An open apology to Chevrolet

I drove it like I hated it. Yes,  I made your 2010 Camaro my little beyotch! And with this, comes my open apology. Please accept it.

My inner monologue was “tee hee hee” as I was handed the keys. I put your Camaro through it’s paces even though I stalled the first time like I had a learner’s permit.  With 425 horsepower, I quickly vaporized your sticky 255-section rear tires.  I was fortunate to have a 19 mile leg to Augie’s Pizza with Agustina, Dori and Angi as my passengers.

Some old lady was going 90 in the HOV lane which really crimped my style.  I flicked the brights several times and she finally got the hint.  Then, I put it down.  The speedometer swung right as if it were a tachometer.  I was ready to just turn around hands in the air and cuff up if I got pulled over. I ripped the hubcaps off of a brand new Bentley with temporary tags. I was told I almost clipped an Altima. Deny. Deny. Deny.

Then we finally arrived at our pizza destination.  Your On Star is too good.  I intentionally overshot Augie’s so I could screel donuts in the parking lot next door. See above right picture.

So now I know what an aircraft carrier smells like when a plane lands. Thanks Chevrolet. And send me the bill. ~Mike

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To the person who stole my cell phone

Why when something is stolen, why do we always refer to  the thieves as “they?”  They stole my _________?” “They” got my laptop. “They” got my shoes. “They” busted my window.

Well, “they” stole my cell phone today. I think they pickpocketed it as I was I was boarding the Metrorail in South Miami. Big bustle to board.  Probably was a team job.  In the pickpocket trade, they call call it, “distraction, extraction.” Bump you from one end.  Make a commotion.  And bing, it was gone from my backpack.  So much for being eco-friendly.

Anyway, I found out when I got to work and the phone was gone.  So I called phone. Went straight to VM.  Called AT&T.  They told me that either it was turned off or the battery went dead. I have 21 days standby time so I know battery was fine.

Three #’s were called on it when it was “missing.” 305-982-8299. 305-691-1931. And a 5 minute call to 305-303-4237 at 10:35 a.m.

I called all three #’s. The last one said it “must have been a wrong #.” I asked if you usually speak to people who dial you in error for FIVE MINUTES?” No good response.

So, I’m getting a new phone Monday. Here is a map of where my phone went since it was stolen.

Doesn’t help much but it makes me feel good and maybe impress you a bit. An attempt anyway. The good news is I had the insurance package.  The bad news is I took it where the sun don’t shine for $125.00 because this was a “special phone.” So thanks all around.

I think I’m going to enjoy my cell-free weekend.  And if you want to call the numbers above, please do. Tell them Mike told you to call.  Any ideas? Step up. ~Mike

The F-Bomb

I love gaffes when the microphone is on and people don’t know it.  I heard my buddy Joe Biden dropped  a nice F-Bomb yesterday at the  historic signing of much-championed health care plan. Look forward to more from him. Thanks for the blog post idea, my friend! That’s why I voted for ya! For gaffes, Vice President Biden rings in at #3.

Ringing in at #2 is another dear friend of mine, Jesse Jackson. When he was prepping for a CNN interview with Al Sharpton at his side (I think it was Rev Al) to talk to CNN about Obamas campaign platforms he dropped this: “Barack’s been talking down to black people … I want to cut his nuts off.” So that’s # 2. Thanks Jesse!

Ringing in at #1 is another close friend but dearly departed, President Ronald Reagan. He was being harangued at a press conference and was trying to leave the podium.  As he was leaving, the mic caught, “sons of bitches!”  But that’s not what made this gaffe great.

The next day Presidential spokesperson, Larry Speakes was asked if the President referred to any member of the press corps as “son’s of bitches.” Mr Speakes said, “He doesn’t recall saying it. He doesn’t recall anyone else saying it. If he said anything, he said, “It’s sunny and your rich.” Gaffe #1 by far in my book.

What’s your favorite open mic gaffe?  ~Mike

Pizza Street Cred

Tough place to get pizza street cred, the 305, 561 and the 954.  Lot of heavyweight pizza cognoscenti and aficionados. Doesn’t make a difference who you are, who you know or what you’ve won in the past.

So I was pleasantly surprised when I was selected to participate in the first annual #chevypizzacrawl brought to you by worstpizza.com and Chevy. After all, I have attended every Pizza Tweetup since people were wearing “I Like Ike buttons.”

