Encore post: No know how

As I've written about on here before, I'm about to embark on a bold, new, money-sucking, patience-straining, marriage-testing, argument-inducing adventure: my kitchen and living room remodel.

Like everyone who goes down this road of no return, my journey began at Home Depot and Lowe's. The wife and I didn't just go there to get ideas about bathroom vanities, kitchen sinks, drawer pulls and countertops. We were also armed with a list of items from our contractor we had to either purchase or make decisions on before they start.

If you know anything about me, you know I like figuring out how things work and, if needed, could MacGyver a way into building a house from the ground up using only a hammer, spatula, paper straws and lawn grass.

Nah, I'm just funnin' you. I can't put together a bookshelf from Ikea. But I can tell you the first film Jeff Goldblum was in—that's gotta be worth something at some point.

Where was I? Oh, right. So to paraphrase Blanche DuBois in Streetcar Named Desire, when it comes to construction I do depend on the knowledge of strangers. Of course it helps if the strangers actually know more than I do. And while there are a lot of scary things about this process, not least among them is the frightening fact I may already have more answers to my questions than the people who work at Home Depot or Lowe's. That just ain't right.

The good news is the big box hardware and lumber stores aren't the only game in town. Fortunately, thanks to a trusted recommendation, we discovered the family-owned Faucets & Fixtures in Orange. They have a quiet little storefront in a not great section of Tustin Avenue that comes nowhere near tipping its hand to the remodeling wonderland waiting inside.

In an experience that was a first, their employees know all about the inventory and are able to answer all the questions. "Yes it comes in polished nickel, but it's plastic-y on the inside." "You can get the one-piece Memoirs toilet, but the two-piece is about $400 cheaper." "That's a stock medicine cabinet, but we can custom build one for you no problem." "The sink is ten inches deep, but the porcelain finish is brighter and thicker on that one." The store has a big selection, yet isn't overwhelming.

I could make a hundred trips to Home Depot and Lowe's, and never get as much done as we accomplished in a couple hours at Faucets & Fixtures with our man Austin.

The point is this-once you've had knowledgable, friendly, patient customer service, there's no going back. It's like going from J.C.Penny to Nordstrom. Stater Bros. to Trader Joe's. Winchell's to Starbuck's (Those are big corporations, but you get my continental drift).

From now on, it's mom and pop, family-owned, highly recommended merchants for all things having to do with the remodel and beyond.

And in case you're looking to win a bar bet, his first movie was Death Wish.

Fall back

Ooops I did it again.

I'm actually not a clumsy person, but you wouldn't know it from this post. Or this one. Subconsciously it may be because I believe in the rule of three more strongly than I thought, because this will be the third post I've done about me falling hard and flat on my back like a ton of bricks.

Fat, Jewish bricks.

Here's what happened.

I was minding my own business, doing award-winning, crowd-pleasing, results-getting, competition-killing, raise-worthy work at my bedroom desk for my 100% remote job with the world's leading cybersecurity company. In the course of that vitally important work, I make it a point to stay hydrated.

As one does.

Since it was just after noon, I started out to the kitchen to see if there was something good hiding out in the fridge for lunch. But before I got there, I turned around and went back to my desk to clear two water glasses (see hydration above) and put them in the dishwasher.

Are you with me so far? We're coming up on the part where the hardwood floor breaks my fall. And almost my back.

As I reached for the glasses, my very fashionable yet reasonably priced Vionic flip-flops got caught between the plastic desk chair mat and the area rug it overlaps. I started falling forward, water glasses in hand. Then I thought, let's see if I can put my early years as a danseur with the New York City Ballet to good use—if I turn, maybe I can slow my roll by grabbing the edge of the bed. The glasses went flying from my hands. I tried grabbing the bed and missed, which isn't easy cause that sucker is a two kids, two adults and two dog accommodating California King.

Thanks to the inertia, momentum, velocity and enormous amount of gravity at work, that giant thud you heard a little after noon PST today was me.

As luck—my luck—would have it, I was home alone: my daughter has a big time advertising job and had to go into her real office to work, and the wife had to take our German Shepherd Ace to the vet for some blood work. So I laid there a minute on the floor, my back screaming every swear word it knows at me, and tried to figure out how I was going to stand up.

The answer was fast. I sat up, grabbed the bed for leverage and got myself up off the floor. With that one move, it quickly became apparent my back wasn't going to be done swearing and screaming at me any time soon.

Just like my high school girlfriend.

Fortunately I had an acupuncture appointment this afternoon, so I managed to lower myself into my thirteen-year old Lexus ES350 (I really need a car with higher ground clearance) and went. And instead of working on my feet (long story, another post), he worked on my back.

It felt better for a little while afterwards. I don't know if it was physical or mental, but you can say that about most things with me.

So tonight, it's the heating pad on and off every twenty minutes, trying to keep the grunting sounds every time I move to a reasonable volume and not moving around too much. With any luck it'll start to feel better in the morning, and I'll be in for a quick recovery in the coming days.

