Manifesto

Sung to the tune of the Eagles' Desperado:

Manifesto, why don’t you come to your senses

You’ve been full of pretenses for so long now

Oh you’re a hard one

I know that you got your reasons

These words that are pleasin’ you

Don’t matter no how

Fancy sentences don’t impress judges boy

You know they’re just a fable

They’re wanted by a client you ain’t met

Now it seems to me award shows

Like the ones you see on cable

Leave you filled with nothin’ but regret

Manifesto, oh, you ain’t getting shorter

Cause it’s the first quarter, the budget’s approved

And creative, oh creative, well that’s just some people talkin’

Your prison is balkin' when good words are removed

Write a spot you’re proud of this time

Don’t squander it you’re in your prime

It’s the only way to get an increase in pay

You’ll have your highs and lows

Ain’t it funny how this assignment blows, cliché

Manifesto, why don’t you come to your senses

They’ve paid your expenses, go write something great

It’s now or never, a book piece is just what you’re needin’

You better stop your concedin’

You better stop your concedin’

You better stop your concedin’

Before it’s too late

Calling in well

Anyone can call in sick. When you’re fighting muscle aches, nausea, diarrhea and a 101-degree fever it’s a no brainer.

Of course, we’ve all been around those people who drag their sorry selves in no matter what, looking like they just finished auditioning for Contagion II. For some inexplicable reason – perhaps an overdeveloped sense of importance, a crippling fear of being fired if they miss a day, or just to get even with everyone they work with who don’t give them the recognition they deserve, they feel it’s their civic duty to keep working until they drop.

But if you ask anyone who’s ever worked with me, after they stop denying it, they’ll tell you in no uncertain terms that’s never been my problem.

Sniffles? Home for three days. That’s the spirit.

I used to work with this guy at an agency who would occasionally call in well to work. He’d wake up in the morning feeling great, optimistic, ready to take on the world. On those days, he’d call the agency, get someone on the line and say, “I won’t be in today. I feel too damn good to come to work.”

I’m all in favor of the concept.

Some shops give you a couple mental days or personal days off a year. I suppose they think you should use those if you’re going to call in well. I think it’s a matter of expanding the definition of sick. As in, it would make me sick to go into work feeling this good.

Which brings me to another point (assuming I had one in the first place): maybe it’s time to reconsider the name “sick days.” If people are going to start calling in well – as they should – the days allotted should reflect that policy.

Maybe a combination of sick and well, a term that would define and describe the days for exactly what they are. Let’s call them Swell Days™.

Although technically, that could be any day you’re not in the office.

The feel good post of the season

Jerry Maguire put it best. "We live in a cynical world. A cynical world."

Don't get me wrong, between Wall Street, both political parties, big pharmaceutical companies, police training, Donald Trump and Kim Kardashian there's a lot to be cynical about.

But sometimes, for myself anyway, I find that intentionally or not, I'm a little too immersed in my own cynicism. I'll use it as a launchpad for some sarcastic line, usually a cheap - albeit very clever and original - shot. Sometimes I'm in it so deep, I forget there are reasons to suspend at least part of my cynicism every once in awhile.

There are still people living by the Golden Rule: treat others as you'd like to be treated. And every once in awhile, it's nice to have my faith in humanity restored.

I work in advertising: it doesn't happen nearly often enough.

Anyway, when I see videos like these, some which you may have seen, they make me feel something I haven't felt about humanity in awhile.

Hopeful.

The right attitude

I don't think there's anyone who knows me, as much as anyone can know anyone, who'd argue the fact that I've gotten complaining down to an art form. I'm not proud.

Anyway, I thought it'd be good for me and everyone within earshot if I tried developing a different skill. So I'm choosing gratitude.

It's dawned on me, more than once, that in the scheme of things - the big picture - I have it pretty damn good in almost every area of my life. Not as good as some, but I'd be willing to bet better than most. And it's not that I'm ungrateful - quite the opposite in fact. But what I do know is I could make a more frequent habit of practicing gratitude. Maybe turn it into an everyday thing, because everyday, there's something to be grateful for.

It could start every morning. My pal Cameron always says any day above ground is a good day. So waking up each morning seems like a good thing to be grateful for.

I don't work in insurance or the fast food industry. I don't work on an assembly line. Not that there's anything wrong with those jobs. But I'm grateful I have a job that lets me make up stuff and dress like a fifteen-year old everyday.

I could've wound up working with a bunch of stiffs, boring people who make the long days even more excruciating than they already are. Instead, (almost) no matter which agency I'm at, I'm grateful I get to work with some of the funniest, most creative people in any business.

My wife and kids are healthy and love me.

My two dogs are healthy and love me.

My neighbors are healthy.

I'm finding it's doing me good to have an attitude of gratitude, even for the little things.

Finding a parking space when I turn in the lot.

Not having to wait in the slow line at the market.

