Encore post: Stuck in the middle

Some of the posts on here have a rather short shelf life. But some seem to gather more and more relevance and meaning as time goes on. And in light of last night's not-so-great debate, it seemed like the perfect time to repost this little gem.

The traitor-in-chief deserves this more than ever. And my only regret is I don't have time to find more pictures of people giving him the "You're #1!" salute.

Let's show Cadet Bone Spurs how we really feel. Join me won't you in raising your hands high, and your fingers higher.

It's impressive to see the line of black, armor-shielded Chevy Suburbans (Made in America!) pull up to an event. Even if the person getting out is the so-called president and de facto racist, homophobe, misogynist, sexual predator, pathological liar, traitor and spokesperson for the white nationalist movement. And Satan.

Nonetheless, it is important that we, as Americans who love this country dearly, make sure he's greeted at each and every appearance in a way reflective and deserving of the class, elegance, judgment and maturity he brings to the most powerful office in the world. It's in that spirit I offer several examples of people giving what can only be called the most appropriate salutation for the man he is. If in fact he is a man. I hear things.

Anyway, you don't even have to see him in person to show him the exact kind of respect he deserves. I give him this greeting every time I see his fat, orange face and whatever the fuck that is on his head on TV, magazine covers or in my nightmares.

Hold 'em firm and hold 'em high. This one's for you Donald.

Gathering of spirits

I was in an odd mood today. It wasn't because I didn’t feel like working (and if you know me at all you know there's nothing odd about that.) I was thinking about loss. Not superficial loss like money at the craps tables, car keys or the other sock. All things I’ve experienced numerous times—especially that craps tables part.

I was thinking about all the people I’ve loved and lost in my life. The ones who’ve departed too soon on the way to their next stop, be it a seat at the table, the waiting room or someplace they’ll need short sleeves and hand fans.

Can't you just feel what a fun post this is going to be?

I’ve written about this subject before in a five-year old post called The Grandstands of Heaven. And while it’s not a mood that strikes me often, it’s profound and powerful when it does. I’m past trying to figure out why it hits me now and then, but today I believe I got a signal that these were exactly the thoughts and people I needed to be thinking about.

It came to me in the form of a song called The Gathering of Spirits by Carrie Newcomer.

I was perusing Spotify today while (instead of) working, and almost instantly this beautiful, rich, optimistic song about the dearly departed came up on my list. It may be sappy to you, but it slayed me. I sat at my beautiful wooden desk in my comfy home office and just wept. I couldn't tell if they were tears of joy or sadness, but either way they were flowing. To me the song is so powerful, so poignant, it would’ve done that regardless of my mood.

Anyway, enough talking. Head back to the top of the post, have a listen and see if you aren't moved by it.

There’s a gathering of spirits
There’s a festival of friends
And we’ll take up where we left off
When we all meet again

Camera ready

Now that we're seven months into the new Zoomconomy™, there are more things to think about than ever before.

Wear your mask. Wash your hands. Wipe down the deliveries. Remember to social distance (I work in ad agencies - I've been doing that for years). But now, there's one more thing to pile on the to-do list in the new world order.

Dressing my room for Zoom.

Like most people I know, I'll be working remotely from home for the foreseeable future. So I planted a flag and claimed a small yet comfortable space to set up shop in my bedroom. The wife bought me a nice wooden table desk that fits just swell under the bedroom window, and looks out onto the lawn and flowers in our front yard.

As far as views go, I file it under things could be worse.

Sitting on the desk is my company monitor and laptop, as well as my personal laptop. With all those screens it looks like Mission Control, except I have trouble launching Photoshop much less rockets. There's also a desk lamp, along with several Hydro Flasks (hydrate people, can't stress it enough).

The problem is when I'm on a Zoom call, you can see most of my bedroom, including the not-as-firm-as-it-used-to-be-oh-my-aching-back California King bed behind me. So now, in addition to everything else to worry about, I have to get up early to make the bed and dress the room for showtime—the many Zoom calls I'll be on during the day.

I suppose I could take the easy way out and use a virtual background. The one with the wind blowing the palm trees is nice. So is the Golden Gate bridge. I've even added the hallway from The Shining and the lunar surface as options. But it's always a little distracting when several people on the call are using the same background. And if we're all in the same place, why do we have to have a Zoom call in the first place, amIrite?