I wanted to send out a bit of advice to all those attending.

The Women:  Please wear light makeup as I will be driving the ‘Vette  and the Camaro and will be testing the makeup-smearing pickup.  Also, please wear your jog bras as may be hijacking the Tahoe for a side trip to the Everglades.

Advice to the guys: Someone bring a flask for after:)

Thanks Chevy and worstpizza.com.  This will get us all the street cred we deserve.  Please if I forgot anything, chime in. ~Mike

The worst Miami Heat Tickets ever!

So my son’s uncle won some tickets at a sports store or something to a Heat game and we went last night.

Escalator up. Escalator up.  Escalator up.  Stairs up to the top level. Tickets were in the absolute last row!  No one could yell, “down in front” because there was NO ONE behind us.  We could have been Don King and Erykah Badu and no one would have said a thing.

Anyway, there we were gasping for air in the nosebleeds.  I wondered if this sports store was trying to impress a customer and was thinking that this is the textbook way not to do it.

So #1 son is miles away screaming like he is Erik Speolstra coaching on the sidelines. Turns out it didn’t make a difference what seats we had. He had a blast. He wore his Dwyane Wade #3 jersey and got to see D-Wade.

So next time you get “bad seats” they might just turn out to be the best seats in the house.

What do you think? Your comments are always welcome here. ~Mike

At the end of the day…

I think I’ve been working too long because I’ve been in meetings that sounded like this:

Boss: I know many of you have been out of pocket lately and I wanted to keep you in the loop.  First let’s helicopter up and get an eagle’s eye view with our embarrassment of riches so we can move the needle for our clients and give them the most bang for their buck. Doubling back to the mission statement, we need to capture the mind share of our demography and be true corporate partners with an intrusive, breakthrough, out-of-the-box full-court press.

So team, let’s cherry pick the low hanging fruit. We’ll do the heavy lifting up front because this news will only be news once. Let’s drill down to the year-over-year objectives and focus on the aspirationally chic D.I.N.K.S. The RFP/RFI/RFQ/ITN isn’t a problem, it’s an opportunity to make the dollars work harder because what their spending with us isn’t an expense, it’s an investment.

Let’s make this response ownable, accountable, have a long shelf life with value added. The nuts and bolts will level the playing field and change the landscape of the competitive set.  Down the road we’ll push the envelope.  At the end of the day, this will be a server-crashing effort with depth and breadth that will certainly go viral.

So let’s burn the midnight oil and change the mindset, up the conversion rate.  Thank you all for your time.  We’ll do lunch and your money’s no good near me.

Stop waving at me!

We all have our illnesses.  Mine is Jeep Wranglers. Don’t know what it is, but if I was in a relationship, you could call me the Tiger Woods of Jeep guys.

Been driving  Wranglers for a while.  Nice ride. Fun in the sun. Not showy.  Always a parking space if you get creative. Bang through the Everglades. Dents and dings become beauty marks.  No matter what that looming hurricane season may bring, I get where I gotta go.

Only one thing bugs me about it. Like a lot.  People in other Jeeps always wave at me!  Do I know you?  You’re 75 pal! You’re 18 little girl! Wait, I take that one back.  The kicker: the waving  goes  into hyper mode when the top is down.

So about two years ago I posted on Craigslist in the Rant & Raves section complaining about everyone waving at me.  Yeah I was trolling, but I reeled in a real good one.  Some guy fired back: “Look tough guy!  When you signed on the dotted line, you became a member of an exclusive club. Maybe you should drive a car with a little less heritage.  ASSHOLE.”

That’s the low-tech post for today. I’m done.

Now please someone comment and let me know why people wave at me.  I’m just trying to get where I gotta go.~Mike

The fastest way to hang yourself.

Lot’s of folks are gonna give you a little somethin’ somethin’ about St. Patty’s day, so I’m not.  Instead, I’m going to talk about the fastest way to hang yourself. And that is in writing. Mark Twain himself has agreed to help me through this one.

Twain lived long before WordPress and all this other tech stuff and way before the widespread use of telephones.  The letters he wrote got to and fro mostly Pony Express style, not Federal Express style.

