No Del hotel

For the first time in thirteen years, I won’t be spending part of the summer looking out at this view from our hotel room (the ocean is off camera to the left). Yes, sadly the family and I won’t be spending our annual week in August at the Hotel Del Coronado.

For starters, our great friend Donna who was the manager there has moved on to a much more rewarding position where her talent, experience and insights are being recognized and appreciated on a daily basis. We couldn't be happier for her, but the place definitely wouldn't be the same without her.

Next, with the arrival of the new general manager a couple years ago, rates at the Del – which were always stupid high – are now exhorbitant. A more cynical person might suggest jacking up the rates is an easy way for the recently installed general manager to artificially inflate the bottom line in the short term to make the numbers and himself look good to his corporate overlords in Chicago at Strategic Hotels, the latest owners of The Del.

But why bring that up at all.

I love the Del, and every summer for the last thirteen years it's been our home away from home. But for $719 a night, not only would I need a better ocean view - they’d have to bring the beach up to the room.

Last but not least, the week we’d normally go happens to be the same week we’re moving young Mr. Spielberg to his out-of-state university to attend one of the nations’ top-rated film schools. So instead of enjoying cool ocean breezes at the Del, we'll be baking in the brick oven that is August in Texas.

I suppose the truth is if we wanted to, we could probably manage to squeeze in an abbreviated trip to the Del before he's off shouting "Action!" - at least a couple days. Unfortunately if the choice is spending $719 a night on a room or putting it towards his out-of-state tuition, the room loses.

So as much as it pains me to say it, goodbye to the Del. At least for this summer.

And while there's consolation knowing the money is going towards his education, there's even more knowing that when he lands his first three-picture deal we'll be back at the Del.

In the big suite.

The Grandstands of Heaven

Every once in awhile, it occurs to me how many people I’ve lost along the way. Can you tell this isn’t going to be one of my more humorous posts?

I suppose it’s no more or less than anyone else. But on those days and nights when I let my thoughts roll around to them, it occurs to me how much I miss my dearly departed friends and family. I was trying to figure out the reason I don’t dwell on it more often than I do, and I think it’s because I still feel surrounded by them. Not in the ooo-eee-ooo kind of way, but in the “they’re never really gone, love never dies, they’re watching over me” kind of way.

I heard a great phrase the other day: the grandstands of heaven. That’s where I believe they’re all sitting, looking down and cheering me on. Of course, since they were my friends and family and probably did some traveling with me while they were here, I'm sure they're sitting in the clubhouse and not the general bleachers.

No flight too short for first class.

Right about now I’m sure some of my atheist friends are having a good laugh at this. It’ll give them something to make fun of and mock, because sometimes being content not believing in God or Heaven just isn't enough. Have at it. I love you anyway, and believe I’ll see you on the other side - even if you don’t.

Anyway, to Jim, George, Babs, Peter, Uncle Jimmy, Pete, Gommie, Jacques, Mark, Paul, Uncle Lou, Mom, Dad and the rest, since I can’t send you a thank you note (postage is outrageous) I want you to know I appreciate your continued support and love, and look forward to seeing you guys again. Not soon, but again. Save me a seat.

By the way, I heard you can eat as much of whatever you want up there and not gain weight. If that’s true, I’d appreciate one of you sending me a sign.

Maybe something like this.

The someday lunch

I understand some things are extremely difficult in life. There are challenges we all have to overcome, sometimes against seemingly impossible odds.

From health issues, to business dealings, family discord, freeway traffic, account planners and bad customer service, there's no shortage of situations lying in wait to test our energy, resourcefulness, commitment and patience.

But I'm thinking lunch shouldn't be one of them.

If you were to ask most people I know about me - and I hope to God you're not doing that - I think the majority opinion would be I'm a bit of a social butterfly. Not exactly a people person, but I do like to chat it up. And I love an audience. If they're laughing at my jokes I love them even more. Which is the reason I didn't love the audience the one time I tried standup at the Comedy Store.

I may be getting off point here.

Anyway, be that as it may, I'm not an easy lunch. I'm selective about the company I keep during lunch hour, especially on days off. On days I'm working, I don't care nearly as much as long as I can get the hell out of the office.

Here's the thing: I have a great friend I love having lunch with. We schedule it as often as we can. Notice I said schedule, and not have. This most recent round has gone five or six times, and we have yet to hit a day that winds up working. For one legitimate reason or another, one of us always has to jump the lunch ship.

It's not like we've never had lunch. We have. Which is why I look forward to it so much, and am disappointed when we can't manage to pull it off.

But I'm convinced persistence will rule the day - I know eventually we'll get together. And when we do, I'll have more stories to tell, and more stories to listen to. Plus by then I'll probably be a little thinner.

So maybe this postponing business isn't so bad after all.

Brace for no impact

My good friend, former office wife and best-selling author Janice MacLeod had a way of putting what we do (what she used to do) in perspective, summing it up in six precise, well-chosen words.

We’re creating a legacy of garbage.

Besides agency holding companies, the digital team and the person who schedules the meetings, I don’t know of anyone who can’t wait for more advertising to burn their eyes. They say the average person is exposed to roughly anywhere between 500 and 7,000 advertising messages a day.

Whichever number is right, it’s too damn much.

No wonder advertising doesn’t have the impact it once did. If it ever really did. Sure there are quantitative and qualitative studies showing the effectiveness of any given message in any medium. Except digital. No one buys anything because of digital, no matter what the guy in the knit cap and ironic t-shirt says.

They can test the results as much as they want, but as an old friend used to say to me, "The only thing testing proves is that testing works."

