Agency opening ceremonies

Next time someone at your agency starts yapping about team players, and trust me, someone always does, tell them to put their uniforms and flags where their mouth is.

In just a few months, the 2020 summer Olympics in Tokyo will be upon us. Because the Olympic committee didn't ask me when they should schedule the games, they happen to start around the same time I'll be in San Diego for this year's Comic Con, so you can let me know how many gold medals we won later.

Sitting here, eating onion rings and a tuna melt—as the best athletes do—and thinking about the upcoming Olympic opening ceremonies, it occurs to me what all those team player loving agency big wigs should do. Every morning, after their warmup stretches and carb-loading, they should lead their various agency delegations into the office in an inspiring, heartwarming, intricately choreographed display of unity called the Parade Of Work™.

Instead of flags, they'd have copies of agency work carried in on poles, blowing aimlessly in the wind—which coincidentally is where you find a lot of it anyway.

People in each department would be broken into teams: instead of luge, cross-country skiing and bobsled, there would be digital. Social. Brand. Retail. CRM. All marching proudly into their open office spaces.

Of course before any of this could happen, the agency would have to devote more than a few non-billable hours to coming up with team uniforms for each division. Not sure exactly what they'd come up with, but I imagine there wouldn't be any shortage of knit caps, torn jeans, off-brand sneakers and my personal favorite, black t-shirts with the agency logo front and center.

The good news is players wouldn't be bothered with oppressive rules like no beards, tattoos, open-toed shoes or friendship bracelets. There wouldn't be anyone left if they were.

And as they get ready to start each day, the team captains would make it a point to remind them about the importance of staying focused, working as a team and good sportsmanship. That and, contrary to what they may believe, it's just advertising.

Not the Hunger Games.

One is the loneliest number

He looks like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders. What he has is a target on his back.

Mitt Romney did something today that will without a doubt have long lasting consequences for his political future. He voted to convict a sitting president in his own party.

I've never been a fan of Romney, but I'm filled with gratitude he had the character and bravery to look at the evidence, vote for witnesses (also against his party) and take seriously his oath to be an impartial juror in the shithole president's impeachment trial.

The Cult-Of-Trump backlash was immediate. Within seconds, literally seconds, of his vote, Trump PACS started running ads calling him a traitor, the leader of the Democratic resistance and a patsy for the opposition. Pre-printed fundraising flyers asking for money to fight Romney were in the mail before the final gavel.

I'm sure he's also getting threats to himself and his family by the fine people who want to make America great again.

In the current environment, the vote Romney cast today was nothing short of heroic. It's something he should be proud of. History will recall his bravery for decades to come—just as it will record the sniveling cowardice of all who enabled the unstable genius in his criminal activities, betraying the country and the constitution.

For all the wrong reasons, Romney's now Republican enemy number one. I believe he should become an independent, so he's free to vote his conscience without consequence. And also so the rest of the GOP asshats would have to sidle up to him for his vote whenever they wanted to pass one of their bills reversing the last fifty years of social progress.

I've never agreed with him on much of anything, and I don't imagine I will going forward. Mitt Romney is probably never going to earn my vote.

But today, he definitely earned my admiration.

Brother Trump's traveling salvation show

"So you say you want pre-existing coverage? You think women should be the ones to make decisions about their own bodies? Does healthcare for all sound like a scary, socialist plan? Are those criminal, diseased, ruthless immigrants gunning for your job and your family? And speaking of gunning, are you afraid you're not gonna be able to keep yours?"

Well step right up my gullible, naive, uneducated, frightened Republican brothers and sisters. Brother Trump's traveling salvation show has rolled into the capital to deliver the sweet, magical elixir and oppressive, progress-reversing legislation that's will cure what ails you.

If you saw the shithole president's speech tonight, you know he reached new heights (lows?) of deception and dishonesty, throwing falsehoods and lies to his base like they were paper towels in Puerto Rico.

