Car #1: Chevy El Camino.

Driving into Bend the other day I caught a glimpse of a car going in the other direction that looked exactly like my very first car. A maroon 1973 Chevy El Camino 350SS with racing stripes. Boy, that brought back some memories.

I've had a lot of cars during my life; Chevy El Camino, Mazda RX7, Honda Prelude, Porsche Carrera, Mitsubishi Montero (go figure), Lexus SC400, Jeep Grand Cherokee, Audi A4, Audi All Road, Toyota Prius and Toyota Highlander but some of them meant more than others and that El Camino was certainly one of them.

Cars were a big thing where I grew up and no one waited a minute longer than they had to to get their driver's license. That El Camino meant freedom and girls and a whole new world of trouble. You have to remember that this was 1973... before kids gave drinking and driving a bad name. In 1973 in small town Connecticut, driving totally shit-faced was looked on as a rite of passage. By everyone; parents, police and priests included. One of the great features of the El Camino not mentioned in the brochure was that it was really easy to get a keg in the back and just drive around all night looking for parties. My friends would sit in back with the keg and hand plastic cups of beer forward to me in the cab until we found a party that looked interesting. Than we would throw open the doors, crank up a little Emerson Lake and Palmer 'Brain Salad Surgery' on the 8-track and start to party. When that got old we'd move on.

Another great feature not mentioned in any of the El Camino literature was that on the rare occasion you actually got a girl to agree to have sex with you there was plenty of room in the back assuming, of course, it was summer when she agreed to have sex. So you didn't have all those shift knobs and mirrors and steering wheels to get in the way and fuck things up for you. You could do that on you own.

It wasn't all fun and games though. The El Camino also had many practical advantages. Like freshman year when I drove it back from Colorado for the holidays. At the time, Coors was still a small cult brand not available in the east and everyone wanted to try this magical beer. By packing lightly, I was able to load 23 cases in the back to bring home and share with friends and family for the holidays. Today Coors has the Silver Bullet. Back then I was the Maroon Bullet.

I loved that car and I will always treasure the memories it provided. I'm just glad I survived long enough to get my next car, a Mazda RX7 which really did almost kill me. But that's another post.

I'm Due Back On Earth Now.

Having regularly driven back and forth on Interstate 5 the last few years I'm no stranger to the 700 mile long vein of right wing wackos that populate the middle of California. I'm treated to the bizarre outdoor boards they erect on their farms demanding that Obama produce a birth certificate, endless hand painted signs blaming Congress for a dust bowl, more outdoor boards reminding me rather graphically that Jesus spilled his blood for me and bumper stickers informing me that 'It Ain't Gonna Suck Itself.'

But there is one stop along this journey through fruitcake land where the other side of the wacko spectrum truly holds court. A place where, in the course of walking two blocks, I've had a guy in camouflage get nose to nose with me and yell "Eat a bullet motherfucker" and then, moments later, passed four middle aged men and woman dressed like Buddhist monks wearing pyramids on their heads. Only to be followed by an elderly woman who lifted her skirt to show me way more than I ever needed to see.

That place is Mount Shasta.

Don't get me wrong. Mount Shasta is one of the most amazing mountains in the world. And as I learned in the natural food store, it's the main reason why so many 'interesting' people are attracted to the area. I learned this during what started out as a relatively normal conversation in the supermarket with a relatively normal looking man in his 50's.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," I returned.

"Do you live here in Mount Shasta?" he asked.

"No, just passing through. How about you.?"

"We're from Twin Falls. Just traveling. We're here for the meditation seminar."

"I like to meditate too." I said, " I just saw Jon Kabat Zinn in LA two days ago."

"I don't know who that is." he said. "We're here because the Ontarians are hovering their spaceship over Mount Shasta so the energy pathways are fully open."

"Really. Ok. Well I'm just going to get this lasagna and hit the road."

Maybe the left will get it's own Tea Party yet.

A River Runs Through It

People like to do different things in rivers. Some people like to fish in them, some people like to race down them in kayaks and some people like to dump toxic chemicals in them. Me? I like to float in them. Slowly. Languorously. Fortunately, there's no better place in the world to do what I like to do than on the Deschutes River as it passes through Bend, Oregon. The Deschutes is a long, beautiful river with many personalities but in downtown Bend it widens, shallows and slows to a perfect crawl. Then, when the temperature hits about 90 degrees, an inflatable armada shows up with anything in the garage that will float and takes to the river for a cooling 1 1/2 hour tour. You might see a giant duck float by or a swan. Friends will tie 10 floats together and catch up. Young girls and guys will position themselves perfectly to show off their tanned bodies to each other. I even looked once. Trailer trash will show up in their 'I'm with stupid' t-shirts and burn their flabby bodies to a bright red lobster color. Obama supporters will embrace Palin supporters. Dogs will sleep with cats. And life will be perfect for a brief, intoxicating moment. It's all true. Join me some time and I'll show you.

