The best policy

The joke goes like this.

An 85-year old man decides to interview for a job with a tech company. The 24-year old HR person asks him, "What do you think is your biggest weakness?" The old man says, "I'd have to say I'm too honest." The HR person tells him, "I don't really think being honest is a weakness." The old man says, "I don't give a shit what you think."

It works for me on so many levels.

First and foremost is the unfrightened attitude. It's something I've been accused of having many times. Guilty as charged. And if you ask me, and you didn't, but if you did, there's too little of it in agencies these days.

A close writer friend of mine was in a meeting with her creative director. He had just finished some work, and said "I finally feel like I'm earning my paycheck." Without skipping a beat my friend said, "Well it's about God damn time."

He cracked up. Honesty camouflaged as a joke.

I've been freelance for a very long time, and one thing it does is knock the fear right out of you. Most fear in agencies is about getting fired or laid off. Here's the thing: it happens to everyone at some point. And if it happens, all it means is you showed up one day.

I don't have that fear. I've been out of work long periods of time, and I've been busier than hell for long periods of time. It all balances out. And if history has taught me anything, it's that I'll eventually land on my feet at another gig.

Or serving caramel macchiatos at The Daily Grind.

What I'm saying is don't keep it all inside. Speak your mind. Spit it out. Tell it like it is. Truth to power. Damn the torpedoes. The universe will reward you for it. You'll respect yourself for it. A grateful nation will thank you for it.

And if you wind up being the most honest person at the unemployment office, at least you'll have learned a valuable lesson.

Don't take advice from bloggers you don't know.

In defense of thoughts and prayers

Sadly there's been no shortage of horrific events where people are moved to offer thoughts and prayers to those who've been involved in them directly or indirectly. What I don't understand is the (mostly online) hostility I see about people who extend that kindness.

The argument seems to be A) it doesn't accomplish anything B) It simply isn't doing enough or C) There's no God to hear your prayers anyway.

I'm not sure where the notion that just because someone offers comfort to another in their thoughts and prayers, it means they aren't doing other things—like donating money, volunteering, taking action, protesting—at the same time.

The two actions are not mutually exclusive.

What I think happens is Republican politicians who control the government right now (hopefully not much longer) make a giant photo op out of sending thoughts and prayers, then having a moment of silence, then going back to business as usual destroying Obama's legacy and lining their pockets. They cheapen the currency of concern and compassion.

Here's the thing: I can't tell you how many times, and there have been many, when friends who are quite vocal about their atheism and skepticism haven't hesitated a nanosecond to ask me to pray or keep a good thought for their sick child or parent.

That they get a job they're up for.

They can find the right words to say to a loved one.

They can make rent.

That the dog comes home.

That the diagnosis is negative.

And when they ask, each and every time, I'm more than happy to do it.

I believe in the power of prayer, and the comfort and peace it can bring people just knowing they're being thought of and loved. I've experienced it in my own life, for example when my parents died and a close friend was dying of AIDS.

In a world that's more and more demanding and uncertain, thoughts and prayers—along with other things—is an easy, meaningful offering I can give to comfort friends or strangers who need it. I don't see the downside.

By the way, I'm fine if you don't believe it, or think I'm foolish for doing it. To each their own. I'm just not sure where the venom and vitriol come from (unless it's the asshat Republican politician posers causing it—see above).

At any rate, I think there are more important things to rage against than me offering or someone taking comfort in the fact I'm thinking about them, hoping for the best and wishing them well along with anything else I may be doing to help their cause.

But if you happen to be one of those who gets angry just seeing the title of this post, you know what I'll be doing to wish you peace and calm.

I am not impressed

I've never been a morning person. For as long as I can remember, the night has been my friend. I like late dinners, late movies, late concerts. I stay up late, go to bed late and whenever possible—usually not by choice—sleep late.

One thing I don't like late at night: email.

Here's the thing. Whenever I get one, I know that somewhere, some account person I work with is up way past their bedtime and pay grade, relaying what they believe to be an essential piece of information on something that barely matters to me at 10am, much less 2am.

By the way, I use "account person" as the example because like aliens, unicorns and the holy grail, I've never seen a late night email from a creative person. At that time of night, we're busy, you know, creating.

It's like when I watch a high speed chase on the news, I always ask the same question about the drivers: "What do they think is going to happen?" People who send work emails in the middle of the night are those drivers. And I ask the same question every time I get one.

I don't know if the 3am time stamp on emails is supposed to let me know that they're a conscientious worker, an insomniac, someone with a serious lack of priorities or maybe a little of each.

