Michael Estrin's Blog, page 23
August 24, 2022
Trashy doppelgänger, catalytic denouement, overheard crime, sexiest author ever
I haven’t received any job offers for the other Michael Estrin recently, but that doesn’t mean my doppelgängers aren’t out there. Folks, my doppelgängers are legion! Over the weekend, my sister, Allison, spotted a sticker with a face that bears more than a passing resemblance to yours truly.
Allison spotted the sticker on the lid of a trash can in the restroom of a bar in the Gowanus neighborhood of Brooklyn. I used to live in Brooklyn, but I don’t remember drinking in Gowanus, or licensing my likeness to a sticker company. So what’s going on here? I have some theories, naturally:
Allison went drinking in a parallel universe where her older brother is an icon for Bizarro Brooklyn’s anti-littering campaign.
My Brooklyn-based doppelgänger is trash.
The sticker is a reference to “In Marge We Trust,” a classic episode from season eight of The Simpsons, where Homer discovers his likeness on box of Japanese dishwasher detergent. The manufacturer in Hokkaidō sends Homer a promotional video that reveals that the mascot is a result of a joint venture between two conglomerates, whose mascots, a fish and a lightbulb, merge to form Mr. Sparkle. The similarity to Homer is a mere coincidence.
Just like Homer’s Japanese dishwasher detergent coincidence, it’s possible that the Gowanus trash can sticker’s resemblance to me is also a coincidence. But it’s also possible that this sticker is a clue in an absurd Murakami-style mystery with far-reaching implications for… something or other. Truth is, it’ll take one helluva reporter to figure this one out. Thankfully, Brooklyn-based reporter Anne Kadet, who writes Café Anne, is a regular Situation Normal reader. If Anne can’t get answers, nobody can. If you’re up for the assignment, Anne, the bar is called Dirty Precious.
Catalytic denouementFirst, scoundrels stole my catalytic converter, and I turned to vigilantism. Then the supply chain ate my replacement catalytic convertor and I became a straight pipe scofflaw. Well, at long last, the saga of my stolen catalytic convertor has come to an end. The replacement part finally arrived, and I’m back in business, as they say.
Naturally, I’m open to selling the film rights to this low-stakes crime comedy. I see it as Gone in 60 Seconds meets Bottle Rocket. If you’re a Hollywood development executive, let’s discuss this over bottles of Fiji Water.
Overheard at Home Depot“It’s no big deal. Will you listen? Just listen, OK. I do this all the time. We put in those shitty low-flow toilets for the inspector, then as soon as he signs off on the project, we replace them with the regular toilets. It’s not illegal. OK, technically it is illegal, but only if you get caught.”
David Baldacci is sexy as fuckIf you’re wondering who the sexiest author ever is, the answer is David Baldacci. The only Baldacci book I’ve ever read is Absolute Power, but apparently his novels are so hot people have been known to rip off their unmentionables and throw them at just about any Baldacci title.
ICYMII wrote about how reading Nixonland stirred up some family memories, like how Nixon’s resignation interrupted my parent’s wedding rehearsal dinner, as well as the time I was a PA on Richard Nixon's funeral. At the end of that piece, I asked readers who were around for the 1972 election to share some memories of that time, and several of you responded with some amazing comments. Go check them out here.
In Nixon-related surveillance news, my Google searches about the 37th U.S. President had the ad tech machine firing on all cylinders. The result? A Travel Zoo deal to visit the Nixon library!
Some housekeeping
Your suggestions for what to call the Wednesday edition of Situation Normal were excellent! But I’m still trying to figure out a name, or if a name is even necessary. For me, naming things is an agonizing, complicated process that feels like trying on every shoe in the store by hanging the shoes on your ears and walking around barefoot on broken glass. But don’t worry about me. If you have more suggestions, keep ‘em coming!
Stick around and chat!You know the drill. I’ve got questions, you may or may not have answers.
Have you seen a sticker resembling me on any trash cans near you?
What’s your favorite episode of The Simpsons?
Are you a development executive? And if so, are you interested in the rights to my catalytic convertor story? Also, who should play me in the movie, assuming Arnold Schwarzenegger isn’t available?
Los Angeles building codes mandate low-flow toilets because we’re living in a desert that’s experiencing a “mega-drought.” If we run out of water, it’s the Home Depot guy’s fault, right?