When Twain was mad, he always wrote two letters.  One he wrote right then and there.  And he always wrote a second one to the same person about the same thing the next day. Not once, in his infinite wisdom,  did he ever mail the first letter.

So before you go ahead and press “send” at the heat of the moment, and dash off that nasty note to your boss, co-worker, or anyone else, count to Twain.

“If you tell the truth, you don’t have to remember anything.”  – Mark Twain

Now off to drink beer and talk shit about people. Happy St. Patty’s day. ~Mike

Why your kid shouldn’t model!

I’ve photographed a ton of kids for advertising campaigns, editorial content, some private sessions and a lot because I love kids. Here’s my 2 cents worth. Kids modeling can be an ugly proposition for a few reasons.

1) Basically, there’s not a lot of money in it, especially to start.  You might get a few hundred bucks here and there.  But outside of major cities, there is very little work for kids. Also, it’s their money, not yours. If you need financial assistance, apply for some.  This ain’t it.

2)  If you take it seriously, subtract one parent.  Unless little Cindy can teleport herself to the go-see, you’re going to have to be the one to take little Cindy to the go-see, the call-back and the shoot (if you’re lucky).

3) Your kid could book a job and not even get used in the work they were commissioned for.  I book about 4 babies for every   one we finally wind up using.  And if it’s a busy day, I don’t even know the babies’ name.  I know it’s sad, but I really have to get the shot.  I am getting paid for delivering the shot. So when baby #1 starts crying, my producer brings in baby #2, baby #3, baby #4.  Then we go around again. Unless I know the child, we hardly even use their name…

4) Your child might not get the job for any random reason and they could feel not pretty enough.  Isn’t growing up tough enough? Isn’t being a parent tough enough?

5) Your child will have to take time off from school.  In some states, child models also have to get a work permit for each job, which may require the permission of the school. Good luck with that.

But I do have a happy compromise:  get to know someone who’s a kids photographer and treat it more like a lark.  Each one of the children pictured here I booked through someone I know.  The kid swinging is my friends cousin’s son. That was for Volvo.   The budda looking baby is my brother’s friends kid. That was for Lennox Hill Hospital. And the cute litte girl was a friend of a friend’s daughter for The Gap. Yes they got paid.

So there you have it.  A beautiful child with a big, bright smile.  Here’s a great suggestion, especially if they’re big. Bring them up to be an NBA star.  There’s at least 450 jobs just waiting there.  ~Mike

Why mice are afraid of cats.

nce upon a time in the days when wishing still helped, there was a cat and a mouse who fell in love.  They lived in a pretty white house with a bright red chimney. Every morning the mouse prepared fresh-baked breakfast buns. And every day after breakfast the cat went to work because he wanted to be the richest cat in the world. Late that night the cat came home and saw that the cat’s eyes were red. “Your eyes are are so red. Have you been crying my love?” the mouse asked.  “No my love, my mouse. I have been working so hard. It makes my eyes red.  Please let us go to sleep.  Both of the hands on the clock point past the twelve.”  The next morning the the cat and mouse had their breakfast buns and the cat went off because he wanted to be the richest cat in the world.  “Please my cat, my love,” the mouse said. “Let us not forget that all the wealth in the world does not make me love you more.”  Late that night the cat came home with red eyes again. “Your eyes are are so red. Have you been crying my love?” the mouse asked. “No my love, my mouse.  The clock’s hands point past twelve again. Please let us go to sleep.”  The next day when the mouse was putting the cat’s clothes away, the mouse saw a shocking sight. Inside the cat’s top drawer was a funny looking cigarette with a fat middle. The mouse knew what it was. I was a bad thing called pot.  The mouse also knew the Golden Rule that says if anyone asks you to try smoking pot you should tell someone you love and not smoke it.  And since the cat never told the mouse, the mouse figured that the cat’s love was not true.  When the cat got home, the mouse was gone but had left a note. It read: “My cat, today I saw an unbelievable sight. I found a bad thing called pot in your drawer. You have broken the Golden Rule and I have run off only to return if you promise never to smoke pot again.” And that is why from that day on all mice run when they see the eyes of the cat.

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I wrote this story to promote discussion between you and you and child. After you read it with them, ask them questions. Answer questions.  I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.  Thank you Rick Meyerowitz for the drawings! ~Mike