See you next year

As we wrap up another spin around the sun, I can't help but feel uncharacteristically optimistic about what the next decade has in store for us all.

First and foremost, I believe a return to sanity is coming in November, when the unstable genius is voted out of office (according to the actual count he wasn't voted in - don't get me started), and forced to wear even more orange as he's perp walked out of the White House to a solitary jail cell in upstate New York with neither a gold toilet or internet connection.

Before that happens, I'm hoping as the new decade begins Nancy Pelosi will hold the articles of impeachment from the senate until the traitor-in-chief gives his Hate Of The Union speech. But only because I think a meltdown of that magnitude on national television would be once in a lifetime, very entertaining, and probably something even the red caps and mint julep senator from South Carolina couldn't ignore.

On a more personal note, I'm grateful for many things that happened this past year, not the least of which are the friends I made at my last gig (you know who you are). I anticipate many of those relationships getting even closer now that they can flourish in much saner, more fun and healthier environments. Not that advertising agencies aren't healthy environments (pausing to make my eyes stop rolling).

Also grateful I don't have to see certain people every day anymore. Well, mainly that one guy.

I'm also planning on bringing some projects I've kept on the back burner to a full boil this year. A screenplay based on my favorite book. Another based on a sci-fi story from a famous author that I'm this close to getting the rights to. And a script for a show with one of my aforementioned friends, who is a far better, funnier and talented writer than I am (you know who you are). Oh are those your coattails? Yeah, I can hang on.

Crap, I just put it in writing. Does that mean I have to do it? I mean, no one's under oath here.

Anyway, if there's ever been a year where you could say, "There's nowhere to go but up" this is it. Here's wishing you and yours best year ever. I hope it's everything you want it to be.

Except that one guy.

What's in your wallet?

The day after Christmas, somehow I was able to overcome my food coma from our annual Christmas morning brunch and actually get a few things done. One of them was something I'd been meaning to do for years (if you said "Get a real job" calm down - you're not the first).

For some reason I never was able to find the time for this particular chore. But after years of procrastination, it finally happened: I cleaned out my wallet.

Oh sure, it may not seem like a big accomplishment to you, but considering the amount of paperwork and junk I was carrying around it was definitely life-changing. Well, okay. Pocket changing. The best way to describe the process is it was alternately a trip down memory lane, and a slog through a land fill.

If you know anything about me - and after over 1000 blogposts you probably know more than you want to - you know I'm usually an exceptionally organized person. As a rule, I like to clean as I go. I'm good that way. I put things (and when necessary, people) in their place in real time so I don't have to come back and do it later. Occasionally though, it's not always possible to do.

For example, my wallet was loaded with restaurant receipts I meant to file away in my incredibly organized tax receipt folder the day I got them. It's December, and I was clearing out receipts from as far back as March. The nice part was getting to reminisce about the meals, remember who I had them with and relive them a little bit.

The bad part was my wallet looked like the one in Costanza's hands in the picture.

Also in the billfold were souvenirs from trips I'd been on this past year, mostly in the form of hotel room card keys. I had my Comic Con hotel key from last July, my San Francisco visit room key from October, and discount coupons from each of those hotels for cocktails in their swingin' bars.

There were little notes to myself about things that seemed important at the time, and a few lines I thought were funny and I should remember.

The big surprise was that I'd actually been carrying around more than a few of the 500 Innocean business cards I got when I first started there. Of course now, they're collector's items which could probably fetch in the high $1's on eBay. A lot of the time I keep stuff using the "just in case I need it..." approach. Pretty sure I won't be needing them. And besides, my shredder needs something to do.

The nice part about all that clutter out of my wallet is it's considerably thinner now, and folds comfortably in my front pocket.

Plus now when I hug somebody I don't have to say, "Don't worry, it's just my wallet."

T'was The Night Before Christmas - 2019 Edition

It's been about three years since I put up this post on Christmas Eve. I wanted it to become somewhat of a holiday tradition. I say somewhat, because nobody really expects or wants it, but I'll keep posting it anyway. It's like Deck The Halls or Do You Hear What I Hear. The request lines aren't jammed, yet you hear it a lot. Besides, normally I'd be doing all my last minute errands like eating all the cookies the wife made for tomorrow, and dipping into the pumpkin pie early. But it is the season of giving, and damn it, if we know anything about me we know I'm a giver.

