Goodbye Lupe

My friend, colleague and fellow sushi lover Lupe Escobar, in one of the more unfair turn of events ever, passed away a few weeks ago. I met and worked with Lupe at Innocean-she was a project manager on the Genesis account.

I’ve been thinking a lot about what to write today, and what I came up with is this: the last thing Lupe would want is some gushing post about her, some perfectly crafted, excrutiatingly curated wording about her life and times.

Of course, if you ask anyone who’s ever worked with me, perfectly crafted has never been an issue.

Lupe would want it real — unfiltered, like she was. So that’s what I’ll try to do.

Lupe was funny. Not just “funny haha,” but sharp, witty, and sometimes a little too honest — which, of course, made her even funnier.

She had this curiosity about people and places that was incredible. When Lupe wanted to know something, she didn’t just read about it — she went there, experienced it, lived it. And when she came back, she’d tell these amazing stories, full of the kinds of little details most people would miss. Listening to her, you felt like you were right there with her.

I can’t tell you how many times I got lost in conversation with her when I was supposed to be working. But talking to Lupe was always better than working anyway.

And now, I have to share something that might make a few of you who knew her jealous: I got a hug from Lupe. Twice. I know — huge deal. Her online handle was nohugsloop, and she meant it. I watched plenty of people go in for a hug and get — let’s call it — gracefully denied. But for some reason, I made the cut: once at a holiday party, and again at my going-away party after someone — and I’m not naming names — made the questionable decision to lay me off. Don’t worry, I’m over it.

Those hugs are among my favorite memories.

Lupe and I had a standing date for years. I was going to take her to my favorite sushi restaurant, Koi in Seal Beach. Until that happened, whenever I was there I’d send her a picture of the food, who I was with or just the chopstick wrapper that said Koi. You always think there’s time, but sadly our sushi extravaganza never happened.

Lupe and I didn’t always agree. When it came to things like vaccinations, we’d have some spirited discussions. Spirited, but respectful.

Lupe was one of a kind. She was bold, curious, funny, and deeply genuine. I know she’ll stay with me the rest of my life.

When I travel somewhere new, I’ll think of her.

When I’m being more honest than people expect — or maybe want — I’ll think of her.

When I’m at Koi I’ll think of her.

And when I’m sitting with someone, laughing, enjoying the ease and realness of the moment, I’ll think of her.

I was lucky to know her, to laugh with her, to hear her stories.

She may be gone, but her spirit will travel with me always.

Godspeed.

Legacy? That's just crazy talk.

You know those crossover episodes on TV, where one show starts a story and then the characters crossover to another entirely different show to finish it?

Mork & Mindy and Laverne & Shirley. Cheers and St. Elsewhere. Chicago Fire and Chicago P.D. The Simpsons and Family Guy. You get the idea. That’s kinda sorta what RotationandBalance is doing today with the finely written and humorous beyond reason RoundSeventeen.

Over breakfast this past weekend, Rich Siegel and I had a frank, heartfelt, bagel-fueled discussion about work we’ve done over the years. What it all means in the big picture. How it will shape our respective legacies.

I’m going to digress for a second, but stay with me. There was an episode of the first Bob Newhart Show, the one where he played psychologist Bob Hartley (kids, ask your parents). Bob starts to question his profession, thinking he’s wasted the last twenty years of his life, so he visits his teacher and mentor Dr. Albert played by Keenan Wynn (kids, ask your parents) for some reassurance.

This is what Dr. Albert tells him: “I’ve studied psychology for the last forty-five years, and come to one conclusion. It’s all a crock.”

Pretty much where we landed.

In the list of art that’s defined narrative structure, such as the works of Shakespeare, epic poems like Homer’s The Iliad and The Odessey that shaped storytelling as we know it, War and Peace – Leo Tolstoy’s sweeping novel of history, philosophy, and the human condition, works that have and will stand the test of time for generations to come, that little banner ad you’re already writing your acceptance speech for will be forgotten faster than you can say “No one cares.”

At breakfast, Rich and I shared what we thought was some of the worst work each of us has done. Sadly there was a lot to choose from.

But just because our print ads won’t be framed and sitting on the shelf next to the works of Shakespeare doesn’t mean there aren’t a few of them we still like.

