tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026530781534351672024-03-13T23:47:22.334-07:00Chauncey GardnerJeff Selishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08338040326310192454noreply@blogger.comBlogger32125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-602653078153435167.post-84946836028165477292010-05-04T15:27:00.000-07:002010-05-10T13:34:46.579-07:00Jeff Selis here with my main man, Spike LeeI shook hands with Spike Lee the other day. It wasn't the first time, but Spike wouldn't know that. He's Spike Lee. I'm merely Jeff Selis. <div><br /></div><div>He was visiting the offices of Wieden +Kennedy at the ivitation of Bill Davenport and Jim Riswold. Bill and Jim have a long, legendary relationship with Spike. The three of them, along with some cat named Michael Jordan revolutionized advertising. As Spike pointed out, it was the first time corporate America had the guts to present a black man as the face of their company. Spike praised Bill and Jim, Dan Wieden and David Kennedy, and Phil Knight as the visionaries willing to <i>just do it</i>. It was a nice moment for everyone. Bill and Jim sitting in the atrium next to Spike. Dan and David next to each other in a front row seat. The rest of the agency enveloped around them. It was a reminder of our roots. A reminder of why we are all there in the first place. A reminder, personally, of why I dreamt of one day working with such an unordinary, extraordinary group.<div><br /></div><div>Bill and Jim retold the story of how they came to discover Spike in the first place. Without retelling it here, it's one of those tales that makes you realize how random life really is, yet how wonderfully opportunistic it can be if your mind is open and at the ready. The marriage of Bill and Jim to Spike was basically a happy accident. But what they accomplished together was no accident at all.</div><div><br /></div><div>After the retelling of their collective story, Spike took a few questions. One question focused on the difference between sports of today versus sports of years past, and if Spike thought that sports were as great now as they seemed to be then...in this case, all the way back <i>in</i> <i>the</i> <i>90s</i>! Spike's answer was thoughtful, as all of his answers were. With regards to sports of today, he believed that sports exhibit what they always have, a winner and a loser, oftentimes with classic match ups and sometimes with surprising outcomes. He cited the New Orleans Saints winning the Super Bowl as an example of what sports can mean to a community. He mentioned the dramatic NCAA basketball final, and how even though he <i>hates</i> Duke, it was an amazing game to witness.</div><div><br /></div><div>Then he went on a tangent. He wanted to make a point of why sports are better than art. </div><div><br /></div><div>"Sports," he declared, "has a true winner. Art, doesn't." </div><div><br /></div><div>And then you quickly realized where Spike was going, and how his heart is somewhat wounded.</div><div><br /></div><div>"In 1989," he said, "Driving Miss Daisy won the Oscar...<i>Driving Miss Daisy</i>."</div><div><br /></div><div>A long, dramatic pause was followed by nervous giggles from all of us. He didn't mention that his groundbreaking film Do The Right Thing wasn't even nominated.</div><div><br /></div><div>He continued.</div><div><br /></div><div>"In 1992, Al Pacino won the Oscar for Scent Of A Woman."</div><div><br /></div><div>Another pause.</div><div><br /></div><div>"<i>Scent Of A Woman</i>," he exclaimed. </div><div><br /></div><div>More nervous giggles.</div><div><br /></div><div>He went on to mention how the academy overlooked Pacino for Godfather 1 and 2, and for roles like Serpico only to later make up for it and give it to him for Scent Of A Woman, which, much to Spike's chagrin, happened to be the same year Denzel Washington was up for his role in Malcolm X.</div><div><br /></div><div>Another pause, maybe a little more awkward.</div><div><br /></div><div>"<i>Then...</i>" he continued, "Denzel later wins an Oscar for Training Day."</div><div><br /></div><div>He had us in his hands now. It was inspiring, to be honest. </div><div><br /></div><div>"He didn't win it for Malcolm X, but they gave it to him for <i>TRAINING DAY</i>!"</div><div><br /></div><div>We all let out a big laugh.</div><div><br /></div><div>"And in 1980, Ordinary People...<i>ORDINARY PEOPLE</i> won the Oscar over Raging Bull. And the academy chose Robert Redford as best director over Martin Scorcese.<i> MARTIN SCORCESE</i>!<i>"</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>That last point was interesting to me. I didn't see the relation it had to Spike and his work, other than it must be some consolation for him to be in the company of the maestro Martin Scorcese.</div><div><br /></div><div>But his point was taken. It was a popularity contest. I couldn't help but feel for him. Here he was, one of America's most respected voices, but you could tell he felt somehow slighted in a way that his New York Yankees or his New York Knickerbockers never could. </div><div><br /></div><div>Upon learning that he would be attending the Blazers playoff game that evening, I asked him if he'd be rooting for the home team.</div><div><br /></div><div>"I just want to see a good ballgame," he replied.</div><div><br /></div><div>Unfortunately, the Blazers never showed up. But irony of ironies, look who did...</div><div><br /></div><div>TIMOTHY HUTTON - <i>star</i> of Ordinary People! What a funny, funny world.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/S-Brdm_jvfI/AAAAAAAACSI/lbY7k2Ev7r0/s1600/Riswold_0003.jpg"></a></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/S-Brdm_jvfI/AAAAAAAACSI/lbY7k2Ev7r0/s1600/Riswold_0003.jpg" style="text-decoration: none;"><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 229px; " src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/S-Brdm_jvfI/AAAAAAAACSI/lbY7k2Ev7r0/s400/Riswold_0003.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5467488104055291378" /></a></div><div>*Disclaimer: Spike's quotes are based on memory from the day. They may not be word for word accurate, but the truth lies within. You gotta believe me. Please baby, please baby, please.</div></div>Jeff Selishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08338040326310192454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-602653078153435167.post-21797926212411093502010-04-15T10:34:00.000-07:002010-04-20T15:03:45.596-07:00Cancer Sucks And So Do I<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/S8dXJCPaRkI/AAAAAAAACRA/J2hvQa2nixY/s1600/IMG_2360.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/S8dXJCPaRkI/AAAAAAAACRA/J2hvQa2nixY/s400/IMG_2360.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460428885941962306" /></a><br />Well, I made a New Years Resolution that this would be the year that I overcame my delusional belief that I control the destiny of my favorite sports teams and athletes. It was my hope to bring the joy that watching sports gives me back into my life. So far, 3.5 months in, it just ain't working.<div><br /></div><div>I accepted an invitation to the Blazer game last night, half figuring they'd already made the playoffs and a loss wouldn't affect them one way or the other, and half figuring it was time we turned the jinx tide. It was a good game, full of intensity and desire on both sides. It looked like the Blazers would pull it out, but then about midway through the final quarter I kinda got that jinxy feeling throughout my body and suddenly I just knew that the crazy-talented rookie Stephen Curry and his Warriors were going to pull it out. Sure enough, they did. It was still a joy to be there and it was easy not to take the loss too hard, especially seeing the smiling faces of the Blazer players as they handed out their jerseys for fan appreciation night, but I decided right then and there that I would be looking away come this first playoff series against the Phoenix Suns. </div><div><br /></div><div>Screw my resolution.</div><div><br /></div><div>Furthermore, I got an up-close peek at Blazers owner Paul Allen and he didn't look so hot. That's him in the picture up above. Cancer has obviously taken a toll. This is a crazy thing to say out loud, but wouldn't it be great if the entire world was as non-discrimate as cancer? Here he is, one of the very richest men in the world, but all the money in the world can't keep that damn cancer at bay.</div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway, I'm going to assume that Mr. Allen is going to kick ol cancer's butt, but I'm going to do the guy a favor anyway and stay the hell away from his team so that they may optimize their chances of advancing in these playoffs for him.</div><div><br /></div><div>Speaking of things money can't stave off, ol' Tiger Woods ain't immune to the wrath of the world <i>OR </i>me, either.</div><div><br /></div><div>I tried watching him at The Masters figuring my delusional jinx was a thing of the past, but then he went and bogeyed 3 of the first 6 holes before I turned it off and went for a walk. And what did he do when I looked away? He simply holed out an eagle and went birdie-birdie before I returned to cool him off again. Maybe Tiger had it comin' though. Maybe the karma of the world was just too much. Let's figure it was and I had nothin' to do with it. Still, I figure I'm gonna have to avoid watching the British Open if I'm indeed to pull for him to win.</div><div><br /></div><div>But maybe I just shouldn't give a crap. Maybe I just shouldn't have any favorite team or athletes. Maybe I should just watch to watch. Not to root. But is that even possible? </div><div><br /></div><div>I'll think about it. And in the meantime, I'll send Mr. Allen my positive thoughts for a full-recovery, hoping my jinx doesn't apply to matters of health and well-being, morbid as that sounds.</div>Jeff Selishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08338040326310192454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-602653078153435167.post-69870554674776937102009-12-28T12:29:00.000-08:002010-01-01T09:53:37.415-08:002009: Golf's Greatest Year<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/Sz4yPZjx8JI/AAAAAAAAB9Y/O3wWbYyy1rg/s1600-h/large_tom_watson_british_open.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 328px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/Sz4yPZjx8JI/AAAAAAAAB9Y/O3wWbYyy1rg/s400/large_tom_watson_british_open.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421826241541042322" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Trebuchet MS', Verdana, Arial, sans-serif;font-size:100%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 18px;font-size:13px;"><div>2009 will go down in history as the game of golf's greatest year, no doubt about it.</div><div><br /></div><div>The year began with typical early season wins by Phil Mickelson, but the real foreshadowing began when veteran Kenny Perry held off a number of up-and-comers to win the FBR Open at TPC Scottsdale.</div><div><br /></div><div>Tiger Woods, of course, rounded his game into shape by winning his annual warm up tournament to the Masters - the Arnold Palmer Invitational.</div><div><br /></div><div>The oddsmakers liked Woods or Mickelson for the first major of the year, but an electric Sunday charge by the dream pairing came up just short when Kenny Perry made a routine par at the 18th, becoming the oldest player to ever win The Masters, as well as the oldest to win any of the game's four major championships.</div><div><br /></div><div>Asked the key to victory, the 48-year-old green jacket wearing Perry beamed, "I really think it was when I put the driver back in my bag on 18 and went with my trusty 3-wood off the tee."</div><div><br /></div><div>His ball landed in the middle of the fairway, comfortably short of the infamous bunker that might have prevented Perry from joining the illustrious group of former champions. Instead, he pured a 6-iron to the middle of the green for an easy two-putt and an historic victory.</div><div><br /></div><div>The year's worst news came shortly thereafter when it was announced that Mickelson's popular wife, Amy, had been diagnosed with breast cancer.</div><div><br /></div><div>Mickelson, however, expressed optimism about his wife's cancer, saying that doctors believed they had diagnosed the condition early. "We have a wonderful team of doctors helping us and it is believed that we caught this early," the 38-year-old said. "We are anxiously waiting for a number of test results that will help guide us in the best possible direction."