This year, I happened to get laid off along with ten other people at my agency right before the holidays. So this verse strikes a little closer to home than usual. But despite that small setback - and was it really a setback or a blessing - I look forward to the coming year with uncharacteristic hope and optimism.

I know, Mr. Glass Half Full. I thought I'd try it and see what it felt like.

So for the holidays, give those you love the best present. Hug them tight and make sure they know they're loved. Please enjoy this little diddy one more time. And the very merriest Christmas to each and every one of you and yours.

Except that one guy.

‘Twas the night before Christmas in the agency halls
Not a planner was stirring, there were no client calls
The glasses were hung by the conference room with care
In hopes the Christmas party would soon begin there

Creative directors nestled with campaigns that were dead
While visions of Gold Lions danced in their head
They’d talk of production and work they had done
It was true this year’s party would be nothing but fun

When out in the lobby there rose such a clatter
I sprang from the status meeting to see what was the matter
Was it the new intern wearing an Urban Outfitters jacket
What could possibly be making all of that racket

With a little old driver, so lively and quick
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came
And he whistled and shouted and called them by name

Now Dasher! Now Dancer! Now Prancer and Vixen!
Let’s go in the kitchen and see what they’re fixen!
To the corner office and just down the hall
They found trays of hors de oeuvres and ate them all!

The staff would look forward to the holiday bonus
Saying "as hard as we’ve worked of course they would owe us"
The general manager spoke, it was quite a summit
He told us all how profits had started to plummet

Cutbacks, downsizing, raise-freezes, client losses
He would if he could, but not so the bosses
He charted the bonus with marker not chalk
He wrote on the white board “That’s just crazy talk.”

They showed the work that’d been done through the year
But with no bonuses the staff was not of good cheer
Sure there was music and dancing for those who were able
Even some shenanigans on the conference room table

Soon it was over, soon it was gone
All the carrying they’d planned had been carried on
The party was finished, the tinsel unhung
The songs they were singing had all been sung

After bad luck like this, what else could they add
It was Christmas, and really, things weren’t that bad
Until he exclaimed as his limo drove out of sight
Happy pink slip to all, and to all a good night!

She screams for ice cream

Before I get to the post that answers the question, "Why is there a picture of vanilla ice cream on here?" I should probably address the other burning question you have: "It's been 4 months since his last post. What the hell happened?"

I'll tell you what happened - I didn't feel like doing it. There it is. I know, you're about to remind me of the many posts I put up about how I was going to be more consistent and productive in my postings. How I was going to match, if not beat, Roundseventeen.com post for post. Whatever. I get tired just thinking about it.

The truth of the matter is every time I'd sit down to write a post, all I wanted to talk about was that festering piece of shit in the White House. The unstable genius. The traitor-in-chief. But I figured there were so many smart, incisive, critical, analytical and factual articles and opinions being written about him - and not by the fake news - that I didn't really need to chime in.

So what's gotten me off my big fat bahookie and propelled me back to the keyboard and pictures of vanilla ice cream? My daughter is having her tonsils out tomorrow.

First off all, I think you all need to thank me for the fact you're looking at a picture of ice cream. At first I went to the Google and searched tonsilectomy - I don't recommend it.

My girl is home on Christmas break from college in Iowa (don't get me started). And we just thought what's more fun over Christmas break than having throat surgery, amirite?

Her tonsils have been inflamed for awhile and making her sick at school in Iowa, but her mother and I wanted her to have the procedure done by our ENT surgeon here. Someone we know. Someone we trust. Someone who doesn't use corn-based anesthesia.

So starting tomorrow afternoon, her diet for the next couple of weeks will consist primarily of ice cream, yogurt, chicken broth, ice cream, applesauce, sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes and more ice cream.

The good news is I'm not working for the next couple weeks, so I'll be able to lavish attention on my girl, and nurse her back to health while she's recovering from the surgery.

The bad news is since I'll be home, it means less ice cream for her.

Gone Dogs

It's taken me years, but I've finally written something I believe people will actually want to read and enjoy (and I think we both know it's not this blog).

Not that you don't already love my spellbinding prose about twin-turbo engines in Korean sports sedans. Or my memorable musings about the unparalleled amenities, Nappa leather and 22-way adjustable driver's seat in the top-of-the-line, flagship of the fleet. And I have no doubt you're waiting with bated breath—and who would blame you—for the next installment of a little gem I like to call Exceptional Lease Offers.

