Empty Office Space

 

Many ad agencies are struggling with the monumental task of getting employees to return to the office. People far smarter than me have argued that to accomplish this they must provide real incentives. 

 

Typical perks involve cacophonous foosball tables accompanied by raucous players, hooting at every shot. Some agency leaders prefer to keep a few pooches around, free candy, a stocked fridge, and a sizable fish tank. Music in the bathrooms and bad art in the hallways. But this is expected.  

 

I’m partial to the carrot and stick method. The carrot being actual jars of carrots left on every open surface, and the stick being room temperature sticks of unsalted butter to encourage baking. Adding beds and showers isn’t a bad idea either. You can’t expect people to sleep in the office if they don’t have a place to catch a few hours of shuteye.

Frankly, if open offices were truly open, they would remove all the desks, chairs, computers and other obtrusive tech so people could take wind sprints through the building. Steve Prefontaine was fast on a track, but how would he have fared across carpet, linoleum and fake wood? Too bad we won't ever find out. 

Pillow Talk

 

One of the first things visitors notice about New York is the enormous, towering piles of garbage. While there is a bit of topographical intrigue in the Bronx and Manhattan, the real mountains are not found in the schist jutting out from Central Park, but on every sidewalk. The trouble with the city’s garbage system is that the use of black bags prevents gawking, ogling, and examining. It’s hard to know what to make of your neighbors without knowing first what they willingly kick to the curb. 

The sad truth about refuse that many refuse to believe, is not every piece is the same. Among the heaps exist strata of trash. What disgusts us, what horrifies us upon sight, sound, and smell is not what some typically expect. Except for the weathered sanitation worker, most people are grossed out by prodigious bags of rotting meat, produce, or pet excrement smeared along the gutter. To me, this is all standard, honestly boring material. Who doesn’t gather up kitty litter and moldy plums for a one-way ticket to the dump?  

Last night though, I saw something that stopped me cold. Three pillows on the ground, laid out neatly, and worst of all, showing no visible signs of grime. We know why people get rid of mattresses and bed frames. But pillows? Some of us accumulate pillows for a lifetime, slowly building up a fortress of comfort without limits. They help us think and sleep. They are used to let off steam and engage in pugilistic acts with siblings. Pillows are there to help us work through issues. And pillow cases have none of the problems associated with large financial institutions. So seeing three tossed off was a harrowing image, forcing me to reconsider the state of the city. I can handle needles and crack pipes. Same with firearms. But pillows? What kind of monster does this. I’ll take a bag of raw sewage any day over a good as new down pillow on the ground.

Two Bad

 

In New York, gone are the evenings of extended leisure. Restaurants are now asking diners to keep their meals to two hours. This eliminates the ordering of appetizer after appetizer, multiple desserts, and drinks at every turn. Some gastro-heads are up in arms. I hope the trend spreads to other facets of polite society.

 

Movies should have a federally mandated limit of two hours. Same goes for dates or debates. The workday should be confined to the same time frame as well. Sporting events, road trips, and gallery openings. A law like this would force people to get to the point. No more protracted meandering allowed, under penalty of imprisonment. Which, I should add, will be much longer than two hours. 

 

If you can’t figure it out in two hours, move on to something else. 

Elements of Persuasion

Bringing others to your side is a lot like opening a menu at a Chinese restaurant. There are a lot of options. Some go for the rational, making an argument based on facts. Others feel more comfortable staying within the emotional realm, convincing people through anecdotes. Then there are the data nerds, poring over spreadsheets with numbers and graphs. Or the allegorical folks, telling an analogous story, like a fable from ancient times with a hidden, deeper meaning.

But sometimes, none of the above works. People won’t listen and they won’t come around to your point of view. That is when the best course of argumentation is one you must do sitting down. 

When in doubt, block traffic. Preferably a major artery like a bridge or tunnel, in the middle of the day when lots of ordinary people are going about their normal routine. There is nothing like sitting in a throng of cascading car horns to make you reconsider your priors. Because horrendous, man-made traffic gives you plenty of time to think. 

Santos Claus

 

I know it’s still November and we haven’t reached Thanksgiving yet, but your old friend, Santos Claus, is here to wish you a very Merry Christmas. And I have gifts to deliver to all the good little boys and girls. But first, a few words...

You’re most likely wondering where my sleigh is. It’s in the shop as we speak, being repaired by non-unionized elves. If you think the discourse is getting polarized here in America, come to the North Pole and see the difference. Where are my reindeer? That’s another great question. They are next door waiting on the paperwork from the sleigh. I try and delegate things.

Where’s Kris K. you ask? He watched everything unfold with my successful campaign last year and decided to throw his support my way. As someone who didn’t even grow up with a chimney, it was an especially moving moment. 

