Whether or not it is one of the most difficult languages to learn, English is certainly complicated, even for native speakers. Case in point:  Today’s Visual Thesaurus Word of the Day, “cleave.” Your first thought may be that this word has to do with splitting things apart, as in “cleaver,” or as in split-toed, or “cloven,” hooves. When I hear the word “cleave,” I always think of the Bible, which is forever noting that wives should “cleave” to their husbands, or join with them. Yes, both are right:  to cleave is to split… or to join.

Before you revolt against the notion that the same word can have two opposite meanings, now would be a good time to recall what F. Scott Fitzgerald said: “The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in mind at the same time and still retain the ability to function.“

I spent part of my day of doing essentially nothing (thank you, Grover Cleveland) rearranging the reading pile next to my bed. Why haven’t I yet bought Jonathan Franzen’s new novel even though I hunger and thirst for it? Because I’ve got this enormous reading pile to get through. I’m trying to read through it, not add to it. Which means that before I get to Franzen I should finish:

Non-fiction:

•  “In Defense of Food” by Michael Pollan
• “Poor People” by William T. Vollmann
• “The Third Reich in Power” by Richard J. Evans
• “The Fall of the Roman Empire” by Peter Heather
• “What I Talk About When I Talk About Running” by Haruki Murakami (I’m almost finished with this one)
• “The Element” by Sir Ken Robinson (and with this one as well)

Business:

• “The Advertising Agency Business” by Eugene J. Hameroff (I’ve read this; I’m now rereading it)
• “Pricing with Confidence” by Reed K. Holden and Mark R. Burton (read this one too; now rereading it)
• “Priceless” by William Poundstone (almost finished)
• “Trust Agents” by Chris Brogan and Julien Smith

Comics and graphic novels:

• “Death: The Time of Your Life” by Neil Gaiman, Chris Bachalo, and Mark Buckingham
• “The New Jack Kirby Collector,” volume 31
• “Concrete: Depths,” by Paul Chadwick
• “The Playwright” by Eddie Campbell and Darren White
• a stack of about three dozen recent comics (S.H.I.E.L.D., Doc Savage, Astonishing X-Men, Black Widow, Jonah Hex, B.P.R.D., Secret Warriors, Hercules, Hellblazer, Unknown Soldier, Hulk, Doctor Strange, and a few other things)

Unsolicited plays

• In other words, plays given to me unrequested by friends who wrote them. (And no, please do not send me any.) I’ll read the top two because they’re friends I work with creatively and because fair is fair.

What’s missing? Two things:  magazines and novels. (Or short-story collections.) My rule of thumb with magazines is this:  Be devastatingly quick about it. Get it, read it, recycle it. It’s the only way to get through them. Why no novels? Because I’ve read all the ones that were in my queue. (Not my long-term queue — which consists of one book I think about often but haven’t gotten to yet:  “The Brothers Karamazov.”) I go through binges of reading either a lot of biographies/histories or a lot of novels; I recently ended one of those novel-reading binges. Hence my desire for the new Franzen, “Freedom.” No, I don’t plan to get it right now. But I am leaving for Las Vegas on Thursday…. Watch me pick it up at the airport.

It’s Labor Day weekend — and unfortunately, I’m here at my office laboring. It’s not what I planned on, but in the cosmic scheme of things (or at least the scheme of my life for probably the next year), it’s important. So my plan of “write, play, shop” is temporarily on hold.

Oh, I did shop, though. I just bought an online registration to traffic school to void a ticket I got in central California when I was pulled over because my car didn’t have a front license plate on it. Why didn’t I have a front license plate? Because BMWs don’t come with front license plate brackets or holes. You have to take the car to the dealer to get them drilled in.  Which seems like an oversight. Now I have a mounted front license plate — and eight hours of online traffic school.

And tonight I am doing some playing — of poker. My wife and I are having a group of what she calls “marks” over to play Texas Hold ‘Em.

Tomorrow I hope to actually be writing my play. And playing “Oblivion” on the xBox; my character has sat idle for nine months and I’m starting to worry that the little towns and villages are getting overrun by demons unleashed from the other side.

