It Reins in Southern California

There are many things I look forward to each day. Seeing my family, working with people I like (you know who you are), driving along the coast as my commute. And of course, the five seconds before Jeopardy comes on the air.

That's when Eyewitness News airs the nightly Dallas Reins promo.

For those in the dark with low cloud cover, Dallas Reins is the channel 7 Los Angeles Eyewitness News meteorologist. He's been on the air here forever, and is as much an L.A. landmark as the Hollywood sign, Bowl or Boulevard.

The overly dramatic presentation Reins is known for consists of three essential elements: flat hand. Point. Fist. All wrapped up with a gravelly voice telling us to tune in.

I find it wildly entertaining. I believe he has honed the presentation for years, and like the pro he is, makes it look effortless.

The best entertainers and meteorologists do.

2019. Day 8.

Like most people I know, I couldn't wait for 2018 to be over. For reasons we're all too well aware of it had been an extremely stressful year. But as we turn the page into 2019, I'm feeling something I haven't felt since the Kenyan was president: hope.

The democratic house has already started their job. The first thing they did was pass a bill to reopen the government, a bill which Senate Majority Leader and chin mogul Mitch McConnell will not allow to get to the senate floor. Democrats will also be subpoena-ing everyone in the shithole president's world to expose his already on display House 'O Corruption.

Then, superhero Robert Mueller will most likely have some late Christmas presents in the form of evidence, indictments and maybe even the final report on Russia.

The unstable genius continues to be isolated in the White House, and the world watches and laughs while he implodes. His government shutdown is backfiring faster than a '38 Ford, and his constant badmouthing of the generals of the U.S. Armed Forces make me confident they won't let him launch a missile during a temper tantrum.

Tonight the networks, in a serious lapse of judgement, are giving the Liar In Chief airtime to make his case for his bullshit wall directly to the American People. I have it on good authority it'll be the best prime time comedy tonight. Funny to everyone, except the 800,000 federal employees and their families who are being financially and emotionally ruined because of his juvenile, ignorant, narcissistic temper tantrum.

Then towards the end of the month we have his State of the Union speech to look forward to. He's constitutionally required to give one each year. I have a feeling it'll go a little something like this:

TRUMP: The state of our union is strong, very strong. So strong you wouldn't believe it, but trust me, it's really strong.

AUDIENCE: (Hysterical laughter and spit takes for the next 30 minutes)

For whatever reason, and maybe it's my blood pressure medicine, I feel there's a actually a chance that this bottomless pit of neo-Nazi, racist, misogynist, homophobic, traitorous, lying, cheating ugliness he's unleashed in the country might gradually be shamed into crawling back under its rock.

I'm hopeful even his base—and really, was there ever a better word to describe his supporters—who apparently like strong white men, must be getting tired of their whining, tiny-handed, porn-star banging, pussy-grabbing crybaby yelling wolf and fake news all the time. Especially now that they've seen exactly how little their paychecks went up, if at all, post-Republican tax reform.

So as far as I'm concerned, 2019 is a clean slate to turn this ship around. Okay, mixed metaphors, but you see where I'm going here. Let's get after it 2019.

To quote Hamilton, history has it's eyes on you.

Nothing but grateful

Despite the fact I’m an only child and the world revolves around me (that’s just science, look it up), I’ve always had a grateful heart and a thankful attitude. I appreciate there’s one day a year designated for celebrating our gratitude, but I think a better approach is to practice it everyday.

Ok, so it’s not going to be my funniest post.

Anyway, between the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade hosted by Savannah Guthrie and Hoda Kotb (It’s the Riverside City College marching band!) and the generically titled National Dog Show (where the German Shepherd came in fourth – rigged), I started thinking about things I’m grateful for, not just today but everyday.

I know what you’re thinking: is he going to tell us or not? I won't keep you in suspense - I am.

I’m grateful for my wife and children. I’d say they somehow manage to put up with my craziness and idiosyncracies and love me in spite of them, except that—and they’d be the first to tell you this—I’m the perfect husband and father. I know, they can hardly believe it either.

I’m grateful I enjoy almost all the people I work with. They’re creative, funny, smart and they challenge me in a positive way to raise my game. I spend a lot of my life with them, so it’s a good thing I feel that way. Except for that one guy—he’s a total asshat.