We both went to our old, black, heavy, dusty portfolios we used to drag around to interviews (kids, ask your parents), rumaged through the expensive and heavily laminated work of yesteryear and dug some of them out.

In no particular order, these are mine. Some are clients you've heard of, some are clients that don't exist any more, and there may be one in there that never ran but I like enough to show.

Whatever the case, one thing holds true for all of them: you’ll forget about them almost as fast as you read them. But they're not awful and I'm not embarassed by them.

But because ads, not just ours but everyones, have a shorter life span than a mayfly (kids, ask your parents), do us a favor.

Live in the moment.

Seen it befaurous

SPOILER ALERT: If you're planning on seeing Jurassic World: Rebirth you may not want to read ahead. Or you just might and then thank me later.

Stop me if you've heard this one before.

There’s an island. There are dinosaurs. Genetically engineered, of course — because nature, chaos, and the lessons of literally every previous movie in the franchise weren’t enough of a warning. Humans show up. They interact with the dinosaurs. The dinosaurs, shockingly, are not into it. Chaos ensues. People run, people scream, people get eaten.The people run back to their boat or plane or helicopter to get off the island.

Sound familiar? It should. It's the plot of every single Jurassic movie since 1993.

They shouldn't have called it Jurassic World: Rebirth. They should've called it Jurassic World: Again.

The main difference I can see is that this latest one stars Scarlett Johansson — who still won't return my calls — and also stars unbelievably great looking dinosaurs. This is because CGI technology has evolved quite a bit in the 32 years since the original Jurassic Park movie.

Is it entertaining? Not really. But there are worse ways to spend a couple hours.

I did quite like Rupert Friend, who seriously deserves to work more. He played Peter Quinn in Homeland and was one of the best characters ever. He's a bad guy in this, and he eventually gets his. Not saying how, because that would take the bite out of the story (SWIDT).

The good news is the theater was air conditioned and the popcorn was fresh, so there's that. But in the end, the real horror isn’t the dinosaurs. It’s the realization that after 65 million years, fresh ideas are what’s actually gone extinct.

And now, please to enjoy the trailer they should've used:

VO: In a world where scientists still haven’t learned their lesson…

billionaires still think nature is a toy…

comes the sixth cinematic reminder that playing God never ends well.

DRAMATIC INCEPTION-STYLE BWAAAAAM]

VO: They said it couldn't happen again. They said it shouldn't happen again. So of course...

it happened again.

CUT TO HELICOPTER LANDING ON LUSH ISLAND. SCREAMING. TEETH. MORE SCREAMING.

VO: Starring Scarlett Johansson, because Marvel gave her some free time…

and Rupert Friend, because someone in casting actually has taste.

CUT TO DINOSAUR ROARING DIRECTLY INTO CAMERA. A GUY IN KHAKIS FALLS OVER.

VO: Watch as humans make the same terrible choices with even shinier dinosaurs.

Experience all your favorite moments —like “Don’t go in there," “Why is it always bigger than the last one?” and the classic: “RUN!”

RAPID MONTAGE OF EXPLOSIONS, TAIL WHIPS AND SLOW-MO SCREAMING.

VO: This summer…originality is extinct. Again.

TITLE CARD CRASHES IN: JURASSIC WORLD: WHATEVER

Rated PG-13 for peril and poor decision-making.

WTF WTF?

Well, here we are. The sky is orange. Billionaires are arguing about whose rocket is better. Democracy is hanging by a thread. So naturally, Marc Maron has decided now is the time to wrap up his WTF podcast.

I get it. Sixteen years. Over 1,400 episodes. Hundreds of "lock the gates!" intros, cat updates, coffee slurps, refrigerator bitching and brutally honest introspective spirals. That’s a lot. And that’s enough. For him.

But what about me, Marc? What about us?

Let’s be clear: WTF was never just a podcast. It was an emotional scavenger hunt with a healthy helping of neurosis. It was a comforting ritual—like therapy, but cheaper and with better celebrity cameos. Marc didn’t conduct interviews; he had conversations. Real, raw, occasionally meandering, frequently hilarious conversations.

And I was there for it all. Every Monday. Every Thursday. Want to know how deep I was in? I even listened to the Orny Adams episode. The Orny Adams episode, Marc.

Sure, there are other entertaining podcasts. Polished. Clever. Hosted by duos and trios that make it a misplaced point of pride to avoid politics and meaningful discussions while they keep referring to each other as “besties.”