</div><div><br /></div><div>With this encouraging news, Mickelson announced to fans that he would indeed be in the field for the U.S. Open at Bethpage, New York.</div><div><br /></div><div>Fighting swelling emotions and galleries, Mickelson managed to hold it together for his first two rounds, comfortably making the cut. Tiger Woods, having once again won his warm up tournament to the US Open, opened with a disappointing 74 before bouncing back with a 2nd round 69. But both golfers found themselves well back of the leaders after Saturday's third round.</div><div><br /></div><div>With Woods out of the picture, Mickelson looked to be going nowhere before he birdied the 9th hole on Sunday. Still, he began the final nine holes four strokes behind surprise leader, Lucas Glover.</div><div><br /></div><div>After a birdie at 12 and an eagle at 13, suddenly Lefty had a share of the lead and destiny in his bag.</div><div><br /></div><div>At 15, he dropped in a slippery downhill 3-footer as thousands of fans let out a collective sigh of relief.</div><div><br /></div><div>After a poor chip to 8-feet on 17, Mickelson rammed the back of the cup with his putt and it dropped in for par.</div><div><br /></div><div>On 18, Mickelson was figuring on two putts from 30 feet, but as fate would have it, the putt never left its perfect line and it disappeared into the hole one more time as the crowd went wild.</div><div><br /></div><div>Some twenty minutes later, standing over his 3-foot putt for par on 18, Glover knew he'd done nothing to lose the tournament.</div><div><br /></div><div>"I just looked at the scoreboard to make sure this was really happening," Glover said.</div><div><br /></div><div>He sunk the putt to finish one back of Mickelson, tied for 2nd with David Duval, whose 5-foot putt on the 17th went 360 degrees around the cup before dropping in, giving him one last chance to catch Mickelson.</div><div><br /></div><div>But this was Mickelson's day, and there was nothing anyone else could do about it.</div><div><br /></div><div>Basking in the afterglow of his first US Open Championship, Mickelson announced, "The best news so far is that the cancer has not spread to the lymph nodes, which improves our chances of beating this in the short and long term."</div><div><br /></div><div>As if the golf year could get any more remarkable, The Open Championship was returning to the site of the epic 1977 battle between a young Tom Watson, and the golden bear he brought down, Jack Nicklaus. Turnberry held a special place in Watson's heart and he had a feeling a special week was in store.</div><div><br /></div><div>Of course, 32 years having passed, everyone knew this was more a walk down memory lane than any real threat to the likes of Tiger Woods, who once again won his warm up tournament at the AT+T three weeks prior.</div><div><br /></div><div>But golf is a funny game, and the gods couldn't have been surprised when Watson opened with the low round of 65, and Woods went 71-74 to miss the cut by a stroke.</div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-style:italic;">Everyone</span> must have been surprised, however, when Watson stood in the middle of the 18th fairway with a one stroke lead and an 8-iron in his hand. Standing over his ball for one final approach, Watson paused. As if the divine had intervened, he stepped away from his ball and asked his caddy for his 9-iron.</div><div><br /></div><div>Watson readdressed and flushed it. The ball landed gently in front of the green and bounded toward the flag, stopping 10-feet short of the hole. The crowd roared as the 59-year-old holder of five Open Championships took the mystical walk toward his 6th. Two putts later he was handed the Claret Jug and the mantle of oldest man to ever win a major, knocking off 48-year-old Kenny Perry, who held the record for three months and a week!</div><div><br /></div><div>Afterwards, Watson quipped, "Makes for a heck of a story, huh?"</div><div><br /></div><div>Elementary, Watson. Soon after, a poll among sportswriters found it to be the greatest story in the history of sports.</div><div><br /></div><div>As the year wound down to its final major, the one glaring omission from the previous three was Tiger Woods. Once again, Mr. Woods won his final warm up leading to the championship, thus giving him a Grand Slam of warm up tournaments - later coined "The Warm-Up Slam" - which is no small feat.</div><div><br /></div><div>Woods came out firing on all cylinders this time, playing well for three rounds and taking a two stroke lead over Y.E. Yang into the final day. Woods, as it had widely been mentioned, had never lost a major tournament he'd led after 54-holes.</div><div><br /></div><div>And this day would be no different. Yang gave it a noble effort, but Woods had an answer for every charge.</div><div><br /></div><div>"I played well enough to win the championship," Woods said, adding "It feels good to get my 15th major out of the way, and I'm really looking forward to taking it to Kenny, Phil and Tom in Bermuda later this year."</div><div><br /></div><div>Woods was referring to the year end match between major winners, but first he'd need to take care of some business at the President's Cup.</div><div><br /></div><div>The President's Cup turned into a rout for the Americans, due in no small part to the play of Lucas Glover and Stewart Cink - the gracious runners-up in the U.S Open and The Open Championship. Paired together the entire week, they never lost a match. After clinching their singles matches on Sunday, they had a combined record of 10-0.</div><div><br /></div><div>Tiger Woods would have joined in the perfection had it not been for the revenge Y.E. Yang took on him in a meaningless Sunday match, leaving Woods 4-1 for the week.</div><div><br /></div><div>Woods did indeed go on to edge "Kenny, Phil and Tom" in Bermuda, but the biggest news of the year came shortly after a quiet Thanksgiving when Woods stated on his website that he would be taking an indefinite leave from golf. Having just been awarded with both the 2009 Player of the Year Award, as well as the Athlete Of The Decade, Woods surprised the golf world by declaring his intention to run for governor of Florida <span style="font-style:italic;">and</span> California.</div><div><br /></div><div>"I would like to ask everyone, including my fans, the good people at my foundation, business partners, the PGA Tour, and my fellow competitors, for their understanding. After much soul searching, I have decided to take an indefinite break from professional golf," Woods wrote on his website.</div><div><br /></div><div>It was a shock to everyone in golf, but one man it would have been no surprise to was his father. It was Earl Woods, after all, who infamously stated back in 1996 before Woods had won even one professional event, "Tiger will do more than any other man in history to change the course of humanity."</div><div><br /></div><div>Golf's loss will obviously be the world's gain.</div><div><br /></div><div>2010 could have never lived up to 2009 anyway.'</div><div><br /></div></span></span>Jeff Selishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08338040326310192454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-602653078153435167.post-44303963377903051362009-11-30T13:29:00.001-08:002009-11-30T13:30:28.754-08:00The World We STILL Live In...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SxQ5XeDrxNI/AAAAAAAAB2Y/tlqcj5uzx84/s1600/MLK+Nightmare.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 325px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SxQ5XeDrxNI/AAAAAAAAB2Y/tlqcj5uzx84/s400/MLK+Nightmare.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410012127747097810" /></a>Jeff Selishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08338040326310192454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-602653078153435167.post-1757260246378348772009-11-20T13:40:00.000-08:002009-11-20T14:35:51.110-08:00Hang In There, PaulWith news of Paul Allen's latest cancer fight, I have decided to back off my quest for a contract to NOT watch the Blazers. That said, I am 6 - 1 in my last seven games when I either watch or don't watch them. Meaning, when I watch, they lose, when I don't they have much better luck. My one loss was the fifth game of their road trip in which they lost in overtime to the Atlanta Hawks. I stayed away from all five games of the road trip, but in the last one, they couldn't pull it off. (I've never claimed that they win every game I avoid. I only claim that they tend to lose when I watch, especially if it's a game of any type of magnitude. I've never said I could go to a Blazer game and watch the team with the worst record in the league take it to them, although I bet they would certainly give them a fight!)<div><br /></div><div>Anyway, I digress. I'm letting Mr. Allen go. He's got bigger fish to fry. I will do due diligence to help the team in any way I can. I will turn away when it's time to turn away. And I will get my fixes when the opportunity presents - say courtside seats against the lowly Knicks. AND, I thought, maybe I will take this curse to Vegas, lay some big cash down for or against the Blazers, depending on whether I choose to watch the game or not, and then collect my winnings three predictable hours later.</div><div><br /></div><div>But I digress again. The REAL REASON I am writing today is to further prove a point that I am not normal. That forces conspire for and against me time and time again. This time it is in the form of STREET CLEANING DAY. I contend that on the ONE DAY OF THE YEAR that the city sweeps down my street, some mysterious ASSHOLE will park their car right in front of my house just before the city shows up to do their work. It happens every single year. Seriously, I have the dirtiest parking strip in NE Portland. And my wife will attest because ever since she has been around(three years running) she has been witness.</div><div><br /></div><div>This year it seems one of the neighbors decided to have a bridge game or a book club because FIVE F'ING CARS all showed up at once and parked under the three biggest, messiest trees on the block. Thankfully, the city made its first pass down my street before the cars arrived and I at least had the luxury of them whisking the pile of leaves from my neighbors tree away from my strip. But the three houses east of me didn't have the luxury, which means eventually the waste will make it's way into my gutter.</div><div><br /></div><div>Yes, I know, it's not THAT BIG OF DEAL. But christ all mighty, it certainly is predictable. I swear to God, in the last 365 days, I have not once, ever, seen the car that is presently parked in front of my house. WTF?!!!</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SwcVreo6dCI/AAAAAAAAB2Q/rFvwai-Lx5Q/s1600/photo%5B7%5D.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 334px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SwcVreo6dCI/AAAAAAAAB2Q/rFvwai-Lx5Q/s400/photo%5B7%5D.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406313714384794658" /></a>Who's car are you? Argh!</div><div><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SwcUfJI3U-I/AAAAAAAAB2I/nZOZDW3XkzM/s1600/photo%5B6%5D.jpg"></a></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SwcUfJI3U-I/AAAAAAAAB2I/nZOZDW3XkzM/s1600/photo%5B6%5D.jpg" style="text-decoration: none;"><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 304px; " src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SwcUfJI3U-I/AAAAAAAAB2I/nZOZDW3XkzM/s400/photo%5B6%5D.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406312402943169506" /></a>Arggghhhhhh!!!!!!!</div>Jeff Selishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08338040326310192454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-602653078153435167.post-84302884501100988872009-11-06T11:32:00.000-08:002009-11-06T12:27:02.607-08:00Dear Paul, I'm BackTwo games. Two losses. <div><br /></div><div>My brothers took me to the Eastbank Saloon the night the Blazers hosted the Nuggets. They convinced me it was time to bust this curse. Actually, to be honest, it was born out of their belief that I don't hold any power over the Blazers fate. Even my own brothers, who have witnessed loss after loss after loss with me watching games, still don't believe me. </div><div><br /></div><div>So we sat there, ordered some whiskey and beer, and watched. With two or three minutes remaining in a tight game, I offered to leave the premises. They said no and told me to fight through it. A handful of missed free throws later, the Blazers had their first home loss of the season, which came much earlier than last years first home loss, which was the first home game I watched last year, if you'll remember.