Here’s to the Crazy Ones…

I admit it. I’m crazy. And for the most part I’m okay with that – not that I have a choice. Ever since I can remember I’ve been aware of my, shall we say, unique perspective on the human condition – or my condition anyway. I wasn’t like the other kids. And I’m not like the other men. And while that can prove irksome at cocktail parties, or at times to my wife, it is simply reality.

Fortunately, I was able to forge a very successful career in advertising, where tempered crazy mixed with hard work is called creativity. Finding compelling ways to persuade people into believing in a product, brand or service requires more than a sound strategy; it demands a unique intuition. Crazy good ideas are hatched from crazy good minds. On good days I was crazy.

Like a lot of crazies, I ran into trouble “augmenting” that reality with drugs and alcohol but those days are thankfully over. I accept the way my mind works, even relish it, and am “aware” in ways no artificial stimulation can simulate.

Going deeper, I’ve come to the conclusion that for a great many of “us” being crazy is merely being more wholly aware than most so-called “normal” people. I am aware of my demons and defects and, for the most part, have learned how to live with them and even play with them. They can be muses. Pandora’s Box can be opened and shut. Yes, depression and anxiety are a part of it. And this is not always a small price to pay (see the preceding paragraph). So be it.

Looking at the world, we see chaos. In religion. In politics. In every other Instagram feed. Millions upon millions of people acting crazy but not identifying as crazy. Speaking and voting and even killing and not aware of it as crazy. Are the multitudes normal or just in hopeless denial?

We crazy ones know the difference. That doesn’t make us “better than” or “less than” but it makes us saner.

(Author’s note: The above anthem is the never-aired version with voice over by Steve Jobs. In retrospect, I prefer it to the read given by Richard Dreyfuss.)

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My home office: a cheap cigar, a Diet Coke and thou!

Oh, dear blog what shall I write? It’s been more days than I like to spend away from you. But work, family and the great outdoors call me away. That and the whole wide rest of the Internet. The last one is the big devourer of time. What with my shows, that video and this movie.

Often when I’m riding my bike or waiting to fall asleep I think of a killer topic. But then I forget it. I guess it wasn’t so killer after all. More likely I realize the topic is just not right for this forum. New things we are working on at the agency are not appropriate for public consumption. Nor are many of the intrigues we are experiencing. I’ve learned over time, often the hard way that discussing certain items on a blog violates the trust others have put in me. However compelling a challenge at work or home may be, this cannot be the place for it.

My ego is a strong influence. The devil may care, it says. Write, chicken shit, write! It is my lone frenemy.

Here’s the hard part. For provocative and challenging issues I often need to write about them in order to know what I really think, feel and believe. My first thought –Run! Fight! Drink!- is typically not the right one. This blog has been a perfect sounding board for my thoughts to marinate into sound ideas. Until it isn’t. In my last engagement, the agency PR guy came to loathe this blog for my self-disclosure and truth telling. Ironically, he now works at Facebook.

Like you, I am also caught up in the sad, maddening melee of modern culture and politics. What is going on with our police? Were they always this freewheeling with their pistols and we didn’t know about it? And then there is Donald Trump. So much has been said about so much he has said. Somehow he leads the polls to be the GOP candidate for President of these United States. What’s even more unbelievable is that he has made an enemy of Fox News. He would be their torch bearer! In the end, the Democrats need only put out mashed potatoes and win. Hillary you are one lucky woman.

But this blog isn’t about those things. Or so I thought when I sat down to write.

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Girls, Girls…

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And more girls.

A while back, Kim Kardashian made a sex video with some random bozo and became improbably famous, fetishizing her big boobs and ass. Shortly thereafter, the E! network launched the “groundbreaking” reality series, Keeping up with the Kardashians, fetishizing not only Kim’s big boobs and ass but her sisters as well. We also met her mom and dad and other bozos and ding-a-lings.

Later, Kim has sex with a decidedly non-random bozo and new husband, Kanye West, creating a baby, enabling her/them yet even more fame…if that’s even possible.

But stop the presses!

Because now her stepfather, Bruce Jenner has officially changed his sex to female, breaking the Internet. A “Sideshow Bob” for years on The Kardashians, “Call-Me-Caitlyn” Jenner is now the biggest get since, well, Kim Kardashian.

What do they all have in common? Sex. Having it. Changing it. Selling it. The entire Kardashian dynasty is built on sex. I don’t know if that’s cool or pathetic. Likely both. But it’s a stone-cold fact.

Sex sells. Nothing new about that. And in the first years of the 21st century nobody does it better than the Kardashians.

But what provokes me is the cloak of gravitas so many people are wont to attach to this collection of fetishes. The Kardashians are entrepreneurs! Kim is a social media expert! Caitlyn-Bruce Jenner is a brave pioneer. I’m not denying they have untold fame, followers and fortune I’m just calling bullshit on the agenda. The Kardashians want attention on an epic scale. If along with the material benefits come various side effects resembling social change so be it. It gives the Today Show a new angle into this clan morning moms can appreciate.

The Kardashians are nothing without parlaying their boobs and asses. Which now includes Caitlyn.

