My Best Spent Buck

onebuckI gave a guy a buck on Friday and what I got in return was a little bit of quiet shock, a plaintive question and some sincere words of thanks.

No, it wasn’t a panhandler or even anyone who asked for a handout, or actually, anything at all.

Here’s what happened. I was attending, for work, the Autorama show at Cobo Hall and pulled into a nearby parking garage. It was one of those where you needed to park two-deep. There was an attendant on each level to direct you to the next spot and take your keys in your vehicle needed to be moved if it was blocking in someone wanting to leave.

The attendant on Level 5, where I parked, took my key and placed it on hook #5. “Five on five, is you…that’ll make it easier to remember,” he said. He seemed very serious about his work. When I returned I noticed my Jeep Wrangler had been moved, and moved to a better spot, right in front of me. “Five on five,” I said to him and he smiled and gave me my key. At the last second, I decided to stick a buck in his hand. Wasn’t really sure that’s what you do, but it happened.

At first he looked shocked, then quietly asked me, “what’s this for?” I told him I appreciated him taking care of my car and it was just a small token to show it. “Besides,” I added, “I just want to. I’ve had a good day. So should you.”

“That’s really nice,” he said, “thank you so much. No one does this.”

I tell you this story not as a means of self-aggrandizement. It was only a buck, which is what I had in my pocket at the time.  I tell you this story to put the thought out there that amid the anger, frustration, disappointment and dismay ruining the national morale, if we think more about helping each other through even the smallest gestures, we can pull through together. The fact is that even a simple gesture of appreciation has a long shelf life in the recipient’s psyche. It might be just enough emotional fuel to get them through a bad day, or run of tough luck. Makes the benefactor feel pretty good too. I’m so glad that on a cold Friday in Detroit, my buck stopped into the right hands.

 

Scalia’s Ex Post Facto Favor

scaliaI can’t think of a decision handed down by the late Justice Antonin Scalia that I agreed with. It’s easy. We just had different opinions. Mine were based on my outlook on life, upbringing and moral compass. He contended his were based solely on his interpretation of the Constitution with a large dollop of his faith thrown in.

But then he died and I read and heard more about Justice Scalia than I’d heard or read the entire time since I became aware of him when he ascended to the High Court in 1986. I’d read his decisions over the years and most time, angrily disagreed.  But what did I know about the law? I’m a journalist. He was a jurist. Still, his opinions seemed, at times unreasonable, insensitive and just mean.

That opinion, from the bench in my basement writing this, is now open to further examination. Listening to interviews with him during coverage of his death, I found his reasoning far beyond that of just conservative thinking, malicious ruling or cantankerous crankiness. His reasoning for, what I continue to believe,were confounding, infuriating rulings appeared sincerely based on his belief the Constitution is a document not open to interpretation or interpolation, but rather a turgid screed sealed in its original 18th century form.

In one interview he asked his questioner whether or not he’d read The Federalist Papers. federalistpapersOf course he hadn’t. But now I am. The Federalist Papers is a collection of 85 articles and essays written by Alexander Hamilton, James Madison and John Jay promoting the ratification of the U.S. Constitution.  Even after  a quick survey of the 85 papers before delving deeper I have learned that the Constitution must take into account the individual rights of  each state, must create order, fairness and even courtesy in government. I have not yet found a passage supporting Justice Scalia’s contention the Constitution is not open to interpretation.

I look forward to the next week or two filling my brain with the heady writing of our Founding Fathers. They wisely wrote these essays in accessible language, not only to make the case for ratification, but to create a timeless record to which future generations could refer and understand.

And I thank the late Justice Antonin Scalia for resurrecting thoughts of the Federalist Papers from my long ago history classes to the top of my mind. I’m sure I still won’t find myself agreeing with his rulings, but at least I’ll understand, just a little better, why he made them.

 

 

 

 

Avoiding the Online Branding Iron

onlinebrandingHow many times have you read or heard about cultivating your “online brand?” Oh, maybe 42 billion and 6, including the note I saw in a job-getting advice story in today’s Detroit Free Press. As part of that advice, job seekers are urged to start their own websites or blogs.

I started this blog a little over a year ago and have been active on Facebook and Linkedin, less so on Twitter.  It got me wondering how my online brand is perceived.  Surveying my scribblings over the past 8 or 9 years I would conclude my online brand falls somewhere between insanity and Silly String. This revelation may reveal why I’m seldom sought after by recruiters who would prefer a prospect’s brand be closer to Wonder Bread and beige.