There’s a lot of job justification that goes on in advertising. It’s the reason Powerpoint was invented. But every time I sit through a presentation where someone is telling me how effective the advertising has been, I’m reminded of William Goldman’s great line about Hollywood: No one knows anything.

Advertised cold bottled water during the heat wave and sales went up? Who could’ve seen that coming?

There are $6000 rebates on cars during December, and year end car sales set records? Must’ve been that exceptional retail car spot, you know, the one with the running footage and giant supers.

I could go into what I think of brand loyalty, but Bob Hoffman over at The Ad Contrarian said it perfectly. I suppose there’s an argument to be made that consumers wouldn’t know about these deals if advertising didn’t tell them. Fair enough, but like so much of retail advertising, the ads are just the messenger. The deal is the closer.

There are only a handful of ads with enough inherent greatness and lasting impact to make you want to talk about them reverentially. The go-to example is the Apple 1984 spot directed by Ridley Scott.

Seeing it thirty years later, it still stands up and stands out as one of the greatest commercials of all time. You can never underestimate the power of a great looking blonde with a sledgehammer.

If I was looking for a profession where I could create something lasting people loved, talked about and made them feel glad every time they saw or thought of it, I might not have chosen this one.

On the other hand, Michelangelo never got to stay in a penthouse at the Essex House for a shoot on the company dime. So I suppose it all evens out.

Missing Murray

He was the mayor in Jaws who wanted to keep the Amity beaches open, even though a great white shark was enjoying swimmers for appetizers.

He was Mr. Robinson in The Graduate, who couldn't bring himself to "shake hands" with Dustin Hoffman.

He was Murray Hamilton, one of the best character actors there ever was.

I know it seems like a random person to be writing a blogpost about. But, as the slogan at the top of the page reminds us all, random is the name of the game here at Rotation and Balance. Besides, I've always had great respect for character actors - this isn't the first time I've sung their praises here.

I can't remember the first time I ever saw Murray Hamilton, though I suspect it was on one of the original Twilight Zone episodes where he played Mr. Death. Of course, like most people, I know him best from Jaws and The Graduate.

Hamilton did all the classic television shows in his long career, which is why he pops up on reruns all the time. Inevitably people recognize him by face, if not by name.

I'm always in awe of people who do great work that stands the test of time, unlike, say, the disposable work no one wants or gives a second thought about in certain professions which will go unnamed.

Anyway, I saw him in some old movie today as I was flipping channels, and was reminded again how much I always enjoyed watching him.

Here's to you Murray Hamilton.

Going postal

I went into the post office the other day to send some books to people. I put the books in the car, went and got the various sized envelopes and mailers, and then stood in line and patiently waited my turn.

When I got up to the counter, as I've done many other times, I asked the counterperson - Phil - if I could borrow some tape to seal the envelopes and tape the labels.

Phil replied, "You know we're not a packaging store." To which I replied, "Oh I know. You're barely a mail delivery service."

Phil begrudgingly handed me a roll of three-inch thick packing tape and no scissors. I walked out, went to the Rite Aid next door, bought some scotch tape, sealed everything and got back in line. Fortunately, I didn't get Phil again, and the counterperson I did have was just as nice as could be.

I went online and wrote a complaint to the Postal Service about my experience with Phil. But I really don't expect much to happen. Maybe they'll send him an email. But as far as his attitude changing, confidence is not high.

While I was proud of myself for having the presence of mind to think of the comeback I had, in retrospect I should've handled it differently. I should've smiled and told Phil I appreciated the tape and could he give me a scissors. I could've said that yes, I understand it's not a packing store but in the past they've been more than happy to accommodate me in that way. And at the end of the transaction, I could've smiled and thanked him for all his help.

But he was a jerk and I let myself turn into one because of it. I'm going to work on that.

I file it under the heading of Lessons I Have To Keep Learning. I cannot let other people's behavior dictate mine. I think it's a more mature way to conduct oneself, and a way of being in the world that will serve me well in the future.

But seriously, this guy was a dick.

That's the ticket

Much to the dismay of both my kids, we weren't the parents that ran out and bought them cars when they got their license. They've had to make do with sharing our cars when they're available - which we do our best to see that they are.

But a few weeks ago, that changed. The wife had been driving a sixteen-year old Land Cruiser, and was next in line for a new car. So she got one.

Not new new. A certified pre-owned, 2012 model with considerably less mileage (19,400) than her current wheels (245,000). We hang onto cars for a long time.

So now, instead of moving two cars in and out of our driveway, we have three to juggle. Which requires considerably more planning than two. It's like one point higher on the Richter scale is a thousand times more powerful quake.

Alright, we know analogies aren't my strong point, but you see where I'm going.

The daily ritual now is who's leaving first, who's coming back with a car at what time and who drives which car. The only thing we know for sure is no one but the wife drives the wife's new car, although recently there's even been some leniency with that rule.

The problem is there are three cars and four drivers. But that'll change in August when young Mr. Spielberg goes off to film school in the blue dot on the great red state of Texas. Needless to say, his sister is quite excited thinking she'll have a car any old time she wants one after he leaves. We won't spoil her little fantasy just yet.

Besides driveway parking, the other situation exponentially worse with the addition of a third car is insurance. We were already paying an arm and a leg to insure everyone. Now the premium has increased to a small fortune. And if one of the teenagers happen to get a ticket, we've been told it gets jacked up to a king's ransom.

Anyway, we'll continue to plan accordingly when it comes to jockeying the cars in the driveway, even if we have to invest in new equipment to do it.

I don't mind. I look pretty good in those little red jackets.