</div><div><br /></div><div>Amazingly, my brothers still tried to convince me it wasn't about me. Of course, logically, they make an obvious case. There is absolutely no way for me to prove it is true. I can't prove that if I'd got up with two or three minutes to go and left that Brandon Roy or Greg Oden would have made any of the crucial free throws they missed, but in my heart of hearts, I think they would have.</div><div><br /></div><div>For good measure, I tuned into the end of the home game against the Atlanta Hawks. Coming off a home loss to the Nuggets, I was pretty certain that victory was inevitable. But no. A late rally fell short. I couldn't help but feel I'd thwarted it.</div><div><br /></div><div>Out of boredom in my car I tune into the local yokels of sports talk radio. Caller after caller wants to talk about lack of team chemistry and who should be starting and who should be coming off the bench and who's to blame for this and who's to blame for that, but obviously none of them have ever read my blog. </div>Jeff Selishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08338040326310192454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-602653078153435167.post-54624385620268573592009-05-11T09:03:00.000-07:002009-05-11T09:09:14.493-07:00Happy Mother's Day<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SghNo2e25AI/AAAAAAAABQU/ajzujOQ4Q_A/s1600-h/photo.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SghNo2e25AI/AAAAAAAABQU/ajzujOQ4Q_A/s400/photo.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334599122835399682" /></a><br />"Honey?"<br /><br />"Hi, mom."<br /><br />"It's the bad one. Grade 4 Glioblastoma."<br /><br />There's absolutely nothing that can prepare you for the words, "Grade<br />4 Glioblastoma." I can remember exactly where I was when my otherwise healthy 55-year-old mother called to tell me her diagnosis. I was on a job in Los Angeles, but I have no recollection of how I made my way back home to Portland to be with my mom and family. It all just went foggy. I remember crying so hard I couldn't compose myself. Good people comforted me but they had no idea why. They hadn't been in the hospital room a month earlier when the doctors were explaining all the things the shadowy markings on the CAT scan might be. The best hope was simply damage from a stroke. The more realistic possibility was that it wasn't a stroke at all, but that the shadowy mark might be a brain tumor that had caused a seizure. When you're in the room with the doctor you can pretty much sense what he thinks it is. He doesn't have to say anything to tell you. So you hope that if it's a tumor it's the best kind of tumor—the grade 1 variety that buys you the most time and gives you the most hope.<br /><br />It was just before Christmas when my mom's world went black. She was vacuuming her living room preparing for the weekly Sunday night family dinner. She later journaled: “The next thing I knew I was surrounded by handsome young men—some firefighters and the others from the ambulance company. First they gave me oxygen. Then I answered some questions to their satisfaction before they carried me by grabbing under my arms and knees. Out the front door we went to put me on the stretcher. The rug looked so freshly clean, they said, that they didn’t want to bring the wheeling bed into the house. The scented candle in the dining room must have overshadowed the odor left from the dog pee episode the prior day. They asked if everything in the kitchen was turned off, but everyone missed the candle. Ronnie found it burning later when he stopped by, and, since there was no sign of human life in the place, he blew it out and wondered where we were.”<br /><br />Doctors gave her the option of a more conclusive biopsy, but she decided she'd rather wait til after the holidays just in case the news would dampen her favorite time of year. So in January I received her call. I guess the room spun around a bit. Or maybe it felt like when you’re on a plane descending through thick cloud cover. There was a sense of weightlessness. Helplessness. Nothingness. That feeling lasted until I found myself stuck three feet from the arrival gate in Portland, as freezing rain had locked everything up. I sat there for what seemed an eternity. All I could think was that as soon as I stepped off the plane, nothing would be the same again.<br /><br />A few days later I accompanied my mom to the hospital that bared the name where we’d both been born. We sat there and listened to the brain surgeon tell us straight up what we were looking at. I wanted to punch him in the face for his bluntness, but I would later learn to appreciate him for it.<br /><br />"You've got 3 to 18 months, Pam. We're going to operate immediately to relieve some pressure and buy you as much time as possible. But there won't be any miracles here."<br /><br />Nor would there be any answers to our questions: How did this happen? Where did this come from? All he could really say was that the brain is very complicated.<br /><br />Again, she journaled: “I am fully aware that this thing that intruded my brain in November has dramatically numbered my days. I have been in a process of letting go since December. Letting go is not the same as giving up. I am not giving up life. I am working to make each day I have a good one. But I am not trying to lengthen the number of those days. Now is my time. I have come into my own. Don’t let me forget how it feels to be kind, to be thankful, to be wise and to share the wisdom. Let the small miracles come. Let’s use every bit of time to the advantage of those I love.”<br /><br />At the time of my mother's operation, my wife was three months pregnant and now all I wanted was my mom to be around long enough to hold the baby. Maybe, I thought, she could hand down some of her greatness. He was born in late June. She died three months later, having successfully passed the torch. A small miracle, indeed.<br /><br />I ran into her surgeon a few months on. I thanked him for his brutal honesty in the room that day. In a strange way, he had given us the gift of life. His timeline made us cherish everyday together. My divorced parents remarried each other. They invited everyone they’d befriended throughout life. It was a party to end all parties. My mom wanted to celebrate everyone and everything while she still could. She tied up all loose ends. She made peace with those it might have been in question with. Everyday became sort of a living wake. Facing death, her goal was to die well, and that she did. But I'll never forget that phone call, and those goddamned words.Jeff Selishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08338040326310192454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-602653078153435167.post-91391945183085932652009-04-30T14:15:00.000-07:002009-04-30T18:38:31.771-07:00My Dinner With Brent<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SfpHXBggwaI/AAAAAAAABPk/BAz_YtGBfKM/s1600-h/2676171339_a3249b54ee.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SfpHXBggwaI/AAAAAAAABPk/BAz_YtGBfKM/s400/2676171339_a3249b54ee.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330651569813766562" /></a><br />The night before game 5, I went out to dinner with my bosses and mentors. We cocktailed at Bleu Hour before making our way to the Nines for a meal. As we were riding up the elevator mentor Derek said aloud, "Hey, you here to broadcast the game tomorrow?"<div><br /></div><div>I looked up and realized Derek had mistook Brent Barry for Jon Barry. </div><div><br /></div><div>"You got the wrong guy, Derek," I said, "That's Brent, the Rocket." </div><div><br /></div><div>We proceeded to heckle him a little bit. I asked him if it bothered him that he was going to have to come back for game 7.</div><div><br /></div><div>We got off the elevator and wished him well. We loitered a bit in the foyer before finally walking into the restaurant. We must have loitered longer than I thought because there was Brent again, right in front of us, asking the hostess for a table for one.</div><div><br /></div><div>I popped him on the arm and said, "Table for one? You wanna you join us?"</div><div><br /></div><div>He looked at me and then scanned the bosses and mentors.</div><div><br /></div><div>"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">What</span>? We're cool," I assured.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Okay," he said with a shrug.</div><div><br /></div><div>So Brent fucking Barry sits down next to me at the table. We all introduce ourselves. He asks what we do. "We work for Wieden + Kennedy. We make all those Nike commercials."</div><div><br /></div><div>Brent feeds our ego by acknowledging that he knows of us and is an admirer of our work. He proceeds to tell us that he has dabbled in film production himself, and that after his career finally comes to an end he'd like to figure out a way to evolve his interest. He's got some good ideas.</div><div><br /></div><div>So the banter continues. He's super cool and easy going. He's quick-witted and down to earth. At one point he looks at me and asks if I'd like tickets to the game. </div><div><br /></div><div>"Uh, can't do it," I say, "See, I'm a curse. If I go to the game, that means you won't be back for game 7."</div><div><br /></div><div>Long story short, we transfer his generous offer to the bosses and mentors. Wine and conversation last long into the night. Our plan to get him drunk is pointless, he tells us; these days, he rides the pine til the game is out of hand. Somewhere the other side of midnight we exchange emails and say so long.</div><div><br /></div><div>The next day Brent and I email back and forth. Nice to meet you. Thanks for hanging out. Then we strike a deal. If the Blazers win game 5 and 6, the Brent Barry tickets for game 7 are mine. </div><div><br /></div><div>Believers in my curse might think me crazy for pulling this, but the way I see it, it will settle once and for all my season long quest for a contract from Mr. Allen. If the Blazers win, I will accept that I do not control their destiny. But if they lose, I figure Paul will have to accept the truth.</div><div><br /></div><div>So go Blazers. Win game 6. I won't be anywhere near the game. That said, if we lose, it won't be because of me. I have made the point before that just because I don't watch it doesn't guarantee victory. The only guarantee is that when I watch, they lose. Game 7 can bring it all to rest.</div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SfpHW85a7CI/AAAAAAAABPc/wUAMHay9Rx0/s1600-h/DSC01732.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SfpHW85a7CI/AAAAAAAABPc/wUAMHay9Rx0/s400/DSC01732.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330651568576064546" /></a>P.S. Brent Barry is one classy dude. After the game 5 loss he invited my boss's son into the Rockets locker room where he got to meet Yao Ming. After that he took them down to meet some of the Blazers, including Roy and Aldridge. Brent must've had a mom that raised him right.<div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SfpPjEozlVI/AAAAAAAABPs/DYi-uG6GvSY/s1600-h/DSC01733.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SfpPjEozlVI/AAAAAAAABPs/DYi-uG6GvSY/s400/DSC01733.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330660572905313618" /></a><br /></div>Jeff Selishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08338040326310192454noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-602653078153435167.post-31255030212865628762009-04-17T08:34:00.000-07:002009-04-17T09:13:52.134-07:00Hey, Mr. Allen...You're Welcome<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SeihkmYMOwI/AAAAAAAABKs/gIW88vz2PXc/s1600-h/large_royrockets041609.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 340px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SeihkmYMOwI/AAAAAAAABKs/gIW88vz2PXc/s400/large_royrockets041609.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325684209514986242" /></a>There's an article posted on oregonlive today that lists the many highlights of this year's Blazer team. I'd like to go on record by saying that I witnessed a total of zero of them. Had I been watching, I can guarantee that Brandon Roy's last second fade away prayer would not have found the bottom of the net for what has become the poster moment of the entire NBA this season. Well, that and the nightly heroics of The Chosen One - Lebron James.