Wait a Minute, I'm on the Phone.

There was a time when a person spoke to you and they looked you straight in the eye. That one look would tell you everything. You would know if they were telling you the truth. You could see if they were happy, sad, preoccupied, nervous, or tired. Sometimes, you just wanted to see if they were stoned again and didn't include you. Whatever the reason, you were both present and in the moment.

Today, our communication devices are diverting our eyesight and attention away from each other and onto our tiny little digital displays. And while we're busy looking down, we could get hit by a bus. Or trip over a bag of money. Or miss the simple eye contact it takes to initiate an exciting new romance or what could turn into a life-long friendship. With the advent of modern communication technology, have we lost the ability to truly communicate?

I was walking out of the bank today when I heard a hearty hello coming from beside me. Politely, I turned to respond. Didn't I feel like a dipstick when I noticed the Bluetooth earpiece? We've all done it. We go to respond to someone we think is talking to us and then we feel bad or embarrassed when we realize they are not. We actually take the time to feel bad or embarrassed for trying to be polite and friendly to some shmuck that's polluting the air with his mindless drabble and unwillingly including us. What's wrong with this picture? I think these are the guys that should lose an ear or two to Mike Tyson.

Later at the gym, I listened to another guy's entire conversation on the treadmill. He was going on about his girlfriend and how she doesn't understand him (he seemed extremely complex) and how they can't communicate. He went on to say he was fed up with her and when he hung up he was going to text her and break up with her. Since he decided that is was fine to share this information with everyone around him including me, I felt it was an invitation to participate in the conversation. And being somewhat of an armchair psychologist, I felt compelled to help him with his problem.

I told him that you don't break up with anyone using text messages, singing telegrams, post-its, emails, cell phone calls or skywriting. You don't bake a cake with "so long chump" in the icing. You don't ask a friend to tell her. You don't ignore her phone calls. You don't tape a note to her door. You don't send Shannon Doherty. You simply say the words, directly to her face in simple and loving language she will understand. And then you can run.

Lately, I've gone to lunch and dinner with friends that have one eye on me and one eye on their cell phone. They'll get text messages. Smile, laugh and giggle and reply. Has anyone ever gone out on a bad date that eyes every piece of human flesh that walks by the table? Doesn't this amount to the same thing? If you find your cell phone more engaging company than the person you're with, perhaps you should be dating it. You already know how to push its buttons. And, phones with vibrate mode can be especially pleasing. You can even take sexy pictures of yourself with your phone. I'm sure you'll both be very happy.

And then there's text messages. I've been in group situations where people are texting each other and carrying on an entire conversation about someone else they don't like that's sitting right in front of them. Years ago, this would simply be whispering and it was impolite and if your mother raised you right, you didn't do it. When did we become so afraid to say what's on our mind out loud and with conviction?

As we become more engaged with technology and increasingly disengaged from our humanity, we have much to lose. We lose the ability to really listen. We lose the ability to read people and really understand them. We lose the art of conversation and persuasion. Our friends simply become contacts and address book entries. Due to the constraints of texting, we ourselves begin to abbreviate our real feelings. We are at risk of becoming more introverted and unable to say what really want to say right up front and face to face where it really counts.

I challenge us all to turn off our cell phones at lunch, dinner, the gym, the movies and any other social gathering. I challenge us to turn them off on Sundays and spend time connecting with the people you really care about face to face. The more time you spend away from your cell phone, the more you will discover, that like TV, you don't really need it all that much anyway. Besides, how many text messages a day do you really need with that profound and engaging opening line,"Wassup?"

Got What Happens In Vegas Just Do It

It starts as one great idea. Let's take Got Milk? Then let's add Got Beer, Got Yogurt, Got Condoms, Got Fleas, Got Music, Got Fish, Got Jesus and 10,000 other rip-offs of a simple slogan created by countless marketing "professionals" who's last good idea was a decision they made in the finance department where they should have stayed. There's a whole website devoted to all the copycats of the "Got" campaign. Which leads me to ask the question, what happened to original, fresh, creative advertising?