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All the news that’s fit to share…

Have you noticed how online journalism and media purveyors have increasingly tarted up and/or dumbed down their content? Things have gotten way more visual, mimicking the look of Instagram and Pinterest. Echoing Buzzfeed and other pseudo journalism sites, we see more and more lists of dubious nature populating web pages: Top ten this. Worst 20 that. Native advertising and news stories are now slurry. No secret why. Editors want consumers. Publishers want advertisers. Both need more and meaningful clicks to survive.

Oh, and you like this shit. (Not me. I’m impervious to salacious come ons and all those sweet, sweet lists.)

In one respect, this is nothing new. Sensationalism has permeated journalism since it began. Whether it’s creepy crimes or naked ladies or both, newspapers have always flirted with the devil. Boobs sell papers. “If it bleeds it leads.”

Yet, what’s different here -and more insidious, in my opinion- is the meshing of bullshit with the news. An obscenity-laden video featuring ghetto trash fighting in McDonald’s is presented as a news story. The “ten outfits no woman over 30 should ever own” is displayed in the same space as an article about foreign policy. Throwback Thursdays. Monday Mug Shots. Fail videos. It’s stupid content just for the hell of it. Gone are the obvious markers for “advertisement” or “paid for by.” So, why would any reader-obsessed editor put this stuff on a separate entertainment-only page? You don’t hide the chum, fool. Put dat shit where people can see it. Stink up dem waters. We. Need. Clicks.

I get it. I really do. Still, it’s sad when journalists start putting inappropriate hyperbole in their copy. Suddenly, everything is “fascinating” or “terrifying” or “hilarious.” Aren’t we -the reader- supposed to be the judge of that?

The immense and growing popularity of Buzz Feed, Reddit, Devoured, Huff Post and countless other content buffets make it impossible for struggling news sites and online magazines to ignore, let alone exist.

Oh, and we like this shit.

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Pablum or gold? Both.

The most watched show on broadcast TV is The Big Bang Theory. A few weeks ago each of its primary cast inked deals worth a million dollars per episode. Last decade the big show was Charlie Sheen’s Two and a Half Men. The decade before that it was Friends. In the eighties I don’t recall. Was it Cosby?

So these are the shows that define the decades in American popular culture. Not Mad Men. Not Breaking Bad. Those shows get all the press but TBBT gets all the viewers. Like it or not, it is these slickly made and arguably idiotic sit-coms that tell the tale of us.

What is it about certain ensemble comedies that keep young professionals glued to broadcast TV? They all feature a big star or create one (Charlie Sheen, Bill Cosby, Jennifer Aniston, Jim Parsons) but I think it’s the fluffy familiarity that attracts so many worker bees to the flame. After whatever kind of day one had at work (be it hectic or dull) these shows are like down comforters we can sink into. The “vast wasteland” is comfy as hell.

They don’t challenge us. On the contrary they make us feel content. We look forward to the mild dysfunction surrounding these characters the same way we look at their signature haircuts (the Jennifer!) and colorful wardrobe (Bill Cosby’s hideous sweaters and Charlie’s doushbag bowling shirts).

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Talk about wardrobe malfunction… And we do!

While I happen to think TBBT is the dumbest show of the lot I’m sure that has more to do with my age than the show itself. I won’t lie. As cool as I think I am I once watched Friends fairly religiously and liked it.

Which brings me to the Simpson’s. Here is a show that has defied the decades as well as the odds. Yet, at the risk of sounding pretentious (and white and male), it was and still sometimes is the writing that makes the Simpson’s a true cornerstone in popular culture.

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One couch fits all!

Yet, at it’s core the Simpson’s has a lot in common with TBBT, Friends and the others. It too has its mega stars (Homer & Bart) and there is no question it is an ensemble –the likes of which we’ve never seen before or likely will. Still, it is the mild dysfunction and total familiarity that propel this show into the zeitgeist. Homer’s home. Bart’s school. These indelible locations are no different than the colorful almost tacky sets in all those other shows. We wanted to hang out in Rachel’s apartment or that proto-Starbucks, Central Perk the same way we adore plopping on Homer’s iconic couch or the ones that belong to those nerds on “TBBT.”

Let us hang, we all ask. We won’t get in the way. Let us watch you fall in and out of preening love. Let us watch you get in trouble then fix it. Let us in! We won’t even balk at the laugh track; something, by the way, we find intolerable on truly good shows (like the Simpson’s).

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“Your place or mine?”

Ensemble sitcoms have been around since television itself (The Honeymooners, I Love Lucy) and they have proved over and over and over again to be the most lucrative 22 minutes or so EVER. And while none today (save for maybe the Simpson’s) offer the social commentary or biting observation of an All in the Family, M.A.S.H., or Mary Tyler Moore they clearly don’t want to.

Why, I wonder? Well, I’ll tell you. They don’t have to. After scrubbing leads all day in Media what 34 year-old Chloe wants most is not a tricky satire on race relations or the intolerance of ISIS; she craves a twit remark from Penny and a tarty retort from Sheldon. Throw in a subplot about the new hunky neighbor, who may or may not be gay, and she’s good. We all are.

A final note: I’m not bitching. My intent is not necessarily to disparage your favorite sit com. Compared to The Real Housewives of X, The Big Bang Theory is like Masterpiece Theater. (Look it up.)