<div><br /></div><div>You can read my last post and all the other posts before it as proof that I alone am the one who made this playoff run possible. I swore off the Blazers for the rest of the season after predicting that I could watch the last handful of games of the year, hence causing a meltdown of gigantic proportions. I began with a home game against Philadelphia and sure enough the Blazers looked abysmal. The next game was a hugely important nationally televised match up against the outside-looking-in Phoenix Suns. You can read my last post to see my effect.</div><div><br /></div><div>During that game I made a promise to Mr. Allen and the entire city for that matter, that I would not watch anymore games the rest of the way, forgoing my endeavor to convince Paul to give me a contract NOT to watch. I made good on that promise. People will continue to say that it is not me. My own sister made a comment on this here blogsite poo-pooing my claim. My very own sister! I can't expect to convince anyone, even family. But let me assure you that this is all indeed true. I could watch the first game of the playoffs against Houston and rain on this happy parade. </div><div><br /></div><div>But I won't. </div><div><br /></div><div>I am too kind for that. </div><div><br /></div><div>For now, I will continue to stay away. But one day I will get weak. And I will need to prove myself, like any great athlete. And I will turn the tv on. And Travis Outlaw will go cold. And players will miss easy lay-ups, and 89% free throw shooters will miss 2 out of 2 with the game in the balance(I'm talking to you Steve Blake!) And the announcers will scratch their heads and wonder what has happened to their team. And they will have no answers. Maybe they will blame it on youth. But it won't be youth. It will be me!</div><div><br /></div><div>Here's a thought: If the Blazers make it through the first round without me, I think my plan will be to allow them to play two games in LA(assuming LA beats Utah), where the Blazers might possibly sneak a road victory. Then, I will watch game 3. And the Blazers will come in riding so high. And the pundits will speak of how we have the Lakers number at home. And we will come out strong. But slowly Kobe will chip away. And maybe Pryzbilla will help him with a cheap shot. And then the calls won't go our way. And the fans will get restless. And the Blazers will get tight. And Travis will disappear. And the Blazers will lose by about 10. And the momentum will have shifted back. And the Lakers will have got the message. And then we will all talk about next year. And, then, maybe just maybe, Paul Allen will find some truth in this freaky power that I have. And the checkbook will come out. Because while championships are won, they can't be won without being bought, first. </div><div><br /></div>Jeff Selishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08338040326310192454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-602653078153435167.post-39456930069888564022009-03-27T08:55:00.000-07:002009-03-27T18:00:07.317-07:00I Care Too Much<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/Sc1c-w3AyZI/AAAAAAAAA_Y/lrIm0ZRJI5M/s1600-h/medium_Rudy_Fernandez.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 302px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/Sc1c-w3AyZI/AAAAAAAAA_Y/lrIm0ZRJI5M/s400/medium_Rudy_Fernandez.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318008968331708818" /></a>I went back on my promise. I got weak. I cared too much. I turned on the nationally televised Blazer game last night with the Blazers leading 15-7. I watched until Steve Nash hit a 3-pointer to pull the Suns within 21-19. Greg Oden was then called for a travel and I was convinced that I had fully swung the momentum. So I turned the tv off and took a deep breath. <div><br /></div><div>Let's think this through, I thought.</div><div><br /></div><div>The Blazers are on national TV. Not only do their playoff lives rest in the balance, but so does our local pride. That's a load of guilt for one guy to handle. My phone buzzed and I looked down to see I'd received a message from a dear friend. "I'm at the Blazer game. Don't watch."</div><div><br /></div><div>Already vulnerable, how could I let my dear friend down, let alone my team and city?</div><div><br /></div><div>So I kept it off and read a book to my son instead.</div><div><br /></div><div>Sure enough, the Blazers crushed the Suns. </div><div><br /></div><div>I am swearing off of them for the rest of the year and for as far as they go in the playoffs.</div><div><br /></div><div>I don't think they'll advance too far this year, maybe a round or two, depending on how soon they run into the Lakers. But I am sacrificing myself for the team. Screw the money if Mr. Allen doesn't want to pay me what is rightfully mine. But this curse will not go away, and I cannot promise I won't get weak again, and test it when the Blazers are on the verge of greatness, when I am desiring to see history as it happens. It is true I care too much, but I am equally weak in my desire to witness the moment. Just keep that in mind Mr. Allen.</div><div><br /></div><div>And you're welcome.</div><div></div>Jeff Selishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08338040326310192454noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-602653078153435167.post-7937560616436368802009-03-23T21:36:00.000-07:002009-03-23T21:43:52.481-07:00On To OTWell, they made it to overtime thanks to Oden but no thanks to Outlaw. 1 for 5 tonight! I'm sorry, Travis. But maybe your fortunes will turn in OT, for I must retire for the evening. I shall tune back in when the Suns arrive to town. I really really really was pulling for Roy to hit the winning shot at the end of regulation, but, of course, it wasn't to be. Perhaps my turning it off will guide them to victory. But I say get Rudy, Blake and Oden more involved. Use Aldridge as a decoy to dump it down to Oden for the dunk. I do say that Oden has a bright future. All the naysayers are wrong on this one. I hold faith that Greg Oden will one day beat my curse. Of course, Mr. Allen could beat it in the meantime in the form of a little contract.Jeff Selishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08338040326310192454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-602653078153435167.post-24340692718478335012009-03-23T20:23:00.000-07:002009-03-23T20:35:32.395-07:00Largest Halftime Homecourt Defecit All SeasonThe announcers are all baffled as to what is going on. Both radio and tv play by play men are struggling for answers. If only they knew I am tuning in. That would explain everything. That would explain why the Blazers were so ice cold in the first half. <div><br /></div><div>I'm struggling with this choice I've made. I could turn the game off and they could come back, or I could watch and further prove my point. I think I need to watch. Honestly, I want to break this curse more than anyone.</div>Jeff Selishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08338040326310192454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-602653078153435167.post-71677260406233899732009-03-22T23:16:00.000-07:002009-03-22T23:38:46.284-07:00There's Still TimeOk, so the Blazers are 1-0 since I made my promise to watch the rest of their games this season. Lucky for everyone I forgot they had a game on Saturday night and didn't watch a second of it. I will continue to keep track of the rest of their games for the year, noting the ones I watch or listen to, and the ones I don't. Paul Allen, if you're out there, I want to reiterate that this is not malicious or vindictive. I don't want this curse of mine to be a reality. I would love disprove it by watching the young Blazers make the playoffs and advance far into the playoffs. But based on all the proof I've presented up to this point, I don't see that happening. You can still provide me a contract NOT to watch and I will give you a money back guarantee that the Blazers will make the playoffs. But without that contract, it's just not fair for me not to watch and be able to experience the thrill of possible victory. It is <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">impossible</span> to prove this control I have to anyone, and thus it should be fair for me to attempt(once again) to support my Blazers by watching and listening to them. I could take the high road and just not watch or listen, but that actually takes an inordinate amount of willpower. There needs to be something in this for me. Something for my sacrifice. <div><br /></div><div>By the way, I turned on the USA v Japan baseball game tonight just in time to kill a USA 8th inning rally and start one for Japan. Derek Jeter made an uncharacteristic error and Japan scored 3 runs to put the game out of reach and advance to the World Baseball Classic Final. I rise again. Sorry team.</div>Jeff Selishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08338040326310192454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-602653078153435167.post-41625480805477909022009-03-20T22:25:00.000-07:002009-03-20T23:07:17.779-07:00It's Getting Out Of Hand<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/ScSBBPJ1MEI/AAAAAAAAA8Q/uaExRHcu9Jk/s1600-h/a7ff2510f2898cf9fa35baf964fe9b8a.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 309px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/ScSBBPJ1MEI/AAAAAAAAA8Q/uaExRHcu9Jk/s400/a7ff2510f2898cf9fa35baf964fe9b8a.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315515318451646530" /></a><br />A friend of mine ran into me last night while I was waiting for my son to finish his Poekoelon Martial Arts lesson. He was coming in for his session, which followed my boy's. He said to me, "Down 2 with a couple minutes left."<div><br /></div><div>I didn't follow. </div><div><br /></div><div>"Who," I asked.</div><div><br /></div><div>"The Blazers," he said, "We're playing at Cleveland! I couldn't watch the end because I needed to get in here."</div><div><br /></div><div>To which I replied, "Well, you can rest assured that since you just gave me that update they will most certainly lose."</div><div><br /></div><div>My son arrived and we walked to the car. I turned on the radio assuming it would be over by then. Instead, the overtime session had just begun. The announcers were optimistic for a minute, most likely because they must not have realized I had just tuned in. Lebron and his band of Cavaliers went on to easily put the Blazers away, keeping both their streak alive, and mine. </div><div><br /></div><div>Mr. Allen, now is the time to act. The Blazers playoff hopes rest in my radio dial and TV remote. I can guarantee you they will fall out of the playoff race if I were to simply listen to or watch the remaining games of the season. The Phoenix Suns would catch the young Blazers and soonafter their golf games would begin to improve. It is certain. Certain unless you would like me to stay far away. </div><div><br /></div><div>Heck with it. To prove my point, I'm going to watch as many Blazer games as I can the rest of the season. This will determine once and for all whether the Blazers control their own destiny, or I do. Currently, they are 5.5 games up on the Suns. I will keep a log of the games I watch and the games I don't, but my plan is to watch as many as I can the rest of the season. And if the Blazers make the playoffs, then I'll back off my negotiations for a contract NOT to watch. </div><div><br /></div><div>By the way, apologies to Travis Outlaw ahead of time. For some reason, my impact is most negative on him. If the last couple of months he goes into a deep slump, it's my fault.</div><div><br /></div><div>If you want to contact me while there's still time, feel free. My email is jeffs@wk.com.</div>Jeff Selishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08338040326310192454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-602653078153435167.post-27506623003289176412009-02-18T21:16:00.001-08:002009-02-18T21:16:39.589-08:00Mr. Allen!The Blazers are cold as ice! They've been stuck on 72 forever. I repeat my claim in earlier posts, I don't think I've ever seen Travis Outlaw make a basket on TV. I swear I am your opponent's defensive weapon. When I watch the Blazer's absolutely shut down. I read a great article about Shane Battier in the NY Times Magazine this weekend. I felt like I had a lot in common with him. You don't really see his effectiveness, but it's there. It's there! Just like me. Only mine is INeffectiveness! I'm turning this game off now. It might be too late. The game is tied. About five minutes left. Believe me, you have a better chance without me. Sorry if you lose. I thought I could handle lowly Memphis.Jeff Selishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08338040326310192454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-602653078153435167.post-48409582654557977042009-02-07T23:04:00.000-08:002009-02-20T22:38:13.350-08:00MikeI heard the news today and immediately felt a tingling sensation fill my entire body until it felt like little needles were shooting out of my scalp. Shortness of breath ensued. Mild shock set in. Then guilt. Had I failed him? How is it that one day we've got the world by the tail, then the next it has us by ours?