When I first started cracking wise on Facebook about 6 years ago it was simply a lark to see if I’d get any sort of reaction. After a few successful posts I was branded by others as a potential standup comic. That was very flattering but standup comics are, for the most part, insecure train wrecks. I can admit to occasional insecurity but I always stop at railroad crossings.

As the head of Fiat Chrysler’s digital communications, social media is a big part of my job. I enjoy giving speeches, but I don’t offer a lot of advice online. The one time I did tweet something the then head of social media at a competitor cracked on Twitter, “oh, Chrysler’s social media guy is finally being social.” Nyahh. Nyahh.  I replied that I was paid to promote Chrysler, not myself. Another guy jumped in saying I should posture on Twitter as an expert. I countered that a lot of people who posture as experts are full of crap. He responded “let’s have coffee some time.”

I regularly careen between serious, sensitive and stupid. When I feel I’ve been stupid, I often delete those posts.  I have deleted dozens of posts over the years when, on second thought, I personally decided my online brand would devolve to “dumbshit.”

The fact is both in my real and professional life I’ve always taken chances and looked at new challenges as something I could handle. Would a company want someone like me who is not bound by culture or convention? Generally, it’s a tough sell, but I don’t care. I’ll tell you this. If you’re considering what your online brand is, it should be the same as your offline brand, and your off-duty brand, and your real life brand. It should be a brand with a simple name, “Me.”

 

 

Reflections of My Solar Revolutions

memomI made it around the Sun…again

It’s the same trip I’ve been taking since Truman was President yet each circuit is different from the last. Oh, there was the one where my friends and I got very upset because New York State started taxing food and we had to cough up 6 cents for a Clark Bar instead of a nickel. I mean, really? A penny? What’s that gonna get the government except bushels of nuisance spare change you can’t buy anything with anyway.

6thgradeThere was the orbit where my 6th grade teacher vetoed the class vote for me as its Student Council rep because I was generally disruptive. Isn’t that what gets results? I wrote her a strongly-worded note deriding her for negating the “will of the people.” and she wrote my mother an equally blunt missive ordering her to appear for an important meeting regarding my lack of respect for authority. My wonderful mother, who was equally as recalcitrant, listened to my teacher’s complaints and feigned sympathy, then came home, rolled her eyes and begged me not to bust the teacher’s chops so much

During one circuit of the Sun I had a summer job in an engineering office where the draftsmen and designers were working up blue prints for piping at a nuclear power plant in Michigan. My job, as clerk, was to send the blue prints out to the construction site so they’d know how to put the plant together. Ooops. I sent blue prints for pipes that hadn’t yet been fabricated. Sad face from boss. And people wonder why we have problems with nuke plants. Might just be ferhoodled summer clerks.

youngreporterThere was the year my boss didn’t think I’d looked like I took enough trips around the big ball of gas. That’s when I worked at CNN. I was 34 but unfortunately looked about 14. That’s not good when you’re a correspondent. So they said I could still report, but not show my juvenile face. I figured that “problem” would serve me well after many more solar orbits, but by then the news business went to hell and no one wants reporters with any experience because they’re expensive.

Some of my trips involved professional triumph as well as abject disappointment, great personal joy and mourning, acting incredibly stupid and surprisingly ingenious. I’ve been lucky and unfortunate, responsible and foolish, angry and joyful.

My one constant has been my family, which keeps me on my toes. Never allowing me too much modestly or conceit, while keeping me focused and grounded.

I don’t know how many more trips around the Sun I will have the privilege to make, but I know one thing, in the end, I will have come full circle…searching for that nickel Clark Bar.

 

 

 

Birthday Presents..of Mind

birthday2

It was my daughter’s birthday today. Of course, we celebrated in all the usual ways. Presents, dinner, cake. No one was amused, however, when I questioned the reasoning for celebrating one’s birthday. I mean…what part do we all play in being born? Two people, not us, get the ball rolling by having unprotected sex. What eventually becomes us grows inside the woman of the randy couple and sometimes makes her sick in the morning. Over the course of nine months or so, we sprout more stuff, float, turn, suck in nutrients from the mom-to-be and basically live off the gland.