I thought about bringing presents and wrapping each one individually, but I’d rather take down your list now and use my Amazon Prime account. They still offer free two-day shipping all throughout the holiday season. I realize many of you are underage and don’t yet have full-fledged bank accounts, but some of you probably have allowances. Am I right? Well, I want to let you in on a little secret. The associated costs of Christmas have gone up for everyone, which includes Kringle himself. due in part to inflation as well as poor financial planning. Yeah, I said it. So the reality is, if you want really good Christmas presents this year, I am going to ask all you to make a small donation into my reelection fund. 

Instead of a collection plate, here is my Venmo. Cash is always appreciated. I hope the funds help put me back in office, I mean, buy what’s left on your wish list.  

Walk in the Park

 Ah, it’s a perfect day. A beautiful day. And would you look at that? Over there, just behind a massive oak tree are a group of squirrels gnawing on something. Could be garbage or an unmentionable extremity. Sometimes squirrels eat nuts, sometimes they don’t. By the benches is middle-aged man sanding the edges of his milk crate for a late afternoon diatribe. This lecture series is short on facts, but not on mental illness. Being a self-proclaimed prophet requires a lot of self-proclaiming. There’s a guy with a metal detector in search of treasure, but mostly, he’s alerting his fellow park goers to his misbegotten quest. A collection of hippies gather around a bongo drum. Like most of their kind, they are of indeterminate age. Could they have just graduated college? Possibly. Either that or escaped the Vietnam War my skedaddling to Canada. 

It’s just another walk in the park. Only one you wouldn’t want to do with open-toed sandals on account of all the leftover syringes from your neighborhood needle exchange. 

Letter to Osama

 

You’re probably wondering why I like you suddenly, after having read your Letter to America. It’s simple, really. I’m a moron. And not in a jovial, fun-loving, life-of-the-party, John Belushi in Animal House sort of way. Just a complete and utter nincompoop. 

I have never picked up a book that you couldn’t find in the spinning rack at your local supermarket. The truth is, I come from a long line of idiots and imbeciles (peace be upon them). Some of them I’m related to, others taught me in college. I thought I was having an existential crisis after reading your words, but pretty quickly, I realized I had no idea what meant. Either way, you’ve changed my outlook on things. I look forward to reading the Unabomber’s manifesto, Mein Kampf, and listening to the musical stylings of Charlie Manson to get a better sense of what really happened in the 20^th century. I’m so often misunderstood that the one thing I always understand is that. I can identify it in others, whether they are on trial or relieving themselves behind a dumpster. 

It also helps that I don’t remember 9/11. To me, it’s just a couple numbers (three to be exact). My lack of historical perspective means I am a sponge for information, whatever the source. 

You seem like a reasonable guy. Did you know that beards are very popular again here in The West? Lumberjack chic or something. Plus, someone said you’re what we call a “nepo baby”, your father being a billionaire construction tycoon. Too bad you weren’t available when Lena Dunham was initially casting Girls. I think you could’ve replaced Adam Driver. Did you know he was marine? 

What I like about your letter, besides the paragraph breaks which make it much easier to read, is how you make everything so simple. There are a couple of groups to blame for everything and that means I don’t have to read any deeper. I know who the bad actors are, well, besides Brendan Fraser, of course. But you lay it out so succinctly it’s hard to argue against, especially since I have never heard of any of this stuff. Might as well take your word for it.

I know lots of my peers are posting videos on TikTok about this, but since you wrote I letter, I figured it was the least I could do. After reading your letter, I don't think I'll ever fall for propaganda again. Haven’t converted yet, but you never know...

Anyway, thanks for writing, sorry it's taken me so long to respond. In my defense, I wasn't even born in November 2002. 

Based on a Truly Bad Story

  

We open in a large boardroom with a bank of windows. Skyscrapers are in the distance. There are dozens of people sitting down at a long wooden table. Some are in suits while others are wearing cut-off t-shirts with ornate sleeve tattoos. All are patiently to hear what the one person standing has to say…

 

It’s a super simple idea when you think about it. But it’s best to not even think about it, that way it’s even simpler than that. Why? Because this thing happened. It happened not too long ago. Not years, not months, but days. There’s plenty of documentation we can use. In fact, we can cast some of the real-life players in roles. I know them all personally. What’s better than having people play themselves? A little different than playing with themselves, which we can probably still work into the script, if that’s still a note. 

 

Did this rise to a significant event in the annals of world history? Maybe not. But we can certainly milk a multi-episode series out of it. I’d like to produce the show in real time. That means way more content. If you thought 24 was long and overwrought, you’ve never seen anything like this.

 

The only thing we desperately need are celebrities to sign on. They will love the part of a regular person going about a regular day. The lunch episode will be a three-hour extravaganza. Let’s partner with local eateries so viewers can vicariously dine with the stars.  