Everything he said he would do is a lie. Everything he said he has done is a lie. Everytime he said he cared he lied. But of course, his base ate it up—after all, the whole show was for them. Never before (and hopefully never again) has the SOTU speech been turned into a reality show like it was tonight.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let's hear it for cancer-ridden Rush Limbaugh. You're getting this Presidential Medal of Freedom not for being the racist, misogynist, Parkinson-victim mocking tub of human waste you are, but as a sympathy play because you'll be taking the big dirtnap soon."

Cue Republican toadie senator applause.

"You say you want to see black voter support? Step right up and let me give a 14-year old black child a school scholarship (I'm glad she got it - that's not the point). Need more proof do ya? Let me direct your attention to the 100-year old Tuskeegee airman who just this very day I promoted to brigadier general (I'm glad he got it - that's not the point). But I'm just getting started."

"Sure I've disrespected veterans, trashed gold star families and mocked generals, but that's all yesterday's news. Just to show I mean it, let me surprise this wife and child with their husband and father who they think is on a tour of duty, but he's right here! How about that?!"

All that was missing were keys to new Pontiacs under all the seats.

The con was on full display tonight. Nancy Pelosi, usually calm and composed without showing her cards was clearly pissed at the sheer volume of lies coming out of the unstable genius. So much so she ripped up her advanced copy of his speech the moment it was over. Definitely one of the high points of the evening.

It's been a dark three years, and it's going to be an even darker few months til the election. But the good news is come November, this traveling snake oil show will be doing what they all do eventually. Leave town.

Taking a stand

I've been a season subscriber to the Ahmanson Theater for many, many years. Before that, for over ten years I had fourth-row center season seats at the late, great Shubert Theater in Century City. I tried on the Pantages for a few seasons, and I took a couple seasons of the Geffen for a spin when I lived in Santa Monica.

There's a phenomenon I've noticed increasingly over the years, and while it happens in New York too, it seems particularly native to Los Angeles. After every performance, regardless of whether it merits it or not, the audience rewards the cast with a standing ovation. Instead of standing because a play has been filled with brilliant performances that moved you, or were cast with the perfect actors to play the roles, sometimes it feels like standing ovations have become the theater equivalent of participation trophies.

Now you might think you're way ahead of me here—and God knows it doesn't take much—in thinking I'm against the practice. The fact is I'm not.

Here's the thing: I was a theater arts major, and no one appreciates the blood, sweat and tears that go into getting a production off the ground more than I do. And while I realize not every play and performance is worthy of a standing ovation, I believe every performer is.

Actors aren't responsible for the material they're given. Their job is to commit to it, and bring the characters to life as best they can. For all the talk about what an easy job it is, it's incredibly difficult, and they don't always succeed. Remember the last time you tried to convince someone of something?

Admittedly sometimes it's gotten to the point where it feels like the seats are spring loaded. It'd be easy to think doing it for every play across the board cheapens the currency of genuine appreciation for the craft. But the thing about actors is they know in real time if something is working or not. They sense the room tone, they hear the feedback and they see the faces looking back at them. Yet even when it's going south, they're giving it their all.

If I'm being honest, and really, where's the percentage in that, I've given standing ovations to more productions that didn't deserve it than I care to admit. I also tip more than I should for mediocre service at restaurants, clean up for the housekeeper and rinse dishes before I put them in the dishwasher. I may have deeper issues, but that's not the point.

The truth is when the curtain comes down and the cast comes out, I want them to know I appreciate the effort they've made in the name of entertaining me.

That's what I stand for.

Comedy central

It'll be one of those questions: where were you when democracy died?

It's all over but the shouting. On the heels of Jeffrey Epstein's party pal—Mr. Underwear—Alan Dershowitz making the absurd argument the liar-in-chief can do anything he wants as long as he believes it's for the good of the country, today 51 chickenshit, spineless, ball-less GOP senators united against the country and constitution they took an oath to defend by voting not to allow first-hand witnesses and documents in the unstable genius' impeachment trial.

So now it's Trump unplugged and unleashed. He now knows—although I think he's known it all along—he can initiate any level of corruption, destruction, chaos and havoc, and he won't be checked on it. It's the saddest day in American politics since the Kennedy assassination.

