Podcast news

If you’re anything like me—and if you are you really need to set your sights higher—you’re always on the lookout for new ways to entertain yourself. I was like that before the covid, and my search has only intensified since.

Since the lockdown or stay at home or isolating ourselves or whatever this Twilight Zone time we’re living in began, like everyone else I’ve done more than my share of Netflix, Hulu, Amazon Prime Video, Disney+ and AppleTV viewing.

In fact, I’ve been streaming so much my urologist has me on speed dial! BAM! Thanks so much, I’ll be here all week. Tip your waitress. You’ve been a great crowd.

Anyway, having blown through The Crown, The Morning Show, The Queen's Gambit, Jeffrey Epstein Filthy Rich, Servant, The Hunters, Broadchurch, Dead To Me, Ted Lasso, For All Mankind, The Vow, The Last Dance, Defending Jacob, The Rookie, several Dave Chappelle specials, Jim Gaffigan specials, John Mulaney specials, Bruce Springsteen’s Letter To You (surprise!), Breaking Bad (binge 14 if you’re keeping count), American Murder, The Great British Baking Show and several others I can’t even remember, I decided it was time to look for other forms of amusement since covid doesn’t look like it’s wrapping anytime soon.

There was a joke going around last year that if you didn’t start a podcast in 2020 you were never going to start one. I was thinking about that, and thought I’d look and see how I could expand my podcast repertoire.

I sampled a lot of them, and listen to two of them regularly.

First is Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me (WWDTM), the NPR game show that has three different panelists each week, usually comedians or comedy writers, answering questions about current events and playing the game with callers. It’s extremely funny, timely and always enjoyable.

The other one is The Al Franken Podcast. Former comedian and senator, Franken has guests from both the worlds of entertainment and politics, and reminds me every Sunday what a brilliant mind and champion for justice the senate lost.

If you want proof, just listen to the episode of the questions he would’ve asked Amy Coney Barrett had he been at the confirmation hearings.

But my latest podcast binge—because apparently that’s the only way I know how to listen or watch anything—is Smartless.

Here’s the drill: each week, Jason Bateman, Sean Hayes and Will Arnett get together and insult each other. Also, one of them brings along a guest the other two don’t know about, and hilarity ensues. It is a seriously funny, laugh out loud, good time.

So far I’ve listened to the episodes with Bryan Cranston, Martin Short, Sarah Silverman, James Corden, Conan O’Brien, Ron Howard, Kamala Harris, Reese Witherspoon and Ricky Gervais. I’m about to start the one with Stacy Abrams.

I cannot recommend this podcast enough. Give it a listen, thank me later.

If I’m being honest, and of course no one’s under oath here, I was also thinking about starting a podcast of my own. I wouldn’t want to do it by myself though, especially since Smartless has shown me the many benefits and humorous possibilities of having partners to play off of.

Maybe I’ll see if can cajole my pal Rich Siegel over at Round Seventeen to do one with me.

Instead of Smartless, we could call it Smartass.

The long goodbye

Yesterday was a very good day. At twelve minutes before noon eastern, you could actually feel the country—nay, the world—breathe a sigh of relief we’d been holding in for over four years.

In case you’ve been living under a rock,—in which case there’s a better than average chance you might be a Trump cabinet member—the reason is because decency, compassion, intelligence, experience, diplomacy, scientists, grownups and words spelled correctly are once again calling the White House home.

There were also a lot of predictable songs being played, quoted and sung to celebrate the occasion—all taking aim at a certain orange-faced, tiny-handed, democracy-hating, Stay Puft, unstable genius who was leaving on a jet plane (at taxpayer’s expense) for the last time.

Ding Dong The Witch Is Dead.

Goodbye To You.

Na Na Na Na Hey Hey Goodbye.

Good Riddance. Not the Green Day song: I’m saying good riddance.

And I’m filing this one under better late than never, but almost all the social platforms that gave Cadet Bone Spurs a megaphone to spew his bile and idiocy finally decided to cut off his oxygen by banning him and his hate rhetoric. This isn’t to say he’ll be gone from the public eye entirely, what with that pesky impeachment trial and New York state indictments coming down the pike, but his exposure—at least to the public—has been greatly sidelined.

I’m sure his fragile ego and malignant narcissism are handling it just fine.

Anyway, like almost everyone in the world not wearing a red hat, I’ve had more than enough of him. I refuse to give him anymore mind space.

So as of today, I’m announcing my candidacy for….wait…that’s not it. Oh, right. I’m announcing I’m done posting memes, retweets, cartoons, articles and anything else talking about Trump, even if it’s how awful he is, to any of my social feeds.

Yeah I know. I’m sorry to see them go too.

But really, it’s just redundant. It’s like saying the sky is blue. The ocean is deep. Trump is a festering piece of shit.

Damn it! Old habits die hard. Sorry (not sorry).

Fear not, I’ll still be putting up political posts, maybe even about his grifter family members or android son-in-law. Just no more directly about him. Every time his name gets mentioned, it keeps him in the public conversation and a kitten dies. I don’t think any of us want that.

Besides, there’s a whole new administration to make fun of, although I’m sure for the most part it’ll be the good-hearted, good-natured kind.

And don’t you worry about me backsliding on my promise. It’s as solid as the new year’s resolution I made to lose weight.

For the last twenty years.

Getting wood

I know with that title the picture is probably a let down. But first of all, get your mind out of the gutter. Second of all, this is a family blog. We don't deal in innuendo ("That's the way it is - love goes out the door when money comes innuendo!" - Groucho Marx), or bad language.

Unless of course I happen to be talking about the Traitor-In-Chief, and I say things like fuck Trump, Trump is a festering piece of shit and only one more day of that asshole Trump.

Then I make an exception.

So anyway, what with the weather plummeting at night to an inhuman, unbearable 65 degrees, the wife decided it was time to stop using the termite-free, easily available, brightly burning Duraflame logs we had on hand and start going back to what the original settlers used: wood.

That's why you're looking at a quarter cord of citrus and almond wood. Citrus wood is a softer wood that burns faster and hotter. Almond is a harder wood and burns slower and steadier. At least that's what they tell me. Being a city boy who grew up on the mean streets of West L.A., north of Wilshire, it's all the same to me. Wood is wood.

I know it looks like a lot of wood, and it is. Wood is measured in cords, and a full cord occupies a volume of 128 cubic feet when racked and well stowed. Just like my highschool girlfriend.

That much would last us several winters, so instead we wound up with a quarter cord by splitting a half cord with our neighbors. I'd say do the math, but I just did it for you. You're welcome.

Saturday morning a big old truck—not a saying, it was actually big and it was old—from The Woodshed (apparently the same people who name dog grooming places name firewood providers) double parked in front of our house. Two very nice, strong, hard-working and I'm sure underpaid gentlemen took our share of the wood off the truck, rolled it on a palate to our backyard and then hand carried it behind the garage where they neatly stacked it. We offered them cold Topo Chico, thanked them profusely and gave them both a nice tip.

Because if they didn't do it I would've had to, and honest labor just isn't in my wheelhouise.

Anyway, when night falls now we're all warm and cozy, stoking the fire and listening to the crackle of the logs. It's so nice I hardly even mind the fact we paid $275 for our share.

Because apparently while we can run out of wood, we always have money to burn.

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?