 

Don’t ask me to describe the details of the show. There’s no trial. No big conflict. No drama. No comedy. No moral. It’s life about a semi-famous person having a somewhat bad day. 

 

It sure beats trying to make up a good story. What do you think?

Slap on the Wrist

 

Whenever legal commentators say, “oh, he just got a slap on the wrist,” I take a good, long look at my two clean, pristine wrists and wonder how I’d fare under such perilous conditions. Most of us gloss over the idea of wrist slapping as a serious punishment. But let me tell you something – it’s not exactly back slapping, the universal gesture for jocularity. 

 

I know plenty of white-collar criminals who’d rather pay a few million in fines than watch as their precious wrists suffered through excessive slapping. Which is ultimately what we want.

 

I wear a watch every day, which makes my left wrist that much more vulnerable. I’d sooner cut a deal with law enforcement than risk scuffing up a treasured family heirloom. 

 

We don’t need more people in prison. But maybe we need more slaps on the wrist.  

Martyr Sauce

 

At the end of a long day of public moralizing and grandstanding, most people could use a late-night snack. Exaggeration makes most people quite hungry. The trouble is that the typical food available in the wee hours has an extreme grease factor, which can make it hard to consume smoothly. The last thing you want during a nosh like this is to take a break. Breaks give you a moment to reflect and consider your recent decisions. 

You don’t need that though. What you need is a way to eat without consequences or unnecessary pauses. So you can power through any second thoughts or second desserts, whichever comes up first. 

Martyr sauce always does the trick. It can resurrect the bland meal and turn it into a jihad on the senses. Or, if you prefer, a holy war for your tastebuds. You’ll get so much undeserved sympathy and undue praise, that by the time the check comes, the waiter will be tipping you. 

Odorless, Colorless, Driverless

The prospect of autonomous vehicles is one small step for drivers, one giant leap for insurance companies. But for me, a truly driverless car is not the reward to a life of cruising down the open road, but a punishment for a career of highway sinning.

The very worst drivers should not lose their licenses after yet another serious violation. They should have to watch as their car drives without them in control. Because it is control they are seeking and control they must lose.

For a lunatic driver, one used to weaving in and out of traffic, tailgating the nearest bumper in sight, and other boorish actions, a driverless future is what they dread the most. Being a passenger and watching as the car itself has all the fun. It’s different letting a friend take the wheel from time to time. The car as driver makes us utterly obsolete. Someone accustomed to rolling up on the median and cutting off fellow drivers will have a difficult time as a legally mandated passenger. 

As for all the good drivers out there? Well, they are free to keep cruising. That’s their reward.  

Humor shields

The use of humor shields is far more common as the civilized world wises up to the danger of laughter. Laughter is an involuntary response, which makes it wildly disturbing for those in power. Luckily, there are tools in place to prevent people from laughing at the wrong thing or at the wrong time. You must serve it up in the right context, alongside the necessary caveats, no matter how extensive.  

What you do is take a joke, or anything remotely funny, and you wrap it in serious disclaimers. Every aspect of the quip must be qualified or contextualized to sap it of its humor. Something simple and interesting quickly transforms into something both strange and offensive.

Not everyone can tell if something is offensive without footnotes and a lengthy explanation. That’s why it’s important to totally envelop any comic attempt in humor shields. Ultimately, the people are who deserve to be shielded from humor, lest they get a different idea. 

Sock it to Me

 

It’s getting colder, which means that many people will start digging thick wool socks out of musty storage units. It’s understood that during the fall and winter, keeping one’s extremities warm is a key part of daily survival. But why does it stop there?

Socks, though often derided as a thoughtless gift, have true staying power. I know people who have little to no personality besides the colorful patterns adoring their feet. It’s a way of being interesting without being interesting. 

If everyone accepts the importance of socks, why is it that we stop at knee? It seems like we’re leaving a lot of skin on the table. 

Because body socks exist. Imagine a world where everyone from Halloween to St. Patrick’s Day wore full body socks. First of all, it would make dressing for work that much easier. Think of how cozy and simple it would make things. The only reason people consider wearing a body sock crazy in public is because those are the only people who do it currently. But we could change all that with a commitment to comfort. Socks are interesting in ways most clothes – and people – are not. 

Alternate definitions of insanity

 

Instead of repeating the same thing over and over, passing it off as the definition of insanity, let’s consider something new...

