Taking the e-asy way out

I fully intended to have a new post up tonight. And like we've all come to expect, especially me, it was going to be witty yet insightful, terse yet pithy, lengthy but well written. But here's the deal: after the past five days I'm feeling more beat up than Tyler Durden.

Not only is my back killing me from my lovely and unexpected auto accident last Wednesday that I told you about here, but I'm also exhausted from four days sleeping on grass, standing in line, walking in halls and sitting in chairs at Comic Con.

I'm not complaining about the Con. It was teenage fun.

I am complaining about the car accident. That sucked.

Anyway, if you've been online anytime in the last couple years, you've probably noticed the explosion in Your e-cards and someecards. These are cards you make online and have added to a library for all the world to use.

I've custom made a lot of them for various posts on here, and I've also used existing ones.

Anyway, since I'm falling asleep in my soup, I'm putting up a few I like for your enjoyment.

By the way, I'm fully prepared for the lecture I'll get from my friend Rich over at Round Seventeen about taking the easy way out on this post.

I just hope he doesn't wake me when he calls and yells at me.

Hello dummy

I know I was going to be writing Comic Con posts this week, but then I remembered this.

I had to take my daughter to Sports Authority, or Sports Chalet, or Sports Concierge or wherever the hell it was to buy yet another pair of volleyball shoes and shorts. On the way to whatever department that stuff was in, I passed this.

The sparring dummy. I think every creative department in every agency should have one of these.

I mean one that doesn't scream like a little girl when you hit it.

Beyond the exercise benefits, it's an excellent way to alleviate frustration with account people. Just dress him up in that light blue, button-collar shirt with the yellow power tie and have at it. I don't know how much he costs, but I'm sure it's cheaper than all the wall repairs and replacing all those dented trash cans.

Now to be fair, I appreciate every once in a great while account people get frustrated with creatives. So to help them relax, and really, who doesn't want a less uptight account person, they should also have one of these on their side of the office. They could put a knit cap on him, a t-shirt with something ironic yet retro on it and have at it.

Of course, nothing unites people like a common enemy. In which case you can dress him up in one of the clients' company uniforms - if you have a fast food client you're already ahead of the game - and have at him your way (see what I did there?).

No matter how long you pummel him, he still won't go as many rounds as the work.

But it'll be much more satisfying.

Open letter to the person who hit my car yesterday

Dear hit and run driver,

I hope your day went better than mine did yesterday after you plowed into my car on the 405 South.

Well, actually I don't.

What I really hope is you had the worst day of your life, maybe something along the lines of crippling fear and paranoia you'll be caught for hitting two cars on the freeway then taking off on the nearest offramp.

Since the CHP said you must've been going about 80 mph when you plowed into me, the front end of your car must be in pretty bad shape. Surprised it was still running well enough to leave the scene. I hope your car was at least damaged to the tune of the estimated $10,500 dollars - so far - that you did to mine.

Also, thanks for worrying whether I was hurt or not. It's easy to understand why you'd think driving off after knocking my car, which was already going 55 mph, forward a couple more car lengths and sending me flying forward with all the inertia that kind of collision brings with it (good thing I had my seat belt on, huh?), would leave me relatively unharmed.

But enough about me. What about the other girl's car you side-swiped as you veered across three lanes of traffic to make your getaway? I'm going to bet she's not too happy with you either. I think if you ever start passing out apologies, you've better save one for her.

I know you don't know this, but she actually saw your face and remembered your tan Camry. Sadly she didn't get the license plate, because to follow you off the freeway would've meant her racing across three lanes to catch up with you. And unlike yourself, she didn't want to cause an accident.

But I hope you're losing a lot of sleep wondering if the she got the plate or not.

I wish you'd stuck around because I would've loved to know why you hit me. I wasn't stopped. You must've taken your eyes off the road for a sec. Texting maybe? Putting makeup on? Maybe looking for the nearest offramp in case you hit something - that'd be ironic wouldn't it.

I'd also like to know why you fled the scene. The CHP officer said it could be one of several things. Maybe you were driving with a suspended license. You could've been getting an early start being drunk or stoned. He also said you might not have had insurance so you were afraid you'd get arrested. Which you wouldn't have.

But you will now if someone calls in the damage on your car.

Odds are in your favor that unless you have a guilty conscience and call it in, you'll probably get away with it. I hope not. Even though I have nothing to base it on, in fact I have evidence to the contrary with you leaving and all, I'd still like to think you'll do the right thing.