<div><br /></div><div>I've kept journals most of my life. Thank god because my memory is shit. But I must have some crazy filing system deep inside my brain because the first journal I grabbed I found a passage I'd written about a memorable summer I'd spent with Mike. Summer of '88. Here is that passage. And in it, the memories I will forever hold in my resilient heart. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SY6Ip7Iac0I/AAAAAAAAAyQ/diiaV5ABmOQ/s1600-h/Mike1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SY6Ip7Iac0I/AAAAAAAAAyQ/diiaV5ABmOQ/s400/Mike1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5300324065290646338" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SY6Iph6JU6I/AAAAAAAAAyI/QJR1KUH3K0k/s1600-h/Mike2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 253px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SY6Iph6JU6I/AAAAAAAAAyI/QJR1KUH3K0k/s400/Mike2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5300324058519917474" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SY6IpQn33sI/AAAAAAAAAyA/-oPe3whwDRg/s1600-h/Mike3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 268px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SY6IpQn33sI/AAAAAAAAAyA/-oPe3whwDRg/s400/Mike3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5300324053879873218" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SY6IpUM4OOI/AAAAAAAAAx4/IwcrcRfBryc/s1600-h/Mike4.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 246px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SY6IpUM4OOI/AAAAAAAAAx4/IwcrcRfBryc/s400/Mike4.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5300324054840391906" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SY6Io_Tf46I/AAAAAAAAAxw/fkujj7nVP0A/s1600-h/Mike5.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 263px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SY6Io_Tf46I/AAAAAAAAAxw/fkujj7nVP0A/s400/Mike5.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5300324049231012770" /></a></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SZ-hEt3E51I/AAAAAAAAA1A/X_ZratDLRik/s1600-h/Mike.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 285px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SZ-hEt3E51I/AAAAAAAAA1A/X_ZratDLRik/s400/Mike.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305135988467885906" /></a>Jeff Selishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08338040326310192454noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-602653078153435167.post-90449250735050773462009-02-04T21:49:00.001-08:002009-02-04T22:04:39.080-08:00Dear Paul Allen,I tested my dilemma again tonight. After giving the Blazers five games off since watching them lose to Cleveland(they won all five, as you know), I turned the game on tonight midway through the 4th quarter. I'm sorry, but I swear it's me. I wonder if the only free throws Rudy has missed this year are the ones when I've been watching. I know Blake's are! And I still haven't seen Travis make a bucket. This kind of feels like blackmail, but what am I to do? Just not watch for the good of the team and the city? That's a pretty huge sacrifice. And so far I haven't been able to make it. Jeff Selishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08338040326310192454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-602653078153435167.post-14721679967936196842009-01-30T19:34:00.001-08:002009-01-30T19:36:50.572-08:00Exit Otis<div>Today was not a great day.</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SYPG268Lo-I/AAAAAAAAAvo/FKueA9pQe-U/s1600-h/DSC_0234.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 265px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SYPG268Lo-I/AAAAAAAAAvo/FKueA9pQe-U/s400/DSC_0234.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297296233554748386" /></a>Otis 10.16.95 - 1.30.09Jeff Selishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08338040326310192454noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-602653078153435167.post-89669358632014817732009-01-21T00:15:00.000-08:002009-01-26T00:26:19.668-08:00Enter Obama<div>Today was a great day.</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SX1zOsFXcEI/AAAAAAAAAvQ/McceingEyWI/s1600-h/Abe_2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 326px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SX1zOsFXcEI/AAAAAAAAAvQ/McceingEyWI/s400/Abe_2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295515433046601794" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SX1zOegznjI/AAAAAAAAAvI/8Jf3EujTxuo/s1600-h/EnterObama_2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 324px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SX1zOegznjI/AAAAAAAAAvI/8Jf3EujTxuo/s400/EnterObama_2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295515429403598386" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SX1zOeuM2xI/AAAAAAAAAvA/bkNJS6U8A1k/s1600-h/EnterObama2_2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 316px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SX1zOeuM2xI/AAAAAAAAAvA/bkNJS6U8A1k/s400/EnterObama2_2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295515429459778322" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SX1zOR7whGI/AAAAAAAAAu4/X5Ja16TEcjw/s1600-h/Aretha_2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 324px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SX1zOR7whGI/AAAAAAAAAu4/X5Ja16TEcjw/s400/Aretha_2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295515426026980450" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SX1zOemtFNI/AAAAAAAAAuw/lUzOAutFLno/s1600-h/BarackSings_2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 319px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SX1zOemtFNI/AAAAAAAAAuw/lUzOAutFLno/s400/BarackSings_2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295515429428335826" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SX1ytge0_DI/AAAAAAAAAuo/TXUQEJKUhfY/s1600-h/Feinstein_2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SX1ytge0_DI/AAAAAAAAAuo/TXUQEJKUhfY/s400/Feinstein_2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295514862996487218" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SX1ytuO-AtI/AAAAAAAAAug/6IofBulbveA/s1600-h/ObamaPrays_2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SX1ytuO-AtI/AAAAAAAAAug/6IofBulbveA/s400/ObamaPrays_2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295514866688066258" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SX1ytYUOM2I/AAAAAAAAAuY/5mRvQlUlgTs/s1600-h/ObamaPrayer_2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 323px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SX1ytYUOM2I/AAAAAAAAAuY/5mRvQlUlgTs/s400/ObamaPrayer_2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295514860804518754" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SX1yta6PHxI/AAAAAAAAAuQ/KBeEQxVhARw/s1600-h/ObamaPeople_2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SX1yta6PHxI/AAAAAAAAAuQ/KBeEQxVhARw/s400/ObamaPeople_2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295514861500833554" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SX1ytZtWvpI/AAAAAAAAAuI/zwAXg3IrknU/s1600-h/ObamaSwornIn_2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 321px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SX1ytZtWvpI/AAAAAAAAAuI/zwAXg3IrknU/s400/ObamaSwornIn_2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295514861178371730" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SX1yWlgjHeI/AAAAAAAAAuA/spVJj4VmXGU/s1600-h/ObamaSpeech_2_2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 318px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SX1yWlgjHeI/AAAAAAAAAuA/spVJj4VmXGU/s400/ObamaSpeech_2_2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295514469208890850" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SX1yWd6AKJI/AAAAAAAAAt4/jdVo1i3fOq8/s1600-h/BlackMan_2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 322px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SX1yWd6AKJI/AAAAAAAAAt4/jdVo1i3fOq8/s400/BlackMan_2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295514467168168082" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SX1yWEequjI/AAAAAAAAAtw/kjOlyw4wmzU/s1600-h/YoungBoy_2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 323px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SX1yWEequjI/AAAAAAAAAtw/kjOlyw4wmzU/s400/YoungBoy_2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295514460342630962" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SX1yWKAN9PI/AAAAAAAAAto/Z3YhXXsag_g/s1600-h/Kenya_2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 322px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SX1yWKAN9PI/AAAAAAAAAto/Z3YhXXsag_g/s400/Kenya_2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295514461825529074" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SX1yWK1BIWI/AAAAAAAAAtg/v2FxnO-3STA/s1600-h/ByeByeBush_2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 319px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SX1yWK1BIWI/AAAAAAAAAtg/v2FxnO-3STA/s400/ByeByeBush_2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295514462046986594" /></a>Jeff Selishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08338040326310192454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-602653078153435167.post-1852882135796515022009-01-12T16:40:00.000-08:002009-01-12T17:35:38.661-08:00He Will Call<div>A few months back, I was asked to write the story of how I once tried to get a job at Wieden + Kennedy. They wanted it for a book being published about all things W+K. Here is the long version of that story. The edited version is in the book. My blog doesn't have an editor.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">He Will Call</span></div><div><br /></div>As a freshman in high school I wanted to be one of three things. Above all, I wanted to be a professional golfer on the PGA tour. My sweet swing and my blond head would fit right in with my pre-Tiger tour heroes, Jack Nicklaus and Johnny Miller. If I couldn’t make the PGA Tour I had a secondary dream of being the next Steven Spielberg. It certainly wasn’t his hair or even his movies that blew my mind as much as it was the fact that you could tell this guy was following his heart and doing everything he set out to do as a young kid. My third aspiration, and the one that seemed most attainable, was to be the next Dan Wieden, whom I think might well have been blonde, too, in his younger days.<br /><br />I first learned of Dan Wieden when I was working on the staff of my high school newspaper, The Grantonian. As young journalists, we were expected to raise the funds for the printing of our paper each month. In order to do so, we were all required to meet a certain quota selling ad space. One of my major clients was the Fortune 500 company, Louisiana Pacific. My mom was a rising star in their public relations department, and she assured me I could depend on her. She agreed to pay a said sum of money each month and I would run her ad in a prominent section of each issue of the paper. Usually, I put it in the sports pages, right below my column, ‘Selis Says’. I was a sports junkie, and while I was never big or strong enough to make the football or basketball teams, my consolation was writing about them. Grant, being the perennial super power in athletics, always assured a strong readership in the sports section. At the bottom of the page I would layout the Louisiana-Pacific ad. They were simple, yet entirely inspiring. No image, just big bold type in quotes:<br /><br />“Even if you’re on the right track, you’ll get run over if you just sit there.” –Will Rodgers<br /><br />The next issue would read, “One man with courage makes a majority.” –Andrew Jackson<br /><br />And my personal favorite, “If you can dream it, you can do it.” –Walt Disney<br /><br />And get this, at the bottom of each ad was the slogan, “Yes We Can!”