Apparently, it turned into boobs, which is ironic considering who's coming up with this stuff. Flip through any Las Vegas magazine. We need to sell sushi. I know, let's put a boob on it. We need to sell condos. I know, let's put a boob on it. Nightclubs? Boobs. Restaurants? Boobs. Clothes? Boobs. Beer? Boobs. Boobs. Boobs. Boobs. Boobs are the new toolbox for creative professionals. Adobe Photoboob. Microsoft Wordboob. Macromedia Boobmaker. Crayola Boobmarkers.

When did advertising professionals decide that the solution to all creative problems were boobs? Or rip-offs? Or copy cats? The downfall of great advertising began with the operations guy that decided every silly idea that pops into his head is great. Or perhaps it can be blamed on his secretary which he promoted to marketing director because he liked the way she color-coded his file folders which means she must be creative. Never mind the purple dress, green pumps, white belt with gold "I'm a Gemini" buckle, blue eyeshadow, pink glossy lipstick and silver glittery eyelashes she's wearing while she's giving a a college educated art director crucial creative input like "don't put too much ink on the page, too much ink destroys the environment and that kills the whales and stuff." (True story, yes, it really happened.)

You know the guy I'm talking about. He usually starts his sentences out with "this is not my area of expertise...but." He's the one with all the yes men around him to support every dumb thought that rattles around in his head and drops out of his mouth. The problem is he never went to school for advertising. He never studied art or design. He thinks his girlfriend is the perfect model for all of his advertising, and he doesn't mean after she gets her braces off, loses 30 pounds, grows a foot, shaves the moustache and the burns heal from that curling iron mishap.

So where do we go from here? Well I say that out of respect, Got Milk should simply stay Got Milk and What Happens in Vegas Will Stay In Vegas. Advertising professionals should JUST DO IT because it's the right thing to do. And we should leave creative development in the hands of those that are trained to do it. After all, would you rather have a high-strung ad guy on his sixth cup of coffee and seventh round of revisions performing laser eye surgery or just marketing it?

Welcome to Victimville

It's a nice place to visit, but you wouldn't want to live there. Well, not for very long anyway. Hallmark needs a card for it. Something like:

Roses are Red,
Have Pity on Me.
My life is a mess,
And none of it's my fault.

Alright, so it doesn't rhyme. It doesn't have to because nothing is truly good in Victimville. Words don't rhyme. Dogs bite. Tires go flat. Your blender doesn't blend. There's constant acid reflux. Your hair is always flat. Your clothes don't ever quite fit. And your in-laws are permanent live-ins...even if you're not married. So if life is this tough in Victimville, why are there so many residents?

Apparently, the long-term reason is something called peptides. While I thought peptides were for whitening teeth, apparently they are a chemical generated by the brain that works at the cellular level. They play a big part in all types of addiction. Victimization an addiction? Just as sure as your Uncle Ralph can't get his head out of the gin bottle and your Aunt Ruth can't stop feeling sorry for herself but doing nothing about it because it's easier to complain than act, the answer is yes. Victim mentality is as much of an addiction as Rosie O'Donnell to cheese blintzes and butch women.

I've created a test you can take to discover if you or a friend may have roots in Victimville:

Question 1. Your friend has been on a diet for 2 months. She shows you her new size 8 dress she's been trying to get into for a special occasion. Your response is that you've been telling people you're pregnant for the last 10 years and have even thrown yourself several faux baby showers to cover up the fact that while you are fatter than you ever imagined you would be, it's much easier to do nothing about it. You offer her a box of powdered donuts and a diet coke.

Question 2. You friend shows you her new engagement ring. You tell her about your five failed marriages, how none of them were your fault and how all marriages end in divorce or murder. You go on to explain how love is an illusion and it doesn't truly exist and that it's a disease like diphtheria or something. You wish her well and hope you don't get invited to the wedding because you can't afford a toaster.

Question 3. You friend lands a new job making a six-figure salary. You tell her the only six-figures you will ever see are part of your old crappy nativity set and you're not even Catholic anymore because you switched to Judaism for your last deadbeat husband who left for a younger woman that weighs 28 pounds and can't stop chewing gum like an obsessed cow. You ask her if she needs an assistant.

While trips to Victimville can be a nice break from reality, long-term residency should be avoided at all costs. Live there long enough and you'll actually begin to believe that your life is as big a mess as you've created in your fantasy world. And after all, if you're going to fantasize, isn't it much better to dream about being bright, beautiful, rich and loved by all?