But WTF had something different. Bravery. Heart. Humor. Insight. Chutzpah. The nerve to let silence sit. The guts to go weird. The refusal to put on a fake voice or banter.

And Marc wasn’t just talking to his guests. He was talking to us. He was there for us.

So now, as the world is melting like a cheap popsicle on a Vegas sidewalk in August, Marc has decided to sign off? Really? Is this the moment we’re saying goodbye?

I'm not saying he can’t take a break. He's more than earned it. But what if, and I’m just spit balling here—what if instead of stopping WTF, he just...tapered? Like a prescription med (he knows a little about those).

Maybe just one episode a week. Or biweekly. Or once a month. Just a little something to keep the darkness at bay and remind us that we are, in fact, still here.

Because the truth is, Marc Maron you’re the hero we need. Flawed. Funny. Smart. Sad. Human.

Thank you Marc. For the laughs. For the tears. For the time you had President Obama in the garage. Thank you for all of it. I’ll miss you. I already do.

But seriously—Orny Adams?

Photo Phatigue

Apple’s Photos app, in theory, should be a perfectly organized digital shoebox of memorable moments and creative inspirations. Instead, it’s become a bottomless pit of duplicates, blurry mistakes and whatever happened to be in my pocket when I forgot the camera was on.

I call this condition Photo Phatigue™—a very real, very tiring condition caused by the impossible task of trying to clean up duplicates in my Apple Photos library without losing my will to live.

Here’s the thing: I didn’t ask to have 12 copies of the same picture. Maybe I tried to AirDrop it and failed. Or maybe I transferred the same photo library between devices so many times it’s started duplicating itself, like a Gremlin after midnight.

You'd think Apple would have a simple feature in Photos to detect and delete duplicates.

You’d think that. But you’d be wrong.

Instead, every iOS upgrade seems to come with a new useless feature like "make photos dance to music." They've added albums like "For You" and "Memories," which basically is 12 more versions of the exact same photo you already didn’t delete, but with a jazz soundtrack.

For the younger kids reading this (stops to laugh at the idea any young people are reading this), you don’t remember the glory days of film cameras. Back then, we had 24 shots. Total. That was it. You actually had to think before you pressed the shutter. You had to commit. If Grandma blinked in the group photo, tough luck—she was mid-sneeze for eternity.

But now, we can take 237 versions of the same moment in 3.6 seconds. And we do. Because we can. We’ve combined the power of technology with the attention span of a goldfish.

Sure, there are third-party apps that claim to clean your duplicates. Some actually do a decent job, if you trust them not to delete your wedding photos while keeping 14 screenshots of your grocery list. I've heard it said there actually is a duplicate removal feature in Photos. But I don't have time to look for unicorns, or leprechauns or the Holy Grail. And I don't want to have to send out a search party to find out what should be obvious, native functionality. This is basic. Like spellcheck. Or autocorrect.

Apple, you’re a trillion-dollar company. Can you please just give me a “Find Duplicates” button that's in my face and works?

Until then, I’ll keep scrolling. And swiping. And swearing.

Not throwing away my shot

Let’s talk about vaccine deniers, the warriors of natural immunity. The bold few who say, “I did my own research,” and think it trumps (sorry for that word) 200 years of medical science. But here’s the funny part: most of them are walking, talking advertisements for how well vaccines actually work.

Why? Because they got them.

While loudly claiming vaccines are a global conspiracy powered by Big Pharma, these folks are living in a world where polio doesn’t exist thanks to the very vaccines they now reject. Ironic ain’t it?

You don’t hear many anti-vaxxers complaining about lockjaw — probably because they got their DTaP shot as toddlers. That’s because their parents vaccinated them before YouTube became the Mayo Clinic for conspiracy theories.They're walking around tetanus-free, unaware stepping on a rusty nail used to be a potential death sentence.

But hey, keep sipping your kombucha and crediting “gut health.”

If you’re over 40 and your legs work just fine, chances are you had the polio vaccine. Wild poliovirus used to turn playgrounds into ghost towns. Now it's nearly extinct, except in regions where people stopped vaccinating.

Anti-vaxxers love to boast about their “natural immunity” — the same kind of “natural” that only works because 94% of the people around them are vaccinated.