<br /><br />It was my first awareness of the power of advertising. I mean, it wasn’t even really advertising. I guess that’s what I liked. It was more like empowerment. It had a voice I wanted to listen to. It wasn’t telling me to buy anything or do anything, necessarily. It was just these quotes that inspired me and made me think. But mostly, it made me realize that maybe I could be that voice. Not the voice of Will Rodgers or Andrew Jackson, but the voice of the ad.<br /><br />Who was the voice of the ad? Well, mom tells me it’s this guy named Dan Wieden. I didn’t know who he was, but I knew it was the first time I ever really felt a calling.<br /><br />The PGA Tour became a pipe dream in the face of pressure packed three-foot putts. My dad said I had all the skills to make it, but it was the six inches between my ears that was the problem. After college I charted parallel courses to meet either Wieden or Spielberg, whomever came first would be the lucky one. If you can believe it, Spielberg was an easier get than Wieden. But I was young and dumbly blinded by love. I had the offer in hand to go be Spielberg’s assistant when my soon-to-be first wife gave me the ultimatum, “Well, it’s him or it’s me.”<br /><br />If that was a sign of certain future divorce, I wasn’t willing to listen. I chose her. I toiled as a location manager on numerous feature films including a couple of Gus Van Sant movies and a horrendous Hollywood flick, which starred my dearly beloved Madonna. Getting a front row view of Madonna performing sex acts in the nude must have been my reward for passing on Spielberg. The way I saw it, God was taking pity on me.<br /><br />While the movies were full of fun and adventure and too many stories to tell here, they also caused their fair share of stress. See, working on films is a feast or famine existence. The money is good when the circus was in town, but it dried up quick when they packed up and left. And that’s not what the wife signed up for. So, between jobs the first thing I would always do was send a note to Wieden. To my surprise he would always respond, however brief. Usually it was a scribbled note that said something like, “If your interests are creative, send us your book. If they are otherwise, talk to Luhr.”<br /><br />Well, my interests were creative, but I had no book. And I had no idea what he meant by “otherwise talk to Luhr.” All I knew was that I wanted to work at Wieden +Kennedy and that I didn’t want to work in advertising to get my book. By this time, I knew enough to know that Wieden + Kennedy was where I had to be. Dan Wieden had gone from inspiring single sentence quotes in print ads to mind blowing TV shit like Revolution and Heritage and Air Jordan and Hare Jordan and Spike & Mike and Bo Knows and even Lou Reed on a freaking Honda Scooter. And that’s about the time desperation got the best of me.<br /><br />The way I saw it, all I needed was to get my big fat personality in front of Dan and he would realize that experience could come second. You know, ‘on the job training’. I would show him that I am worth having around whether I come in changing the world right away or maybe, you know, a little later.<br /><br />My big idea was born after I heard a tale that Dan used to sit up there in his 3rd floor office perched over the bustling intersection of 3rd and Washington and make phone calls down to the phone booth on the corner. As legend had it, he would place the call on unsuspecting loiterers who would answer. I was never told what Dan wanted to talk about, only that he liked to call and talk. Well, my wheels started spinning. To my way of thinking, if Dan Wieden had time to call the phone booth, he would have time to invite me up. And if he had time to invite me up, I would have time to sell him on me.<br /><br />So here’s what I did.<br /><br />I’m far from the religious type, but that didn’t prevent divine intervention from allowing me to learn of a little verse in the bible that reads: For many are called, but few are chosen. (Matthew 22:14 if you want to check it.)<br /><br />I thought I’d hatched the perfect plan. I would dress as a Jesus freak — rainbow wig and all — and I would cobble together a sandwich board that I would wear over my body. On the front it would read: MATTHEW 22:14 and on the back, three simple words: HE WILL CALL. The HE, in this case, would be Wieden. And I would be there to answer.<br /><br />Now, I did go to the University of Oregon where I majored in Journalism with an emphasis in Advertising. I had “a book” of sorts - a portfolio, if you will - and being young and full of piss and vinegar, and having delusions that my college assignments would be the best he’d ever seen, I was certain that HE would give me a shot. I was also under the influence of a former professor who was certain that being bold was the way to be remembered. He even championed someone who, when asked in an interview to give an example of an act of boldness, the woman stood up, asked to borrow some scissors, and promptly cut the interviewers tie right in half. <br /><br />Bold. That’s what I was going to be. The word ‘crazy’ never entered my mind.<br /><br />Here was my outfit:<br /><br />The classic rainbow wig(as seen on tv).<br /><br />Mirrored Vaurnet sunglasses(so my eyes could see his, but his couldn’t see mine).<br /><br />Baggy green sweatpants(to tie-in with the wig).<br /><br />Air Jordans(the originals, of course).<br /><br />And the body-billboard, which I’d made out of heavy art paper, not the traditional wood, which in hindsight would have been a more traditional look.<br /><br />I arrived at the corner of 3rd and Washington at 8:30am. It wasn’t five minutes later that Dan walked into his office. It took maybe fifteen seconds for him to notice me, and another five for him to pick up the phone. My heart started racing. I couldn’t believe this was actually happening. My first thought was, “What the fuck am I thinking?” My mouth started watering like I was going to throw up. I waited for the phone to ring. But it didn’t. I looked up to Dan’s window, hidden behind my mirrored Vaurnets. His lips were moving, which meant he obviously wasn’t calling me. He was looking down at me however, and his laughter indicated he was getting a kick out of my presence. Within minutes people were coming into his office and taking a peak at the freak on the corner. They stood against the window laughing and pointing. I began to think they were brainstorming to come up with the appropriate tact to take with me. After all, I was a man of God down there, and maybe they were hesitant to mess.<br /><br />I waited them out. I suddenly felt a certain sense of calm. It was a strange calm. Almost like I belonged there on that street corner. Strangers hastily passed me by, avoiding any chance of eye contact or communication. I was harmless, but for the first time in my life I felt a sense of discrimination. So I decided to embrace it. The first hour passed without a call. People I knew would walk on by. I would say their name aloud, but they had no idea it was me and would skirt on by, pretending not to hear. I remember feeling ashamed of them. What were they so afraid of? That a man of God knew their name?<br /><br />About two hours into it, a small, enthusiastic group of young people drove by in a beat up little car with a sunroof. One girl stood through it while another leaned out the passenger window. They both yelled words of encouragement. Moments later these same girls arrived on my corner and offered me scripture to pass out. “What the hell,” I thought.<br /><br />They ran back to their illegally parked car and I began to pass out the leaflets they left me. I enjoyed handing them out. It gave me something to do, and I also decided it might balance out the blasphemy I was incurring against me. So I looked at the leaflets as a Godsend. Suddenly I had a purpose. I wasn’t just this young man of blind faith waiting for a call that would never come. I was spreading the gospel.<br /><br />Lunchtime arrived and the streets began to bustle. Again, more people I knew walked right on by. I had transcended my own life. Such a strange feeling it was. Freeing, actually. For the first time in my life, I was able to observe life from an objective perspective. It was at the time of this little epiphany I was having that two homeless guys approached me. They stunk something awful, but there was a glimmer in their eyes. Was it hope they were seeing in me, or just a comrade of the streets? My feet were so sore at this point. Air Jordans were never meant for this. The two homeless guys parked it right there next to me and pulled out a fifth of Bacardi. So I sat down next to them and accepted their offer of a swill, my lame portfolio resting in the windowsill five feet above us.<br /><br />We talked about their lives and how they got here. Their stories were far more worthy than mine. They were both vets from Vietnam. They’d seen too much too young and now they were fighting new battles at home. I felt lucky I’d missed the draft and the war. I felt kind of shitty and guilty about it too, I guess. Theirs was a terrible fate. Mine was a stark contrast, although they probably thought they were the lucky ones from the looks of the three of us.<br /><br />We polished off the bottle before they walked off with intentions of raising funds for another. They each gave me a hug before they left. I handed them scripture. It was about 2:30 in the afternoon now and if Dan was going to call, I figure he would have by now. I was uncomfortably hot in my wig and feeling a little baked from the sun and the booze. I looked up one more time and spied Dan leaning back in his chair talking to some people on the couches across from him. Maybe I would sit on that couch one day, but not this day.<br /><br />I headed back to my life as a Location Manager. I can’t remember the movie I was working on, but Peter Wiedensmith was an assistant cameraman on the crew. I hated him because he had married into the family. Why didn’t I think of that? Anyway, when I mentioned what I’d done in my desperation to get a job, he’d already heard the story from Dan. I was horrified. I just knew whatever Peter was about to tell me wasn’t going to be good.<br /><br />And Peter says, “Yeah, Dan told me about this Jesus freak on the corner and I told him I knew the guy.”<br /><br />And I say, “Oh no. Please no.”<br /><br />And Peter says, “Yeah, and he told me to tell that guy he won’t ever work at Wieden + Kennedy.”<br /><br />And that was pretty much that.<br /><br />Or at least I thought.<br /><br />Five years into the movie business and six months into a failing marriage, I managed to get an interview at Wieden & Kennedy with Bill Davenport’s assistant. I had sent Bill my resume hoping my film experience somehow applied to the mysterious process of making a tv commercial. His assistant told me a position might be opening up in three months and that they thought I might be a good fit. So I went and took an internship in the broadcast department at Border’s Perrin and Norrander. I was making zero dollars but gaining invaluable knowledge for the slight chance I might get the job at Wieden. My wife couldn’t believe she was married to a man with an internship and another pipe dream. Three months went by. My internship was over and Davenport’s assistant told me it’s going to be at least another three months before they make a decision. My wife had already made hers. She was done. “Why can’t you just get a normal job,” she asked, exhausted. I’d already given up Spielberg. I knew if I gave up Wieden I’d be bound for a life of resentment and misery. She moved out three months later. As we were packing boxes on a Friday for the big weekend move, the phone rang.<br /><br />“Jeff?”<br /><br />“Yes.”<br /><br />“It’s Juli from Wieden & Kennedy.”<br /><br />“Oh, hi!”<br /><br />“How are you doing,” she asked.<br /><br />“Oh, I’ve been better, I guess.”<br /><br />“Well I’m wondering if you can start on Monday,” she says.<br /><br />The irony of the moment was ridiculous. The timing of the call was downright cruel, but at the same time, it couldn’t have been better. I hung up the phone and wept like a baby.<br /><br />My first desk was in a hallway perched above the main stairs of the Dekum Building. It was a perfect first desk, as all the agency traffic would ascend and descend the stairs all day long. Riswold would go down them. Kennedy would go up them. All these other legendary ad makers would go up and down and up and down and up and down. But whenever Wieden would go up or down I would hide my face. I didn’t want him to know I was in. I wanted to root myself as fast as possible. Bust ass and make these people in this broadcast department value me enough so that when Wieden finally found me out, maybe I would already have embedded myself enough to stay. Three months of successful avoidance passed before I finally stood before him in a hallway.