Big dog

If you follow my posts with any regularity – and if you do, a library card would be much more rewarding - you know I’ve written many times about my German Shepherd Max, the World’s Greatest dog.

Max is 90 lbs. He’s a big dog, but I don’t see him that way. It’s because I see him every day, and when I’m rolling around on the floor playing with him, and he’s acting like a puppy (albeit a puppy who could rip my face off with those teeth) I forget he’s a big dog.

But there are occasional reminders.

Like when the pizza delivery guy comes to the door, looks down and sees me holding him by the collar, then jumps back four feet off our front steps. Or when people see me walking him, and they cross the street to give him a wide berth and go around him.

I have to say even though Max is a big dog, he’s the perfect size for me. He’s eleven years old – beautiful, healthy, playful, protective and enjoys a good pizza (delivery person) every now and again. I wouldn't want to bring a dog bigger than he is into the family. Max has been the Alpha dog his whole life, and he's not about to surrender the title now.

I’ve always liked big dogs. Sturdy, hearty, sweet, protective companions I can send with my kids to the liquor store at midnight. ”Daddy needs a beer. Take the dog.”

I’ve never understood the appeal of small dogs. And even if I did, I’ll never understand the reason for embarrassing them and making them feel even smaller by using them as accessories and carrying them in a purse, or a baby Bjorn.

For those of you counting, there were four "them"s in that last sentence.

We have a word for small dogs in my house. They're called “appetizers.”

If it were up to me, and we had the room (and a shovel for cleaning up the back yard), I’d go even bigger. I’d love an Irish Wolfhound. The problem for me isn’t their size, but the fact they only live about six years. They’re heartbreak dogs because they’re in your life and then, just as they've completely staked their claim on your heart, they’re gone.

Another breed I wouldn't mind owning is a Leonburger. Big and lion-like, these gentle giants are sweet tempered and great with everything: kids, other dogs and even cats. Not so nice to strangers though, which works just fine for me.

The problem with the Leonburger - besides the endless burger jokes all the time - "Would you like onions on that?" - is they’re drool puppies. So I'd need someone full-time with a mop, bucket and a lot of patience to follow him around the house and clean up the puddles.

I say I'd need someone because I'm not going to do it.

Now if you'll excuse me, the pizza I ordered is here. Max and I have to answer the door.

Powering down

In an ad agency - excuse me, I mean a fully integrated, digitally progressive, socially engaged, experientially driven, disruption oriented, communications consortium - it's not hard to tell when the holiday season finally arrives. The telltale signs are all around you.

Like the fake Christmas tree in the lobby, the one that's been dragged out of storage and decorated with the same ornaments since 1979.

Emotionally-arrested frat-boy account guys, giggling like baby hyenas and tucking mistletoe in their belts, like they're the first ones ever to do it.

People trampling each other for restroom stalls like it was Black Friday, so they can change before heading out to the debauchery, free bacon-wrapped hors d'oeuvres, open bar and regret-filled morning after that is every agency Christmas party.

But before any of that happens you can see Santa coming to town weeks ahead of time. The agency starts to power down.

Suddenly, attention spans are even less than they normally are. Lunches are longer, because they include shopping time. Starting the first of December, the office begins to thin out as vacations of various lengths start kicking in.

Client meetings get pushed back. You hear a lot of people ask, "What's the difference between getting it to the client the end of the month or the beginning of January? They won't even be there !" Well, you hear me asking.

Laughter happens more often, shop talk happens less often, and there's food and candy everywhere you turn. Which is great, because I was just thinking I wasn't fat enough yet.

If you listen you can hear the agency gears slowly grinding to a halt. It's as if all the hard work, late hours, frustrations, bad client decisions, disappointments, long meetings, pitches, revisions, bad hires and do-overs of the past twelve months have finally caught up with everyone.

And now, as the year comes to a close, they have a chance to finally catch their breath.

One of the great benefits of agency life I wrote about here is the fact many of them close from Christmas Eve day to the first Monday after January 1st. In an age of no bonuses, open offices (don't get me started) and uncovered parking, it's one of the last remaining perks to look forward to.

I'd write more but, you know, it's December. I'm ready to do a little powering down of my own.

But who's counting

Believe it or not, this is my 200th Rotation and Balance post for this year. I know, I'm as shocked as you are.

I think the reason I made it to this particular landmark is I'm an exceptionally prolific writer. I'm also disciplined, making it a point to carve out enough time each day to hone and craft my words so that they convey my thoughts precisely and accurately. Plus I have opinions and things to say on a wide variety of topics - hence the tagline in the header about perfecting random.