 

Leaving a voicemail

 

Burning garlic in a frying pan

 

Reading the comments

 

Reclining your airline seat before takeoff

 

Taking a flyer for a free comedy show

 

Having small talk with a casual acquaintance 

 

Waiting in line for brunch

 

Riding a bike on the side

 

Signing an email with “cheers” 

 

Sharing a meme

 

Wearing headphones in public 

Bad Signs

 

Today is election day. For some people, that means next to nothing. To me, that means I don’t have to move my car for street cleaning. It also means it’s a good time to take the country’s temperature. Though it isn’t always clear how and where to insert a thermometer into the body politic. Still, we persevere. 

As you may know, there are a few matters of grave concern. Issues that are frankly keeping people up at night. Researching the particulars by reading memes or following experts on social media. But none of that is what I’m focused on today. My concern for the country is a bit more abstract. Because I am surveying things from great heights. A vantage point that allows me to truly see things how they are. 

However, my cause does touch every single municipality, no matter how small. It cuts across party lines and demographics. And it’s been a problem for a very, very long time. You can’t go anywhere in all fifty states and not see a serious sign of civic decay. 

I’m talking of course about political yard signs. Why do they have to be so ugly? There’s no visual hierarchy. The kerning, the leading, the horror. The slogans are tired, the names are too large, and the font is offensive. In a world where technological innovations have many worried for their livelihoods, why does it seem that the political sign makers continue without a care in the world? They don’t seem worried. If ever there was a job that could be done better by a robot surely it is this one. Nothing they do is even remotely artisanal. And for many of my peers, that alone is an indictment of someone’s craft. 

These hideous signs pop up every summer, multiplying in otherwise pristine yards, growing like mushrooms after a downpour. A single home sometimes has several signs for the same person. Who votes because of these? I can’t tell if you’re running for sanitation board of a tiny Alaskan village or the next Mayor of Cincinnati. 

The phrase, “do better” is thrown around a lot these days. But to me, the problem of signage is deeper than any other single issue. If we let the status quo remain, it’s not a good sign for the future.

Also Rans

Yesterday was the 52^nd New York City Marathon, where throngs of people touch all five boroughs with varying levels of intense movement. I stood safely on the sidelines, watching with the aid of a small, novelty telescope. While it is always a disturbing and quite confounding sight seeing people running for their lives for no apparent reason (I can understand the motivation to run amid a volcanic eruption or another environmental cataclysm). But that was not the most bizarre thing I saw. Although it did involve running.

As I approached the course, hearing encouraging words and off-key renditions of Queen’s most familiar and finest songs, I felt the heavy breeze of a panting interloper. It was a man in tight shorts running by me. He had no number on his chest, no cheering section rooting him on, and no reason to run. I’m not exactly calling for more laws to ban this obnoxious display of self-aggrandizement, but I think there should be some serious reputational cost for those who run apart from the marathon on Marathon Sunday. 

It’s like bringing a ball, bat, glove and jersey to a baseball game, playing a little pepper in the outfield bleachers while the professionals get to work. There is a vetting process for the marathon and while I can’t imagine a single reason to run for 26.2 miles, if the city gives you the green light, I say, God bless. 

But if they don’t? Change your routine. Sleep in. Go for a walk. Grab a bite. And take the L. 

 

Late Night Programming

 

As networks scramble for what to air late at night, they should consider bucking the norms. At this point in television history, there’s no need to place a lukewarm body behind a fake wood desk, lording over guests like a feudal chieftain. It’s not their office, so they don’t need a desk. They aren’t there late at night, doing paperwork, long after the last grip has gone home in an empty panel van. 

 

Instead of a host for a typical variety show, why not let infomercials run in their place? Everyone could use more cutlery, especially the kind that can saw the handle off a bank vault. 

 

Televising obscure sports from a distant land could be nice. Why not watch a bunch of foreigners chase after a ball riding an endangered beast? 

 

You could do something more minimalist. For instance, the snowy fuzz of yesteryear was mesmerizing for a certain generation. The tech guru’s static yule log. 

 

It can’t be any worse than what we keep rolling out there. Can it?   

Saving the World (One Post at a Time)

 

Ever since the first beauty pageant contestant strutted up to center stage with a bedazzled sash and a glistening tiara, human beings have been focused on achieving world peace. However, most were short on specifics. 

And when they did get down to brass tacks, the answers varied wildly from one person to another. Some would recommend praying or reading more. Others preferred to concentrate on diets or charity. Activism figured into things as well, as did a wide toothy smile and a controlled wave. 

But then you’d look around and the situation remained out of control. Could it be that all these years of prancing on a runway did little to affect geopolitics? Doubtful. We were getting warmer, and that’s to say nothing about the climate. Finally, after years of generalities, certain people on the fringes of polite society have figured it out. 

If you want to achieve world peace, the notion of doing something tangible, private, or God forbid anonymous, is a non-starter. You have to do something in public. That means social media. That means posting incessantly. That means cultivating a patronizing tone and a myopic worldview. That means everything. And that means peace.