When someone says "Can I ask you a question?" I tell them, "Sure, you can ask. But it doesn't mean you'll get an answer."

That's especially true if you're asking at 3 in the morning.

Reconsidering John McCain

As I watched the 60 Minutes interview with John McCain, I felt a deep, unexpected sadness at the thought he's not going to be around. He's bravely fighting yet another battle, this time with glioblastoma—the same aggressive brain cancer that forms in the brain and spinal cord. The same cancer that took Ted Kennedy.

I suppose like a lot of people, I've gone in and out of liking and disliking McCain. But in his sunset years in the Senate, even though he hasn't always walked the walk, I find the thought of his absence painful.

I thought I'd never be able to forgive him for unleashing the political train wreck that is Sarah Palin on the world, but I have. Despite surfacing with some idiotic gibberish every once in awhile, with the exception of the occasional brief appearance on Fox News, she's long ago been relegated to a footnote, like Kato Kaelin or Ross Perot.

Like we all thought Trump would be.

The constant character trait in McCain's life has, without a doubt, been bravery. When he was shot down and held prisoner, he was tortured relentlessly. At one point, he was offered early release, which he refused. He wouldn't leave until all his fellow soldiers who'd been captured with him were freed.

He's fought endlessly and tirelessly for things in the Senate. And whether I agreed with them or not, and it was mostly not, I admired his intelligence and persistence.

Most recently, at 81, he's geared up for yet another battle. He's made himself a pariah in many dark, dusty corners of the GOP for having the unmitigated gall to do the right thing, and stand up to the most unqualified sociopath ever to hold the office of the presidency. People speculate he's doing it because at this point he's got nothing to lose, but I think it's more than that. I think it's what he genuinely believes.

Donald Trump's statement about liking heroes that weren't captured should make everyone cringe. With McCain being a genuine hero, from a military family of heroes, the statement from Trump is as vile, vulgar and uninformed as the liar making it.

The reason it angers him so deeply is that McCain has become the de facto conscience of the Republican party. His seniority gives him the gravitas, and his sense of what's right and what elected representatives are supposed to do has earned him respect from both sides of the aisle.

I have a friend who was involved at the highest levels of the McCain presidential campaign. We don't see each other often, but when we do we never talk about it, because we both know where each other stands.

I'm nothing if not vocal about my views.

But lately, I see what she saw in him.

I hope McCain beats the odds and beats his cancer. At this critical time in history, it'd be an unthinkable loss to say goodbye to one of the senate's last voices of reason.

Let's hope we don't have to for a while longer.

Game of Phones

It's September again. That time of year when the weather gets suprisingly, unbearably hot for a month.

Fall is gently knocking at summer's door.

Kid's are learning and playing back in school.

Christmas displays are going up at Home Depot.

Rich Siegel starts waxing nostalgic.

Oh, and one more thing.

The new iPhones are announced.

Every year at this time Apple introduces their newest iPhone model. Sometimes the changes and improvements are minor, sometimes more substantial. Either way, they're always expensive.

This year was different. Not in the price tag, but in the offerings.

Sure, they went sequentially and introduced an iPhone 8 and 8Plus with some marginal improvements. But because it's the 10th anniversary of the introduction of the iPhone, anticipation for this year's event reached a fever pitch, not just among fanboys and the Apple community, but also the press and the general public. And the credit card companies.

To mark the occasion, Apple cooked up (#seewhatIdidthere) a special edition model: the iPhone X (pronounced "ten"). And to go with the special edition is a special price: $999 for the 64GB version, and $1149 for the 256GB version.

The iPhone X comes with all sorts of new technical whammy-jammy like facial mapping and recognition, emojis that animate with the users facial expressions (dubbed "Animojis"), using gestures instead of a home button among a few of them.

I have the same problem with iPhones as I do with cars—I hang on to them too long (insert high school girlfriend joke here).

My first one, phone, not girlfriend, was the 3GS. I thought it was amazing, and I never missed the chance to gloat about it to my friends who only had the iPhone 3. I was so happy with it, I sat out the 4, 4S and the 5. By that time though, it had gotten to the point where I couldn't update the system and a lot of apps wouldn't work on it. So when the 5S came out, I was first in line.

Well, figuratively. I'll never be first in line for a new iPhone. I can't wait that many days in line for anything, unless it's Springsteen tickets. Which I can now get on the iPhone.

The circle of life.

When the 6 Plus came out with the larger screen, I traded up. My eyes get worse every second they're open, and the larger real estate for the screen was a no brainer. Then the 7Plus came out with the better camera. Since I'd gotten the 6Plus on the lease program where you can upgrade without penalty every year, I walked in and did just that.