Of course, the bad news is my Cirque du Soleil audition is off for now.

Encore post: Non-essential personnel

There’s been a great deal of discussion about essential and non-essential workers these past ten months. In the middle of a devastating pandemic, we quickly found out who we absolutely needed and who we could live without.

And the surprises weren’t all that surprising.

The people we take for granted day in and day out—grocery checkers and stockers, delivery people. Obviously the frontline medical heroes. The under siege postal workers (buy stamps). People who keep security and infrastructure going. As well as a long list of others.

And hey, you'll never guess who wasn’t considered essential. Give up? I hate for you to hear it this way but it's people who work in advertising agencies. I know, I’m as shocked as you are.

But here's something we know deep down in those places we don't talk about: the harsh reality is that was true even before the pandemic. And it’ll be true after.

Truth can be such a cruel mistress.

Come to find out in a non-existent survey not conducted by Gallop, that in the time of Covid, turns out people across every demographic—including some that haven’t even been segmented yet—actually set priorities about what's essential and what isn't.

While people are busy worrying whether a cough is just a cough or whether it's a debilitating virus that's going to have them fighting for their lives in the ER, oddly enough they don’t consider banner ads, screen takeovers, wild postings, commercials of any kind (with the exception of those two Match.com Satan ads), radio spots repeating the phone number three times, bus shelters, outdoor, paid social, email, direct response tchotchkes (no I didn't look up the spelling, yes it's correct), online surveys, YouTube pre-rolls, theater ads that piss you off before the movie (remember movies?), product placement in those movies, brochures, endcaps, welcome kits and more essential.

Even more non-essential? People who create them.

But fear not fellow agency people. Remember that many great artists aren't appreciated in their own time. Eventually this too shall pass, and people will come out of the plague culture and discover they hold a deep appreciation and fond nostalgia for all the ads they saw that began with "These are challenging times..." and ended with "We're in this together."

Someday the world at large will see the sense in theoretically normal-thinking adults putting their health and the health of loved ones at risk to bring them commercials that involved people breaking into dance for no reason, running footage, bite and smiles and people who aren't doctors but play one on television.

You know, the same as usual except now the people in them wear masks.

I've heard the arguments: we're keeping the economy going during a bad time. Bringing information people would have no. other. way. of getting. Setting an example by being at work, etc.

I got news for you. Essentially, you're kidding yourself.

Encore post: Client rewrites

I'm doing something right now I'd advise anyone writing a blog not to do. I'm writing this post while I'm extremely pissed off. I know what you're thinking, "But Jeff, you're usually so funny and easygoing and levelheaded, what could possibly put you in such a foul mood?"

Well, I'll tell you. Clients who want to be copywriters.

There's a story I may have told before here, but it bears repeating. Paul Keye, who owned Keye Donna Perlstein, one of the great Los Angeles creative shops that isn't around anymore, wasn't just the creative director. He was also a copywriter, and a great one at that. He was presenting his work at a client meeting, and the client was being particularly dickish about it. Finally the client made some bullshit, insignificant, arbitrary change, like "the" to "a". He looked up at Paul and said, "What can I say Paul, I'm a frustrated copywriter."

To which Paul took a beat, then replied, "No, I'm the frustrated copywriter. You're an asshole."

Any copywriter who's been in the ad biz more than ten minutes has had the joyless experience of the client reworking their copy, with total disregard for what goes into creating it. Even when they like the copy, clients rarely get the nuance, cadence, subtlety, humor and rhythm of words well written. One of the most common places they take refuge is "I don't get it, how will any of our customers?"

Respect from clients for consumers intelligence is harder to find than a Christmas bonus.

Don't get me wrong: I'm sure occasionally a client will contribute something positive and helpful that doesn't make the copy sound like a strategy statement. Just like occasionally I believe I'll win the lottery, or Scarlett Johansson will return my calls.

If you think I'm painting clients in broad strokes and generalizations, take a look and listen to TV and radio commercials tonight. They were all client approved before they got there. We'll talk about the ratio of good to bad when you're done.

Originally this post was going to be about the subject of overthinking, but then I realized it's essentially the same thing. Clients examine copy with a magnifying glass the consumer will never use—assuming they even read the copy in the first place (you know the old saying).

It is endlessly frustrating with one client. The good news however is I have several who've been chiming in on how they think it should read. Copy by committee. Mmmm mmmm good.

Here's what I try to think about to keep it all in perspective. When Goodby had the notoriously bad Carl's Jr. account, they insisted on rewriting virtually everything that was presented to them. When asked about it, Jeff Goodby allegedly said, "It's a great deal. They write the copy and pay me." After it left, Goodby apologized to the staff for taking the business in the first place.

Whenever a creative chimes in with anything unflattering about the client, they're usually met with the fact that the client pays the bill and can have it the way they want. Thanks, but we already know this. I pay my doctor bills, but I don't get to tell him how to do the surgery. But then medicine isn't a collaborative sport like advertising. Which leads me to another thing: we're not curing cancer here. Don't get me started.