<br /><br />“Who let you in,” he asked.<br /><br />I assume it’s the same greeting I’ll receive in heaven.Jeff Selishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08338040326310192454noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-602653078153435167.post-2769393218836157902009-01-04T18:38:00.000-08:002009-01-04T20:42:23.485-08:00Blazers v Lakers - More ProofSome might claim my claim to have powers over the outcome of blazer games to be narcissistic. Of course, they are wrong. And they would realize this if they simply took the time to check into my long history of affecting outcomes. Ok, so maybe I'm a little narcissistic, but that has NOTHING to do with my relationship with the Blazers.<div><br /></div><div>This is going to be a short post. I just want to let Mr. Allen know that I watched the 2nd half of the Blazers/Hornets game, thinking they might be too hot for even me after the impressive win over the Celtics.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm going to watch the Lakers game tonight figuring the Roy-less Blazers have little chance anyway. Of course, this is the type of game they just might win. They have little to lose. Their on the road playing the hottest team in the league without their best player. The team will come out loose and if they don't get too tight in the end, they could pull off an upset.</div><div><br /></div><div>And indeed, they have come out hot. They lead 16-9.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm thinking the Blazers will hang tough for at least three quarters because they are going to play more relaxed than their opening game of the season against these Lakers, but then they will realize they are in the game and they will get tight. The Laker faithful will have shown up by then and start making lots of noise. A call or two will go against them and in the end they will fall short in frustration.</div><div><br /></div><div>But for now, Nicolas Batum just dunked in Pau Gasol's face. </div><div><br /></div><div>You know, I've never ever seen Travis Outlaw have a good game. He seems to force a lot of shots. And the only ones he seems to make are the ones when I'm not watching.</div><div><br /></div><div>Jarryd Bayless just missed a lay up. </div><div><br /></div><div>Sergio Rodriguez just missed the entire rim.</div><div><br /></div><div>Kobe just swished one from the top of the key. Here we go.</div><div><br /></div><div>Blazers up 24-19 and getting very tight.</div><div><br /></div><div>Had to go feed my dog and watch a little 60 minutes. Amazing things they are doing in brain research these days. Amazing. I wonder if they will soon be able to prove my theory that I can control sports franchises with mine.</div><div><br /></div><div>Blazers are up 44-41. Nicolas Batum is going to be a heckuva player in this league. Crazy that kid is only 19. He's matching up quite well with Kobe Bryant, however, Kobe is still scoring at will. But again, 19 years old. </div><div><br /></div><div>These Blazers are fun to watch, I have to admit. </div><div><br /></div><div>Gasol just traveled but they didn't call it. What a joke this NBA can be. </div><div><br /></div><div>And what a joke these professionals are at shooting free throws. Oden just missed two.</div><div><br /></div><div>I remember when I used to hold the remote in my hand back when the Blazers were in the finals against the Bulls and whenever we were at the free throw line I would change the channel just as they were shooting. I would change it back to see the ball had gone in. It worked every time. </div><div><br /></div><div>I also remember years ago listening to Bill Schonley call the games on the radio. All too often the Blazers would miss and Schonley would drop his voice in utter disappoint and say, "YOU'VE GOT TO MAKE YOUR FREE THROWS."</div><div><br /></div><div>Halftime: Lakers 51, Blazers 50.</div><div><br /></div><div>We gave up 57% shooting to LA. And on offense we had way too many missed opportunities. My God, there is just no way I could be a coach. I'd go nuts.</div><div><br /></div><div>69-57 now. Four minutes left in the quarter and the Blazers have scored SEVEN points. This is exactly the type of deep freeze I can put the Blazers in. It happens over and over again. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm afraid the Blazers couldn't hang on long enough to see my 4th quarter prediction through. It came a quarter early. Maybe the Blazers will go on a little run. I doubt it.</div><div><br /></div><div>Travis just messed up again. I think I must jinx him more than anybody.</div><div><br /></div><div>71-57 now. Kobe is killing Travis. </div><div><br /></div><div>24-second violation. 2nd one in three trips down. I feel bad about watching. I'll probably have to give up on my desire for a contract not to watch just to put these poor guys out of their misery. And me out of mine. Maybe that's what Mr. Allen has been waiting for. Maybe that's why he's so rich. He knows I'll eventually give in out of the goodness of my heart.</div><div><br /></div><div>Two minutes left in the quarter and the Blazers are down 15. Blake and Fernandez are 6 for 22 from the field. Rudy just missed another free throw. I think he should take a couple games off. Kinda like they do in baseball. He's been going going going since long before the Olympics. He needs a break. Plus he's pressing because he's in LA. He's trying too hard.</div><div><br /></div><div>Kobe doesn't miss much.</div><div><br /></div><div>Blazers down 11.</div><div><br /></div><div>Travis is scoreless. I feel most bad for him. If he knew me he would hate me.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's 84-66. This is too painful. I'm turning it off.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Jeff Selishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08338040326310192454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-602653078153435167.post-53641231189083626062008-12-30T21:55:00.000-08:002008-12-30T22:27:47.801-08:00Go Ducks, Go BlazersMr. Allen, <div><br /></div><div>Tonight I watched the first half of the Ducks game with my dad. They were TERRIBLE. I said my old man, "Duddy, we can't watch the 2nd half. You know as well as I that the Ducks are doomed if I continue to sit here and watch this."</div><div><br /></div><div>So what did we do? We changed the channel to the Blazer game. We gorged on Hot Lips Pizza and proceeded to watch the Blazers STINK IT UP for the first two quarters of the game. Just like the Ducks, they were TERRIBLE! The only upside was that Greg Oden body checked Ray Allen into the 2nd row, and the Blazers got an uncontested dunk because they had SIX PLAYERS ON THE COURT! </div><div><br /></div><div>At halftime my dad said, "Now what?"</div><div><br /></div><div>So I did the big boy thing and said, "Duddy, you can watch the 2nd half of the Duck game while I go upstairs and read Steve Martin's autobiography."</div><div><br /></div><div>About twenty pages in, I started receiving texts and facebook messages the Ducks pulled through with a huge second half. So I went downstairs, gave my dad a high-five and changed the channel to SportsCenter so I could get my jollies after the fact.</div><div><br /></div><div>When the highlights were over my dad turned to me and said, "Come on, let's watch the rest of the Blazer game."</div><div><br /></div><div>To which I replied, "Duddy, I will turn it on for you but I have to go back upstairs."</div><div><br /></div><div>To which he replied, "Oh, come on. You can do this."</div><div><br /></div><div>To which I said, "Ok, DAD, I will turn it on but if something bad happens right away I'm leaving."</div><div><br /></div><div>So I turned it on and to find the Blazers up 72-68. At which point they turned it over and gave up an easy bucket to make it 72-70.</div><div><br /></div><div>"See you soon, Duddy," I said.</div><div><br /></div><div>He barreled up the stairs about 20 minutes later with a smirk on his face. </div><div><br /></div><div>"Well," I asked.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Ok, maybe you're right," he admitted.</div><div><br /></div><div>I know I am.</div><div><br /></div><div>By the way, Steve Martin's book is laugh out loud funny.</div>Jeff Selishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08338040326310192454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-602653078153435167.post-49417435643608714252008-12-26T22:51:00.000-08:002008-12-30T12:49:54.930-08:00Are You There Paul? It's Me, Jeff.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SVXeaVlfYAI/AAAAAAAAAnM/9tmEkEyFFsY/s1600-h/beb9c61e6a65d9112035149cb8a6a293.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 291px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0muic7s0DbE/SVXeaVlfYAI/AAAAAAAAAnM/9tmEkEyFFsY/s400/beb9c61e6a65d9112035149cb8a6a293.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284374281841500162" /></a><br />Dear Paul Allen, Part Two:<div><br /></div><div>After the Orlando debacle a friend of mine told me to watch the Blazer's home game against the LA Clippers, thinking it would prove I wasn't the reason for the losses of the past. I kind of got mad at him for doubting me but I said, "Okay, Brian, I will watch this game, even though the Clippers are terrible and we are playing at home. You will see once and for all that I am the reason."</div><div><br /></div><div>So what I'm going to do is write out the text exchange we had during the 2nd half of the game. Brian watched the 1st half at my house before heading to a concert at the Crystal Ballroom. Here is the blow by blow after he left:</div><div><br /></div><div>Brian: Think you gotta stick with it. They'll win this game. Keep watching. Let me know what happens. </div><div><br /></div><div>Jeff: I'll watch, but I've seen Rudy miss two free throws in two nights now.</div><div><br /></div><div>Brian: Oh shit. Rudy just missed a free throw? That never happens, maybe you should just give up.</div><div><br /></div><div>Jeff: The Spanish connection did just strike again though.</div><div><br /></div><div>Brian: Score?</div><div><br /></div><div>Jeff: 86-85 Clips. Zach is killing us. I'm bad luck.</div><div><br /></div><div>Jeff: Mr. 4th Quarter is taking over.</div><div><br /></div><div>Jeff: But Oden just missed an easy one. Fuck.</div><div><br /></div><div>Jeff: U with your girl?</div><div><br /></div><div>Jeff: Rudy just rattled out a 3. Fuck.</div><div><br /></div><div>Jeff: 92-91 Clips. 3:13 left.</div><div><br /></div><div>Jeff: Oden going to the line for 2.</div><div><br /></div><div>Jeff: We look terrible. Rudy is playing like shit.</div><div><br /></div><div>Jeff: Roy just hit a crazy bucket. 96-92. Refs just gave us a gift on a terrible call. Roy has 30pts. for 3rd game in row.</div><div><br /></div><div>Jeff: Oden is getting more manly at least.</div><div><br /></div><div>Brian: How much time? The band is sweet!</div><div><br /></div><div>Brian: Keep watching.</div><div><br /></div><div>Jeff: Clips just hit a tough shot. We're up 2 with 20 secs. Blazers timeout.</div><div><br /></div><div>Jeff: Even if we win it won't break the curse. The Clips are 4 and 17!</div><div><br /></div><div>Jeff: Clips just held Roy before inbound. Foul shot and ball. Blake misses. Now we can't get ball inbound and call timeout. Deja Vu Orlando?</div><div><br /></div><div>Jeff: Blake back at line. If he misses, it's all me.</div><div><br /></div><div>Jeff: Missed. He's 94%!</div><div><br /></div><div>Jeff: Missed again. 3 in a row. Was 31-33 before tonight.</div><div><br /></div><div>Jeff: Trade Blake.</div><div><br /></div><div>Jeff: 18 secs</div><div><br /></div><div>Jeff: Blake steals! Gets fouled.</div><div><br /></div><div>Jeff: Makes first.</div><div><br /></div><div>Jeff: Misses second.</div><div><br /></div><div>Jeff: What a choke artist.</div><div><br /></div><div>Jeff: Trade Blake!</div><div><br /></div><div>Jeff: 8 secs up 3.</div><div><br /></div><div>Jeff: Blake is such a turd.</div><div><br /></div><div>Jeff: Baron at buzzer over Rudy. OT.</div><div><br /></div><div>Jeff: Baron was 0-12 in late game pressure 3s before that shot.</div><div><br /></div><div>Jeff: I want a contract.