At some point the party’s over. The mom starts dilating and having contractions, screams at the dad and everyone lands in the hospital…if they’re lucky.

Around this time the couple is thinking they shouldn’t have finished off that bottle of wine 9 months prior, which clouded their judgement and contributed to the fix they’re in right now. Meanwhile, the wet package of protoplasm is getting ready to be born, which means, being squeezed through an opening, head first, that’s tighter, as we used to say in radio, than a bull’s ass in fly season.

Finally, daylight! Unborn kid is born, everyone checks the calendar and boom! It’s the kid’s birthday! Now every year on this day people will make a fuss, give presents and say “happy birthday!” A party might be held and a cake with flaming sticks of wax will be eaten, but not before the birthday kid extinguishes the fire by blowing on a perfectly clean cake that’s now a sugary bacteria medium.  All this for having lollygagged in the warmth of mom’s belly for nine months and then getting tossed out on your head and being slapped on the butt.

Yes, the human race does have its odd customs but yet I’d feel said if my birthday came and went without notice…but especially if it came and went without cake.

 

 

Roundabout Avoidance Syndrome

roundabout1I spend a considerable amount of my time driving in circles, and I couldn’t be happier. In the past few years five impenetrable intersections in my town controlled by traffic lights have been replaced with roundabouts.  While the time to traverse these once problematic intersections has been reduced by several minutes and the number of accidents has also declined, people generally despise roundabouts…mainly because they have no idea how to navigate them. For me, not only do I get to continue on my way quicker and more safely, I gain the unintended advantage of being entertained by the roundabout-challenged.

How hard can it be to enter a circle, drive a portion of its circumference, exit at the appropriate time and continue your trip?  HA! I present to you the “edLines Roster of Roundabout Rubes.”

1-The WTF: One of the rules of the roundabout is to always keep moving. This person enters the flow of the roundabout expertly enough but at some point their brain takes a break while their foot hits the brakes causing their vehicle to stop dead in the middle of the circle while they ponder WTF to do next. Horns honk, middle fingers fly, fender benders are initiated and completed and we all get to meet one of our town’s Finest who tries not to roll his or her eyes while dying to ask the driver, “WTF?!”

2-The Creepy Crawlie: This driver is scared shitless of the roundabout. I imagine this person popping a nitro tablet before approaching their personal “circle of death.” It starts fine as they reach that point where the coast is either clear and you can enter the roundabout, or you have to pause to wait for an opening. The problem is, in either case they just never move out of fear of being swept away in the fast-moving current in the River Roundabout. Traffic starts stacking up behind them, horns honk, middle fingers fly, fender benders are initiated and completed and we all get to meet one of our town’s Finest who tries not to roll his or her eyes while dying to ask the driver, “WTF?!” You see a pattern?

3-The Scario Andretti:  The truth of the matter is modern roundabouts are fairly small, in order to actually coax drivers into slowing down. It’s a safety thing. But The Scario Andretti thinks it’s the two-mile Indy oval and jams the pedal to the metal screeching rubber around the tight circle, cutting off those around him/her and as late as possible, decides on which exit to take and careens onto the straightaway you and I know as… a road. You know what frequently happens? I’ll bet you do. Yup. Horns honk, middle fingers fly, fender benders are initiated and completed and we all get to meet one of our town’s Finest who tries not to roll his or her eyes while dying to ask the driver, “WTF?!”

roundabout2It turns out that some roundabout-phobes will actually drive miles out of their way to avoid one, when learning to survive this handy device would have saved them time and aggravation. For me, aside from the obvious advantages they provide, the ancillary entertainment value of viewing the actions of the roundabout-challenged has my head spinning… in circles.

Retorter’s Notebook: 2016 Detroit Auto Show

20160112_101507The 2016 North American International Auto Show here in Detroit is now in the books for me and I’d like to offer some observations.

1-My company, Fiat Chrysler Automobiles, has the best stand. I don’t say that to suck up, since a person of my age group has as much chance of advancing as a possum crossing the Jersey Turnpike, but I actually believe it. Check it out. I’ve made it easy by gratuitously posting the video I produced about the stand.