Walking up to the washer just as it finishes the cycle.

I'm grateful for my friends, who support, encourage and uplift me in all my endeavors and wild schemes. I mean my current friends. I cut the whiners and complainers loose long ago - no time for them. I'm grateful I did that as well.

So that's all I wanted to say. No snarky post, no quippy little end line tonight. I'll wrap it up by saying I'm grateful to everyone who reads this on a regular, semi-regular or occasional basis.

That's it. Now I'm done with this post.

See? I even gave you something to be grateful for.

Yum Kippur - 2015 edition

Why is this day different from any other day? Because today, I'm going to do something I don't usually do. No, not write a post worth reading. Instead I'm going to post a three-year old post about Yom Kippur. The holiest holiday on the Jewish calendar starts this evening, and yet my feelings about it haven't changed in the last three years. Hence the repeat posting. Like someone once said, "Why do they call it a fast if it goes so slow?" I got nothing. Anyway, enjoy this well-aged, classic holiday post. And when YK is over, eat bubbie, eat.

Quick, how many Jews does it take to blog about Yom Kippur? All of 'em.

Not that the internet needed another blogpost about it, what with this fine post at Round Seventeen, and this swell one at Ad-Aged. But I thought what the hell, I'm just sitting here: I may as well write one. After all, we're not supposed to eat today, but apparently typing is still on the table (see what I did there?).

As I've posted before, I'm not really much of a practicing Jew. I don't know if it's because of four long years of Hebrew school and being bar mitzvah'd, or in spite of it. But as a result, whether I want to be or not, I'm still hard-wired to recognize the holiest day on the Jewish calendar. And because Catholics, despite what they think, have never had the market on guilt cornered, I can't help feeling like I should be more of a participant in the customs and traditions of this day. But here's the thing: for me, actually observing it would be a bit hypocritical. Somewhat akin to all the Jews who, since they're not supposed to drive today, make a proud point of walking all the way to the synagogue.

From the parking lot.

Yom Kippur is the one day we're supposed to reflect on and atone for our sins of the past year. I'm not bragging, but I think we both know it's going to take more than one day.

Besides, there isn't a day that goes by that I'm not constantly thinking about my sins. Since we're supposed to be fasting on this holy day, each year Yom Kippur only serves to narrow down the sin I should be focusing on most.

Gluttony.

Book report

I don't make a lot of money from this blog. And by a lot I mean none.

However being in advertising, it's occurred to me from time to time I probably could break open a few corporate wallets by selling ad space on here. After all, the very desirable demographics of my readership are the same as Disneyland's - 8 to 80. Plus it is the happiest blog on earth, so there's that.

Advertisers would have a direct line to the 11 people who read this blog on a regular basis. I know that may not sound like much, but it's 11 people they wouldn't have otherwise.

Before I go climbing up the corporate ladder asking for money, I probably should have proof of concept: an example of how well advertising might work on this site, and could work for them.

So as a trial run, I'm going to plug my pal Rich Siegel's book, Round Seventeen & 1/2: The Names Have Been Changed to Protect the Inefficient.

The title comes from his popular blog of the same name. In it, Rich covers a diverse variety of topics like advertising, sex, the situation in the middle East, why he sucked at being a creative director and poo. More than one post about poo.

Alright, maybe not exactly the same demographics as Disneyland.

Anyway, I haven't read the book yet. But I had lunch with Rich a couple weeks ago, and I did get to hold a proof copy of it. And I have to say, I was duly impressed. It had everything the great, classic books throughout time have had.

There are pages, lot's of 'em. And on almost every single page, words. Lots of 'em. Like Moby Dick and The Bible, it also has a front cover and a back cover.

What more do you need to know? If you need a good laugh, and really, who of us doesn't, then pick up a copy of his book today. You can order your copy here.

And once you're done with it, if you don't mind I'd like to borrow it. Because, you know, twelve bucks is twelve bucks.

Tired

A lot of people would say it's manipulative of me to post a picture of a cute puppy, who's obviously so tired it can't keep its eyes open.

I agree. It would be if the picture had nothing to do with my post, which fortunately it does.

Because that's how tired (and cute) I feel tonight.

For whatever reason, I haven't slept well the past week. A couple hours at a time at most, up for an hour, then a couple more. That kind of interrupted sleep pattern, together with Friends reruns at 3:30 in the morning takes a toll. And tonight I'm paying it.

So I'm going to do something I haven't done in a very long time ("Put up an interesting post!" I heard that). I'm going to bed early.

I start a new gig tomorrow, and I want to be refreshed and ready to tackle a couple things: the assignments waiting for me, and scoping out new sushi places for lunch. Not necessarily in that order.

Anyway, as this Sunday night winds down - at least for me - let me wish you what I wish for myself: A great nights' sleep, sweet dreams and a cool breeze to carry you away on.

I'll save Scarlett Johansson and the winning lottery ticket for another post.