Have you read any David Baldacci books? If so, did you manage to keep your clothes on?
Regardless of your politics, two tickets to the Nixon Library for $34 is a good deal! Should I go, or should I use that money to buy another Rick Perlstein book?
Contribute to Situation Normal!Do you have a question about something I’ve written? Got a hilarious anecdote or overheard you want to share? See something on the internet, or IRL, that made you LOL or WTF? Find a funny product the wild? Send your submissions to me at 👇
michael.j.estrin@gmail.com
When submitting, please tell me if you’d like to use an alias, or do the first name last initial thing. If you write a newsletter, I’m happy to link to it, so let me know!
Until Sunday, when I’ll have another story…
As tacky as it sounds, you can let me know you enjoy Situation Normal by hitting that ❤️ button 🙏👇
Trashy doppelgänger, catalytic denouement, overheard crime, sexiest author ever
I haven’t received any job offers for the other Michael Estrin recently, but that doesn’t mean my doppelgängers aren’t out there. Folks, my doppelgängers are legion! Over the weekend, my sister, Allison, spotted a sticker with a face that bears more than a passing resemblance to yours truly.
Allison spotted the sticker on the lid of a trash can in the restroom of a bar in the Gowanus neighborhood of Brooklyn. I used to live in Brooklyn, but I don’t remember drinking in Gowanus, or licensing my likeness to a sticker company. So what’s going on here? I have some theories, naturally:
Allison went drinking in a parallel universe where her older brother is an icon for Bizarro Brooklyn’s anti-littering campaign.
My Brooklyn-based doppelgänger is trash.
The sticker is a reference to “In Marge We Trust,” a classic episode from season eight of The Simpsons, where Homer discovers his likeness on box of Japanese dishwasher detergent. The manufacturer in Hokkaidō sends Homer a promotional video that reveals that the mascot is a result of a joint venture between two conglomerates, whose mascots, a fish and a lightbulb, merge to form Mr. Sparkle. The similarity to Homer is a mere coincidence.
Just like Homer’s Japanese dishwasher detergent coincidence, it’s possible that the Gowanus trash can sticker’s resemblance to me is also a coincidence. But it’s also possible that this sticker is a clue in an absurd Murakami-style mystery with far-reaching implications for… something or other. Truth is, it’ll take one helluva reporter to figure this one out. Thankfully, Brooklyn-based reporter Anne Kadet, who writes Café Anne, is a regular Situation Normal reader. If Anne can’t get answers, nobody can. If you’re up for the assignment, Anne, the bar is called Dirty Precious.
Catalytic denouementFirst, scoundrels stole my catalytic converter, and I turned to vigilantism. Then the supply chain ate my replacement catalytic convertor and I became a straight pipe scofflaw. Well, at long last, the saga of my stolen catalytic convertor has come to an end. The replacement part finally arrived, and I’m back in business, as they say.
Naturally, I’m open to selling the film rights to this low-stakes crime comedy. I see it as Gone in 60 Seconds meets Bottle Rocket. If you’re a Hollywood development executive, let’s discuss this over bottles of Fiji Water.
Overheard at Home Depot“It’s no big deal. Will you listen? Just listen, OK. I do this all the time. We put in those shitty low-flow toilets for the inspector, then as soon as he signs off on the project, we replace them with the regular toilets. It’s not illegal. OK, technically it is illegal, but only if you get caught.”
David Baldacci is sexy as fuckIf you’re wondering who the sexiest author ever is, the answer is David Baldacci. The only Baldacci book I’ve ever read is Absolute Power, but apparently his novels are so hot people have been known to rip off their unmentionables and throw them at just about any Baldacci title.
ICYMII wrote about how reading Nixonland stirred up some family memories, like how Nixon’s resignation interrupted my parent’s wedding rehearsal dinner, as well as the time I was a PA on Richard Nixon's funeral. At the end of that piece, I asked readers who were around for the 1972 election to share some memories of that time, and several of you responded with some amazing comments. Go check them out here.
In Nixon-related surveillance news, my Google searches about the 37th U.S. President had the ad tech machine firing on all cylinders. The result? A Travel Zoo deal to visit the Nixon library!
