Land of hope and dreams

Since the very first time my friend Jeff Haas played it for me, Bruce Springsteen’s Thunder Road has been my favorite song. And being the fan we all know I am, it won't surprise anyone when I say that if I’ve heard it once, I’ve heard it at least ten thousand times.

Except here’s the funny part: last Saturday night, I felt like I heard it for the first time.

I flew to New York last Friday for the weekend to see Springsteen On Broadway, Bruce’s new and first Broadway show, where he tells stories about his life, sings a set playlist of songs and reads from his autobiography, Born To Run.

I'm just thankful we didn’t get the understudy.

What I wasn’t prepared for was how intimate, raw, emotional, joyful, tearful and brutally honest the evening was. I can’t imagine any other artist being that open with their audience (not that I spend a lot of time thinking about other artists). But then again, that’s always been part of the attraction to Bruce. He's not hiding behind his songs, he's revealing our shared experiences and feelings through them.

In the show, Bruce tells the stories of his life—his family, his rockstar journey, pays tribute to his late friend, sax player and sidekick Big Man Clarence Clemons, unflinchingly declares his love for his wife Patti— punctuating and adding perspective to them with carefully chosen songs from his library of forty years. I’ve heard every one of these songs dozens of times in concert. Yet, set in the context of the show, as I said, it felt like the first time.

It’s a scripted show—a considerable change from the mix it up, multi-night gigs and audibles he calls during his arena shows.

And speaking of arena shows, the 950-seat Walter Kerr Theater is about as far as you can get from an arena.

Easily the smallest venue he’s played in thirty years, it’s difficult to imagine a more perfect place both acoustically, artistically, historically and spiritually for Bruce to tell his stories. Yes it's a Broadway theater, but it is every bit as much an essential character in this transcendent experience as the music is.

I don’t want to give away a lot about the show, because I have friends who will be seeing it soon. I will say this: be ready to laugh, cry, reflect, rejoice, pray (you heard me), be grateful and celebrate with 950 of your newest, closest friends.

There is a point in the show when Bruce talks about his music and the journey we’re all on, hoping he’s been a good traveling companion along the way.

Frankly, I never would have made the trip without him.

Where's my HBO documentary?

I've been watching the HBO documentary on Steven Spielberg, and enjoying it thoroughly. I'm learning things I never knew, like the Star Wars crawl at the opening was Brian DePalma's idea. That Spielberg has three sisters. That his mom divorced his dad then married his dad's best friend (floosy).

I'm certainly not about to compare myself to Spielberg. After all, we have very different skill sets. I've never directed an Academy Award winning film. He's never written a Hyundai banner ad.

I know, it doesn't sound as glamorous as what he does. But that's only because it's not.

The point is, I have lots of interesting things that've happened to me in my life, many of which I've written about here, that might add up to a swell HBO documentary. Or even a limited run series. I even have some ideas about who could play me in the dramatic recreations of pivotal events in my life. Depending on my weight at the time, it could run anywhere from Michael Fassbender to Kevin James. I might be getting ahead of myself.

Deep movie trailer announcer voice over: In a world where truth is stranger than fiction, this Tuesday at 9 on JEFF....

Sure, everyone has stories to tell, but not everyone's stories are deserving of a documentary. And lest you forget, I'm an only child. So we already know the world revolves around me.

Look, I have celebrity friends. I've locked myself in a hotel bathroom in New York. I buried both my parents (yes it was after they died). I've hung off the seventeenth floor of an apartment building. I've flown helicopters. I've worked with Advertising Hall of Fame legends. I've copped to my shortcomings, and taken responsibility for my mistakes. I've broken bones (yes they were mine).

It's been a life full of comedy, drama, action, romance and suspense. A story of love and loss, all based on true events. An epic tale of a life well lived - so far. Complex, emotional, heart-wrenching and, as anyone who knows me will tell you, filled with conflict. Like all the best stories.

Interesting characters? I've spent most of my adult life working in ad agencies—my life story is lousy with 'em.

When it comes to the A B C's of me, there's a lot of ground to cover. I think an experienced documentary filmmaker, someone like Ken Burns for example, would do a fine job of bringing perspective and meaning to the events that've shaped me. God knows someone has to.

An important element to any documentary is the narration, which means it's critical the voiceover chosen for the job imbues the proper tone and feeling of the subject matter. I'm thinking Morgan Freeman. I love what he did for those penguins.

With it's high standard of excellence, unrelenting attention to detail, long-standing relationships with the documentary filmmaker community, I really believe HBO is the only premium channel with the bona fides to do a life story like mine the justice it deserves.

And if for some reason they don't want it, I'll add some Nazis and dinosaurs and bring it to the History Channel.

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.