Not quite all over now

I'm not gonna lie. Once I've spent all my money—and I have again and again (in case you didn't know) on Springsteen tickets—my concert budget is pretty much shot. And there are very few bands I'm willing to pony up a few day rates to see.

But the one band I'd be willing to do it for is The Rolling Stones.

I've always liked the Stones. Never been hardcore about them, but even though it's only rock and roll, I increasingly appreciate their stature, influence and longevity. I feel like they're a band I should see.

The original punk band, the Stones were always the bad boys in contrast to the squeaky clean (at least in the beginning) Beatles. And though they've achieved monumental success, and I expect have gotten plenty of satisfaction in every way possible at this point, they're still out there doing what they do, despite being decades past having to do anything they don't want to.

Jagger still parades around stage with his arms and legs jerking around wildly, like he's a marionette being worked by a drunk puppeteer or a 75-year old British grandmother on a bender. Keith Richards still has a sly, knowing smile at the fact he's alive, along with the most distinctive guitar in rock and roll. I don't know what the hell Ron Wood is doing, but he was the first kiss for this account executive I used to work with, so there's that. And Charlie Watts just makes all the jazz intricacies and nuances he hides in the beat seem so effortless.

I can't explain why I feel this sudden urgency to see them. Maybe it's because it doesn't take Jedi instincts to know at some point they're going to decide they've had enough and call it quits. And while I'd like to think time is on my side, deep down I know it's not.

From all accounts, at this point their show is more greatest hits than not. I'm okay with that. In the same way I saw Sinatra, Sammy Davis Jr. and Elvis, I'd just like to be able to say I saw The Stones live once.

What I'd really like is to score tickets to the small venue show they do before every arena show. Last time they were at the 20,000-seat Staples Center in Los Angeles, the night before they did an impromptu performance at the 350-seat Echoplex Club in Silverlake. Guess how fast they sold out?

Oh well. You can't always get what you want.

The unimaginable

Mom wakes her up. Like every other morning, it’s a "5-more minutes" war of wills. Today mom wins. Not happy about it, she gets out of bed to get ready while mom heads back downstairs to make her a quick breakfast before she leaves.

Dad had to leave early for work, but he looked in on his sleeping girl before he left. Standing in her doorway, he smiled, thinking it was just a minute ago he was holding her in his arms, giving her a baby bottle. He thought sometimes day by day can seem like it goes on forever. But year to year, it goes by fast. Too fast. He makes a point to treasure every minute. He blows her a kiss, then quietly closes the door.

No time for the breakfast. She grabs her backpack, yells “Bye mom, I love you.” and heads out the door. She reaches down to pat her golden retriever Duke on the head as she runs out. Mom yells back, “Love you too honey.” but she’s not sure if she heard it.

Mom has errands to do, but she decides to take a little me time, and has a cup of coffee while she sits on the living room couch. She looks around at the home the two of them have made, and her eyes scan the family photos on the mantle. She smiles, thinking what a great girl they’ve raised, and how the world is going to be her oyster.

She picks up the remote and turns on the television, thinking she’ll catch a couple of back to back reruns of Modern Family while she has the chance. That show always makes her laugh.

At the office, dad is interviewing a potential new employee. While they talk about his past experience, the candidate notices the wood-framed picture of his daughter on the bookshelf behind him. “How old is your daughter?” “She just turned sixteen.” “That’s a great age and a great time – everything is ahead of her.”

On Modern Family, Cam is freaking out because Mitch has been hiding something from him, and mom is laughing so hard she almost does a spit take with her coffee. Unexpectedly, the show is interrupted with a Special Bulletin banner, and a very somber looking anchor man is suddenly talking about her daughter’s school.

At the office, dad’s assistant comes into the room, interrupting the interview. Dad says, “What’s up?” The assistant says, “I need to talk to you right now. It’s important.” He excuses himself for a minute, and leaves the office to see what’s so urgent.

Mom is crying hysterically. She’s frantically trying to reach her daughter on her cell phone, but there’s no answer. She has never prayed so hard or felt so helpless.

Dad is screaming at the computer, because he can’t get the video to work on CNN.com. He yells out to anyone listening “Does anyone know how to make this damn thing work?”

Mom decides to drive to the school. She tells the dog she’s sorry, but she’ll be back soon. She runs upstairs to get her purse. She comes back down the stairs so fast, she almost loses her footing.

All the way down the stairs as she heads for the front door, she’s telling herself over and over that her daughter will be alright. She’s a smart girl. She’s probably hiding with her friends, and they don’t want to make any noise and that’s why she’s not answering her phone.

Dad goes running out of the office, leaving his laptop, his jacket, his briefcase and his job candidate in his office. His assistant is crying.

Mom goes running out the door, about to slam it shut.

Then the phone rings.

You break it you own it

Now that we're in the hopefully soon-to-be-ending era of the shithole president, it seems every media outlet—or fake news organization as he likes to slander them—is lousy with Breaking News stories almost every minute of every day.

Not that some of them aren't legit, what with the liar-in-chief committing several impeachable crimes and saying (or tweeting) monumentally stupid, ignorant, racist, misogynist, homophobic, climate change denying, lies, uninformed and just plain wrong things minute-by-minute on a daily basis.