You know I'm yankin' your chain right? I just want to have more posts this year than Round Seventeen. So far so good, but the year's not over.

The truth is I enjoy writing the blog, and I've heard rumors at least three of you enjoy reading it. And even though I usually like working a big room, that's enough for me to keep doing it (a grateful nation breathes a sigh of relief).

Anyway, since I have to get my 201st ready tomorrow, I'll keep this short.

I don't have any idea what tomorrow's subject will be, and I haven't set aside any time to write it. Maybe I'll slap it together on my lunch break.

I'm just that disciplined.

Stuck with acupuncture

I know people who always turn to alternative medicine as a first resort. They have all sorts of theories why western medicine is out to kill us with all the toxic, synthetic chemicals that go into them. I keep reminding them penicillin is a natural drug made from bread mold, but for some reason they don't appreciate hearing it.

Barring the terminally broken healthcare system - which is another post entirely - I've always been fairly satisfied with my doctors and western medicine.

For example, I'm a big fan of antibiotics. Sign me up. As I've said here before, if I have a sinus infection, the last thing I'm doing is running to Whole Foods' vitamin section to speak with their granola-eating, patchouli-wreaking, vegan-vitamin-nutritarian to see what combination of herbs and homeopathic whammy-jammy I should take. No thanks.

Instead, I'll have my doctor phone in a Z-Pak to CVS, take the first dose when I go to bed and wake up feeling a hundred per cent better.

Drug resistant strains? Over prescribing? Patients abusing them? What. Ever.

I'm not one to wallow in, court or prolong my misery. If there's a pill, ointment, syrup or vaccine that makes it better, I'm in. Having said that, sometimes there just isn't.

I have a little neuropathy in my feet, so occasionally they feel numb and cold. Something to do with the nerves not communicating with the brain. By the way, if you ask people I work with they'll tell you I haven't had any communication with my brain in years.

Anyway, it's usually caused by diabetes, which I don't have. Sometimes it's just another item on the list of fun things to look forward to as we get older. It's not hurting anything, and is really more of an annoyance than anything else. There's nothing to be done about it.

Or is there?

In researching options for those times it does bother me, I came across study after study that said acupuncture is an effective way to greatly reduce or cure neuropathy. So I'm giving it a try. It's done at a wellness practice near where I live. The doctor takes a health history, asks what the problem is and then starts sticking me with needles in my hands and toes.

There are three good things about the needles: they're sterile, one-use only. They're less than the thickness of one hair. And they don't hurt going in or out. In fact during my session, the doctor asks if I can feel the needles, and the answer is always no.

Of course, my feet are numb so I wouldn't feel them anyway, but still, you know what I mean.

My first rodeo with non-traditional medicine was when I started having arthritis in my wrist that was moving up my arm years ago. I went to a rheumatologist, who prescribed this horse pill called Daypro for the pain. I asked how long I'd have to be on it, and he said the rest of my life. No bueno.

Then my trainer at Gold's Gym - I know what you're thinking, "Jeff, you're such a perfect physical specimen why do you need to go to a gym?" - introduced me to Francois, a practitioner of a healing form of shiatsu. Not the massage kind, the kind where he presses his fingers knuckle-deep into pressure points on my back and neck and I scream bloody murder.

Here's the thing: after five sessions, the arthritis was gone and has never come back. Since then, I've reconsidered my position on alternative medicine.

The acupuncturist said she's had great success with neuropathy like mine. I'll report back in a few weeks and let you know.

I know some of you reading this will dismiss acupuncture outright. Others might even make jokes about it. That's fine, doesn't bother me at all.

If I've learned anything from these treatments, it's that I can take a little needling.

Survey says

Since when did companies become clingy, needy little entities clamoring for approval of every interaction you have with them?

Oh right. Since social media.

Inevitably, every restaurant I eat at is waiting with a survey for me to take to rate them. And, to entice me into doing it, I also get a chance to win a $25 gift certificate! They explain it, circle the website on my receipt, and make it sound like my customer transactional obligations don’t end at paying my bill.

They want me to engage.

At least they don’t flame my inbox the way car dealerships, online merchants and even my doctors’ office does. After every single contact with any of them, invariably the next day in my email is a survey asking me to rate the experience - no matter how miniscule or insignificant it may be.

Look, I’m happy to tell companies what I think. If the service, product, meal or whatever has been spectacular, I’m the first one to sing their praises on Yelp. Conversely, if it’s been awful, then the CEO, President and a few board members of the holding company will get what’s affectionately come to be known as a Jeff Letter, telling them what went wrong and asking them to make it right (Jeff letters have proven to be an extremely effective way to get results – and no, I’m not writing one for you).