I'm just messin' with ya. I don't read 'em either.

What I'm talking about here is the story I've written about the world's greatest German Shepherd—the late, great Max—in the newly released, beautifully produced coffee-table book Gone Dogs.

A project by dog lovers extraordinaire Jim Mitchem and Laurie Smithwick, Gone Dogs is a heart-warming, heart-breaking and ultimately life-affirming collection of stories about the power of love through our relationships with dogs who are no longer with us.

A call went out to parents of all kinds of pups to submit stories of their dearly departed canines, and I was lucky enough to have the one I wrote about Max selected for the inaugural volume.

Since I am in advertising—I'm not proud—I'm going to be shameless about it and just ask for the order. What you need to do right now is go to Amazon and buy several copies for your dog-lovin' friends. And their dog-lovin' friends. In fact, I know it's only August, but why not beat the Christmas rush and stock up on a few copies for the holidays.

I also want to say that I can't thank Jim and Laurie enough for including my story. It means the world to me knowing people will get to see what a magnificent dog Max was, and how much I loved him.

Here's what I'm saying: order yourself a copy today. And when it comes, just sit, stay and enjoy every one of these beautiful, heartfelt stories.

Starting with mine.

Company policy

The two pictures on this post are from actual advertising agency websites. The first describes who doesn't work there. The second describes who they don't want working there.

It’s a philosophical question really. Exactly how many assholes have to be working in an industry before companies are forced to advertise the fact they’re not welcome as employees?

Hospital websites don’t have to tell you they don’t want jerks working there. Neither do insurance company sites. Home appraiser websites. Restaurant websites. Virtually every industry and business assumes you take it for granted they don't want to hire insufferable, egomaniacal, argumentative, contrary jerks and assholes.

Except one. Advertising. Why do you suppose that is? Think for a second….got it? Okay, don’t make me say it.

Alright, I’ll say it. It’s because there are a lot of jerks and assholes working in advertising. (There are also a lot of immensely talented, brilliant, creative, kind, giving people too, but that's not who we're talking about in this post)

Despite all their efforts to keep them out—including garlic, crosses, a no MAGA hat policy and regular pest control service—jerks and assholes somehow seem to find their way into agencies.

I have a suspicion you, dear reader, might believe that somehow I'm directing my ire towards one department in particular.

Not at all.

The fact of the matter is that agency jerks and assholes are equal opportunity players and are department agnostic: they show up everywhere.

All you can do is recognize them for what they are, call them out on it as often as possible, then ignore them and just keep moving forward.

They don’t ever make it easy, and they have this inexplicable, frustrating and unfair talent for failing up. But if experience with these unpleasant individuals has taught me anything, it's that the best course of action in dealing with them is to stay professional no matter what, and not sink to their level.

Because you know who else doesn’t like jerks and assholes? Karma.

2019 Edition: The Con is on

I don't usually repost pieces on here. But it's the Comic Con time of year again, and I was going to write a post about going. Again. But then I reread this little gem and realized it said exactly what I wanted to say. Again. We don't have to re-invent the wheel each time out people. Let's just take tonight's post at face value, and enjoy the writing for what it is - an excuse not to think of something new to write. Wait? Did I say that out loud?

Don't say you haven't been warned. For four and a half days this week, my son and I will be living amongst 'em (well, actually we'll be living at the Hilton and walking amongst 'em, but no one's under oath here): the Stormtroopers, Wolverines, Lara Crofts, Jokers, Iron Men, Darth Vaders, Zombies, Batmen, Supermen and other assorted, costumed inhabitants of Comic Con.

As you can see here and here, this isn't the first time I've written about the Con. And it won't be the last.

Don't get the wrong idea. I'm not saying it's the only subject I'll post about for the next few days. But if you happen to notice my writing in the Thursday through Sunday posts have a nerdist, geekesque, maybe-I-ought-to-get-a-life, gee-he-sounds-REALLY-tired quality to them, then I've done my job and you'll know we're having a fine time.

For those who've never been - and really, like the Rolling Stones or Rick Perry trying to complete a sentence, it's something you need to see at least once in your life - please to enjoy this little taste of my next four days.

Welcome to my world.