Grateful for my long-time friends, the one’s I’ve known forever and even though I don’t see as much as I like, can pick up right where we left off. The conversation usually goes something like this: ME: Hey, remember that $500 I loaned you that time we were in Vegas? THEM: I’m pretty sure I paid you back. ME: You didn’t. THEM: Huh. Ok. When I get home I’ll get it to you. (Fast forward ten years) ME: Remember that $500 I loaned you that time we were in Vegas?

I’m grateful for my good health. Despite having to do a little more maintenance than I used to, I’m in pretty good shape. Could stand to lose a few pounds, but I don’t think this is the day to be thinking about that. In fact, I probably won’t worry about it until after the Olympic trials.

So grateful for my dogs. Unconditional love in both directions. They’re both beautiful and smart, but they still don’t pick up after themselves in the yard. If they only knew how many treats were waiting for them if they ever do.

I’m grateful my dear friend, ex-office wife and person who encouraged me to start blogging (blame her) Janice has been declared the winner in her bout with cancer. She’s someone I love and hold in my heart in a way reserved for a special few, and a world without her just would not have been acceptable.

I can’t name all my friends here—not because I have so many, I’m just bad with names—but if I'm lucky enough to call you my friend, know that I am grateful for you every day of the year. Each of you in your own way make my life richer and more frustrating. I meant meaningful.

Finally, I’m grateful for Robert Mueller. And I hope with all my might to be even more grateful to him very soon.

Happy Thanksgiving to all.

Something is afoot

If you know anything about me, you know when it comes to doctors I like to go to the top guy or gal. In fact I'm the person always being asked for recommendations by friends and family.

Note to self: write memo on finder's commission.

Anyway, I have a support system—I’d say life support system but that might give you the wrong idea—of medical professionals that are tops in their fields, and there when and if I need them.

One of them happens to be my podiatrist, Doug Richie. He's seen me through all my foot woes: plantar fasciitis, broken toes, stepping on glass, orthotics, sprained ankles, in-grown toenail, neuropathy. As far as I'm concerned, he's the top guy in podiatry.

And the fact he has a picture in his office with Jerry Seinfeld in no way influences that opinion. “What is it with the little toe? Exactly what is his job?”

Sadly for me and my tootsies, while on his website today I found out he’s retiring at the end of the year. After practicing 37 years (slacker), he’s handing (footing) the practice over to his two associates, who I’m sure are just fine or they wouldn’t be working with him.

But it won't be the same.

I have a relationship with Doug that’s developed over the years. I trust him completely. We have mutual friends, and we actually live in the same neighborhood. In fact occasionally I see him jogging down our street, and I always think the same thing: I hope he’s wearing the proper running shoes.

And speaking of running shoes, Doug holds patents—5 but who's counting—on footwear and ankle braces he's designed and invented. How many patents does your podiatrist have?

I thought so.

So Doug, thank you for everything. I always looked forward to seeing you, and I never minded footing the bill (I know, sorry). Regardless of the circumstances (although I'm not gonna lie: the cortisone shots for the plantar fasciitis weren't my favorite part), I always knew my feet were in good hands. I know you'll still be extremely active, and I wish you nothing but the best in your new season.

When you run past our house, be sure and wave.

Taking one for the team

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Of all the snappy little phrases that get tossed around in ad agencies, and God knows there are plenty of ‘em, the one I like least is “team player.”

Now, before you start getting your panties in a bunch, wagging your finger, stammering and screaming, “I knew it!” you might want to hear me out. Then again you might not.

My life will go on either way.

Anyway, just because I don’t like the term doesn’t mean I’m not one. For instance, I’m also not a fan of the phrase “slightly overweight” or "distinguished gray" but, well, never mind. Bad examples. The point is, as much as it goes against my grain, I’m a team player when I need to be.

New business presentations? My sleeves are rolled up, and I’m banging out manifestos and taglines faster than Bret Kavanaugh driving to a liquor store at closing time.

Client meetings? Point me towards the bagels and let me loose. I love presenting, the bigger the room the better. I have a slightly different way of measuring if it’s been a good meeting. Here it is: If I get the big laugh, it was a successful meeting. I know some people think if we sell the work or get the account that’s actually the measure of success.