If not, then all I can hope for is that kharma wreaks a nasty, ugly, expensive and unexpected revenge on your ass.

Because after all, kharma, like you, is a bitch.

The Con is on

Don't say you haven't been warned. For the next four and a half days, 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.

Analyze that

“That” is a funny word. Not funny ha-ha, but funny in the sense (that) a lot of people think (that) you need to use it when you don’t.

As my fellow copywriters will attest to, one of the items on the job description is being able to edit your own copy. Not with a machete like account people or clients are prone to do, but with a scalpel. What’s usually required is a surgical, precision paring down of the word count to bring whatever brilliant idea it is into sharper focus. And down to time.

For me, the first place (that) I direct this effort is at “that.”

I don’t think (that) there are a lot of words as expendable as “that.” I know for a fact (that) most agency proofreaders don’t agree with me at all about this. They think (that) they’re not doing their job unless they put back all the “thats” (that) I’ve taken out.

Apparently it's true (that) proofreaders are paid by the word.

Anyway, next time you’re writing a letter, note, list, blogpost, copy or whatever, when you go through it to make revisions and fine tune it to a sharp, brisk read, the first place I’d start with is “that.” You may have already noticed (that) all the “thats" in parenthesis are completely unnecessary.

Now that I re-read it, the same might be said for this post.

Highway to hell

I know what you're thinking. And no, this isn't a post about my career path in advertising.

In yet another example of good parenting, I was driving down the road yesterday. Sixty miles an hour, windows and sunroof open, and my 14-year old daughter at my side. My iPhone was blasting the quintessential rock'n roll / driving song, Highway to Hell.

Pure, unadulterated fun.

I joke about good parenting, but here's a lesson worth remembering: as you get older and life gets more and more demanding, there are so few moments of pure abandon and joy that when one comes along, especially one you can recreate on a regular basis, then by all means take it. And don't give a damn what anybody else thinks.

There will always be a world full of people trying to harsh your buzz. Don't let them.

If I wanted to take this line of thinking along it's logical path, there's probably another lesson in here about creating your own happiness and all, but even as I write that it sounds a little too new age for me to get into. Maybe I'll save it for another time, like after I watch an Oprah marathon and discuss it with my life coach (that was for you Mel).

Anyway, if I can give my kids one piece of advice tonight, it's this. As they do their homework, focus on their futures and try to make the world a better place, I hope they'll always remember to do the thing that can keep them going when they feel like they can't go any further, lift them up when they're as down as they can be and make everything seem like it's right in the world.

Rock on.

Don't ask: Sharing a hotel room

Remember when you were a kid how exciting it was to have a sleepover at a friend’s house, or have them sleep over at yours? The two of you would stay up way past lights out, smacking each other with the pillows, laughing, telling stories, trying to scare the bejesus out of each other.

I don't know if you've noticed, but as an adult most trips where you have to share a hotel room aren’t like that.

Wait, did I say have to? (laughs hysterically) I never have to. Sharing a hotel room is something I don’t do anymore. It's also the third installment of my wildly popular online series: Don’t Ask.

Just to refresh your memory, first was moving, second was picking people up at the airport. But thanks to a conversation with my friend Michelle, I was reminded about this no less essential life choice. Well, essential if you want your space, privacy, hairbrush, toothpaste, path to the bathroom and shower (don't get me started on the shower) un-invaded by anyone else.

For years I used to go with friends to Las Vegas. We'd split the cost of a hotel room (and by the way, what was the point of that? Vegas hotel rooms cost next to nothing), but then we'd have to actually share the room.

Here's the thing - when I travel, it's one of the few places where I have control over my own environment. I like things orderly. I hang clothes up. I don't let the bathroom counter become a wading pool. I set up my laptop a certain way when I'm working, and have a specific way to lock it down when I'm not.

Then there's also the Garbo factor. I want to be alone.

At this point, hotel rooms are a refuge, not quite a sanctuary, but close. Part of their appeal is I can shut everything out. That includes whomever I'm traveling with.

Listen, if we're traveling together, we'll have a great time. If you know anything about me, and you should by now, you already know I'm not the kind of person who denies myself when it comes to travel. We'll fly in the front of the plane. We'll eat in the best restaurants. We'll see the hit shows. And we'll have the best seats in the house when we see them.

But it's important you know the golden rule going in. If you can't afford your own hotel room, you can't afford to travel with me.