It's not easy to experience the confusing emotions of sacrifice, joy and relief in the same moment. But that's exactly what videos like this make me feel.
I go down a lot of rabbit holes on YouTube—Springsteen, Taylor Swift (yes I'm a Swiftie), standup comedians, German Shepherd videos, versions of Stand By Me and Tracks of My Tears—but the ones that affect me to the core are of soldiers returning from overseas, surprising their families and relatives.
These joyful, tearful reunions remind me of the sacrifice, real sacrifice, our soldiers and their families make everyday. Even during an awful period of time when a bone-spur addled, dementia-ridden, brainless, spineless, morally and financially bankrupt, rapist, convicted felon and overall cowardly piece of shit who thought of them (and still does) as "suckers" and "losers" was elected for reasons I'll never understand.
Anyway, the minute these families realize what's happening, you can see and practically feel the fear and uncertainty lift from them as they run to hug their loved ones who've done the one thing they hoped and prayed for: they came home.
They fight wars they didn't start. They're at the whims of politicians who have no idea what it means to sacrifice or defend honor. And they go back time and time again because it's their duty. It makes me realize I need to stop complaining about tough days at the office.
It doesn't matter what side of the aisle you're on, or what color your state is. If you have a beating heart, you can't help but be moved by videos like this.
God bless all our soldiers.
And just for the record, I'm not crying. You're crying.
You know the face right? Sure, it looks a little older than when you first saw it. But still, your mind instantly knows exactly who it is. And why you recognize him.
Isn’t that right, butthead?
Along with Anthony Hopkins as Hannibal Lecter, Ralph Fiennes as Lord Voldemort, Anthony Perkins as Norman Bates and Margaret Hamilton as the Wicked Witch just to name a few, Tom Wilson is in the unique and rarified position of having been one of the screen’s most iconic villains, Biff Tannen, in the wildly successful Back To The Future series.
As Tom points out in his revealing new YouTube documentary, Humbly Super Famous, being Biff is both a blessing and a curse.
In the film, Tom takes us on his journey to getting cast in the role, which he initially didn't want, and how surprisingly close it was to his own experience growing up.
Not being the bully, but being the victim of bullying on almost a daily basis.
There are sweet moments in the film, like fans tearfully talking about how BTTF changed their lives, and how much the film means to them. There are also surreal moments as well, like when a hospital employee wants to talk about the movie and Tom’s role while his mom is in her last moments. It’s those encounters that leave you shaking your head.
Another story about how Tom, fresh off his second hip replacement surgery, has a fan encounter in a restaurant while he’s eating, and despite the excruciating pain of standing up, does it without complaint to accommodate the fan’s request.
In the film we also meet Tom’s beautiful family, his son and daughters. His wife Caroline appears, though only in photographs, and with a label covering her face that says “wife.”
Full disclosure: I know Tom. We met through our mutual friend Ned when he was shooting BTTF. And while I wouldn’t call us close friends, we’ve run into each other several times over the years at different events—bar mitzvahs, a wedding, another wedding, out by the Korean BBQ truck—and every time, Tom is a funny, giving, gregarious, inclusive and a joyful instigator of fun. My kids and my wife adore him. When they know Tom's going to be somewhere we are, they prepare themselves to have their sides hurt from laughing and ask me to drive there faster.
Even if I didn't know him, I'd tell you to do yourself a favor and watch Humbly Super Famous. You’ll see why Tom is really nothing like Biff.
Jon Stewart brought me to tears last night. It wasn't because he was talking about some atrocity happening in the world, a celebrity who died tragically too young, or recounting that scene from Forest Gump where Forest asks Jenny if his son is smart or if he's like him.
Nope. Jon Stewart brought me to tears talking about his dog, Dipper, who he'd lost the day before taping last night's Daily Show. As you can see in the video, he can barely get through telling us about how he met Dipper, how he came to be his dog and how much he meant to him and his family.
For Stewart, Dipper was that dog.
Anyone who's ever had a dog, whether they admit it or not, on some level understands the deal they're making from the start—that they're going to be with us for far too short a time, during which they'll steal your heart and never, ever give it back.
And anyone who's lost a dog understands how deep the grief runs. I've been through it with dogs I've loved too many times. Even now, they're always in my orbit, and my life. My home is emptier without them, and my life is immeasurably better in every way for them having been here.
Except for the shedding. I could do without the shedding.
In the clip, Stewart wishes we all find that dog. For me, it was Max. An actual German long-hair German Shepherd, Max was the world's greatest dog. Literally not a day goes by I don't miss him.
Maybe that's because his ashes are still sitting on mantle. Who's to say?
It's been said before but I'm going to say it again: with their unconditional love, unlimited joy and undeniable loyalty, we don't deserve dogs. We just don't.
Anyway, tonight I hope Dipper is playing hard with his new best friend Max.
And like Jon Stewart, my wish for you is that you're lucky enough and blessed enough in your life to find that dog.
Every once in awhile on a Zoom call, my colleagues see me wearing this hat. And they always want to know the significance of 3:30. I explained it in this post about six years ago. But since I was asked again recently, I thought an encore posting might be timely.