Also, Zoom hasn't quite mastered the fine art of green screen. Using virtual backgrounds makes various parts of my face, fabulous head of hair and ripped (fat) body disappear while I move around during the calls. Mostly to drink from one of the Hydro Flasks.

So here's the new early morning routine: make the bed. Arrange the mountain of pillows the wife stores on the bed. Put the Thunder Road street sign my daughter gave me on top of the lamp next to my headboard, because, you know, Bruce. And make sure all the books on my night stand are facing spine out towards the camera, so everyone can see all my anti-Trump reading material.

If I was working in the office I wouldn't be able to make any political statements. But this is my house, so Fuck Trump.

The worst part of this work from home deal is getting up early. I've been called a lot of things, but morning person isn't one of them. Currently my iPhone alarm has Uptown Funk set to eleven to jolt me up in time for the daily show. But given the situation, I'm thinking of changing it to something more subtle, yet appropriate.

Like a stage manager screaming "Five minutes! Places people!"

The client side

It’s a little bit the grass is greener, a little bit you don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone.

Last September, when ten incredibly talented individuals and me (I know that reads like I'm not incredibly talented, but work with me) were unceremoniously and, dare I say, unjustifiably laid off from an agency, I had a decision to make.

Was I going to go back to the known routine of agency life? Or would I make a concerted effort to go client side? I know. The suspense is killing me too.

On one hand, it would mean going back to the all-hands-on-deck weekend fire drills, the bad pizza, the uninspired pep talks, people who think we’re curing cancer, anti-social creative directors with bad hair and worse taste in music, hoping against hope to save accounts that are out the door, and watching great work die a thousand deaths before it ever sees the light of day.

But it'd also mean working with friends I’ve known forever, some of the most creative people in the world who challenge me to up my game every day, not having to be there straight up at 9AM, longer than an hour lunches where food, ideas and occasionally drinks flow fast and furious, dressing like a fifteen-year old, the satisfaction of cracking the code on an assignment and the adrenaline rush of selling the work and seeing it produced.

Since it was coming up on the holidays, I decided to take awhile off to think about it.

When January rolled around, I thought maybe I might like to give client side a whirl. I'd had a taste of it when I freelanced at the Game Show Network for about five months—it was awesome. I loved every minute of it with the exception of having to sit through endless hours of Family Feud reruns.

”Survey says…..not this again!”

Come to find out from an agency producer I’d worked with who was now at a tech company (which happened to be about five minutes from my house) there was a position open I might be right for.

I wasn’t ready to give up bingeing Breaking Bad again yet, but I figured it’d been a long time since I’d had to interview anywhere and at the very least it’d be good practice.

The process was a long one. First there was a phone interview. Then another phone interview. Then a third. Once my new phone pals had been won over by my undeniable charm, razor-sharp wit and overabundant humility, it was time for the in-person interviews.

I met with four people—the person I'd report to, her boss and her boss's boss. I also interviewed with someone who worked with my potential boss and who loved a certain musician that I do (even though I used the word "boss" four times in this paragraph it's not the one you're thinking).

Next was a background check. I gave them two of my former colleagues for references, and they both gave me glowing reviews (P.S. the checks are on the way). I got a copy of the report, and was surprised and a bit unnerved to see how in depth it was beyond the interviews. It contained things I didn't remember, but at least no one asked about those two guys in Jersey. That would've been a dealbreaker.

It was almost a two-month process, but finally I got the gig. It was that intoxicating feeling of excitement and dred. I was really, really, really enjoying my time off, and now it had an expiration date.

I mentioned the company is close to home. But thanks to COVID, my five-minute commute is now a thirty-second one. I haven't worked in the office since I started, and I've never met most of the people I work with in-person. Although they all look good and clean up nice on Zoom.

I'm still adjusting to corporate culture. It's a tech company, but not in the loose way you might picture people working at Google or Apple. When my company used to have "jeans Fridays" it was a big deal. Of course now that everyone's working from home it'd be a big deal if they had "pants Fridays."

Many people have been there fifteen years or more. It's a company people like and want to stay at.

Unlike the freewheeling, improvised, do it on-the-fly nature of agencies, in my new corporate side of the world turns out there's a process, manual or paperwork for everything. Sorry, I meant everything.