But if you know anything about me—and if you don't by now then I don't even know where to go with that—you know that, gosh darn it, I'm a cockeyed optimist. The silver lining to all this is at least comic relief is on the way.

This Tuesday night is Trump's annual Hate of the Union Speech before congress. He'll open with the line presidents always open with: The state of the union is strong. He'll then ramble off script about the impeachment hoax, call Adam Schiff names, blame Obama for it all and say how he'll investigate Hillary.

Applause applause applause.

Then he'll slur on about evil immigrants, how he'll finish getting the wall built (right after he repairs the chunk of it that blew over in the wind), how climate change is a hoax and how he's demolished all those pesky regulations that guaranteed things nobody needs, like clean air and water.

The Republican sheep—I'd say snowflakes except snow is clean—will applaud every laugh line, knowing if they don't they run the risk of having bad things said about them in a tweet. That and losing Trump charity donations backchanneled to their re-election campaigns.

He'll wrap up his set with something about how he's just getting started, and needs four more years to get the job done. Or eight, because why the hell not? He's heard many people are saying that would be a good idea.

Like every comedian's set, eventually the red light will cue him his time is up. I'm pretty sure I know how he'll wrap it up.

"Well everybody, looks like my time is up. You've been a great democracy. Don't forget to tip your senator. Goodnight!"

WYSIWYG

There's a great line in John Prine's song Dear Abby that goes "You are what you are and you ain't what you ain't..." Nowhere is there a more crystal clear embodiment of that sentiment than the unstable genius himself.

From the second he descended on the escalator in Trump tower with Malaria at his side, we knew Donald Trump was a festering, racist piece of shit. He didn't tell us we were mistaken. He didn't try to hide it. He based his campaign on it. And he's basing his presidency on it.

So I guess the question I have is why is everyone still waiting for him to change? Talking heads, pundits, commentators and journalists all make it a point to mention when he's not acting presidential. SPOILER ALERT: he's never going to.

It's like asking an old man to walk faster. Even if he wanted to he can't do it.

And of course the shithole president doesn't want to.

For some reason there's this rating scale where every time he accidentally stumbles into doing or saying something that remotely resembles anything presidential (which does not include boarding Air Force One with toilet paper on your shoe), it gets mentioned and he gets points for it. It's the equivalent of giving a potty-mouthed child a cookie as a reward for good behavior. A participation trophy at a kids' soccer game.

The other thing I hear a lot coming out of cable commentators is how history is going to judge him harshly, along with his GOP henchmen. Like they give a shit. They'll have robbed the piggy bank, cashed out and stolen history's Rolex long before it has a chance to judge anything. Besides, I hear from many people that history is just fake news.

The more I have to listen to that awful, eight-grade vocabulary, mobster wannabe droning on, the more I realize the problem with the traitor-in-chief isn't that he's hiding something.

It's that he isn't hiding anything.

The One About the Theme Song

I know this probably won't come as a shock to you, but I've been bingeing a TV show. The only surprise is that it isn't Breaking Bad. This time it's Friends.

Like everyone, I was a fan of the show the first time around. But now, with my newly discovered insomnia, I stumbled onto Nick At Nite, which apparently is the all-Friends-all-the-time channel late into the night. Which means I hear I'll Be There For You—the show's theme song—in all its poppy, catchy, AM-friendly glory several times a night.

And it got me to thinking about the Rembrandts, the group who sings it. The song originally appeared as a hidden bonus track on their third album when the Friends producers decided it'd be the perfect song for the show.

Could the song have BEEN any bigger? The first year it was the top selling single in the country, and suddenly a little-known group skyrocketed to stardom.

Just to refresh your memory about how big it was, have a look at the official Friends theme song video, starring the Rembrandts and the entire cast. (Fun fact: Courtney Cox is really playing the drums):

I also found a more recent video of the band playing their hit song. It's a more stripped down, acoustic version. A little less frantic, a lot less star power. Oddly enough, the song—and their voices—hold up well. I find myself thinking it actually has a subtle poignancy overlaying its hopeful and optimistic message.

But then again, I haven't been getting a lot of sleep.