Non-essential personnel

There’s been a great deal of discussion about essential and non-essential workers these past ten months. In the middle of a devastating pandemic, we quickly found out who we absolutely needed and who we could live without.

And the surprises weren’t all that surprising.

The people we take for granted day in and day out—grocery checkers and stockers, delivery people. Obviously the frontline medical heroes. The under siege postal workers (buy stamps). People who keep security and infrastructure going. As well as a long list of others.

And hey, you'll never guess who wasn’t considered essential. Give up? I hate for you to hear it this way but it's people who work in advertising agencies. I know, I’m as shocked as you are.

But here's something we know deep down in those places we don't talk about: the harsh reality is that was true even before the pandemic. And it’ll be true after.

Truth can be such a cruel mistress.

Come to find out in a non-existent survey not conducted by Gallop, that in the time of Covid, turns out people across every demographic—including some that haven’t even been segmented yet—actually set priorities about what's essential and what isn't.

While people are busy worrying whether a cough is just a cough or whether it's a debilitating virus that's going to have them fighting for their lives in the ER, oddly enough they don’t consider banner ads, screen takeovers, wild postings, commercials of any kind (with the exception of those two Match.com Satan ads), radio spots repeating the phone number three times, bus shelters, outdoor, paid social, email, direct response tchotchkes (no I didn't look up the spelling, yes it's correct), online surveys, YouTube pre-rolls, theater ads that piss you off before the movie (remember movies?), product placement in those movies, brochures, endcaps, welcome kits and more essential.

Even more non-essential? People who create them.

But fear not fellow agency people. Remember that many great artists aren't appreciated in their own time. Eventually this too shall pass, and people will come out of the plague culture and discover they hold a deep appreciation and fond nostalgia for all the ads they saw that began with "These are challenging times..." and ended with "We're in this together."

Someday the world at large will see the sense in theoretically normal-thinking adults putting their health and the health of loved ones at risk to bring them commercials that involved people breaking into dance for no reason, running footage, bite and smiles and people who aren't doctors but play one on television.

You know, the same as usual except now the people in them wear masks.

I've heard the arguments: we're keeping the economy going during a bad time. Bringing information people would have no. other. way. of getting. Setting an example by being at work, etc.

I got news for you. Essentially, you're kidding yourself.

The party's over

Ding dong the GOP is dead. And it wasn’t a house that fell on it. It was Trump Tower.

It’s about time. It came into focus the last four, dreadful, depressing years, but it’s really been happening since Nixon and before. The party of family values, fiscal responsibility, military supporters and state’s rights has sold their souls—or whatever was living in that space—and become the party of a porn-star banging draft-dodger who’s gone bankrupt at least six times and tried to take federal control of elections.

I could list all the ways and reasons Cadet Bone Spurs is the most vile, vulgar, repulsive, incomprehensibly stupid human on earth. But they’re all well known by now. And in an extremely uncharacteristic move I want to keep this post short tonight.

After yesterday’s attempted coup by his radicalized supporters, a few things are clear.

First, as a country we really need to up our educational game. If just fifty percent of those asshats storming the capitol had teeth, an eighth-grade education and a class in civics, maybe they would’ve had a shot at understanding what a monster they’ve been supporting.

Maybe.

Next, somebody has to call a handy man to come put bars on the windows at the Capitol. You’d think after 9/11 and two Capitol Police were shot and killed there a couple years ago they might’ve tightened things up security wise. If bars are too bold a move, start with thicker glass or two-inch thick plexiglass. You'll thank me later.

Also, let's be honest—this white privilege bullshit has to stop. I know it’s been said everywhere but I’m going to say it again: if that had been a Black Lives Matter protest, with protesters packing automatic weapons, dressed like Vikings and screaming like banshees heading into the capitol, the police would’ve shot first and asked questions later. They also would’ve been handing out plastic handcuffs and had prisoner buses lining the National Mall with their engines running.

There has to be a shortcut to getting seditionists like Ted Cruz and Josh Hawley out of government (unless it’s a federal prison). The Insurrection Act was written for traitors like them, and there needs to be a quicker way to implement it. Maybe not having to have bipartisan agreement would move things along a little faster.

The good news is democracy will survive, but thankfully the GOP, at least in its current form, will not. Trump will be gone, and get far less media than he gets now. Yesterday was the topping on his legacy as a traitor. And while nothing has been able to stick in the last four years, I have a feeling this will. He's already striking a much more concilliatory tone this morning, and even got close to conceding the election. So he's realized the errors of his ways and he's a changed man, right?

If you believe that I have a membership at Mar-A-Lago I'd like to sell you.

As expected, right on schedule, the infighting, backpedaling, denials, conspiracy theories and revisionist history is already in full swing and spewing out of the unstable genius’ enablers.