Two last quick notes:

On Thursday night my friends Mark and Richard and I saw a movie that I thoroughly enjoyed, “The Last Exorcism.” It’s done in that cinema verite / documentary style that we’d all better become more accustomed to (because in the age of User Generated Content, and interactive content, that’s the look and feel that Millennials will  come to expect because everything must, somehow, adopt features of Facebook and/or YouTube). It’s cleverly written, acted, and directed; the lead reminded me very much of my good friend and favored actor Keith Sellon-Wright ten or 15 years ago, who, like this actor, is somehow able to be sincere and phony simultaneously; and the deceptively simple plot reveals itself, in retrospect, to be devilishly well contrived. And, somehow, it’s both scary and funny. I highly recommend it.

Coming out soon:  a movie somebody gave his right arm to see.

I’ve never liked Blockbuster, starting with their placing a ban on “The Last Temptation of Christ,” which caused me to place a ban on giving them any of my business for years. But then a few years ago I desperately wanted to see any one of three films — “Das Boot,” “Aguirre, the Wrath of God,” or “Fitzcarraldo.” I called every Blockbuster around and not only did none of them stock any of these films, none of the clerks had heard of them. This was in Los Angeles, the movie capital of the world. So that night I signed up for Netflix. Netflix, and Red Box, and online streaming, and iTunes and piracy have all been killing Blockbuster and I have to admit to feeling a little frisson of schadenfreude about it.

But the advent of better technology (immediate delivery at a lower price) isn’t the only reason that Blockbuster is going out of business.

The other night I wanted to introduce my kids to the joys of “Alien,” that wonderful science fiction horror movie. This being a last-minute decision, and discovering that it wasn’t available as a “Watch It Now” via Netflix streaming, I impulsively swung into Blockbuster while driving by. Sure enough, they had the movie. Although there was absolutely no easy way to find it on the shelf (it seemed to be stocked between microwave popcorn and spiderwebs, and by the way, who would buy their microwave popcorn at Blockbuster, anyway?), the clerk located it and led me to the checkout. Whereupon I was staggered to learn that this rental was $5.49.

“$5.49?” I asked. It seemed to me that I could probably buy it for about $5.49. Did they think this was still 1990? I told him that it seemed pricey.

“Yeah,” he answered. “But it’s not due back until Thursday.” This was on Saturday night.

“Why would I need it until Thursday? I want to watch it, not worship it. Do you have one I can just buy?” Because now I thought, kids being kids, they’ll probably watch it over and over for years to come. And my wife, being similarly disposed, has repeatedly watched four movies, and only those four movies, in the past twenty years (and two of them were “Dune”). So it would get lots of viewing.

No, they didn’t have a sale copy. Just the rental. I figured what the heck, and rented it.

Half an hour later, my two kids and I were ready to watch it. Emma had her blanket all ready to cover her eyes during the scary parts, while Dietrich was  ready with his mask of grim defiance. (“It’s not going to scare me.”)  An hour into the movie — precisely when the little extraterrestrial bugger is bursting out of John Hurt’s chest — the movie froze. No matter what I tried — including slow fast forward, slow rewind, playing the director’s cut version, even blowing on the disk — it wouldn’t play. We were stuck with the turgid image of a bloody sharp-toothed alien phallus directed straight at our living room.

I called Blockbuster to ask if they had another copy. “No,” said the same guy who’d rented this one, “that’s our only copy.” Now I took a closer look at the case. It was so old and worn it looked like Abe Vigoda.

The next day I took the disk and the receipt back to Blockbuster. I told this clerk, a different one than the previous night, what had happened, including the salient fact that “we were an hour into the movie — right in the middle of the chest-bursting scene — and it froze. Which ruined the experience of watching the movie.” To which he replied:

“It’s an old disk. It happens.”