But in reality, a lot of the Breaking News is just an attention getting graphic to induce us to stay tuned for not necessarily new information on ongoing stories, reports and rumors that haven't been confirmed or profiles that aren't so much breaking as being updated.

All of which got me thinking (eventually something had to) about what would actually constitute Breaking News in advertising agencies.

Client only wants to see one idea.

Breaking with tradition, a major automotive client today asked the agency to only present one idea for the global branding campaign. "We don't know what you guys are doing all day, but we have work to do. No one has time to sit through three hours of storyboards and ripomatics on ideas your creative director 'Just couldn't let go.' Show us the one and get on with it."

ManifestNO

For a recent new business pitch, none of the agency copywriters were asked to work on a manifesto. Not by the creative director. Not by the account director. Not by the general manager, although he may have tried. Cell reception is bad from the golf course.

Instead of a lofty, cleverly worded, Jeff Bridges, Alec Baldwin or Peter Coyote sound-a-like voiced statement about what the product is, means and how it impacts the world and all who come in contact with it, the unexpected decision was made to just roll the dice and show up with good work.

No insights

In what witnesses called a startling admission and an unintentional moment of truth, the agency revealed it has absolutely no insights. None. Gerard Pennysworth, Vice President of Knit Caps, Ironic T-Shirts and Global Strategic Planning was quoted as saying, "Your guess is as good as mine. I don't know why the hell anyone does what they do."

Agency gives team enough time

Used to only having 15-minute coffee breaks to create global branding campaigns, yesterday a creative team was told they'd have three weeks to come up with a single television spot. When told they were in fact not the subjects of a cruel joke, the team went into shock and required immediate medical attention.

Buzzwords not allowed

Several account people were let go today for violating the recently instituted "no buzzwords or phrases" rule. When asked if perhaps the punishment was a bit too severe, Director of Human Services and People Management Kathleen Laytoff replied, "It's always difficult to let people go, but net-net at the end of the day, they just 'laddered up' once too often."

The state of taxes - the sequel

I've spent the last three days preparing tax information for the annual meeting with my accountant, which is coming up in a week. I was all excited because I thought it'd be a fun thing to blog about. Who doesn't want to read about taxes, amirite? Then I remembered I already posted about them almost exactly three years ago, in February 2015.

Truthfully, the tax circus doesn't change much for me from year to year. The receipts, the accordion files, the Ziegenhagen system—it's the only way I know. Although the other thing I know is there's got to be a better way.

This is also the last year I'll be doing taxes the way I've been doing them, because the liar-in-chief's middle class tax scam goes into effect this year. A lot of my deductions will be going away, but on the bright side hopefully so will the shithole president. Sooner rather than later.

And when he does, I'm personally sending a nice thank you gift to Robert Mueller. But only if it's deductible.

Anyway, I don't often repost, but this one seemed rather timely. Try to read it before April 17th. Please to enjoy.

This is the second time in four years I've done a post about taxes. The last time was here.

Even though it's an annual event, and a subject everyone likes to bitch and moan about, I don't write about it every year because that way it's just a little less real.

Until April 15th. Then it's very real.

I'm fairly organized about things, which makes it easier to get ready for it. I have my friend Pam Ziegenhagen to thank for that. She probably doesn't even remember, but years ago when we worked together, she told me how she organized all her receipts in different categories in an accordion file. Then all she had to do was add up each section for tax time.

It was good advice, and I've been doing it that way my own self ever since.

But because I know I can wait until virtually the last minute and still pull it all together in about three hours if I have to, I have extra time to get my panties in a twist about getting it done. Which I always do.

I have issues. I never said I didn't.

So here's the thing - sometime in the next few days, I'll buckle down, go through my accordion file with all the past year's receipts like Pam told me, do a little addition, make a master list of totals for my accountant and be done with it.

Then, when I'm at my tax appointment with my accountant Ethan, we'll chat about all sorts of things and I'll stare at the Green Bay Packers posters he has in his office for about an hour and a half while he punches in the numbers in a way that makes everything okay.

Ethan does right by me every year, bless his little ten key.

I was going to end this post with somewhat of a reach. It was going to lead into something something Sherlock Holmes, and working purely by deduction. See what I did there?

Obviously I don't prepare nearly as well for ending my blogposts as I do for doing my taxes.

Hair today, gone tomorrow

We've (or should that be weave) all seen it by now. The video of the shithole president's hair trying to make its getaway as he boards Air Farce One (spelling intentional).

First the Emperor has no clothes. Now he has no hair.

Naturally, because the fake president is the festering pile of shit he is, we're not laughing with him. We're laughing at him. No one is uttering the phrase "That's unfortunate." or "I feel bad for him." The most telling thing about the video is how after his combover turns into a flyaway, he stops and waves at the top of the stairs as if nothing has happened.

Which is exactly the way he approaches his presidency (throwing up a little just typing "his presidency").

Here's a partial, very partial, list of the things he's done so far:

Stolen a Supreme Court seat.

Robbed the middle class with a tax reform scam.