Southern belle Lindsay Graham gave a drunken, sweaty speech when they reconvened for the electoral vote count last night about how he supports the Constitutional process. He obviously forgot he was on the phone with Georgia two weeks ago threatening federal investigations if they didn’t come up with more votes for tRump.

The truth is the GOP should've died a long time ago.

It's hard to figure how they've survived this long without a heart, a brain or courage.

Déja vote

Well here we go again. The creeping anxiety in the pit of the stomach. The uncertainty that the inmates might wind up running the asylum (again). The wondering if justice and right will prevail.

Oh, and just for good measure, nothing less than the fate of the nation and democracy hang in the balance as Georgia voters make their way to the polls. It seems every election for the last four years has been the most important election of our lifetimes. But this time it actually is.

This is the harsh, traitorous reality if the democrats lose:

—Moscow Mitch has already vowed not to pass any Democratic legislation even if he thinks it’s a good bill. As it stands, there are over 400 pieces of legislation from the House sitting on his desk that he won’t allow a vote on.

—Over 140 simpering, ass-kissing, boot-licking, brown-nosing, tweet-fearing Republican representatives and senators are protesting the electoral college votes as a show of support and supplication to the outgoing Traitor-In-Chief, even though they don’t have the power to actually change the result. Thank God.

—Facts and truth will continue to be disputed as if there were two sides, and eventually wind up dead as disco.

It’s not an exaggeration to say that everything this nation was founded on, that sons and daughters fought and died for, will be undone should this election go the wrong way. When I started writing this post, the democratic candidates were ahead, but now their lead has been thinned significantly. It’s going to go back and forth all night like this.

So one more time, let’s break out the popcorn, make our nervous jokes, yell at John King and Wolf Blitzer (it always feels good to yell at the messenger) and cross our fingers hoping it all works out.

Tonight, instead of a snappy line to wrap this up, I’ll borrow the end line from Jessie Jackson’s speech at the 2000 Democratic Convention. Which, no doubt, is going to be the mantra of the evening.

”Keep hope alive!”

It begins

First of all, happy new year, and congratulations for surviving—in a very literal sense—what’s sure to be the worst year in everyone’s life. I think I speak for all of us when I say I’m glad we made it, and there’s definitely nowhere to go but up.

Unless of course Cadet Bone Spurs has a(nother) Giuliani-size brain fart and decides to burn the house down on his way out. And out he will go, no matter how many calls he makes to Georgia.

Of course, despite the fact we’re still going to be using masks as a fashion statement, keeping our distance and washing our hands like Howard Hughes for the foreseeable future, there are a lot of things to look forward to in the coming year.

In just a Scaramucci and five days we’ll have a new sane, decent, smart and compassionate president. I don’t agree on all policy with him, but he’s already a breath of fresh sanity.

We’ll also have the first female, Black/Indian vice-president. I’m even more excited about Kamala because she was my first choice for the top job in the primary. My dream ticket was Harris/Buttigieg. It may still wind up being that. No one's getting any younger if you get my continental drift.

Dr. Fauci is staying on, and he’ll have a new president who believes in science, listens to and respects what he says, and will be a partner in finally bringing this horrible pandemic chapter to a close. As well as the run on bleach and hypodermic needles.

The vaccine. Just give it to me in the left arm like the flu shot. I never like waiting in line, but I’m more than willing to make an exception.

And as I’ve done so many times before, I buried the lead. The other thing you’ll have to look forward to, and you know you will, is another year of stimulating, insightful, side-spitting, far too long posts on Rotation and Balance. Now at the risk of sounding like the blogger who cried wolf, this year is actually positioned to be a stellar one in number of posts, if not in quality of writing. You can’t have everything.

Besides, who do you think I am. Round Seventeen?

The sweet spot

What with the ‘rona and all this year, everyone I know seems to have grown more than a little tired of not just learning to bake all the sourdough and banana bread the world can bear, but actually baking it. If I never see a group of squishy, brown bananas again—don’t get me started.

Needless to say, this frame of mind doesn’t bode well for all the baked goods you promised yourself and your pudgy little cousins you’d be making over the holidays.

So I'm thinking maybe the first gift you ought to give yourself is letting the exceptional Detroit Baker handle all your holiday baking needs.

Full disclosure: the Detroit Baker happens to be my good friend Claire. And, I say this objectively, everything about her is exceptional. She's talented, smart, funny, beautiful and an awesome individual. The world could definitely use more people like her.

But the good news is you can have someone just like her baking all the sweet treats for you and yours this holiday season.

Claire and I used to work together at an agency, and I used to enjoy all her baking for free. Whenever there was a birthday, work anniversary or special occasion, all of us looked forward to her bringing in some incredible, imaginative, original baked treats. They’d be in the coffee room, and throughout the day I’d just casually and (so I thought) inconspicuously keep sauntering in to have another bite.