During COVID, hospitals became battlegrounds. People who had mocked the vaccine ended up gasping for breath, begging for a shot they’d spent months demonizing. For many, that change of heart came too late. Doctors and nurses had to watch patients die avoidable deaths — again and again — while being accused of "killing people for money" by people who got their medical degrees from Reddit.

Some of those same patients — days earlier — had gone viral for mocking mask mandates. Turns out their beliefs outlasted their breath. Now they were on ventilators, posting final videos urging others to “get the shot.”

Remember when New Yorkers clapped out their windows every night at 7 p.m. to thank healthcare workers? Nurses were hailed as heroes. Fast-forward a year, and some of those same workers were being screamed at, threatened, even attacked — for asking people to wear a mask or get vaccinated. Somewhere between “flatten the curve” and “plandemic,” the applause died and the conspiracy theories started.

They saved lives. They worked 18-hour shifts in garbage bags because PPE ran out. They held iPads up to dying patients so their families could say goodbye. And now, some are being called government agents for doing the same job they were once hailed for.

If irony were a virus, we’d all be contagious.

Being proudly “vaccine-free” in 2025 is like being proudly “boat-free” while standing on an aircraft carrier. You’re only dry because the rest of us are keeping you afloat. It’s the health equivalent of living rent-free in an immune system you didn’t pay to protect. You're not a rebel. You're just lucky someone else made responsible choices.

Are there side effects from vaccines? Of course. But the majority of people tolerate them well. With any medicine—from aspirin to prescription drugs—the overriding consideration is do the benefits outweigh the risks. And like it or not, deny it or not, vaccines work. They’re why you don’t have smallpox, and why “typhoid” sounds like something from a pirate movie instead of a real threat.

And as for our healthcare workers: they deserve more than applause. They deserve respect, protection, and the basic human courtesy of not being blamed for a virus they risked everything to fight.

So next time someone tells you vaccines are a scam, and before they start quoting their cousin’s ex-boyfriend who once took a nursing class in 1998, just smile and say, “I’m glad your childhood vaccines worked.”

9 Letters

This week, I found myself doing something I never imagined: writing a letter to Chief Justice John Roberts. In fact to all the Supreme Court justices (hence the Ruth Bader Ginsburg stamps). It wasn’t because I needed legal advice, was looking for a pen pal or wanted to chat about robes and gavels.

It was because I’m deeply concerned, as are all Americans who aren’t republicans, about the virtually blanket immunity the court has given Cadet Bone Spurs.

The ruling suggesting presidents have total immunity for “official acts” isn’t just a legal hiccup. It’s a full-blown constitutional crisis.

This doesn’t just put one person above the law. It creates a reality where a sitting president can commit crimes with impunity as long as they call it “official.” For those of you late to the party, that’s not how democracy works.

The Felon-In-Chief has wasted no time waving this “official acts” pass like an all-access backstage pass at a chaos concert. He’s used it to attack democratic institutions, downplay violence, threaten judges and make statements that sound less presidential and more like deleted Twitter drafts.

And now, he’s coming for the courts.

You know, that last branch of government still trying to keep the lights on in this constitutional storm. But the orange asshole has directed his puppet justice department to arrest judges that disagree and decide against his inhumane immigration policies.

If this immunity decision stands, what’s next? Will dissent be criminalized under “Operation Hurt Feelings”? Suddenly, it doesn’t feel far-fetched.

When the courts are under attack and presidential immunity becomes absolute, we’re not talking about “leadership” anymore. We’re talking about a fast-pass to authoritarianism. I want to say no one voted for that, but sadly millions of gullible, grievance-fueled people did.

Our Constitution was designed with checks and balances, not “get-out-of-jail-free” cards. The Founders weren’t perfect, but they knew a king when they saw one, and came up with this little document to make sure we wouldn’t get another.

So, and I say this with urgency and respect to Chief Justice Roberts and the Court: reverse this decision. Because the idea a president can silence critics, weaponize government, or worse — all while enjoying a legal force field — doesn’t just bend the rule of law. It breaks it. Shatters it. Sweeps it into a drawer labeled “For Future Autocrats Only.”

If we don’t course-correct now, we risk losing the very thing that makes America worth all this messy, passionate fighting: our democracy.

Justice is supposed to be blind, not asleep.

So to the Supreme Court: wake up, suit up, and fix this. We’re counting on you.