2-In order to park your car you must do one of the following:

  • Work for a company willing to waste its capital on buying up every space in every convenient parking lot, deck or garage. Thankfully I don’t. But I wished I knew someone who did and would slip me his/her pass in exchange for murky promises of free pints of mead.
  • Win the Powerball in order to pay extortion in exchange for parking at one of the lots actually opened that’s closer than Toledo. My expense report should be quite amusing.
  • Don’t drive at all…and call in sick.

3-It’s a lot of fun mooching free cappuccinos and other free stuff from competitors’ stands while acting indignant and pouting, “what? no shrimp?” I learned that from being a reporter.

4-Indicative of the auto industry’s boffo year in 2015 every company’s stand had lights.

5-It was nice to see everyone in great moods since things are going well and there are so many very cool new vehicles being introduced. During the horrible 2008-9 recession those smiles were attributed to Xanax.

6-Unlike the last election cycle no Presidential candidates toured the floor hoping for some coverage from the 6,000 journalists attending. Perhaps they accurately figured out the reporters were more interested in self-driving vehicles, and not autonomous pandering.

7-One reporter about to conduct an interview with one of our executives actually asked, “Uh, what’s FCA?” I could have had fun with that but took pity on the poor thing who, I’m sure, wonders why acronyms are all caps.

All in all, it was the best Detroit show in recent memory. We’re all feeling good about the business, the new cars and trucks in the pipeline and how great all the displays look. I would have posted this sooner, but I  had to find a place to  park.

 

It’s the Auto Show…Bring on the Snow!

IMG_0062We’ve enjoyed an unseasonably warm winter so far, but more powerful than El Nino, able to leap stationary fronts with a single low pressure system, able to bend the patience of steel-minded journalists…it’s the North American International Auto Show! That means snow is on the way, along with torrents of news and a deluge of drivable dreams under the Cobo canopy in downtown Detroit.

Truth be told there aren’t many surprises since the automakers generally give away the news in advance on an embargoed basis so their stories will show up in the morning papers. What’s left to wonder is what kind of swag awaits reporters who will do their best impressions of Ronda Rousey to fight for a free logo-embossed pretzel they can sell on eBay.

I worked the show for four different employers. I spent the longest time with CNN as the Detroit Bureau Chief. For a few consecutive years we produced special programs with the titles of “Route 1992, 1993, 1994, etc.” Production teams would traipse up from Atlanta and spend most of the week crabbing about the cold weather and the fact there wasn’t a Krystal burger joint in site. When one producer who had helmed a couple of these shows was finally re-assigned he got on his knees and..stayed there.

When I was the National Auto Writer for the Associated Press it was me against everyone. I thought I had a scoop when the then head of marketing for one automaker (I won’t say which because I work there) spilled the beans on a new incentive program. I later asked the CEO about that and his face got very red when he sputtered, “well he didn’t clear that with me!” “He” soon cleared out his office.

At the Detroit News, where I was the GM beat writer, I was told I had to come up with a lead story for the next day. We were in one of those hated group sessions with the GM CEO. No one was getting anything so I pulled the trigger asking him to react to the fact that Toyota would soon overtake the automaker as number one in sales. Let’s just say he became very unhappy, but coughed up the quote and I made my nut for that day.

Now that I work for an automaker, my main job is to make sure our stuff wins coverage, particularly from broadcast and digital media. It’s fascinating to be on the other side of the battle lines. I’ve come to appreciate the skills professional PR people need to hone to do their jobs properly, although as a former reporter, I can’t help telling a reporter who asks if they can get an interview regarding the new “Chrysler Impala” the view must be very dark inside their hindquarters.

Indeed, I look forward to the most important auto show of the year…seeing old friends, eating new shrimp and smiling at the nice young ladies offering mints as I tell them, “No thanks. I’ve breathed my last breath.”

 

Going to School at Paula’s Parties

hippyEdjpgThe boys grew Beatle hair to look cool and hide their pimples. The girls started growing the parts that made the boys act very un-cool and realize how much less mature they were than the girls. We weren’t old enough to drink alcohol but at 13 our bodies and minds were starting to go through the hell called puberty, intoxicating us with thoughts of adult pleasure, or at least a decent makeout session and maybe copping a feel.