Here's the thing: this isn't my first rodeo. I know clients are always going to be changing copy, sometimes with the genuine intention of thinking they're making it better. And sometimes just because they're frustrated copywriters.

So I'll try to keep Jeff Goodby's comment in mind, along with my own personal motto.

The checks clear.

You may already be a wiener

Seems you can’t go a day without reading or hearing about a labor shortage hitting one industry or another. Well, here’s the good news. Opportunity is knocking where you’d least expect it.

Oscar Meyer is looking for Wienermobile drivers.

You’re probably asking yourself the same question I did: Where do I sign? Before you make the jump and become an official “Hotdogger,” you should know there are some other responsibilities that go along with the position besides just riding around all day with a giant wiener.

Which, trust me, isn’t as easy as it sounds.

Anyway, here’s part of the job description on their recruitment site:

To represent Oscar Mayer as a brand ambassador through radio and television appearances, newspaper interviews, grocery retail and charity functions. To “meat” and greet people from coast to coast.

So far, so good. But if you take a closer look, there’s a little line they managed to slip in there that would have me clenching my buns:"To maintain company car". Apparently you’re expected to keep that giant wiener up and running.

Don’t quote me on this, but I’m guessing it's not covered by AAA. So let’s say your giant wiener keeps going down. Now what do you do? You're gonna have search for a tow truck to rent, and the last thing you want is to be seen pulling your big wiener across state lines. AmIrite?

It seems to me wiener maintenance like oiling and polishing it should be provided by the Oscar Meyer company. I mean really, is it that hard?

Anyway, if you’re up for the challenge, or as the site says, ”Do you cut the mustard?” , you can always send in an application and see what happens.

I don’t relish the idea of waiting for an answer, but you might handle it better.

Streaming service

Trust me, this isn’t one you’ll want to watch.

If you take a quick cruise through any tech store or online site, there are a plethora of consumer-ready technologies designed to make life more convenient and productive. And all of it is produced with the best intentions. But like me trying to do home repairs, some things are best left to the professionals.

Case in point is this little device that would never have been invented had there not been an anxious world and grateful nation clamoring for it. The U-Scan. It's a miniaturized health lab that attaches to your toilet bowl and collects urine for home urine screening.

So how do you know if urine need of it?

Well if you’d prefer to be spared the indignity of peeing in a cup at your doctor’s office—something I personally always enjoy for both target practice and hand-eye coordination—you’ll probably be one of the first in line for this smart device. Of course as I write this I have to ask myself how smart it can really be sitting in a toilet all day.

But then I freelanced at Jordan McGrath so who am I to judge.

The U-Scan can run a variety of different test results and analysis for things like specific gravity (as opposed to unspecified gravity), PH, vitamin C and keytone levels. It also provides ideal hydration levels and protein-vegetable balance.

Although I imagine if you’ve had asparagus lately the results are going to be wildly skewed.

The point is I like showing off things I can do remotely with my smartphone like turning on the lights, setting my alarm system, starting my car, switching on the DVR remotely. But do I really need it to show me how my pee is doing on any given day? No. No I do not.

Anyway if you have an inkling, or in this case a tinkling, that this is going to be something you just have to have, urine luck. The U-Scan will be on sale in the US soon pending FDA approval.

And don't worry if some people feel they have to judge and shame you for it.

You can always just tell them to piss off.

Venting

The reason this post is called Venting is because I didn’t want there to be any confusion. I don’t know where your mind wanders to every now and again, but I wanted to make sure no one took a quick glance at this picture in passing and thought “Is Jeff posting one of his -oscopy before pictures?”

Well if there’s such a thing as a vent-oscopy™ then yes.

What you’re in fact looking at is the before picture of the vent from my dryer to the outside world.

Here’s the thing. When we did our big fancy remodel a few years ago, we got fancy new appliances because it’s just money amirite?

Anyway, there’s a sensor on the dryer control panel that lights up Christmas tree red that says "check air flow." It used to only come on once in awhile, and being the Mr. Fixit kind of guy you know me to be I attended to it the way I attend to most mechanical things that need fixin'.

I ignored it.

But then, after five years, that little red light became a regular thing. Apparently just swiping the lint filter clean every now and again—which i actually do know how to do—isn’t enough.

It just so happened we were on the schedule for our heating and air conditioning service to come out to inspect and clean the main system ducts in the attic. And of course, we uttered the three most dangerous words you can ever say to a contractor or repair service.

“While you’re here…”

They came out, cleaned all the ducts in the attic and then went to work showing off their magic roto-duster thing on the dryer vent.

As you can see from the after picture, this isn’t the first time they’ve done this. Sparkling clean, sensor light off and good to go for another year since we’re now on the annual plan.

I’m not bragging here and I’m also not posting pictures, but I think you should also know that all my personal -oscopy pictures are just as sparkling clean as this one.

You're welcome.