Some housekeeping
Your suggestions for what to call the Wednesday edition of Situation Normal were excellent! But I’m still trying to figure out a name, or if a name is even necessary. For me, naming things is an agonizing, complicated process that feels like trying on every shoe in the store by hanging the shoes on your ears and walking around barefoot on broken glass. But don’t worry about me. If you have more suggestions, keep ‘em coming!
Stick around and chat!You know the drill. I’ve got questions, you may or may not have answers.
Have you seen a sticker resembling me on any trash cans near you?
What’s your favorite episode of The Simpsons?
Are you a development executive? And if so, are you interested in the rights to my catalytic convertor story? Also, who should play me in the movie, assuming Arnold Schwarzenegger isn’t available?
Los Angeles building codes mandate low-flow toilets because we’re living in a desert that’s experiencing a “mega-drought.” If we run out of water, it’s the Home Depot guy’s fault, right?
Have you read any David Baldacci books? If so, did you manage to keep your clothes on?
Regardless of your politics, two tickets to the Nixon Library for $34 is a good deal! Should I go, or should I use that money to buy another Rick Perlstein book?
Contribute to Situation Normal!Do you have a question about something I’ve written? Got a hilarious anecdote or overheard you want to share? See something on the internet, or IRL, that made you LOL or WTF? Find a funny product the wild? Send your submissions to me at 👇
michael.j.estrin@gmail.com
When submitting, please tell me if you’d like to use an alias, or do the first name last initial thing. If you write a newsletter, I’m happy to link to it, so let me know!
Until Sunday, when I’ll have another story…
As tacky as it sounds, you can let me know you enjoy Situation Normal by hitting that ❤️ button 🙏👇
August 21, 2022
Big Dick Nixon Energy
Nixon White House Photographs, 1/20/1969 - 8/9/1974I spent last weekend devouring Nixonland: The Rise of a President and the Fracturing of America by Rick Perlstein. I also made a pot of chili, but that’s neither here nor there.
If you don’t know, Nixonland is a big-ass book. It checks in at 896 pages, but I prefer audiobooks, so I spent thirty-six hours and forty-six minutes with Dick Nixon. The audiobook was narrated by Stephen R. Thorn, who also narrates the John Dies at the End books, which are billed as novels of “cosmic horror.” I can’t tell if the narrator casting was a happy accident, odd coincidence, or a subliminal effort to communicate just how unsettling it is to live your whole life in a Dick-shaped world.
Perlstein’s book is a sweeping political and cultural history of the modern conservative movement, from Nixon’s early days in Congress, where he out-McCarthy’d Senator Joe “Blacklist” McCarthy, to Nixon’s overwhelming victory in the 1972 election, when he carried 49 states and crushed Senator George “I just got rat-fucked” McGovern by winning 60 percent of the popular vote. Along the way, Perlstein has plenty to share about Nixon’s Machiavellian scheming, relentless work ethic, paranoid style, and the bowling ball-sized chip on Nixon’s shoulder, plus the politics of grievance, doing crimes, OG culture warrior shenanigans, moral panics, moral failures, and the utter shit-show that was Democratic Party politics of the 1960s. I told you it was a big-ass book!
I’m not a conservative, or a historian. But I am a curious dude who reads dozens of history books a year. I’m also a goofball, which explains why Christina was forced to endure my countless attempts to perfect my Dick Nixon impression. Pro tip: the secret is to slacken your jowls, summon as much loathing as your inner Sith Lord can muster, and say the quiet part loud.
Comedic opportunities aside, Nixonland did what good histories usually do—force you to reckon with the present in new ways. Nixonland certainly forced me to do that. I was born three years after Richard Nixon resigned, rather than face impeachment over Watergate. Dick was literally before my time. But reading Nixonland was like climbing inside a time machine.
From one chapter to the next, I watched as Nixon manipulated my parent’s and grandparent’s generations. Wedge issue by wedge issue, Nixon redrew the fault-lines of America’s political coalitions, while perfecting the bomb-throwing politics that are blowing up all around us at this very moment. If you haven’t already read Nixonland, you should. Ten out of ten, would recommend, as the kids say.
But you don’t come to Situation Normal for history, or politics, or book reviews. You come here for slice of humor. Which brings me to the meat of this post. Reading Nixonland stirred up some family memories, from my parent’s wedding, to the time I was a PA on Nixon's funeral. Here’s the story.
