Guns and Roses

Homemade ice cream and leather purses. Shoes and frozen yoghurt. Tax returns and taxidermy.

One of the charming things about my little town is that all the businesses here offer an assortment of services. There's no such thing as specialization. I'm sure it has to do with the economy and being a seasonal town and trying to make ends meet and all but it is kind of strange.

Even the kids in town seem afflicted. As I was walking into the dry cleaners and dentist today I noticed a poster on the door announcing that the girls volleyball team and car detailing service were have a spaghetti dinner... with a Chinese flair. It was going to be held at the high school and urgent care center.

I'm probably making way to much of this. Anyway, I have to go to town for an oil change and prostate exam.

Butch and Sundance

I rarely give advice out about a career in advertising other than don't do it. Probably because, until recently, I only had one really good thing to pass along which was to re-type great books. Not only does this give you the ability to really see how great writing is structured but it also improves your typing. A rare one two punch of advice. But now I have another piece of advice to share. Ready, here it is.

Finding the right partner is the most important decision you will ever make in your ad career.

Great clients, shitty clients, the economy, mergers, new CMO's, weather, etc. Most things are out of our control but knowing that you get to face all of the weirdness and uncertainly and stress with someone you can count on to hold up their end or even carry the full load sometimes is a small miracle in a crazy industry.

I am reminded of this because I just spent a few days in Mexico with my partner in the ad world for most of my career, Rick Carpenter. It has been my great fortune that he was my first partner in the business back in 1980 and that we worked together for many more years after that. They were the most productive and enjoyable days I've had in advertising.

So don't think as much about what agency you're going to or what client you're working on or how much they want to pay you. Take a good hard look at who you're going to be working with and then make your decision.

I wish you half the luck I had.

The Pillow People

It must be worth the effort. Otherwise, why would people do it. I'm talking about those people you occasionally see at the airport clutching a pillow to their chest like it was a loved one. Don't get me wrong. I like my pillow but I would never go to the trouble - and let's face it, embarassment- of carrying it around the world with me. There are lots of things I would like to have with me on the road like my mattress, espresso maker, 52" plasma tv, and lounge chair to name a few but I could never justify the effort for the the return. As my old friend Peter DeChellis used to say, "The juice ain't worth the squeeze." Are any of you out there a part of this strange and dedicated group of wackos? Can you help me to understand?

In the meantime, I'll sleep on it.

Signs of the Times

I just spent the last month down in LA and I noticed a disturbing trend while I was there. It seems that City Council Members have taken to putting their names on every little thing they do.

One morning I went for a run on a small strip of grass between some high rise apartments and Admiralty Way and when I got to the end I almost ran into a huge sign announcing that the aforementioned square of lawn was, in fact, the 'Yvonne Burke Memorial Park'. You've got to be kidding Yvonne. I could mow this thing in five minutes with a push mower.

Than, passing over La Cienega a few days later, I saw the 'Honorable Councilman Kenneth Edelmen III Municipal Greenspace Arboritum.' Or some such nonsense

On the PCH heading south from Topanga I passed a beach. It was still called 'Palisades Beach' or something nice but just under that was Seventh District Councilman Zev Yaroslavsky's name in type maybe one point size smaller. Thanks for your discretion Zev.

Sure, it's nice that these beaches and green spaces are happening but isn't that their job. Who decided they could slap their names all over them. Hell, even Lincoln and Washington only put their last names on their monuments in Washington.

But I don't want to seem ungrateful so I'd like to suggest some middle ground. They can keep their names on all the little things they have done to help Angelinos as long as they also put their names on every pothole I almost disappeared into. Deal?

The Time Has Come

Dear 29 Followers.

Thank you so much for your love and support in 2009. Just knowing that you were out there was an inspiration as we prepared for our final mission.

Now the time has come for us all to realize the Master's dream and board his galactic love pod and head to our promised destination in the Nebula Constellation. Remember to pack only 13 lbs in a small blue duffle bag, wear your Fruit of the Loom underwear on the outside and shave the upper half of your body. We will meet at the ordained coordinates at 2:34 AM when I will light the 12 Birthday Candles in honor of LeBron James and then we will board the spacecraft in groups of three.

Backti Shalamakti

mark

347437 Oak Street

I don't get it. I move to a home in the middle of nowhere. Our house in at the end of a 3 mile dirt road populated by maybe a dozen homes. Our mailbox is 4 miles from our front door. Our closest neighbor is a 20 minute walk. Looking out the living room windows I overlook hundreds of thousands of acres of completely undeveloped National Grasslands. Honestly, I could sit on my patio for 100 years and the only thing I would see are some hawks, mule deer and rabbits.

So how do I end up with an address like 17965 Mountain View Road? Where exactly are the other 17953 homes? Are they planning a huge development? Are they worried about future growth? My address should be something like 8 Mountain View Road. Or there should be no number at all. Just Mark at Mountain View Road.

I don't know, maybe it all goes back to my childhood growing up at 1 Taunton Hill Road. Now that was an address.

And Ladies, He's Single

I'm sure there are lots of great people from Red Bluff, California. But this is the guy I will always think of anytime someone mentions that small Northern California town just outside of Reading.

He-or should I say the sound of his truck- arrived about 30 seconds before he did at the gas station where I was filling up. The thumping bass from the 1000 watt stereo and the crackling roar of a pair of shortened mufflers announced his arrival.

His white Ford F250 was lifted far beyond any practical need and his tires were the size normally reserved for giant trucks that crush cars on ESPN 6. When the door opened I expected to see a guy the size of the Brawny man but instead a guy about my size leapt from the driver's side door. The fall was so far that a small parachute wouldn't have been impractical. It was like watching Yosemite Sam make an entrance in a Bugs Bunny cartoon. After landing, he pulled down his tank top, checked out his triceps in the chrome bumper and strutted over to the pump. It was then that I noticed the huge pair of testicles hanging from his rear hitch.

And the finishing touch. A bumper sticker that read, "It Ain't Gonna Suck Itself."