I know: I’m sentimental. I’m a relic of a bygone era, an era of the milkman and the 15-cent comic book and “I’d like to teach the world to sing.” Because here’s what I honestly thought I was going to get, at some point:  “Sorry.” Any variation of that would have sufficed. I didn’t want anything additional — not a special offer or a make-good or anything. Just a simple “sorry.” But he didn’t seem sorry. In fact, he barely seemed cognizant, like he’d spent too much time scoffing their supply of Milk Duds in the back room when no one was watching and was now weighed down physically and emotionally by all the plasticky chocolate he’d consumed.

He asked if I wanted store credit — guess what my response was — and then gave me back my money. Usually when a cashier hands me change, I say thank you. This time I waited to see if at any point this person was going to say “sorry” or “thank you” or anything at all that sounded customer-service-like. But no. Nothing.

So here’s the Blockbuster experience:

• high prices
• limited selection
• bad service
• products that don’t work

Wonder why they’re failing.

And by the way? We drove over to Best Buy and bought the “Alien” trilogy. All three disks, brand-spanking-new, for $19.99, or $6.66 each. The price may have been demonic, but the disk works and we get to own it for $1.17 more than Blockbuster wanted.

What I’m looking forward to when I’m on the east coast briefly next month:  Poker. Clams. Shooting. Cigars. Pinochle.

I have written to my brother-in-law to this effect so that he can plan accordingly.

My plan for this weekend:  write (my new play), play (Oblivion on the xBox, and poker in real life), shop (household things).

It’s not Eat, Pray, Love, but it’s less nauseating.

Who’s funding the “populist” Tea Party? Billionaires.

My good friend Rich Roesberg turned me onto this story in May and I’m only now getting around to posting it. It’s still a good story. It seems that during a recent rehearsal for Waiting for Godot in Melbourne, one of the stars, Sir Ian McKellen, took a break outside on a bench. Whereupon one of the passersby, thinking him homeless, tossed him a dollar coin.

McKellen is holding onto the coin as a good luck charm but offers his benefactor something for his money, “If that man would like to identify himself, we would like to invite him to come and see Waiting For Godot. And if he insists on paying, we’ll knock a dollar off the ticket price.”

I have three further thoughts about this:

1. I have no doubt that this theatre’s publicist leapt on the opportunity to put this story out. A tip of the hat to that theatre professional for a job well-done. The story got reported widely — even down to southern New Jersey, where said good friend Roesberg lives. A good theatre publicist is always worth his keep.
2. My favorite comment to the story on this newspaper’s site:  “Round in Yarraville and Seddon we have got heaps of these types. I never give them money, just a kick in the pants and yell get a job you bum.” So the confusion that Sir Ian was a bum continues even onto the news coverage.
3. In theatre circles, Sir Ian is known as a real gentleman and a bit of a cut-up. When he did his show “A Knight out” at the Los Angeles Theatre Center in 1997, he was prone to taking over the box office and answering the phone himself in ways such as this:  “Oh, so you’d like to come see my show would you? And where would you like to sit? Are you sure you wouldn’t like to sit further down where you can see me better? Now, it will cost you a little more, but I’m sure you’ll agree it will be worth it.” And so forth. He charmed everyone who called and everyone who worked there.

Last week, I was mentioned (briefly) in the Burbank Leader’s coverage of a forum that I agreed to moderate about developments within our fair city’s police department. Click here if you’d like to read it. Public response so far, on some blogs, is that no doubt I was paid to intentionally get some people’s names wrong. Good theory — and I wish I’d thought of that.

Also in the Burbank Leader comes news that Gun World is closing.  For those of you who’ve seen my play “About the Deep Woods Killer,” this may strike a chord. Here’s Scene Three, in which Jack, the son of the Deep Woods Killer, struggles to stay on a good path:

 

 

                                                (Scene Three: Testimony.)

           

(Spotlight on Jack. He stands alone, addressing us as though we were a group. He holds his baseball cap in his hands and fidgets with it, at times twisting and turning it.)