I Am Such A Pussy

Woke up feeling very manly today. Grabbed the dog and headed up to the trailhead at Black Butte for a rugged uphill hike to the summit. Parked the Jeep Grand Cherokee with heavy duty off-road suspension, put on my hiking boots, my special moisture wicking underlayer, my fleece vest and my Patagonia Goretex windproof outer shell. Switched on my solar powered Garmin 60XS GPS unit with the special Oregon geographical contour overlay. Strapped on my dual-bladder hydration pack and grabbed my cork handled Leki spring-loaded hiking sticks which are capable of absorbing 30% of the shock from my knees.

As I was locking up the Jeep a beat up old 1980 Subaru wagon with bald tires pulled into the space next to me. A woman stepped out of the car wearing slip on sneakers. She grabbed her baby girl out of the car seat, slid her shirt open and started breast feeding her. And that was how they went up the same trail I was heading up. I think she gave me a very quick condescending look as she left.

Happy Father's Day.

Violence Erupts In The Streets of Sisters After Laker Win

Ignoring the post game pleas of both the police and LA news commentator Rob Fukazaki, a Sister's man went on a wild celebratory spree that turned violent and destructive Friday evening after the Los Angeles Lakers clinched the NBA Championship against an especially ugly Boston Celtic team.

According to Millie Cyrus, owner of Alpacas n' Things, "I looked up and saw Mr. Monteiro run past the store wearing nothing but his Laker boxer shorts and a big smile. He seemed to be excited. Very excited. Really, really excited and it's been such a long time since I've had any. Gosh I wish he'd come in."

Mr. Monteiro was also witnessed trying to turn over a garbage can and set it on fire. "He pushed and pushed but he couldn't get it to tip over so we went out and helped him," said Bob and Mary Grace Coulterville, owners of Ear Expressions. "Sure, he was trying to burn down the town but he's still a neighbor and you help neighbors."

Mark Monteiro, a former Los Angeles resident and longtime Laker fan was finally apprehended after a high speed 3mph chase down Main Street in his buckboard. Sister's Sheriff Joe Bob Beergut who made the arrest said, "We haven't seen anyone going down Main Street that fast since the throttle got stuck on Clarence Twilly's electric cart. Mr Monteiro was in an obvious state of intoxication when we finally pulled him over and he was shouting profanities at someone named Red Auerbach."

After spending the night incarcerated at the ice cream shop Mr. Monteiro was released. His court date has yet to be set.

Vote No On Rich Siegel

It has come to my attention that Rich Siegel's blog is funnier than my own and he has more followers. So... Are you all aware that Rich Siegel voted not once but twice to raise taxes, supported Obama's misguided Health Care plan, doesn't care if illegal aliens cross our border and kill our children, is responsible for the oil spill and once slept with a goat.

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."

I Love LA

Travel and Leisure magazine just released their 2009 ratings of the best cities in the United States. Cities were rated in categories such as Best Restaurants, Best Museums, Most Intelligent People and Best Overall.

As usual, Los Angeles was mostly ignored, even in the category of Best Looking. Really? There are cities with better looking people than Los Angeles? They certainly aren't showing up for the focus groups.

The reason I mention this is that it got me thinking about one of the reasons I have always loved Los Angeles. The people in LA just don't give a shit about that sort of thing. I'm not sure if it's confidence or apathy or maybe illiteracy, but it works for me.

People in other cities seem to be convinced that they are in some sort of feud with LA. Go to San Francisco and you'll frequently hear a group at a cafe table going on about how much better SF is than LA. Same for New York. And Seattle. And many other places. The funny thing is that they seem convinced that people in LA are doing the same thing.

I got news for you guys, they're not. You're in the ring alone, throwing punches at someone who never even knew there was a fight going on. Or could care.

People from LA are lovers, not fighters. They love LA. But they also love San Francisco. And New York. And Portland. They love your restaurants and museums and bagels and all your smart people. They can find something to love about most places and most people in the world. And they would rather focus on those things than on the stuff they don't like.

No professional football team in LA. Again, the only people I hear bitching about this are from other cities. How bizarre is that?

In LA, we all just go out and enjoy another day on the beach with all the other ugly people. Oh look, there goes Giselle roller blading by in a thong. Yuk.