Cost millions of voters their healthcare.

Obliterated environmental regulations.

Appointed the "best" most unqualified people he can find to his cabinet.

Got rid of net neutrality.

Reversed a rule oil companies had to report payments to foreign governments.

Cancelled a rule saying financial advisors had to act in the best interest of their clients.

Ended a rule allowing consumers to file class-action lawsuits against banks.

Repealed a rule mandating employers keep records of workplace injuries.

Repealed a ban on lead bullets.

Reduced the size of national monuments and parks.

Repealed documents defining rights of students with disabilities.

Canceled public reporting of visitors to the White House.

So much winning.

And after each deplorable act, he smiles and waves as if nothing happened. As if he had a mandate. Like he won the popular vote. After all, that's what stable genius' do.

The good news is by all indications the midterms will be the day of reckoning for this racist, traitorous idiot. And the decades long list of social and global progress he's decimating will be the same list Democrats use as a checklist to restore them one by one.

So there's reason to be slightly optimistic. Because it's my belief that with a Democrat controlled congress in November, if he isn't already removed from office or locked up by then, at least the idea of Trump finishing out his only term will be a lot less hair raising for the rest of us.

Rain on his parade

It's hard to get out of bed every day, knowing there's not a chance you'll escape the ginormous amount of monumental stupidity and ineptness being inflicted daily on our once great nation from the shithole president. Here's the latest: he wants a military parade.

Apparently Toys R Us didn't have life-size toy soldiers, so the fake president has decided to play with the real ones. Allegedly, his reason is so the American people can have the opportunity to show their appreciation for our men and women in the armed services. But back on earth, Mr. Liar Liar Pants On Fire isn't fooling anyone. We all know the real reason is so the military can show him their appreciation, salute Cadet Bone Spurs, and demonstrate their allegiance.

Maybe if just one Democrat had clapped at his state of the union address, even by mistake, we wouldn't be talking about this.

It's hard to imagine another reality-show-star-turned-politician whose ego is so big, and dick is so small, that he feels the only way to make himself feel better is by having tanks and missiles parading down Pennsylvania Avenue.

Of course, knowing what the liar-in-chief's definition of "very fine people" is, I'm sure he feels like he'd be in "good company" if he gets his way and squanders millions of taxpayer (which doesn't include him) dollars and resources on his parade. After all, it's not like that money could be used for anything else like, say, helping homeless veterans get off the streets.

His portrait, once color corrected for his skin tone which is not found in nature, would be perfectly at home in a rogues gallery of leaders who've had military parades. Besides the Charlie Chaplin impersonator at the top, look who else insisted (and in one case still insists) on having them:

In the unfortunate event this exercise in ego inflation comes to pass, which like all sane Americans I'm hoping it doesn't, I'm sure the real warriors, the brave men and women of our armed services, will approach it as professionally and effectively as they approach every mission. Which means as they march past the presidential viewing stand, they'll raise their right hands and salute the orange carpetbagger using all five fingers.

Though my guess is they'll be wanting to use just one.

Hedging my bet

Bruce Springsteen, this up and coming singer I listen to occasionally, put it best: There are nice guys and assholes on every block in America.

Let me put it this way, my neighbors are not the nice guys. I'm not talking about every neighbor on the block, many of whom we have varying degrees of friendly relationships with. I'm talking about my immediate neighbors who live next to us in the very same direction the Wicked Witch was from.

Coincidence? I think not.

There's a long list of intrusions and offenses we've been the recipients of ever since they bought the house next door. Things like them building their deck onto the side of our garage facing their yard. And without asking or mentioning it, painting said garage wall to match the color of their house.

Permission? That's just crazy talk.

I won't bother you with the details of how we found out about it all, but suffice it to say that since we did, lawyers, phone calls, texts and fragile agreements have all been called, made and followed so far.

After two property surveys showing the property lines along our garage were right where we said they were, we've settled for a long term truce and absolutely no relationship with them.

Which is fine by me. Because they're assh...not nice guys.

What makes it so very frustrating, besides the obvious, is before they bought the place we had the best neighbor ever. We loved him, my kids loved him, the American people loved him. Sebastian, if you're reading this, seriously, it's time to buy the house back. Don't make me beg, it's so undignified. But I'll do it if that's what it takes.

I only wish the layout of my house were such that I could trim hedges on my property (if I had them) the way it is in the picture.

It may be a character flaw, but I tend to hold on to things like this. I'm not forgiving when it comes to my garage wall. Ask anyone who knows me.

I'll never understand the point of deliberately doing something you know will result in eliminating any chance of having a neighborly relationship. After all, the only thing separating our house from theirs is a driveway. If they ever needed something done like picking up newspapers or packages while they were away from home, or just wanted someone to keep an eye on the place, we'd be the natural choice as well the closest people to lend a hand.

But after their transgressions and aggression towards us, I can't put into words how badly I'm waiting for the day they come knocking at my door asking for help. Because, you know, being the forgiving, benefit-of-the-doubt-giving, understanding, sensitive to other people's dilemas individual anyone who knows me will tell you I am, I'll be ready with the most charitable answer I can muster in their time of need.

Kiss my hedge.