So here you go. More than you ever wanted to know about this hat. Please to enjoy.
You might think what you're looking at is a ratty old baseball cap with 330 embroidered on it. You'd only be half right. What you're actually looking at is a collector's item.
Years ago, my colleagues and close personal friends Alan Otto, Tena Olson and I decided what America, and dare I say the world, was crying out for was another advertising agency.
And really, can you ever have enough?
So to fill the void, and to have a place to go where we could work with people and clients we like all day long, we immediately leapt into action and started getting together every Sunday morning at Starbuck's to map out our plan of attack for opening our own agency. Between lattes and banana bread, we batted around ideas how we'd differentiate our agency from the zillion others out there.
The first name we were going to go with was The Beefery. We took an old butcher cow chart, and instead of the names of the cuts we substituted clever ad terms, none of which I can remember right now. That may be why we never went with it. Under the heading of collector's items, there are also Beefery t-shirts and hats hidden away deep in some storage locker somewhere.
Anyway, we knew an agency called The Beefery wasn't going to get any vegan clients, but we were okay with that. Then, somewhere in the course of those caffeinated Sunday morning discussions, we decided to go with a name that represented something the three of us had experienced many, many times in our combined years in the business— nothing really good happens after 3:30 in the afternoon.
Ideas. Strategies. Disruptions. Pitches. Performance reviews. Client meetings. They all happen, but just not as well as they should after 3:30PM.
Our promise was we were going to get while the gettin' was good in the first three-quarters of the day. People were fresh, their creative juices flowing, they hadn't burned out yet. Every single day, we were going to hit the ground running first thing in the morning.
We'd be unstoppable. Then completely stoppable by 3:30.
Of course almost immediately it occurred to us, what with this being a "service business" and client emergencies having a timetable all their own, that clients would have a tough time buying into our philosophy. Which explains why, at the end of the day, 330 never got off the ground.
Despite that fact we continued to meet at Starbucks for months afterwards, occasionally talking about opening an agency but mostly just enjoying each other's company and the people watching.
Optimists that we were, when enthusiasm was at its highest we ponied up and had these hats made. I wear it all the time, and have to say I still like it a lot.
But not nearly as much as I like the idea of calling it a day at 3:30.
This has been quite a year for a certain individual who goes by the name of Ken. I know what you're thinking: I'm going to go off on a diatribe about Barbie's perpetually rejected pal Ken. But as predictable as that would be, actually I'm not doing that. Because this post isn't about that plasic, de-genitalized, beach-loving doll.
It's about the other Ken who's had a very big year. Ken Jennings.
Now I'm not going to go into every little detail of his life and background. Besides, you already know a lot of it, and what you don't know about him you can find out here. What I will say, and I'll say it in the form of a question, is what the hell took so long to give him the job of permanent Jeopardy host?
If you've watched any of the Jeopardy episodes with him as host, it's beyond clear he is and has always been the rightful heir to the Alex Trebek lecturn. Because he holds the record for the most consecutive wins by any Jeopardy contestant, seventy-four, he simply has a personal, emotinal and, let's just put it out there, financial connection to the show that's not possible for others who auditioned to have.
Like, for example, conspiracy theorist, anti-vaxxer and perpetual raging asshole Aaron Rogers. Diet pill peddler, snake oil salesman and Oprah syncophant "Dr." Mehmet Oz. And former executive producer and new Jeopardy host for a hot minute until he was fired because "those" recordings showed up Mike Richards.
Jennings also brings a quick wit along with genuine interest and engagement with contestants during the brief, and sometimes awkward, interviews after the first commercial break. The other thing he brings to the party is that big brain of his.
I'm pretty sure the reason he so effortlessly keeps the game moving briskly is because he already knows the answers without having to look at them.
Originally Jeopardy producers decided to give Jennings co-host responsibilities, with him taking the nightly syndicated shows and Mayim Bialik doing the tournaments and prime time version.
Mayim's ratings were never what Jennings were/are. And neither were her reviews if the comments on Twitter (#nevercallingitX) were any indication.
She wouldn't cross the picket line at Sony during the five-month WGA and SAG-AFTRA strikes, and I respect her for that. But Jennings was willing to—whispers say it's one of the decisions that got him the hosting gig full time. And while I'm an outspoken union supporter, I can't help but have forgiveness in my heart for Jennings' scab like decision to keep the games that aired first-run episodes.
In the past I've written here, and here about how I took the online test a few times and tried to get on Jeopardy. Now that Ken's the permanent host, I just may give it another go. Assuming hell froze over, if I were to actually get on the show I think it'd be fun to meet him, have a witty back and forth contestant interview, then go down in flames while one of my two competitors pummeled me with their obviously superior random knowledge (please don't let the category be Geography) and next-level buzzer skills.
That is unless the categories are SUITS, The Bear, Breaking Bad, New Jersey Bands, Sushi Rolls and Star Trek or Star Wars. Then I'd at least have a shot of making it to Final Jeopardy.
Until then, I'll just enjoy watching Ken Jennings rising to the occasion in the dream job he never dreamed he'd have.