I'll admit it. I've been an Apple guy almost since the beginning with computers and phones. Every September when they announce the new iPhone, I'm like Steve Martin in The Jerk with the new phonebook.

If I'm being honest with myself, and where's the percentage in that, I don't really need the iPhone X. My 7Plus would do just fine for another few years, and I could bank the $1149, or put it to good use towards something else (Springsteen tickets).

But knowing me, and the tower of strength I am, I'll probably cave like Jim Gaffigan at the dessert bar and get it.

Unless next year's iPhone 11 cleans the house, walks the dog and washes the car.

Then I might wait.

Lecture series

I know one of the things that makes life a horserace is the fact friends can sometimes have differing opinions. God knows there's only a scant few who aren't fed up with me talking about Springsteen, Breaking Bad, sushi and Vegas as much as I do. I know it, you know it and the American people know it. Yet, I love those friends anyway. I have no choice—it's right there in small print on the friendship contract.

And, because I'm also passionate about certain points of view, I completely understand someone wanting me to see things their way. Often times, after giving it some thought or reflection, I will. I'll eventually come around to their thinking.

I'm nothing if not open-minded.

There are usually two approaches people take when asking me to change my mind about something. One is objectively giving me the facts to consider, and then allowing me to consider them. The other is bludgeoning me with their opinion, especially if they know I may not be entirely on board with it, and then continuing to bludgeon me when I don't immediately come around to their point of view.

Here's which way works better for me: Spoiler Alert: it's the first one.

There's someone I've followed regularly for a long time. I get a lot of good out of their teachings, and they've helped me view the world in a more compassionate, less fearful, more confident way. But recently I've had cause to question their character, and whether I should continue investing time in them.

Here's my process. First, I consider the context of events. I listen to both sides. I take into account the good I've gotten out of it until this point. Then, I make a decision.

What I require is a little patience from the person arguing the other point of view.

And the understanding that mocking, condescending and badgering comments—because I don't instantly agree with them—make it less interesting to give their argument the consideration they'd like me to.

And that I'd like to. Because I'm nothing if not a giver.

All the continual bombardment does is crowd the field. It makes me focus on the diversion and attitude, not the topic at hand. It does not make the argument they think they're making.

I get we're in a time when passions run high, feet get dug in, lines get drawn and everything is black and white. Gray area? That's just crazy talk.

Listen, I'm not a delicate little flower, and if you're my friend and you want to rant and rave at me, have at it. I'm a big boy and I can take it. But if you want me to take it seriously, here's some free advice: there's a better approach.

Why free advice? Told you I was a giver.

The most wonderful time of the day

I think breakfast has been hogging the spotlight as "the most important meal of the day" for far too long. It's a new morning in America. And as the sun rises on this new morning, we skip breakfast and go straight to the rightful holder of the title: Lunch.

There are a couple things I look forward to everyday as I make my scenic, freeway-free commute to work. One is the end of the day, and the other is lunch.

Neither ever gets here fast enough.

There's a strange phenomenon in advertising agencies I've talked about before here and here. People take themselves way too seriously. They think they're contributing something—shall we say, more meaningful—to society than they really are.

One way that kind of thinking reveals itself is by not going to lunch.

Apparently some agency people have talked themselves into thinking the work they're doing is too important to stop for lunch (it isn't), if they take a lunch break they'll fall behind (you won't), and that they can't go to lunch because what if the client calls? (News flash—the client's out to lunch).

You see these people in the kitchen between 11:45a.m. and 1p.m., loitering in front of the bad coffee, next to the dirty microwave waiting for it to ding. Then they're back at their desks, typing that Powerpoint presentation with one hand and eating Stouffer's Lasagna, again, with the other.

From where I sit, at the restaurant down the street waiting for my food to be brought to my table, it's a sad existence.

A few agencies I've been at cater lunch in every day. It's positioned as a nice, money-saving perk for the employees. But don't be fooled. Their intentions aren't that altruistic. They knows people take shorter lunches if they don't go out, so they can get more work hours out of them. As if just being there actually equalled productivity.

Anyone who's ever worked with me can tell you that's not true.

Personally, I have to make a break from the compound everyday. I spend too much time there already, and if I don't get out, feel the air, the sun and walk around a bit, it just feels like I'm biding time until my parole hearing.

I understand not wanting to spend money eating out every day. By the time you've split the check with the person who had a three-course meal while you had a cup of soup, and add tax and tip, you feel like you need a co-signer just to pay the check. But I think the more important thing to ask is what's the psychological cost of not going out for lunch at least once in awhile?

I have no idea either, but I'll bet it's pretty high.