While this wasn’t a league game, Nixon, as usual, was clearly over the linePart One: Nixon resigns, Linda & Larry get marriedOn August 8, 1974, at 9:01pm Eastern, 6:01pm Pacific, Richard Milhous Nixon, the 37th President of the United States, addressed the nation on live television from the Oval Office. It took Nixon sixteen minutes to announce his resignation, which was remarkable, both because the scandal-plagued President was finally throwing in the towel and also because the average American needs only sixteen seconds to quit their job.
Three thousand miles away, in sunny Los Angeles, Larry Estrin, who was on his way to becoming the world’s best sound man, and Linda Stern, a public school teacher, were trying to hold a rehearsal dinner for their upcoming wedding. According to family legend, Nixon’s resignation ruined the rehearsal dinner. I always laughed at that particular family story, but after reading Nixonland, I was inspired to do a little oral history. So I called my mother and asked her what she remembered about that day.
“It was a fucking mess,” Mom said. “We were trying to rehearse, but everyone was too busy watching that crook resign.”
“Wait, your rehearsal dinner was actually a rehearsal?”
“Michael, you know your father. To him, a wedding was a show, and since it was our wedding, it was going to be a huge production. I had a wireless microphone in my bouquet, for Christ’s sake. This was 1974, normal people didn’t know from wireless mics. But that’s your father for you.”
Dad loved wireless technology, and he really loved putting on big-ass shows, so that tracked. But I didn’t see why a 16-minute speech would be so disruptive. So I asked why they didn’t just do the rehearsal after Nixon resigned.
“We tried to,” Mom said. “But it was crazy. Everyone was talking about Nixon resigning. They couldn’t talk about anything else. See, things were very different in those days. Watergate had been going on for more than a year, and we kept saying, they’ve got to get this crook already, what’s taking so long?”
“Actually, that kinda sounds like the present.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
“So everyone was super-focused on Nixon and the rehearsal dinner was sort of an afterthought, huh?”
“It was like we had all gotten together to watch this sonofabitch Nixon resign instead of a rehearsal dinner. Everyone was glued to the TV, everyone but your father.”
“What was he doing?”
“What do you think he was doing, Michael? He was on the phone, naturally. I think he was calling his friends at NBC.”
“Why them?”
“Well, at the time your father was doing a lot of work with NBC. Somehow, he knew, or he was told, that after he left office, Nixon would end up back in San Clemente, where he had a beautiful mansion, the sonofabitch. Anyway, your father had already done some very big shows by then, but he really wanted to do something with the President.”
“It was a life goal, a bucket list thing,” I said.
“Absolutely. Your father set his sights very high. But how do you get a job doing sound for the President? Who knows? We didn’t know. What are gonna do, just call the White House and say, I’d like to do your sound? I don’t think so.”
“So this was the closest Dad had come to date?”
“Yeah, he saw an opportunity to get, well not into that part of the business exactly, but closer to that business. Honestly, I think he gave his friends at NBC the gear for free. All those guys—they were all guys in those days—were supposed to come to the wedding, but they were in Orange County waiting for you-know-who to show up. We had to rearrange the seating chart, and we ended up having to pay for their dinners because it was too late to cancel. My parents were plotzing—you know what plotzing means, right?”
“Freaking the fuck out.”
“Right, plotzing. Anyway, my parents couldn’t believe people in your Dad’s industry lived like that. But that was life with your father—the would phone ring, and the next thing you knew, he’d be halfway around the world doing some show or big event.”
The next day, August 9, 1974, Nixon once again went on television, this time to bid farewell to the White House staff, and let’s be honest, lay the groundwork for his final act as an elder statesman.
Then Nixon walked out of the White House, crossed the White House lawn, and climbed the steps to Marine One for the final time. But before the chopper took off, Nixon, who early on in his career had learned that television could be a cruel and fickle mistress, left us with an iconic image that looked like triumph, even though we were actually watching his downfall.
Meanwhile, somewhere in San Clemente, Dad’s friends at NBC waited for the former President to return home so they could cover whatever news there was left to make. I asked Mom if Nixon held any media events after arriving in San Clemente. Like a witness testifying before Congress, Mom said she “couldn’t recall.” A cursory Google search didn’t yield any useful information, and Nixonland didn’t mention any public statements in the days after Nixon resigned.