I’m sure my co-workers would’ve loved some, but he who hesitates and all that.

I once told Claire about the fact that I'm allergic to chocolate. She looked startled and said, “That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Anyway, visit her site at DetroitBaker.com, and order some of the many sweet treats she has to offer. Or if you have something specific in mind, she'll make it one-of-a-kind custom just for you.

And while you’re there, do me a favor and remind her about my chocolate allergy, and let her know I'm still waiting for the oatmeal raisin cookies.

Tracks Of My Tears: The Sequel

A little over nine years ago, I did this post about a classic song I love: Tracks Of My Tears by Smokey Robinson. It was part of a series I'd do occasionally where I'd post different takes on the same song by various artists (I also did it for another favorite, Stand By Me).

The reason for that original TOMT post was fairly straighforward: I couldn't think of anything to write about and it was easy to slap up some videos.

But today the subject is TOMT.

There are only a few songs that are genuinely timeless. Songs like Stand By Me. Yesterday. And Tracks Of My Tears. Generation after generation, they continue to strike a chord (sorry) with listeners, and stir their souls in unique ways. Those experiences are both heightened and personalized even more depending which version you're listening to and how it hits you in the moment.

But the one thing they all have in common is they hit you every time.

TOMT is one of the most covered songs in history, a testimony to its endurance, power and emotion. So with tonight's post, I'm happy to add even more versions for you to enjoy and compare.

If you don't recognize the name Paul Stanley, you probably know the rock group he cofounded—KISS. Knowing that, the last thing I expected was a version of TOMT as beautiful as it is true to the original. Also grateful he decided to ditch the makeup for this performance.

Speaking of true to the original, this version by Boyz ll Men is as satiny smooth as it gets, with choreography that pays homage to the original Smokey Robinson & The Miracles live performances.

Lara Kincanon is a singer I've never heard of, but she does a more intimate acoustic version. And I'm not saying she's staring into my soul when she sings it, but I'm also not saying she isn't.

I know what you're thinking: if only we could give this classic a little blue-eyed soul. Have a seat, and try this one by Daryl Hall and Eric Hutchinson (after a little chat, the song starts at the 1:20 mark).

Last but not least is the Chris Blue version he sang when he auditioned for The Voice. Besides being a sweet and soulful take, it also happens to be my wife's favorite version. And apparently it made Alicia Keyes pretty happy too. So this version gives me marriage points and great music. How many songs can you say that about?

The Mooch

I'll just say it. I love the Mooch. But that wasn't always the case.

At first glance, Anthony Scaramucci would seem to be the perfect swamp creature, cut of the same $1000-a-yard cloth as the rest of the scumsuckers who were employed in Cadet Bone Spurs administration. He got his bona fides working for years at Goldman Sachs, who coincidentally issued my Apple credit card. I get 2-3% cash back on every purchase so I have mixed feelings. Plus I grew up with a kid named Steve Goldman. No relation.

I may be getting off track here.

Anyway, Anthony was, as the kids say, money. Just the kind of person the daughter-lovin' traitor-in-chief likes to surround himself with. So for eleven days, Scaramucci was breathing rarified government air at taxpayer's expense as White House Director of Communications.

For all eleven days, I pretty much hated him like I hated anyone who'd support and associate themselves with the unstable genius and his unhinged, self-serving, racist democracy-destroying policies. But the tide started to turn for me on his last day, when he was fired for leveling some choice, well-deserved obscenities at Trump's live-in Secretary of Nazi and human fleshlump Steve Bannon.

The enemy of my enemy is my friend.

Like everyone who's made a quick departure, the Mooch started hitting the talk/news show circuit. Big ships turn slowly, but with each appearance, over time, I began to see his changing opinion about his former boss. It was like watching a flower bloom. It was just that beautiful.

At first, he left the White House but still supported the president.

Then he supported the president, but wished he'd listen to his more experienced advisors.

Let's just skip ahead: now he thinks Trump is a scum-sucking, insane, sex-offending, enemy of all that's good in the world, a gigantic loser and festering piece of shit that needs to go to a Shawshank-like hole cell as soon as humanly possible.

That's an opinion I can get behind. The Mooch has come around, and it's not because it's in vogue. You can tell by watching and listening to him he's seen the light and means what he says. I always try to catch him on Bill Maher or Stephen Colbert. I listen to his podcast. And I imagine with each appearance how pissed his old boss must be.

Plus the man's name is now a universal unit of measure, as in "I have to be out of this apartment in three Scaramucci's!"

So yes, despite the fact he was briefly employed by the worst president in history, his casual dress is Armani and his hair is slicker than an Exxon oil spill, I like the Mooch.

In fact, there's really only one thing that bothers me. Does anyone else see it, or is it just me?