All in all, I have to say it's been going pretty well. In the short time I've been there, I've already written and produced four spots starring an internationally famous sports figure. I'd tell you who, but I've said too much already.

As far as I've been able to cipher, the people I work with are lovely. They're hard-working, supportive, encouraging, understanding and appreciative of the work I do.

You know, just like in agencies. (Stops for a minute until the laughter dies down).

Anyway, I'm four months into it and learning a whole new way of operating in a new world. Each day I'm enjoying it more and more.

And I'm not just saying that cause I get the employee discount on all the cool stuff.

The coasters

I'm a riddle. Wrapped in an enigma. Sometimes I'm difficult to please, but that's usually only in my waking hours. Other times, the simplest things bring me an unreasonable amount of pure, unadulterated joy.

Or maybe I've been locked up in my house too long.

Anyway, one thing that dials up the happiness factor to 11 for me is the perfect coaster. If you have water rings staining all your wooden tabletops, you're probably not familiar with them. That or you're single.

Coasters protect the furniture. You put them under your drink, and they prevent moisture from leaving an imprint on the wood.

Even before face masks and hand sanitizer, coasters had already become a household fashion accessory. You could get them with scenic pictures. Reproduced works of art. Rock stars. You could order them customized with logos, sayings, quotes and in any size, shape, color or material you wanted.

Over the years, and by no means intentionally, I've collected my share of coasters, mostly from people who didn't want to spend more on a real gift. I have more sets of 6 coasters than I'll ever have glasses to put on them. The funny thing is, like my children, I definitely have a favorite.

Also like my children, it probably isn't the one you expected.

As you take a gander at a sampling of my collection above, I can read your mind. It's not hard. First, you're thinking doesn't he have anything better to post about. And the answer is if I did, would you be reading this?

Second, because of who I am and what you know about me from following this blog so long—and if I haven't said thank you lately, thank you—I'm guessing you're guessing my favorite coaster would be the square-with-round-corners one with the picture of Bruce Springsteen circa the Born In The USA album.

I didn't want you to hear it this way, but you're wrong. Actually, it's this one.

This cork coaster was given to me by my friend Johnny when we worked together and shared an office at an agency in Huntington Beach. It was a creative shop—you could tell because they named the conference rooms after different beaches. I don't know how Goodby sleeps at night knowing there's that kind of creative horsepower competing against them.

I may have digressed.

The beauty of this coaster is it's not beautiful. It's quintessentially exactly what a coaster should be. Form following function, with the lip around the edge preventing any excess moisture from spilling over. And because of the material, it doesn't slide around on a slick desktop, which means no accidental spills (unless I'm really trying).

When I, along with ten other people, were laid off from the agency at the beach with the conference room names they must've given at least thirty seconds of thought to, the first thing I packed up wasn't the ads I'd done, my laptop or my coffee mug. Literally the first thing was this coaster. Sure there was that whole form follows function thing, but I think it also reminds me of the great times I had working with Johnny as well as my other two office roommates, Nicole and my art director partner Imke.

At any rate, it's a little thing I suppose wouldn't mean much to most people. But it brings me great joy every time I use it.

I can only imagine how happy I'd be if Johnny would finally pony up for the other five.

Have a blast off

If you've been following this blog for any length of time, and if you have perhaps you should use the Google to find better ways to kill time during the pandemic, you probably already know I have a somewhat compulsive side to my otherwise sparkling personality.

Breaking Bad. Bruce Springsteen. Sourdough bread. Las Vegas (in the before times).

One other quasi-obsession I have that I don't blog about much is space movies. Specifically ones about the golden age of the space race: the Gemini, Mercury and Apollo programs. There's been a lot of great movies about them: Apollo 13. First Man. The Right Stuff.

Going to change the subject for a sec, but I'll thread the needle on the back end. Here's the thing: we have way too many streaming services. The house is lousy with them: Netflix, Hulu, Amazon Prime. Disney +. So when Apple TV+ rode into town, I wasn't itchin' to sign up and pay yet another monthly fee.

But as they say in the ad biz, nothing beats free. And come to find out that's exactly what Apple TV+ is. Seems they have a promotion going on for a free year's subscription within 90 days of purchasing any Apple device. Like, say, the wife's new MacBook Air.