Two days later, on August 11, 1974, Linda and Larry were married in a ceremony that took place without any interruptions for breaking news.
Linda and Larry Estrin on their wedding day, August 11, 1974Mom and I talked some more about family memories, but after reading Nixonland I still had one nagging question about my parents.
“Mom, can I ask you something personal?”
“Sure. What do I care?”
I hesitated, not because I was afraid to ask, but because I was afraid to know the answer.
“Do you remember who you voted for in the 1972 election?”
“Not Nixon!”
What a relief! The Democrats of the ‘60s and ‘70s were a far cry from their New Deal predecessors, but watching Nixon work his dark magic, I couldn’t help but worry that his spells might’ve worked on my parents.
“I voted for… oh for Christ’s sake, what was his name?”
“McGovern.”
“Yeah, that’s it. McGovern. I voted for Joe McGovern.”
“George McGovern. His first name was George.”
“Yeah, well, his campaign was kind of a mess. But what can I say, at least he wasn’t Nixon. That probably should’ve been his campaign slogan.”
“But Nixon was really popular. He won forty-nine states. Forty-seven million people voted for him, compared to twenty-nine million for McGovern.”
“What can I say, Michael? People are idiots.”
“But what about Dad?”
“Was he an idiot?” Mom asked.
“No… well, I mean… did he… um… vote for Nixon?”
“No, absolutely not.”
“Are you sure?”
“Michael, Jews voted Democratic in those days.”
That was true. I looked it up. In 1940 and 1944, 90 percent of American Jews voted for FDR. Harry Truman won 75 percent of the Jewish vote in 1948. Jews sort of liked Ike, but as I learned from Nixonland, everyone liked Ike, who was so popular that both parties wanted him to be their nominee for President. Throughout the 1960s, Jews proved to be a reliable voting bloc for JFK, LBJ, and Hubert Humphrey. But in the 1972 election, McGovern underperformed with Jewish voters, garnering only 65 percent of the vote.1
“Mom, a lot of Jews voted for Nixon in ‘72.”
“Oy. It was the Israel thing. See, a lot of Jews only think about what’s good for Israel when they vote. I don’t agree with that mentality, and neither did your father. But what can I say? Some Jews are meshuga.”
“I get that, but do you think it’s possible Dad voted for Nixon for reasons that had nothing to do with Israel?”
“No.”
Mom’s certitude was comforting, but I had to be sure.
“Here’s the thing,” I began, “Nixon was a master of the culture wars. One of the things I took away from Nixonland was that he split the Democratic coalition. Remember the silent majority and those construction workers who beat the shit out of hippies?”
“Yeah, that was really terrible. I saw it on TV. Horrible.”
“Well, those hippies and those construction workers were both reliable Democratic constituencies, and OK, maybe they really were split over the war in Vietnam, but Nixon found a way to ratchet up the heat on culture war stuff.”
“Michael, your father didn’t vote for Richard Nixon.”
“But how can you be so sure? You didn’t know Dad in 1972. Before you met him, Dad was Don Ho’s road manager, and he was doing all those USO shows for Bob Hope. He wasn’t exactly working for team counterculture.”
“The first time I met your father’s family, your aunt asked me if I was a Democrat. I think she asked me that before we even sat down. I remember thinking: that was weird.”
“Except, maybe her question wasn’t all that weird in those days,” I said.
I explained that another thing I took away from Nixonland was just how traumatic the political volatility of that era was. People weren’t just peacefully realigning into the camps they occupy today. There was a lot of political violence, a lot of anger, a lot of broken friendships, and a lot of families split in half by the wedge issues of the day.
“When I was growing up,” I continued, “it would’ve been weird to ask someone about their politics. But that was the ‘80s and ‘90s for you. Back in ‘72, I get the sense that things were much more like they are today.”
“You know, I guess I never really thought about it that way, but that sounds right,” Mom said.
“So we can’t really say for sure who Dad voted for in ‘72, but you don’t think he voted for Nixon?” I pressed.
“Let’s put it this way: his family would’ve disowned him, and if I thought he had voted for Nixon, I wouldn’t have married him. Come to think of it, I guess we were all a little meshuga back then.”
I felt relieved. Mom’s answer wasn’t definitive, but it was as close as I was going to get to answering this particular question. Then another question popped into my mind.
