First class warfare. Again

I just returned home today from a trip to Texas. And as you might expect, being Texas it was a big trip. So I'm going to do something I rarely do - I'm going to re-post one of my earlier rants. Don't you worry, it'll still be funny, pithy, observant and breezy to read. I was flying home on Jet Blue today, and thought this classic might just be the perfect one to revisit. Please to enjoy.

Yesterday I flew home from San Francisco on Jet Blue. Unfortunately it wasn't the Jet Blue flight where they played tackle the captain, but even without that it was an interesting flight.

Looking around at my fellow flyers, it got me to thinking about how much flying has changed. There are the necessary inconveniences that have been instituted since 9/11 (by the way, all for them - scan, frisk, question away - no problem with it). But there have been other changes that haven't been as sudden or as obvious. Ones that've crept up on the flying public slowly over many years, so subtly that we've gotten used to them in a way we would never have stood for had they been imposed in one fell swoop (by the way, one fell swoop is a manuever pilots try to avoid).

Most airlines only have two or three cabin classes: First Class, Business Class and Coach Class. But if you've been on a plane even once since airlines were deregulated 35 years ago, you know they should rename those sections Low Class and No Class.

The currency of air travel has been cheapened by catering to the lowest common denominator. I'm just going to say it: there really are some people who shouldn't be flying.

Mr. Hefty Garbage Bag for Luggage, Greyhound has a seat waiting for you where I'm sure you'd feel much more at home. Mr. Wifebeater Shirt & Shorts Guy (Flip Flops optional), you're already living in a trailer - why not just take it off the blocks, put the wheels back on it and let your absence be felt. And, let me put this delicately, I think the words wide body should apply to the planes, not the passengers. Especially the passengers spilling over next to me.

With all the absurd fees the airlines are charging for everything from extra legroom to bathroom privileges, you'd think they could put some rules in place that would insure a more pleasant flight for everyone.

There was after all a time when flying was glamorous. It was an adventure. People dressed for the occasion (people used to dress for a lot of occasions but don't anymore. Been to a play lately?). I'm not saying there should be a dress code, but even some restaurants ban shorts, t-shirts and flip flops. They do it for health reasons. Airlines could too. For starters it would lower the blood pressure of the rest of us who have to fly with the sartorially and hygienically challenged.

It's great that almost everyone can afford to get where they're going by plane. But people, good Lord, check the mirror before you leave for the airport.

Just because self-respect has made an early departure doesn't mean it's a one-way trip.

Like a version

If there's one thing ad agencies are it's repetitive. Let me say that again - see what I did there? Especially when it comes to revising the work.

As anyone who works in the creative department of an agency knows, sometimes a project will come around an absurd amount of times. My friend Rich Siegel named his blog Round Seventeen as an homage to the number of times he's had to revise copy.

I'll see your Round Seventeen, and raise you the revision number I had on a piece of car copy yesterday. The number was 68. Now, if you're reading this post as a civilian, I suppose you're thinking with all those versions the copy must change dramatically from one to the next.

Not so much.

Revisions come from all sorts of places. Proofreaders. Account people. Low level clients. Mid-level clients. The big cheese client. Legal. The product guy. The client's wife. The cleaning crew on the third floor. It goes on and on. It's usually a word or two they obsess over ("Is this too light? Too flip? Too...you know...). More often than not, it just a change for change sake so they can feel like they were part of the process, and get their name on the credits when they fill out the award-show entry forms.

I hear the Client's Wife category is going to sweep the shows this year.

There's an old adage, one I subscribe to, that says the secret to great writing is rewriting. It's a nice thought, but working in an agency will knock that sentiment into the next zip code mighty quick.

Anyway, old Albert had it right. And I'll be he got it on the first try.

Due due

This is going to be a bitch and moan post. It'll be a big cup of whine, with a "do you hear the violins?" chaser.

You can't say you haven't been warned. So here we go.

Sure the freelance life looks pretty glamorous from the outside, but it's actually all knuckles and know-how.

Especially when it comes to getting paid.

Regardless of what you think from reading this blog - and don't lie to me - I'm actually pretty good at this writing thing.

I'm especially good at writing invoices. I do the work, then BAM! I Quick Draw McGraw an invoice faster than you can say "payable in 60 days."

Usually when I work for an agency as a temporary employee, as I do at most places (let's have a moment of silence for the endangered 1099), I'm on their employee pay schedule, which is usually twice a month. Occasionally, once a week. By the way, nothing but love for those shops.

But on the rare occasion when I'm 1099'd, I find the payment schedule is somewhat, what's the word, erratic.

The longest I ever had to wait to get paid was four and a half months. I won't name names - Disney - but it was an absurd amount of time to get what I imagine is less money than Bob Iger spends on valet parking in a week.

Still, it's nice to know occasionally even a global company like Disney needs my help to float them. Happy to oblige.

Here's the thing: I like the companies I work for. All I'm saying is I'd like them a lot more if they showed their appreciation by saying it with cash and paying on time.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go make a phone call. Right after I check the mailbox.

Technically, no

Agencies like to put copywriters in silos. There are the car writers. Fast food writers. Pharma writers. Fashion writers. Packaged-goods writers.

Then there are tech writers, which as you might imagine are a hot commodity these days what with agencies and clients drinking the digital Kool-Aid in big, sloppy gulps.

The good news no two definitions of a tech writer are the same.

Every single time in my career (sorry, taking a time out to laugh hysterically for using the word career) when I’ve been asked if I’m a tech writer I’ve always said no. Then when they ask the inevitable follow up question, which makes zero sense given my answer to the first question – can you write tech? – I always say yes.