This Sally Field-ing (“You like me! You really like me!”) of the American corporation has to stop. If I want them to know about my experience I'll tell them. But for the love of God and all things holy, stop asking me at every turn.

I used to go out with this girl who’d ask me every time there was more than a five second gap in the conversation “What’re you thinking?” What I was thinking was I wish she'd stop asking me that question every five seconds.

This is all driven by the popularity contest that is social media. A platform for instant feedback, now companies have a way of inviting you to "Like" them on Facebook ("You like me!). The more followers, the better the company. Allegedly.

I hear Kleenex and Tide are tied at 8 followers each.

Anyway, that’s it for now. If you wouldn’t mind, please take a few minutes to rate your experience reading this post. Your comments will be used to help improve the quality and subject matter of future posts.

Just messing with you. No matter what you say, this is as good as it gets.

Moving apps

This year, I jumped on the Apple train—again—and ponied up for the iPhone6s Plus. I’d had an iPhone5 for years, but after having to hold its teeny, tiny 4-inch screen near the tip of my nose to watch one too many binges of Breaking Bad and House Of Cards, I decided to trade up to the 6s Plus and its ginormous 5.5-inch screen.

I’ve had apartments smaller than this phone. The good news is all my worrying about not being able to text one-handed, fitting it in my jean pockets (thank God I don’t wear skinny jeans – no one needs to see that) and it not fitting in the cupholder in my car proved to be unfounded.

It only took one week and it was like I’d always been using it. In fact, in the same way my German Shepherd Max - the world’s greatest dog - looked huge at the beginning but doesn't anymore, the 6s Plus doesn’t look big to me unless I put an older iPhone next to it. Max also looks huge no matter what phone is next to him.

So here’s the thing: over the holiday weekend, with a little down time on my hands while I was in between slices of pumpkin pie, I decided I'd take a shot at organizing the bazillion app icons camping out wherever they damn well pleased across five big screens on my phone.

Jumping into action, and by that I mean leaning back in the big reading chair with iPhone in hand, I quickly and cagily figured out my plan of attack. I put travel apps in a folder named Travel. Health apps in a folder named Health. Money and banking apps in a folder named Finances. See where I’m going here?

At the end of it though, I still had a considerable number of orphan apps – including iSamJackson (“Get these motherf#%&ing snakes off this motherf#%&ing plane!"), Police Siren (woooooo and wahhh woooo wahhhh woooo), Basic Spanish (no bueno) and AwesomeFacts (not awesome, not all facts) – that I hardly ever use.

And by hardly I mean never.

They, along with many others, now all reside in one folder appropriately labeled Rarely Used Apps. By doing that I picked up two full screens worth of real estate. Now it’s just a matter of getting in the habit of finding apps that were on screen four on screen one. First world problems and all that.

I love the fact Apple iOS lets me create folders for my apps and clear up the screens, although I have to say I'm not entirely trusting of their motives. I mean, now that I have those two extra screens available, there's only one thing to do with them.

More apps.

Leftovers

I know what you're thinking. Here comes a post about holiday leftovers, turkey sandwiches, tryptophan naps and the best way to store pumpkin pie (kidding - there's never leftover pumpkin pie).

As good as that sounds, no. I'm talking about a different kind of leftovers. The creative kind.

Every person who works in the creative department of an ad agency - copywriter, art director, creative director, producer - has ideas, campaigns, starting thoughts, visuals, jokes, taglines, directors and media placement suggestions for work that never was. Work they loved that, for reasons ranging from "I don't get it" to "It'll scare them," in other words the ridiculous absurd, never saw the light of day. Never made it out the door.

Of course, like holiday leftovers, if stored and handled properly you can always heat them up and serve them at a later time. The word for this, in agency parlance, is "repurposing."

I'm a big fan of repurposing, especially in an era of parody products with extremely little to differentiate them except the advertising. Repurposing works especially well if you're lucky enough to draw a good hand and get a creative director that can't remember what they had for breakfast, much less what you showed them two days ago. The campaign they killed on Monday is the same one they love on Wednesday. Second time's a charm.

A lot of people tsk tsk the idea of leftovers, but it's the word that throws them. Just because an idea's a leftover doesn't mean it's not original. Or entertaining. Or attention getting. Or right for the brand. It just means it was killed the first time, and deserves a second chance - which can come in the form of a new client, new creative director or new agency.

And who among us couldn't use a second chance.

Case in point: I just re-read this post and I'd love a second chance at writing it. And if you've read this far, I'm betting you're willing to give it to me.