</div><div><br /></div><div>Jeff: I swear if I turn this off we will win. If I don't we will lose. What should I do?</div><div><br /></div><div>Jeff: Blake is an idiot.</div><div><br /></div><div>Jeff: Davis another 3. We're going down.</div><div><br /></div><div>Brian: Turn it off. Drink a beer. You got a cool wife and a good lookin kid. Go to bed.</div><div><br /></div><div>Jeff: Lost by 8. Mike Rice even said he's bet his house that Blake would make his free throws.</div><div><br /></div><div>Brian: Fuck. I take everything I said back. Don't watch the Holiday Bowl. Please.</div><div><br /></div><div>Jeff: I won't. I'm glad you finally believe me.</div><div><br /></div><div>Ok, so, that was the Clippers debacle. After that game I watched the Utah game on the road. Blazers didn't have a chance. Then I decided to give them a break and not watch them play at home against the Phoenix Suns. Of course, Brandon Roy scores a career-high 52 points and the Blazers win a thriller. And he made all 16 free throws. The next game was Denver on the road. I watched. They lost. The played Denver again the next night at home and I didn't watch. They won. Then, on Christmas Night, they played at home against the Dallas Mavericks. I watched with friends and family who assured me we'd break the curse together. Bah Humbug. Add it up and the Blazers are 2-5 over their last 7. I watched 5 games. C'mon, Mr. Allen. What more proof do you need?</div>Jeff Selishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08338040326310192454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-602653078153435167.post-63874204184180758302008-12-09T19:12:00.000-08:002008-12-10T08:16:23.200-08:00Dear Paul Allen,<div><br /></div><div>I'm writing to ask you for a contract - a contract to NOT watch the Blazers.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm going to watch the Blazers game tonight to prove to you that I am bad luck with a capital B.</div><div><br /></div><div>I can guarantee you that the Blazers will lose their first home game of the season tonight, solely because I am watching. </div><div><br /></div><div>Game just started and Dwight Howard picked up a quick foul on Greg Oden. A bad omen.</div><div><br /></div><div>1-0 Magic.</div><div><br /></div><div>Uh-oh, now it's suddenly 8-1, Magic.</div><div><br /></div><div>We're not getting the calls.</div><div><br /></div><div>Oden dunks, then we go down and allow an easy lay-up. 10- 3 Magic.</div><div><br /></div><div>This is not looking good. </div><div><br /></div><div>I promise, Mr. Allen, we will lose this game. I say 'we' because I am a lifetime Trail Blazer fan. I go all the way back to year one, so I'm very used to losing. It is rare that I witness a victory. Sure, there are times when I witness a victory over a sub-500 team with nothing to play for. And, I will admit that I even witnessed a victory this year when the Blazers eeked out a one point win over lowly Sacramento. But I can tell you I wasn't too emotionally invested in the game, which has a lot to do with it. I was more focused on my 10-year-old son who was attending his first NBA game. </div><div><br /></div><div>(Turkoglu just dunked. We're down 20-13.)</div><div><br /></div><div>Unlike me, my son has never shared my passion for sports. I collected baseball cards as a kid. He collects Poekemon. I was hoping that taking to him a game might inject a little Blazermania into his blood. It worked. I'm happy to report that Brandon Roy is his new hero. Our seats might have had something to do with it. We were one row behind the Blazer's bench. If Oden had turned around, we coulda shook hands.</div><div><br /></div><div>Rudy just dunked. The Spanish connection strikes again. Unfortunately, the Magic ran right down and hit a long two at the buzzer. I bet it wouldn't have gone in if I weren't watching. </div><div><br /></div><div>29-25 Magic after one quarter.</div><div><br /></div><div>The Blazers are getting out-hustled right now. Sure, they're probably tired from their long and successful road trip. Oh, I should mention that the only game I watched on the road trip was the Boston one. Ouch.</div><div><br /></div><div>I don't know why it is, but I <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">know</span> that it is. I'm just flat out bad luck. </div><div><br /></div><div>Blazers are 1 for 7 in threes so far. </div><div><br /></div><div>Mr. Allen, you are a very rich man, but I have something money can't buy. I have an innate ability to will a ball out of a basket. Hard as I try not to do it, I can watch Rudy Fernandez shoot a three in perfect rhythm and say to myself, "That's not going in," and sure enough, clang. </div><div><br /></div><div>Seriously, I can control things. </div><div><br /></div><div>It's not just the Blazers, either. I can do it to my Oregon Ducks, my New York Mets and my Green Bay Packers, too. Keep me away from viewing the game and they win. If I watch, they lose. I can go back through the years and present evidence upon evidence.</div><div><br /></div><div>Halftime: Magic 49, Blazers 48</div><div><br /></div><div>One might say I'm taking a risk in writing all of this down tonight. If the Blazers win, it will all have been a waste of time. In fact, I will tell myself once and for all that it's not me. But again, they won't win. They just won't. </div><div><br /></div><div>Blazers come out in the second half and look a bit sharper. They take the lead.</div><div><br /></div><div>Ok, scratch that. The Magic just went on a run and now lead by 8. </div><div><br /></div><div>I really do want us to win. I don't want this power anymore. But I just can't help it. I think I want it too much. </div><div><br /></div><div>You know, I used to wear flannel pajamas as a kid with the Mets logo on front and Tom Seaver's number on the back. I think that's how I became such a fan of them. They were never very good until the mid-80s and the Doc Gooden era, when I lived and died by them. I quit on them just before the ball went through poor Bill Buckner's legs. I left them for dead. I went to my room frustrated and close to tears - and I was in college! Then I heard all the screaming and hollering. The Mets had come back to win. To this day, I believe Bill Buckner would have snared that grounder if I were watching.</div><div><br /></div><div>Mike Rice just said he doesn't remember seeing the Magic shoot this good from the 3-point line. That's another effect I can have. I've witnessed many career days by opponents. And just as I can will our own shots out of a basket, I can will the oppositions in. It's uncanny.</div><div><br /></div><div>Hey, you know what I just realized? I am putting so much effort into this letter that by the end of it I might be wishing for the Blazers to lose so that I can send it. I wonder if that will have the opposite effect on them. Meaning, I will want Orlando to win. I wonder if I will be willing <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">their</span> shots from going in by the end of the game. Wouldn't that be ironic?</div><div><br /></div><div>Still, I don't think that will happen. My love for the Blazers runs too deep. I'd rather see them win this game than send you this note and receive a contract to NOT watch.</div><div><br /></div><div>Magic 66, Blazers 60. Batum just traveled. </div><div><br /></div><div>Some examples of my past. </div><div><br /></div><div>I had a little league game the day the Blazers won the World Championship. Unbelievably, I didn't have the option to watch. I was on the pitcher's mound when the horns started honking. I contend that if our game had been postponed so that all Little Leaguers could watch the game, I would have watched it and George McGinnis would have made his shot and the Blazers would have had to return to Philadelphia for Game 7.</div><div><br /></div><div>The first Oregon Ducks game I watched last year was the one against Arizona. The Ducks were ranked #2 and Dennis Dixon was a Heisman Candidate. I hadn't watched all year because I didn't want to jinx them. After the game, Dixon was out with a season ending ACL injury and the Ducks title hopes were dashed with a 34-24 defeat.</div><div><br /></div><div>The Blazers have made a 12-0 run while I've been typing. They lead 85-81. The crowd is going nuts. Maybe these Blazers are Jeff proof after all! </div><div><br /></div><div>88-83 now. The crowd chants DEFENSE. </div><div><br /></div><div>My worst impact on the Blazers was the colossal 4th quarter collapse against the Lakers in the 2000. I was working in San Francisco on a TV Commercial. We'd been shooting on location outside the city all day. When our shoot wrapped a bunch of us climbed in a 15-passenger van a started our long ride back to the city. The driver had the game on the radio and the Blazers had a big lead. I begged to have it turned off but everyone else wanted to listen. Plus, they all thought I was crazy. By the end of the ride the mighty Blazers were toast. Instead, Shaq and Kobe were on their way to their first NBA Championship together. Maybe I wasn't so crazy.</div><div><br /></div><div>The Blazers are really jumping on the Magic all of the sudden. The lead is now 8.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm going to watch this for a few minutes. </div><div><br /></div><div>There you are on TV Mr. Allen. You are on your feet. Go Blazers.</div><div><br /></div><div>99-94. Brandon Roy time. 4:47 left.</div><div><br /></div><div>Mr. Allen, if the Blazers lose tonight I am asking you for a contract to NOT watch the Blazers anymore. Otherwise, I can't promise I won't succumb to my desire to witness their greatness. I don't know what kind of money to ask for. What's it worth, really? Maybe we should negotiate.</div><div><br /></div><div>Roy is at the line. 102-97. Roy has already missed 5 (!) free throws tonight. That's ridiculous! And you can be certain it's because of me. </div><div><br /></div><div>Would 100K be too much too ask? I mean, what price a championship? That seems like a bargain to me. And believe me, I live and die with these guys. It won't be easy for me to not watch.</div><div><br /></div><div>106-100, Blazers. It's looking like we might pull this off. Ooh! Aldridge just his a jumper for an 8-point lead. You might be off the hook.</div><div><br /></div><div>I do love this team. They remind me of the 76-77-78 Blazers. Unselfish. Hustling. Respectful. Humble. I'd rather watch than have your money. </div><div><br /></div><div>Uh-oh, the Magic just hit another 3. </div><div><br /></div><div>108-103. 1:32 left.</div><div><br /></div><div>Oh, beautiful defense by Roy. Makes up for the missed free throws. </div><div><br /></div><div>58 seconds left. Blazers timeout.</div><div><br /></div><div>Crap. Magic just hit a 3. They're down two.</div><div><br /></div><div>Oh no, 24-second violation. </div><div><br /></div><div>Ok, five seconds left. Magic Ball. Blazers up 2.</div><div><br /></div><div>Here we go.</div><div><br /></div><div>Magic to inbound.</div><div><br /></div><div>I can't breath.</div><div><br /></div><div>Palms all sweaty.</div><div><br /></div><div>OH MY GOD. </div><div><br /></div><div>Orlando ends it on a lucky 3-point shot to win. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm sorry, Mr. Allen. I told you this would happen. It is my curse. And sadly, it is yours too.</div><div><br /></div><div>What should we do?</div><div><br /></div><div>Jeff</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Jeff Selishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08338040326310192454noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-602653078153435167.post-75933120034256295092008-11-04T05:18:00.000-08:002008-11-04T05:53:15.995-08:00I Can't SleepMy body is coursing with adrenalin. I can't sleep. I'm full of anxiety over today's vote. I just want it to be over. I want a new leadership. I'm still sick over the night I was watching the results eight years ago when Tom Brokaw and Tim Russert took Florida off the board from Gore. I knew right then that we were fucked. And I was right. I will feel far a less fucked feeling if McCain somehow eeks out this election simply because he is not Bush, but I want so bad to feel something more. I want to feel 'Hope'. I want to soak in it. I want to be witness to Martin Luther King's dream. I want to be a part of a movement to save our planet, even if it means paying more taxes or riding my bike more. I need the exercise anyway. Are you there, God? It's me, Jeff. Please let this all work out.Jeff Selishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08338040326310192454noreply@blogger.com0