Door to door

Knock knock.

Who's there?

Another.

Another who?

Another a&%$@*e at my door trying to sell me something.

It always surprises me when door-to-door salesmen show up on my doorstep. For one thing, it seems like such a throwback to a more innocent time. For another, I can't believe these people really think that by showing up unannounced and unwanted, I'm actually going to buy what they're selling. I don't buy anything from the many daily cards and flyers for house-cleaning services and lawn maintenance that get left on my step. I'm not going to buy anything from them. And finally, I was born at night, but it wasn't last night - I know they're just here to case my house, and then come back when no one's home and rob me blind.

I don't care if they're not. In my mind they are.

When I pulled up to my house last night, there was this guy standing in front of my neighbor's house (the good neighbor, not the other one). He was on his cell phone, and as I walked into my house he waved and said, "Hey." Well "hey" right back pal. I was fine being friendly to him at this point, because he wasn't on my property with his brochure about a new home security system. Yet.

A few minutes after I got in the house and settled in, there was the knock at the door. I knew right away it was him. So I immediately jumped into action, and did what I always do when someone suspicious I don't know comes to the door.

I called my German Sheperd into the living room.

I went to the door, my hand on my dog's collar looking like I was holding him back. The truth is, I was holding him back - but only because he would've licked the guy to death.

My dog hasn't read the German Sheperd manual.

Holding the dog with one hand, I opened the door with the other, but just the minimum amount so that he couldn't see into my house, but could see that I had a large dog with sparkly teeth that looked like he wanted to have a nice sales guy with steak sauce for dinner.

He started in with a hard sell about Skyline Home Security Systems. I said, "Oh, to keep out people you don't want on your property." It was lost on him.

I know times are tough and everyone needs to work, but I decided to save this guy some time by telling him we were happy with our system and not planning on replacing it. He said okay and left.

When I told my wife who it was and what he was selling, she was immediately concerned. Her father had been in the security/alarm business for years and had always told her that door-to-door alarm salesmen are always casing your house.

Even though the door hadn't been open enough for him to case anything, I ran up the street after him. I got one of his brochures, and a phone number to contact him. Then this morning, I called Skyline to find out if he was really one of their sales reps, or a guy trying to avoid a third strike. Turns out he was one of theirs.

Maybe next time instead of saying "Hey" when I see a door-to-door salesman loitering outside on his cell phone, I'll say, "Hey, don't bother going to that house."

It won't be as much fun for the dog. But then that's what pizza delivery guys are for.

The Con

This isn't the first time I've written about Comic Con. The last time was a post about the difficulties of playing hotel roulette and getting the one I wanted.


Fortunately, after writing a Jeff-letter to the Chairman and CEO of Hilton, that wasn't a problem this year. We were at the Hilton Bayfront, right across the street from Hall H at the San Diego Convention Center. Which was perfect, because we spent most of our days there holed up in Hall H.


For those who haven't been, Hall H is where all the major studios hold their movie panels. They parade the stars and directors out, show exclusive footage from upcoming films, then have a discussion led by a moderator before taking questions from the audience. The hall seats 6500 people. When they like what they hear you know it. Same when they don't.


There's way too much craziness, geek love, celebrity, craziness, fun and craziness at Comic Con to put into one post. So instead, I'll just put up a few pics from the weekend to give you a little taste.


And yes, since you asked, we're pre-registered for next year.

Kevin Smith interviewing fans dressed up in costumes

Francis Ford Coppola with Val Kilmer

Our tickets to the world premiere of Cowboys & Aliens. That's right, you heard me.

Andrew Garfield, the next Spiderman.

Nic Cage wore his bad hair costume for the panel.

Colin Farrell was funny and charming. Bastard.

Team Twilight.

The most surprising and one of the best panels this year, Pee Wee Herman.

Gulliermo Del Toro

Some guy named Spielberg.

Penn & Teller. Yes, Teller spoke.

Justin Timberlake & Amanda Seyfried pretending not to look at me.

My hotel across the street from Hall H

Lack of discipline

Yeah, whatever.

I joke a lot about being the least disciplined writer you know. The only reason I do this is because I'm the least disciplined writer you know.

My friend Rich, an excellent, prolific writer and blogger in his own right recently reprimanded me for not posting more often to my blog. To which I think, "Hey hey, slow down there Shakespeare, we can't all do four posts a week."

I know he means well, and he's paying me a compliment by wanting to read more of my posts. But the truth is, well, the truth is I'm the least disciplined writer you know. Yet when I'm working at a real job, I always deliver.

That's because all the zeros on those checks sure are pretty. And I've always been a sucker for a check that clears. Don't get me wrong, I don't just do jobs for money. I do them for the love. The love of the money.

So, I'll try harder. I'll start posting more. I'll tear down this wall (Reagan would be so proud) and stop censoring myself. I will post the things I don't think I should post.

I'll get right on it. Tomorrow.

The Fredo of cars

Remember the scene in The Godfather where Fredo tells Michael, "I'm not dumb. I'm smart, and I want respect." That should be the tagline for SMART cars.

It doesn't take a government study to know that the SMART car is maybe one of the stupidest ideas ever. Of course, the only thing more stupid than the cars are the people who buy them. Yeah, I said it.

If you're really willing to put your life on the line by driving a Hot Wheels car to get 5 or 10 more miles to the gallon, you're really not getting enough oxygen.

Why not just take your recliner out for a spin next time you have to go on the freeway? At least you won't have to pay extra for the leather and you'll have about the same amount of protection.

Don't get me wrong. I do appreciate SMART cars as comic relief. I like pulling up real close to them in my Land Cruiser at red lights and see the beads of nervous sweat start to roll down the drivers face. I'm not proud, but there it is.