First Ding

Well it finally happened. Our new house got its first official major ding last week.

Some lunkhead managed to back his ginormous delivery truck into our carport roof. Even though I was pissed off I must say there's some small part of me that was glad to get it over with. Like when you get that first door ding on your new car. Now I can just get on with my life and stop wondering when it's going to happen.

Building a new house is an amazing experience for a lot of reasons but I never realized how strange it would feel when all the workers had left and it was just Melanie and me sitting in the middle of this brand new, never lived in... thing. Alone and afraid to mess anything up. Out in the middle of nowhere.

Every time I stood up I was careful not to scuff the brand new red oak floors. When I went to a cabinet I took plates out very carefully and set them gently down on the table. God forbid I should nick one of the beach cabinets.

In the beginning, the house was so very empty. Not just physically empty but emotionally empty.Nothing had ever happened there, good or bad. No one had ever fallen in love, had a fight, screwed on the patio under a full moon, cooked a huge meal for friends, vomited, laughed, cried, sung, danced, received great news or horrible news.

It was our job to breath the first life into that house, to start the never ending process of turning a house into a home. Someday, we'll sell the house and someone new will move in and add their own stories to the history of the house. But it will be cumulative. Some of us will always be there.

It's been about a year since we first sat at that dining room table in our empty new house. Today it feels like a completely different place and I'd like to thank all the friends, new and old, who've helped get us on our way.

I may even thank that driver someday. But not just yet.

6,307,200 Minutes

This is my Anniversary card to my wife.

There's a little practice I do to help keep things in perspective. I imagine I was just informed that I have only one minute to live. Just one minute. Sixty precious little seconds.

What would I do for that minute? How would I pass the time?

I try to ask myself this question in as many different situations as possible. When I'm home alone. While I'm stuck in traffic. Sitting in a long, boring meeting. Watching television with my family.

Go ahead, do it right now. I will.

(sixty second later)

Today was an easy one for me. I stopped blogging, walked into the kitchen and on the way I looked out the window one last time at the beautiful world I inhabit; the sky and trees and clouds and sun. I gave my dog Taiga a good scratch behind the ears and planted a kiss on her nose. Then I hugged my wife for whatever time I had left. I smelled her hair, planted a kiss on her cheek and told her I loved her for the last time.

Today is our 12th Anniversary and when I woke up, for some reason, I figured out that those 12 years translated into 6,307,200 minutes. That's how long I've been married to my beautiful wife Melanie. That's how many opportunities I've had to do with her what I just did. So far, I've wasted a lot of those minutes filling my minutes with anger, fear, pettiness and so many other useless things.

I'm sure I can do better. Happy Anniversary Mel.

I'm Tired. So Tired.

Since moving to Central Oregon, car tires seem to define my very existence. I have spent more time at the Les Schwab tire store than just about anywhere in Sisters. Right after we moved here I needed new tires for the Audi and the Prius. So I bought a new set for each car. A few weeks later, winter blew in with a vengeance and I found out I had to buy studded tires to handle the icy roads. So I bought a set for the Audi and a set for the old Jeep I had up here. Then I found out I had to travel back to LA for a month so I had to take the studded tires off the Audi again because they're illegal in California. Then when I got back to Oregon I had to put the studded tires back on. And then when spring came around I had to put the regular tires back on the Audi again. I also had to put the regular tires back on Jeep and, at that time, I noticed a bubble in the side of one of the tires. They were getting old anyway and it was going to cost almost as much to replace one of the existing tires as it would to replace all four and I needed 6-ply tires for the backroads here so I bought another new set of tires. Now I'm selling the Audi and buying a new Toyota so I'll have to get new snow tires for that one. And, of course, I'll have to put the studded tires back on the Jeep.

Now I understand how Les Schwab, the owner of the Les Schwab Tire Stores- and one of the richest men in Oregon -got an amphitheater named after him.

Heard Any Good Books Lately

She lay on her back fastened by leather straps to a narrow bed with a steel frame. The harness was tight across her rib cage. Her hands were manacled to the sides of the bed. She must have dozed off because she did not hear the footsteps but she was wide awake when the door opened. He came closer and went around the head of the bed. He laid the back of a moist hand on her forehead. The cold point of a knife grazed her throat.

Outside the car window, in a grassy field, an adorable baby deer nuzzled its mother.

He tightened the harness across her chest and leaned over her. His stale, smoky breath filled her nostrils. She twisted suddenly to the left, pulled up her knees as far as she could and kicked hard at his head.

The dappled sunlight illuminated the Columbia River as it gracefully twisted through the canyon, like liquid gold shimmering.