It was 1965. We were in Junior High School. Specifically, JHS 172 in Queens, N.Y. It was a rough school in a suburban neighborhood. Every classroom had at least one broken window and for those of us who passed the test in 6th grade allowing us to skip from 7th to 9th grades, we risked getting the crap beat out of us by jealous 8th graders and 9th graders indignant their ranks were poisoned with younger “maggots,” the term used at the time to describe overachieving pre-teens—at least in our neighborhood. Indeed, when the announcement was made on the PA that beloved woodshop teacher Mr. Feuerstein passed away, our science teacher, “Killer” Kowalski deadpanned, “better him than me. Go to Chapter 7.”

There was a girl in our little group named Paula. She was too independent to go steady. Popular, but not snobby. Just cute enough for guys to covet her but not developed enough for the tough guys to hit on.

Paula threw parties in the basement of her house. They were fairly civilized with soda, chips, records playing and a little bit of dancing, although most guys our age were either too shy or clumsy, so the girls mainly danced with each other.

At some point we played a kissing game called “School.” The boys sat in chairs along the wall. The girls got in line and one by one they sat on a boy’s lap and kissed…on the lips! If the boy liked the kiss he’d say “fail” and the girl would have to keep kissing him. If he didn’t, he declared, “pass,” and the girl moved on to the next pimple puss. The problem, besides being very demeaning to the less desirable girls (in the eyes of the idiot boys), was when it was Paula’s turn, none of the guys would let her pass. She was that good a kisser. At some point she would simply tell the horny boy she was dropping out and moved on to the next guy. This really held up the line and the poor girls stuck behind Paula would get pissed off and attempt to “fail” to not only get their fair share of action, but to put some space between them and Paula.   Eventually the game ended and so did the party. Most of the guys knew they wouldn’t even get close to kissing a girl on the lips until the next party and the forced lip-locking of “School.” In case you’re wondering, we did not play “Spin the Bottle.” It simply left too much to chance.

I don’t know what pre-teens do at parties today. I’m guessing it’s a lot of texting with everyone’s noses in their smartphones. Maybe video games and tossing down snacks from Trader Joes, washed down with an energy drink. Oh sure, there’s probably some fooling around courtesy some helpful hints from the Internet.

For us, 50 years ago, it was simply enough for our libidos to learn from our dad’s Playboy magazines, dirty jokes….and spending some time at Paula’s parties, when “School” was in session.

 

 

 

If the Ball Drop…Stopped

timessquareballdropI’m not one for looking back at the outgoing year and not naïve enough to think I can predict what will happen in the incoming trip around the sun. What I do spend a lot of time thinking about is that 60 second period between the Times Square ball starting its descent and the moment it hits bottom marking the new year. It’s the purgatory of time. I call it New Years Eve-entually. Yeah, sure, the old year is in its final seconds but let’s face it, you said sayonara to that after seeing the first promo for Kathy and Anderson’s Obnoxin’ Eve. The new year isn’t quite there but that’s where your head is.  So what thoughts do you cram into those 60 seconds as the old year dies and the new one’s head is popping through?

Here’s my list:

1-I know New Year’s Rockin’ Eve is pre-recorded which makes it more horrifying that someone at the network could view it first and still air the program.

2-If Donald Trump is elected President I’m glad he’s still not married to Marla Maples because that’s an OK name for a Sesame Street character or someone from Vermont, but not for a First Lady

3-Is the guy standing next to me smoking a joint or do his clothes naturally smell like a decomposing stoat?

4-Why don’t they ever make the Times Square ball look like a butt so when it reaches bottom it looks like it’s sitting down?

5-I would like to begin all staff meetings with 3 minutes of thumb wrestling

6-What if the Earth became bored with orbiting the Sun and spent 2016 making the circuit of Bed, Bath and Beyonds? I’d like that because I have about 50 of those 20 percent off coupons.

6a-Will a certain singer take over store chain listed above and change the name to Bed, Bath and Beyonce?

7-If you hug Eminem too tightly, would he melt in your hands?

8-Scientists reveal the syndrome known as “affluenza” is really a strain of “assholyness.”

9-It would be more fun if hurricanes were named after farm animals. Wouldn’t you love to see the headline, “Hurricane Hog Slops Across East Coast.”? “Hurricane Chicken Gooses Bahamas.” ?

10-Time’s almost up. How fun would it be if the ball got stuck an inch from the bottom leaving us temporarily parked between the past and the future meaning we’d live in the “now”, enjoying the “moment,” savoring it, without regrets about what we’ve already done or frets about what’s to come?  That’s the way to start a happy new year!

Happy New Year to all of you!