys who have hands that look like they've never done a day's work in their life are—I had no idea what to expect. Fortunately, with all the best intentions, there was no shortage of people willing to let me know.

Contractors are the worst to deal with.
Having this one proven false has been a great blessing as well as a relief. Our contractors are awesome. We've known about them well before they started the job. They've worked on many of our friends homes, so we had reliable testimonials as to the quality of their work (spectacular). They're honest, hard-working perfectionists with sick senses of humor. And they wield a mean nail gun. What's not to like?

Plan to spend at least a third more than your budget.
First of all, what budget? Second, all the costs we were given up front have pretty much stayed where they were. The exceptions have been the changes we've made in window size, cabinet size, number of outlets, additional features, the nice countertops, etc. Now that I reread that, I might think about stopping with the self-inflicted increases (see bank account remodeling above).

You'll have to move out while the job is being done.
Here's the good news. The way our house is laid out, all the work—with the exception of the bathroom—is on the opposite side from the bedrooms.

So instead of incurring the additional cost of having to live in a hotel for four months, we get to incur the additional inconvenience of living in less than two-thirds of our normal living room space.

It's cozy to say the least.

There is however a big, plastic sheet dividing our cramped living space from areas where the work is being done. It makes a great backdrop for photos, what with all that diffused light. It also comes in handy for my Dexter role-play. Enough said.

There'll be dust everywhere.
I'm sorry to say, on this one they were right. There is dust everywhere. On both sides of the plastic curtain. Inside closed cabinets and drawers. All along picture frames. On the books. The floors. The shelves. Ev-er-y-where. Trying to keep up with cleaning it is the impossible dream. One minute you think you've gotten it all, the next you're writing words with your finger in the thick layer you just noticed on the mantle (the words I wrote were "Someone should really clean this thing").

It's the housekeeping equivalent of spending a day at the beach, then realizing you have sand in places you didn't know you had places.

It's like the guys who take a year painting the Golden Gate bridge, then have to start back in the opposite direction once they get to the other side.

It's like Disneyland when it comes to cleaning it up: it'll never be finished.

You can relax. The box of metaphors is empty.

I have to keep reminding myself all this dust is temporary, but the beautiful home we'll have when it's all done is permanent.

Just like the inhaler and the Claritin.

Banjo boy

At just the right angle, the adult Billy Redden looks a bit like the late, great Robin Williams.

Whom, you might ask, is Billy Redden? He happens to be an actor who was in one of the most iconic scenes in motion picture history, playing the banjo boy in Deliverance. In a stunning moment, he winds up playing a musical duet, the now famous Dueling Banjos, with Ronnie Cox as Jon Voight, Ned Beatty (who has his own iconic moment in the film for an entirely different reason) and Burt Reynolds look on. Truth be told, it was a little Hollywood magic: it wasn't actually Billy playing. But that ain't no never mind.

As anyone who's in the industry knows, show biz can be a cruel tease. And the years and opportunities haven't been particularly kind to Billy. Few and far between, he has had other parts. He was in Tim Burton's Big Fish, and had a small part on Blue Collar as—wait for it—an inbred car mechanic who plays the banjo.

Currently, Billy is working in maintenance at WalMart, picking up trash among other things.

Like Andy Robinson, who did go on to a moderately successful career after playing the Zodiac-esque killer Scorpio in Dirty Harry, Billy was typecast fairly quickly at a young age. He reminds me of Ron Wayne, the third founder of Apple who sold his shares after nine days for $900. If he'd held on to them, they'd be worth $32 billion today. And while it's a fact Billy never flirted with that kind of fortune, I can't help think they're similar in that "what might've been" way. Given the right management, a little more training and a few lucky breaks, would he have been a household name, with a brilliant debut as a child actor?

In the few interviews I've read, it's clear I'm more bothered by it than he is.

The truth is he has a scene that any actor would kill for, one that will now and forever be an enduring part of film history. Every once in a while, I find myself in the mood to watch it. And it always brings me great joy when I do.

If he watches it, I hope Billy feels the same way.