He was out of reach. The sheet had slid off the bed. Her nightdress had come up above her hips. She could sense his gross excitement pulsating in the dark.

A sweet breeze was blowing across the endlessly beautiful fields of alfalfa causing it to slowly sway back and forth.

He undoubtedly had an erection. She knew that he would reach out and touch her.

An early snow had fallen in the evening and left the highest peaks frosted. Hawks and eagles rode the morning air currents doing their graceful dance in the canyons.

It was her twentieth day as his captive.

And that is why I hate audio books. I don't get it. How can anyone listen to these things and drive through beautiful country at the same time. They just don't mix.

Lawyers, Bears and Casinos

Montana has a lot of things to offer but from what I can tell, it mostly has lawyers, bears and casinos.

1. Bears. I spend a good amount of time in the wilderness and I'm not particularly spooked by the idea of an encounter with a wild animal. It's part of the reason I walk in the woods. I have been camped 100 yards from hunting lions, crossed paths with angry elephants and water buffalo, dived with sharks, swam with crocodiles, stepped on rattlesnakes and even run into the occasional bear. But after a week in Montana they had me so edgy about bears that I was afraid to go to the bathroom without a can of bear spray for fear that some bear would swim up the sewer and bite me on the ass. Here's a typical conversation in Montana. "Good morning, how are you?" "Fine. Have you got your bear spray?" Every conversation we had eventually worked its way around to the other person asking if you had bear spray, wanted bear spray or knew where to buy bear spray. Every sign I looked at had some mention of bears, bear attacks, how to repel bears or where bears like to hang out. The only time I recall someone not mentioning the danger of bears was the ranger who asked if we had anything orange to wear. "For the bears," I asked. "No for the bow hunters."

2. Lawyers. They say people in California are litigious but, believe me, Californians have got nothing on the Montana folk. From the amount of lawyers and law offices we saw in tiny Whitefish, Montana people must be suing each other for entertainment. And by the way why is it called Attorney at Law. Is there something else you can be an Attorney of?

3. Casinos. The only thing you'll find more of than bears and lawyers in Montana is casinos. I saw a graph the said that Montana had more casinos per capita than any other state in the US. I wouldn't doubt it for an instant. It seems like every business in Montana is part casino. The Coffee Shack and Casino. Superior Car Wash and Casino. Dr Adams Proctologist and Casino (this one made sense actually) The Dress Barn and Casino. I went into the bathroom at a mini mart outside Kalispell and the urinal claimed to have the best payouts in Montana.

Now it seems to me that the number of casinos in a place is usually indicative of the number of losers, idiots and assholes there as well. But that's not the case in Montana. Far from it. In fact, the people in Montana are incredible. Probably the most sincerely nice people I've run into anywhere. It was impossible to find an asshole anywhere in the entire state.

I guess they're all at the casinos, in court or the bears ate them.

Caveman TV

A few years ago I was sitting with a Patagonian guide watching glacial ice crack and fall into the ocean. After watching this amazing scene for a few hours without a moment of boredom Christian turned to me and said, "Caveman TV". I always loved that term.

I have seen three amazing electrical storms in my life. The first was when I was driving home from freshman year in college. I was attending school in Denver and my roommate and I were headed home and crossing Nebraska. It was night and for about 5 hours we drove through a powerful storm. Each strike was like a giant light going off that lit the flat landscape around us for miles in every direction. The second memorable storm was in northern Spain. Melanie and I were staying at a small pension in the mountains when that one hit. The thing I remember most about that one was the amount of electricity in the air. You could literally feel it in you body. Probably like seeing Barry Manilow live in Vegas.

The third storm happened a few weeks ago and I watched it right from my living room. It had been a hot day with temperatures hovering around 103 degrees. I was sitting in a bookstore when things started to change outside. The skies darkened, the wind picked up and the rain started to fall. In a matter of minutes the temperature dropped to 63 degrees and during the ten mile ride back to my house I watched the thermostat in my car bounce between the 60's and the 80's at least five times. At home I cracked open a beer and plopped in my favorite tv chair to watch the show. Over the next three hours I watched at least 150 lightening strikes on the ridge across the canyon from where my house sits. Huge, wildly shaped bolts that tore through the sky vertically, horizontally and diagonally. Then the sky turned yellow and the wind started to gust. I expected to see Dorothy fly by but, instead, hundreds of birds in groups of twenty or thirty bounced by the window riding the wild air currents. A brilliant rainbow than appeared shooting straight into the sky as a few remaining bolts of lightening hit around its base.

Caveman TV. Reality TV. Call it what you want, it was almost as good as America's Got Talent.