“Hey Mom, what were you doing in ‘72?”
“Oh god. I was teaching elementary school in the San Fernando Valley.”
“Pacoima?”
“No, this was before Pacoima. This was the West Valley, which was pretty rural in those days. My students were mostly white and very poor. Their parents actually voted for George Wallace in ‘68, if you can believe that?”
“After reading Nixonland, I can believe anything about this country.”
“Yeah, well I was a young teacher, and I couldn’t believe there were George Wallace voters in Los Angeles. The guy was a segregationist for Christ’s sake!”
“I take it your students weren’t exactly McGovern fans in ‘72?”
“Fans? These kids didn’t even know there was an election. Their parents filled their heads with a bunch of racist crap, and to be honest, the school system wasn’t really interested in educating them.”
“Yikes.”
“You got that right. But I said, screw it. I built a lesson plan around elections. The basics like democracy, checks and balances, the Electoral College. They actually loved it so much I took them on field trips to the local campaign offices for Nixon and McGovern.”
“What was that like?”
“The Democrats weren’t great. They didn’t really have anything to say to the kids and when I asked if we could get some buttons or bumper stickers, they tried to charge us for that stuff. I guess they were broke.”
“What about the Republicans?”
“Believe it or not, the Nixon people were lovely. They talked to the kids and gave us tons of buttons and bumper stickers. I wanted to barf, but I just smiled.”
“Sounds like the Nixon people were well-funded?”
“Yeah, in retrospect it should’ve been a sign that McGovern was screwed. But the kids didn’t care who won. They were fascinated by politics. After they learned about the First Amendment, they staged a protest. I was really proud of them.”
“What were they protesting?”
“The cafeteria food. It really was awful. I remember they made some great signs and marched around the school. Then their parents found out they were protesting, and they went to the principal to complain about me.”
“Did you get in trouble?”
“I was always getting in trouble at that job. But this was the worst time because the parents were calling me a Communist.”
“A Communist? For teaching their kids about democracy, civics, and free speech?”
“Yeah, can you believe that? But it was a different time. People were nuts back then.”
“Actually, it kinda sounds like 2022.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. What can I say? Nixon really did a number on America.”
Intermission: All the President’s MenIn 1976, two years after Larry and Linda were married, Warner Bros. released All the President’s Men. The movie was based on the 1974 book of the same name by Carl Bernstein and Bob Woodward, the two Washington Post beat reporters whose investigation into what seemed like a nothing-burger of a burglary ended up bringing down Richard Nixon. If you can believe it, the film, which depicts two handsome reporters pounding the pavement, drinking too much coffee, asking basic questions, and typing, grossed $70 million at the box office—a metric fuck-ton of money in those days.
The following year, in 1977, All The President’s Men was nominated for eight Academy Awards, including Best Picture. Dad did the sound for the Oscar broadcast (a gig he did for decades). Meanwhile Mom, who probably didn’t realize she was one month pregnant with me, sat in the audience at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, where she rooted for All The President’s Men to win. Unfortunately, the Academy voters picked Rocky, a story about an underdog boxer, over a film about two underdog reporters who worked their butts off to save American democracy.
But Mom wouldn’t be denied her fandom. A few months later, Mom was deep into her second trimester and stuck at home. She watched All The President’s Men over and over again on TV. Years later, she introduced me to All The President’s Men, a movie I’ve seen dozens of times. After I asked Mom about the wedding rehearsal fiasco and who she and Dad voted for in ‘72, we reminisced about one of our favorite films.
Mom is partial to the scene where Attorney General John Mitchell threatens Washington Post publisher Katharine Graham.
“You tell your publisher, tell Katie Graham she’s gonna get her tit caught in a big wringer if that’s published.”
My favorite scene is where Woodward and Bernstein complain that they haven’t had any luck yet, and Washington Post editor Ben Bradlee replies, “get some.”
Of course, none of this is relevant to the next part of my story, which is why I put it in the intermission. But as you stretch your legs, use the bathroom, or grab a snack, I recommend watching All The President’s Men. They don’t make movies like this one anymore!
Part Two: PA at a FuneralRichard Nixon died April 22, 1994. Five days later, on April 27, his state funeral was held at the Nixon Library in Yorba Linda, California.