Truth be told, the original shows on Apple TV+ haven't been getting what you'd call rave reviews. But the one that, predictably, caught my attention was For All Mankind.

Space? Astronauts? 10 hours? Apollo program? I'm in.

So for the past couple of days I've been bingeing it. I know, I'm as shocked as you are. And I"m here to tell ya it's really, seriously great. The premise is simple: what if the Russians had beat us to the moon, and the space race never stopped? It's alternative history fiction built around the space program.

And for all my show biz pals at the studios, listen up. It's also made me decide that, more than anything, I want to have a bit part in a space movie.

I want to be one of the engineers wearing a short sleeve, white shirt, skinny tie and thick frame glasses sitting at one of the rows of those bulky, green, Mission Control computers.

And I'm not looking for a showy, star turn. In fact the only thing I want to say is one line. During the obligatory pre-launch checklist scene, when it's my turn I want to bark out: "It's a go."

Start to finish, like the best series, it's a rollercoaster ride with unexpected twists and turns, surprising revisionist history and characters you can't help care about. It's making you cry and cheer one minute, gutting you the next.

So I'll be counting down until next season launches, and I'm sure I'll happily binge it a few more times before then.

My advice to you? Don't screw the pooch by missing it. Watch and enjoy.

Godspeed.

Encore post: Bowled over

I'm sure you've heard by now this year's season at the Hollywood Bowl has been cancelled due to COVID-19. Not the band, the virus.

Four years ago I wrote this piece about the bowl. Having grown up in Los Angeles, it holds a special place in my heart for a few of the reasons you'll read about here. It makes me sad I won't be going there until at least next year.

But they made the right decision. Because when I go, the only thing I want to worry about is how good the seats are, not how fast the ambulance can get up the hill.

Anyway, I suggest you read this out on your porch or backyard patio, under the night sky just to set the mood.

Shhhh! The lights are going down, and the post is about to start. Please to enjoy.

I've played the Hollywood Bowl.

Ok, not exactly played. I've walked across the stage in front of an audience. My high school graduation was held at the Hollywood Bowl, and it might've been the most awesome part of high school except for the time I talked my Consumer Law and Economics teacher Mr. Blackman into thinking he'd lost my final term paper (if my kids are reading this, don't even think about it). He gave me an A, but I still feel bad about it.

Having grown up an L.A. kid, I've seen plenty of concerts at the Bowl, so many I can't remember them all.

I saw The Eagles take it easy. If you could read my mind you'd know I also saw Gordon Lightfoot. When school was out for summer I saw Alice Cooper.

I've seen Bruce Springsteen and Jackson Browne perform together (I know, I'm as shocked as you are) for Survival Sunday 4, an anti-nuke benefit concert.

It's getting to the point I remember Crosby Stills and Nash belting out Suite: Judy Blue Eyes. I can absolutely confirm the Go-Go's got the beat. I saw Laurie Andersen do whatever the hell it was she was doing. I've seen Steve Martin getting wild and crazy with Edie Brickell while fireworks were going off in the sky.

There have been many, many more, but you get my drift.

Not all my memories are happy ones. There was the night my pal David Weitz and I were driving in my 1965 Plymouth Fury. Highland Avenue was jammed because of the show at the Bowl, so we turned up into the surrounding hills to see if we could find a shortcut around it. Out of nowhere, a police car appeared behind us, lights flashing. The officers told us through the speakers to get out of the car slowly with our hands up. We were young, but we weren't stupid. We knew this was serious.

Once we were out of the car, hands up, they got out of their car with guns drawn and pointed right at us. They told me to open the trunk, which I did slowly and with my hands in sight at all times. They didn't find whatever they were looking for, and after checking our I.D.'s, they let us go. Apparently we fit the description of two guys who'd been robbing the hillside homes recently. I figured the description was brutally handsome and incredibly funny.

Anyway, the reason my mind's on the Bowl is because a week from tonight, I'll be there again, not on stage, but watching the first J.J. Abrams' Star Trek with the Los Angeles Philharmonic playing the score alongside the movie. It should be a great night.

If you've never been there, or it's been awhile, you owe it to yourself to go. It truly is one of the greatest venues, in one of the most beautiful settings, you'll ever see a show at.

Even if you don't get a diploma at the end of it.