Whatever. To each their own.

The off-campus pep talk/morale boosting/team building meetings? You don't have to ask me twice. I’d be there even if there weren’t luxury buses to shuttle me, and free food and liquor after. I just wouldn’t stay as long.

Where I seem to be unable to muster up one for the team is Halloween. To me, October 31st at agencies is like personalized license plates: once you’ve seen the costumes, the joke’s over. What starts out at 9 with everyone oohing and ahhhing over the costume you made winds up with everyone tired of looking at it by 9:30.

However, I have nothing but love for the team I work with. So when they decided our group would dress up as characters from iconic 90's movies, even though all my Jedi instincts were screaming no, I decided I'd do it.

I thought it would be good for me to get over my bad attitude and insecurities—and I know what you're thinking: besides my weight, bank balance, increased memory loss, receding hairline, bad skin tone, limited wardrobe, nine-year old car, complete inability to fix the simplest things around the house, having to wear glasses, feeling like an outsider, not liking sports and, did I mention weight, what do I have to be insecure about?

Perhaps I've said too much. You never read this.

The point is I eventually decided to come to work as one of my favorite characters and perpetual profile photo on Facebook—The Dude from The Big Lebowski.

I found an exact match for the Dude's bathrobe. I went not to a pop up Halloween store, but to a professional wig shop and got my long hair locks like the Dude. I bought L'Oreal Light Brown Root Control spray to match the Dude's hair color (I'll probably be hanging on to that). I bought the sunglasses and brown flip-flops to complete the look.

I was ready and set, but I didn't go. I just couldn't do it.

Was it that the look wasn't as exact and perfect as I wanted it to be? Or was it that I couldn't get past the image of me wearing a white t-shirt under the robe that, well, remember the "slightly overweight" phrase? Talk amongst yourselves.

And despite the fact I could've legitimately gotten wasted downing White Russians all day, told my creative director "Well, that's just your opinion man" and said things like "That rug really tied the room together" to stay in character, it wasn't enough for me to suit up.

But not wanting to let my colleagues down, I did finally decide to come in dressed as an older, overweight, gray-haired, married Jewish guy with kids.

I know, it was a stretch. But what can I tell you. I'm a team player.

The waiting is the hardest part

As the late, great Tom Petty said—God bless his rock and rollin’ heart, the waiting is the hardest part.

Tomorrow is the midterm election, and frankly I’m grateful on several fronts. First and foremost, I never thought we’d make it. I figured the shithole president would’ve had a hissy fit about ratings or someone looking at him the wrong way and hit the button by now.

Second, it’s our chance to at least partially take back our government and democracy from the self-admitted (white) nationalist president and sycophant Republicans in congress: I'm looking at you, well, all of you.

And by take back, I mean at least have checks and balances on the Liar-In-Chief. Can you say “override veto?”

But just like the general election a couple years ago, this one is going to go well into the night. With pivotal races a percentage point or two apart, they’ll be tallying their little hearts out. And every time a democrat wins, besides an angel getting their wings, I can already hear republican opponents screaming voter fraud and demanding a recount.

So lets all get out and vote, and then get lots of rest because we’re going to need it.

Not just tomorrow night, but for the next two years.

Goodbye Paula

I got a phone call this week I'd been expected for a long time. My friend Paula passed away.

I've written about her twice on this blog, both times about my visits with her at the Alzheimer's facility where she was during her final years (those posts are here and here).

My friends Alison and Michael both called to tell me she'd died. It's funny how sometimes when you see the name on the caller ID you know exactly what the call is going to be.

Timing is everything. In the last couple of weeks, I'd been telling my wife I really needed to go visit Paula. I knew it had been a while, but until I saw the date on those last posts I wrote about her, I didn't realize exactly how long. I'm sorry to say I never made it back to see her.

I wrote in more detail in those other posts about her, so I won't go into too much length about her here. Suffice it to say she was an extraordinary person, one of the best account people I'll ever work with, an unrelenting encourager and a great, great friend.

Sadly I don't have a picture of Paula, but what I do have is every great memory of her in my heart. Having seen her in her advanced stages of Alzheimer's, I can honestly say I'm happy she's been set free, fully restored and at long last reunited with her husband.

I love you Paula. Thank you for being the friend you were. Rest in peace.