This time, Dad got the gig! And why not? He had already done the sound for the dedication of the Nixon Library in 1990, a gig he got by working on Reagan’s first and second inaugurals, as well as the 1988 Presidential Debates. The best sound man in the world had finally done what he only dreamed of doing back in 1974—he had broken into the big time of Presidential events. (Dad would go on to do every Presidential Debate until his death in 2015, as well as the inaugurations of George H.W. Bush, Bill Clinton twice, and Barack Obama twice).
“Michael, how about you work with me on the funeral,” Dad asked? “I need a PA, and it’s short notice.”
I was a junior in high school, but by then I already knew the PA job well. Run errands, run fresh walkie-talkie batteries to the crew, and try not to run your mouth. At sixteen, that last one was sometimes a challenge for me.
“Is America really going to do a state funeral for Tricky Dick?” I demanded.
Then I rattled off just a few of Nixon’s sins. Red-baiting. Dog-whistling in Dixie to carry out his Southern Strategy. The Enemies List. Lying about his secret peace plan in the 1968 election. Expanding the war to Cambodia and Laos. Lying about the war again in 1972. The war on drugs. And of course, Watergate.
Dad could’ve pointed out some of the good things Nixon had done, like going to China, détente with the Soviets, the EPA, OSHA, and giving Hunter S. Thompson endless amounts of fantastic gonzo material. But instead, Dad patiently explained that it was important to honor a former President, even a disgraced one.
I don’t think I believed that then, and I’m not sure I believe that now. But I know my dad always felt that Presidential events—debates, inaugurations, and even state funerals—were about country, not party. In Dad’s mind, the content of any President’s message wasn’t nearly as important as the fact that an American President’s message was being broadcast live around in the world in stereo.
Not that Dad’s patriotism made a dent in my teenage cynicism. I agreed to be Dad’s PA because it was a day off from school, a chance to make a few bucks, and maybe witness a little history. Unfortunately, I don’t remember much about the day. Here’s what I do recall.
While we were setting up, I cracked some jokes about “bugging” Nixon’s casket for “old times sake.” Nobody laughed. Dad sent me to get donuts.
Later on, I got into a heated debate with some members of the United States Marine band about video games. I argued that Mortal Kombat II was better than Street Fighter II, but the Marines wouldn’t hear it. They did, however, eat the remaining donuts.
When the public arrived, I remember being shocked that so many people who didn’t even know Richard Nixon would show up to his funeral. The crowd was overwhelming conservative. They seemed to have a good day honoring their hero, but I did hear some grumbling about the high prices The Nixon Library charged for snacks and bottled water.
I saw U.N. Secretary General Boutros Boutros-Ghali coming out of the VIP bathroom. Later, on the ride home, I probably annoyed Dad a lot by saying Boutros Boutros-Ghali over and over again because, let’s face it, it’s a very fun name to say.
Finally, for the first and only time in my life, I saw every living U.S. President—Clinton, George H.W. Bush, Reagan, Carter, and Ford—gathered in the same place. That felt historic, and pretty cool!
Unfortunately, I can’t call my dad to interview him about what he remembers from that day. So I did the next best thing. I searched for a recording of Nixon’s funeral on YouTube. There were lots of copies to choose from, including four hours of commercial-free, ticker-free CNN coverage. But I went with a different video of the funeral.
The video below is a master tape of the Nixon funeral. The camera is wobbly and the audio is unmixed. Viewers back home wouldn’t have seen this footage. Oddly enough, this copy is the property of The Clinton Library.
I spent a few hours with the video of Nixon’s funeral. I was trying to remember what teenage me would’ve thought of the event, but mostly I just thought about my dad and how hard he worked to give his kids backstage passes to history.
Eventually, I gave up trying to remember what teenage me was thinking. Instead, I thought about Nixonland.
Watching his funeral on YouTube, I had to hand it to Nixon. The poor Quaker kid from Orange County had come a very long way. At various points in Nixon’s career, many of the attendees at his funeral had sought to defeat him, but here they were honoring him. And if they weren’t shedding any tears at his passing, their presence gave Nixon what he had always sought: respect.
To me, Senator Bob Dole nailed it when he credited Nixon with being a generation ahead of everyone else in politics, adding, “I believe the second half of the 20th century will be known as the Age of Nixon.” I suspect Nixonland author Rick Perlstein would cosign that and perhaps add that Nixon has shaped much of the 21st century too.