I've probably posted this before—I tend to repeat myself—but I grew up on the mean streets of West L.A., north of Wilshire. My home now is the first house I've ever lived in, although not the first one I've ever owned (whole other post).
Like every new and experienced homeowner eventually learns, homes are like Disneyland: they'll never be finished. A house is a living organism, its own ecosystem that requires regular, constant maintenance to keep living and thriving.
To which I say yeah yeah, sure sure.
For some reason there are people in the world who know how and, even more baffling, want to do everything themselves when it comes to home maintenance.
Seriously, that's just crazy talk.
There are more than a few household things you'll never catch me doing:
Restaining hardwood floors. Sure, inhaling the wood finish fumes is tempting, but no.
Tuning up the roof tiles. No thanks. I have neuropathy in my feet, and have enough trouble walking on flat ground. When I think of myself walking and trying to balance my slightly fuller physique on slippery roof tiles, one song keeps popping into my mind.
Changing out a sprinkler head is also a no go. It's tougher than it looks. There's alignment, positioning, measuring and water pressure involved. Plus since we now use detergent from Trader Joe's instead of real detergent, I just can't risk the grass stains.
Plumbing? I have people for that. Same with electrical. And heating. And airconditioning. Although I do change the air filters all on my own. In fact I custom order them a half inch smaller on each side so they fit easily and I don't have to try to jam them in while balancing on my step ladder.
I know. I'm writing my acceptance speech now.
Another thing you won't find me doing is mowing the lawn. We have an excellent gardner who does a fine job without all the sweating and swearing that would inevitably accompany my efforts.
Here's the funny part. Even though I avoid mowing the lawn myself, I get a tremendous sense of satisfaction out of watching a runaway lawn get mowed down to size by SB Mowing.
Spencer from SB Mowing is a gardner who's sprung to fame on Instagram and YouTube. He lives in Kentucky, which besides moonshine, the Derby and, ironically, bluegrass, is also famous for having two of the worst senators in the history of time—Mitch "Mr. Freeze" McConnell and Rand "Yes sir Mr. Putin!" Paul. Although admittedly with Ted "When's the next flight to Cancun?" Cruz and John "Leave the oil company money in a plain envelope" Cornyn, Texas does give them a run for the money.
I may be getting off point here.
Anyway what Spencer does is find wildly overgrown or neglected lawns once a week, then asks the homeowner or a neighbor what the story is and if he can cut it down to size for free. He films the entire process in time lapse, and then displays truly breathtaking, incredibly satisfying before and after stills at the end of his videos (the YT videos run quite long - the four minute one at the top is one of the shorter ones).
Watching him work I can almost smell the freshly cut grass, as if I'd done it myself. Which as we've established, ain't happening.
On his website, Spencer tells his origin story, promotes the companies that make the equipment he uses and, like any good YT or Instagram star, sells mowing merch.
I don't know if it's watching someone actually finish something they start (you can do that?), the fact he makes gardening and lawn equipment look fun and cool (you can do that?), or his obviously disciplined work ethic (you can have that?), but watching him bring these lawns and their properties back to life is endlessly entertaining.
I know what you're thinking. I'm going to end this post with some corny, lawn-related pun.
Like his business is really growing.
Or when he's done filming his work he yells "Cut!"
Maybe even say he was a little green when he started.
But I won't. I'm keeping this one pun free. You know, in case Spencer keeps his clippings.
When I'm watching a tv show or a movie, there are always certain actors I'm happy to see. Actors who directors and audiences can rely on to give a great, complete, immersed in the character performance every time, with the uncannny ability to play any genre—comedy, drama, classical, farce, screwball, rom-com—all with the greatest of ease.
It's not easy, but these actors make it look that way.
Two of my favorites who deliver every time are Gary Cole and Margo Martindale. They are, as the saying goes, money in the bank.
I first saw Gary Cole in Fatal Vision, the story of Captain Jeffrey MacDonald, who murdered his pregnant wife and two daughters and tried to blame it on a Manson-like group of hippies. Cole has been reliably great in every role I've seen him in since.
One of my favorites was his portrayal of FBI Agent Baxter in A Simple Plan. I'm not going to spoil the surprise twist that his character takes in that role, but it is chilling. It's a great movie worth seeing, and Cole's performance, which comes near the end of the film, is one of the best reasons to watch it.
I'm sure I'd seen Margo Martindale before, but her performance as Hillary Swank's mom in Million Dollar Baby was the one that put her on the map for me. It's a joy for me every time I see her on screen. I especially liked her as the Russian handler in The Americans, and as Peter Florrick's campaign manager in The Good Wife.
Yes, I watched The Good Wife. Shut up.
There are many actors who may not be household names, but elevate whatever project they're in with their enormous talent, humility and committment. A dozen years ago, I wrote about another great one who's name almost no one knows but who's face almost everyone recognizes—Dabbs Greer.
Anyway, no funny little quips to end this. Just a tip of the hat, and a show of appreciation for real talent by two extradordinary actors that bring me pure joy, and some well-needed escape, every time I encounter them.