And I’ve always gotten the gig.

Here’s my approach to tech: someone else will fill in the blanks. I do what I always do - write consumer facing copy that’ll be conversational and fun to read, and explains the technology of whatever it is I’m writing about in an everyman kind of way.

Kind of like the Apple website, except with better headlines (there goes that gig).

Then, when it comes to the actual tech part, the hardcore specs and stats, I let someone else fill in the blanks. I know they can do it better. They know they can do it better. The American people know they can do it better.

I’ve worked on Pioneer Electronics and Western Digital. Sony VAIO and Motorola. Verizon Wireless and Sharp Electronics. I’ve written web content for a zillion clients. The list goes on and on. And judging by how many digital agencies are popping up like weeds, and how many new tech companies are appearing daily, the list is no doubt going to get even longer.

Which means technically there should be plenty to keep me busy.

One for Father's Day

They don't look like this anymore. I don't know about the dog. He might if he's still around.

The thing about being a parent is that, as time goes on, I begin to realize all the clichés come true. How fast it goes. How fleeting it is. How one day they're riding tricycles, and the next they' re driving my car (with the same lead foot they must've inherited from their mother). One minute I'm driving them to kindergarten, the next they're off to college.

Father's Day isn't the only time I ponder these thoughts, but it hits a little harder today for some reason.

Here's the thing: I won the kid lottery. I look around at some of our friends' kids - who shall go nameless - and all I can think about is how fast I would've left them on the steps at the firehouse. Don't look so surprised. Think about some of your friends' kids and tell me I'm wrong.

I have two beautiful, smart, funny kids who still kiss their parents goodnight no matter what time they get home. We tell each other how much we love each other all the time. Their pain is my pain, and their joy is my joy. Their successes are my pride, and their failures are my heartache. There's nothing in the world I wouldn't do for them, with the possible exception of loaning them my American Express card.

Bill Murray put it best in Lost In Translation: "It's the most terrifying day of your life the day the first one is born. Your life, as you know it, is gone, never to return. But they learn how to walk and they learn how to talk, and you want to be with them. And they turn out to be the most delightful people you'll ever meet in your life."

Anyway, the days' activities will be getting under way any minute. I know they'll be giving me cards and a few gifts today (new Stephen King book, hello?), and I have a sneaking suspicion the family's going to hijack me to my favorite breakfast place (it's the Coffee Cup Cafe in case you get the urge to treat me sometime).

Whatever they have in store for me this Father's Day, I want them to know the very best gift they can give me, the one I'll never get tired of, the one I want most, the one I'll always want, is more time with them.

So maybe take the tie back.

Drinking it all in

I don't think I have to tell you that over five years ago, I wrote a post about the many, many branch offices I work out of.

And by branch offices I mean Starbucks.

You may be a little cynical and think I'm bringing this up because it's a Saturday night, and I'm too lazy to think of anything new to write about. Well, no. Not entirely.

The reason I bring it up is because today I found myself working on a freelance gig at the Sunset Beach Starbucks for a few hours. And I noticed the customers who came in and out were very, how you say, beachy.

I've never worked at that office before. But I decided to widen my horizons a bit. I was tired of seeing the same people at the ones I usually work at. Plus it was a hot, sunny day and being near the water sounded like a good idea.

It made me realize even when I'm doing the same thing, there's a way to change it up. It's a lesson I could probably apply to a few other areas of my life.

I know, I should write fortune cookies or Hallmark cards - what can I say, that's what I thought.

I think I'm going to institute a new policy: every time I go work at a Starbucks, it's going to be a different one. God knows there isn't a shortage of them. I think seeing different kinds of people - how you say, clientele - helps the creative process along. That alone is reason enough to work there.

Well, that and a half-caf venti Carmel Macchiato.

Secret identity

I'm just going to say it: Bruce Jenner's story and struggle resonated with me. And in light of Rachel Dolezal’s revelation she’s always identified as black, I feel inspired and moved to come out, and reveal the truth about who I feel I really am in my heart and soul since I was born.

I can now say this with pride: I identify as rich.

I relate to the rich experience. As long as I can remember, I’ve spent money when, where and as much as I’ve wanted, never concerned about running out or if more will come to replace it. I've gone to great lengths to change my appearance and behavior to look rich.

For example, I enjoy sushi immensely. And really, do people who aren’t rich drop a c-note on raw fish and sticky rice for dinner nearly as often as I do? Of course they don't. No sane person does.

Would a non-rich person take their car to the dealer to be repaired, knowing full well they'll pay at least twice what they'd pay at an authorized independent mechanic? I have my car serviced exclusively at the dealer. I have for years. My rich inner self wouldn't have it any other way.

I’ve operated for years on the philosophy that “if I spend it it will come.” This approach been particularly evident on my visits to Las Vegas. Speaking of which, there are dozens of low-price hotels there, but instead, I choose to stay at the Venetian or Bellagio. I realize what one night costs at these establishments is probably three nights at a significantly lesser hotel like the Tropicana or Flamingo. But I feel like need a shower for even mentioning those other hotels.

It's a reaction the rich often have.

Identifying as rich hasn’t been an easy road. Sometimes the bank, credit card companies and my kids’ piggy bank try to convince me I’m really not rich by birth. Well sure, not on the outside.

On the inside, I'm all champagne dreams and caviar wishes.

Someday I hope society will accept me for who I am and not judge. But until then, I’m willing to suffer the indignities that come with identifying as rich: waiting for the valet. Trying to get change for a hundred. Wearing socks more than once.

Thank you for your understanding and support as I introduce my rich personality to the world.

If you need me, I’ll be at the sushi bar.