 

                        JACK

My name is Jack. I’m an alcoholic. But you know that. I had a tough week. Well, a tough day. The same thing happened at work, again, the thing that happens every time I think it’s okay. They hired this new girl, woman, Alice, and somebody told her. About me. Well, about my father. I know you all already know, so what’s the point. It’s about honesty in here. So at work, nobody said anything to me but I could tell. Monday morning Alice was filling out paperwork while I was in the breakroom and she smiled and said hello. I didn’t want to talk to her, I wasn’t trying to talk to her, I wasn’t even trying to look at her, but I did like her hair, it was red, pulled up behind. She talked to me and I looked up and looked up at her hair, that was when I saw it, and she smiled again. And after lunch she wouldn’t look at me. She came into the breakroom and I was there again and she acted like she didn’t mean to come in there and turned and left, and I knew what that was. I was… I was really down after that. The whole day that feeling was back, it felt like there was something on me, something heavy I couldn’t get off and the drive home took me past the Dew Drop Inn, and the Rustic Inn, and the Pitney Tavern, and the Stop and Go Liquor – I don’t know why we have so many of these places, it’s like they build ‘em right where I’m going to drive by, that’s what I was thinking – then I stopped at the light at Leeds Road and there was Gun World. And I looked at myself in the rearview and I just looked tired, real tired. The light changed… and after a bit I drove home and I got inside and I –

(He starts to choke up.)

–  I called Tony. I got through it all, I got home, but I might not’ve gotten further ‘cept for Tony. He saved me. So I thank him and I praise God for him. I am a strong person, a strong man, but sometimes everybody needs a little help, and I had Tony. Thank you.

 

This play was performed in the Moving Arts one-act festival two years ago here in Los Angeles. One of the actors was walking down Magnolia Boulevard and did a double-take. He called our producer, Steve, to say, “You’re not going to believe this… but I’m standing in front of Gun World.” He later told me how very strange it felt to one moment be leading his normal life, and the next moment to feel that he’d entered the world of the play. For this reason alone, I’m sad that Gun World is closing.

Finally,  the current issue of Inc. magazine has a profile of my company, Counterintuity. Counterintuity is the place where I write those other things that blur the lines between reality and fantasy (we call that marketing copy). Click here if you’d like to read it and use my image for target practice.

I’m fascinated with Danielle Sacks’ profile of former ad man Alex Bogusky in the current issue of Fast Company. I think you should click here and read it.

While at Crispin Porter Bogusky, Bogusky was the creative director behind relaunching Burger King’s King (and the viral hit “Subservient Chicken”) as well as the terrific campaign against teen drinking and drugs,  and the very gimmicky magazine inserts for Mini. One of the magazines I get had a punch-out-and-assemble cardboard Mini on one page, and little punch-out traffic cones on the opposite page. Yes, I popped out both and played with them. During his tenure, CP+B became the hot, hip agency, and for good reason:  their work was clever, and they delivered a lot of sales for clients. In 2009, Ad Agency named it the agency of the decade.

In this profile, Bogusky now makes himself out to be a man transformed. He’s left advertising and discovered soul-searching. With about $45 million now in hand, he’s hanging out all day writing or playing or doing finger paints in a cottage he calls FearLess, and handing out keycards to the cottage to other cool people he thinks can help change the world. I read all this and thought about Alfred Nobel, who suffered the accidental indignity of reading his own obituary, which condemned him for inventing dynamite; Nobel set out to redeem himself by creating the Nobel Prizes. Bogusky devoted a lot of his life to getting people to consume more from Burger King, Coke, Domino’s, Jose Cuervo, and Kraft, and now he regrets it. Because — and please don’t think I’m cynical — he can now afford it. Easily. Stylishly. It doesn’t seem that these self-doubts plagued him while he was devising those campaigns.

Evidently, I wasn’t the only one starting to wonder a thing or two about Bogusky’s transformation, because  Sacks then goes and talks to a lot of Bogusky’s former employees. A far different picture emerges. What Sacks thinks she finds isn’t interesting (news alert:  creative types can be narcissistic). What’s more interesting is the theory that Bogusky had manipulated Sacks into getting exactly the kind of profile he wanted — until she figured that out and turned on him for the back half of the piece. This is the biggest such reversal I’ve ever seen in a profile. It’s like the last few minutes of “The Sixth Sense,” which has you revisiting everything you just saw, but now from a completely different angle.