Most SMART car owners are understandably defensive about their vehicles. They'll quote safety studies, talk about how good the cars are for the environment. I suppose if they mean that in the sense of reducing the population then they're right.

Hey, you know who's happy about these little painted golf carts? Cows.

The pressure's off them now. SMART car tipping is a lot more fun. You don't need as many people to do it, and they're a lot easier to find.

Remember that other scene in The Godfather, the one where Michael is talking to his brother-in-law Carlo. Things don't go well for Carlo. Michael says to him, "Don't lie to me. Because it insults my intelligence, and it makes me very angry."

That's pretty much how I feel about SMART cars.

Taking the high road

Here's something I don't tell a lot of people: occasionally - very occasionally - I watch the Weather Channel.

Fine. Use it against me. But I know more about tornadoes and typhoons than you ever will. And I'm sure that and the algebra I had to take four times will eventually come in very handy.

When I'm watching and see all the hurricane footage they show, I always think the same thing: I'll take our earthquakes over their hurricanes any day (although I'd like that day to be a Monday, because why ruin a perfectly good weekend).

With a hurricane, everything it touches is blown to smithereens. Houses become splinters. Cars become airborne as if they were the same size and weight as Hot Wheels. Everyone's life resets to zero and they have to start over.

I'm born and raised in L.A. I've been through a lot of earthquakes. And as a rule, about 98% of everything is still standing afterwards. Cosmetic damage, sure. But this is L.A. We have lots of people who know how to take something that's fallen apart on the outside and make it look better.

When it comes to earthquakes, the news is a cruel tease. Whether it's L.A. or Japan, the coverage would make you believe that entire cities or countries have been destroyed. Simply not true.

All of this brings me to Hermosa Beach.

I was down there walking around with my son last Tuesday, and we saw the sign you see above. Truthfully, tsunamis, or tidal waves, had never really been on my radar (that would be my Doppler radar). Unless the Weather Channel was doing a special on them. This sign immediately brought back images of the footage from Thailand in '04, and the tsunami in Japan after the most recent earthquake.

And as I looked at the sign, I just had one thought. Say goodbye to Hermosa Beach.

If you look just to the right of the sign, that's where the ocean is. Close isn't it?

And Hermosa is the quintessential sleepy beach town with all that implies: narrow streets, too little parking and too many cars, and a beachy little attitude that just screams, "Why the rush?"

They're goners.

So, as I sit in my house three miles inland on a small hill, I'd like to take a minute to say goodbye to Hermosa Beach, and let them know how sorry I am they spent good money on tsunami evacuation signs that aren't going to do jack when surf's up - way up.

I hope they at least made them waterproof.

Secret Heart

Here's the deal. It's Saturday, and time for a new post. But I got nothing.

So instead, I'll share this poignant, beautiful, haunting song by Ron Sexsmith - yes, that's his real name.

Here are two versions: him performing it acoustically, and Feist rocking it.

For today, two hearts are better than one.

The new apathy

Is it possible to care too much about your work? How would I know. That's never been my problem.

Sure, I'm paid and paid well to care enough to do the best possible job I can for my clients. And I do, because I'm just that professional.

So maybe the right word isn't care. Maybe it's "serious."

Here's the thing: on the big, long list of things in the world worth taking seriously, advertising just isn't one of them. In fact, advertising is on that other list - the one that includes hybrid cars, Justin Bieber and guys who wear their pants below their ass.

Everyday I work with people who could sell ice to eskimos. But the one thing they can't sell me on is taking the business I'm in too seriously.

Don't get me wrong: I'm a firm believer that there's a reason, purpose and tangible benefit to marketing communication. The impact it can have on defining a brand, engaging the consumer and shaping a business when it's done right - I'm looking at you Apple - is nothing less than remarkable.

The part I don't take seriously are the people who take themselves so seriously.

It's always amusing to go into a meeting and see how serious everyone is. They're straightening their notepads, setting their iPhones within arms reach (you know, for that very important call that could come. At. Any. Minute.), and sitting up attentively in the chairs they've adjusted to just the proper height. Wait a minute, is that image on the screen coming wirelessly from that iPad? Is that a Powerpoint presentation? Man this is getting serious.

The other thing I've found is that the main contribution from people who are too serious is riding the brakes and slowing the process. They bring up issues and detours that aren't salient to either that process or the outcome.

And I believe all that seriousness belies a lack of trust, often in themselves.

For all the efforts they make to stay steeped in pop culture and the trends of the moment, apparently one thing they don't do is read the papers (alright, some of them read the paper on their iPad during those meetings, but still...).

There are bigger things happening in the real world that actually matter and impact lives. It's true all those ads that butt their big, fat noses into your tv watching, radio listening, online surfing, magazine reading and automobile driving also impact lives. But it's also true most of them don't do it the way those very serious faces in the conference room want them to.

Some of the funniest, most brilliant, most creative people I've ever met work in advertising. So do some of the tightest butt-clenchers and people with sticks where they shouldn't be. Maybe they could lose the sticks if they didn't clench so hard. Just a thought.

I understand everyone's doing their job the best way they know how. I just think they could do it a lot better if they didn't take themselves so seriously.

Besides, just because you take yourself seriously doesn't mean anyone else does.

It also doesn't mean you're good at your job.

In what I thought had to be a joke but wasn't, a colleague of mine actually had a Facebook post saying he loved advertising so much it made him cry. Well, it makes me cry too. Just not for the same reason.

Anyway, I hope you can forgive my little rant here. I just had to get it off my chest. I wouldn't blame you if you didn't care.

I know I don't.