I groaned when California Governor Pete Wilson talked about working as young aide for Nixon, then credited his old boss with convincing him to run for Congress. If you don’t know, Wilson was the face of California’s Prop 187, a vicious 1994 anti-immigrant law that bigots continue to use as their model to this day.
Then I watched Bill Clinton eulogize Richard Nixon. Some people like to say history repeats itself. Others like to say history doesn’t repeat itself, but sometimes it rhymes. I don’t know if either of those aphorism are true. But watching the only President with hippie bona fides praise the counterculture’s arch nemesis showed me that, at the very least, history has one hell of a sense of humor.
Thank you for reading Situation Normal. This post is public so feel free to share it!
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I really enjoyed Nixonland. Is there a history book you’re fond of?
Talking to my mom about what she was doing in 1972 was an eye-opener. If you were around in ‘72, what were you up to?
What do you think: does history repeat itself, does it rhyme, or is history’s sense of humor some next-level shit?
Are you a fan of All the President’s Men, or do you hate cinema?
According to Christina, my Nixon impression is “OK.” Can you do any impressions of political figures? What’s the trick to your impression?
Will you do me a favor and email this story to your friends?
Help Situation Normal: share it!Situation Normal grows because readers like YOU share these stories. Please forward this email to a friend (or enemy), post this story on social media, discuss it on Reddit and MetaFilter, link to it in your newsletter, or hit the share button 👇
Show your support for Situation Normal by hitting that ❤️ button 🙏👇1Big Dick Nixon Energy
Nixon White House Photographs, 1/20/1969 - 8/9/1974I spent last weekend devouring Nixonland: The Rise of a President and the Fracturing of America by Rick Perlstein. I also made a pot of chili, but that’s neither here nor there.
If you don’t know, Nixonland is a big-ass book. It checks in at 896 pages, but I prefer audiobooks, so I spent thirty-six hours and forty-six minutes with Dick Nixon. The audiobook was narrated by Stephen R. Thorn, who also narrates the John Dies at the End books, which are billed as novels of “cosmic horror.” I can’t tell if the narrator casting was a happy accident, odd coincidence, or a subliminal effort to communicate just how unsettling it is to live your whole life in a Dick-shaped world.
Perlstein’s book is a sweeping political and cultural history of the modern conservative movement, from Nixon’s early days in Congress, where he out-McCarthy’d Senator Joe “Blacklist” McCarthy, to Nixon’s overwhelming victory in the 1972 election, when he carried 49 states and crushed Senator George “I just got rat-fucked” McGovern by winning 60 percent of the popular vote. Along the way, Perlstein has plenty to share about Nixon’s Machiavellian scheming, relentless work ethic, paranoid style, and the bowling ball-sized chip on Nixon’s shoulder, plus the politics of grievance, doing crimes, OG culture warrior shenanigans, moral panics, moral failures, and the utter shit-show that was Democratic Party politics of the 1960s. I told you it was a big-ass book!
I’m not a conservative, or a historian. But I am a curious dude who reads dozens of history books a year. I’m also a goofball, which explains why Christina was forced to endure my countless attempts to perfect my Dick Nixon impression. Pro tip: the secret is to slacken your jowls, summon as much loathing as your inner Sith Lord can muster, and say the quiet part loud.
Comedic opportunities aside, Nixonland did what good histories usually do—force you to reckon with the present in new ways. Nixonland certainly forced me to do that. I was born three years after Richard Nixon resigned, rather than face impeachment over Watergate. Dick was literally before my time. But reading Nixonland was like climbing inside a time machine.
From one chapter to the next, I watched as Nixon manipulated my parent’s and grandparent’s generations. Wedge issue by wedge issue, Nixon redrew the fault-lines of America’s political coalitions, while perfecting the bomb-throwing politics that are blowing up all around us at this very moment. If you haven’t already read Nixonland, you should. Ten out of ten, would recommend, as the kids say.
But you don’t come to Situation Normal for history, or politics, or book reviews. You come here for slice of humor. Which brings me to the meat of this post. Reading Nixonland stirred up some family memories, from my parent’s wedding, to the time I was a PA on Nixon's funeral. Here’s the story.
While this wasn’t a league game, Nixon, as usual, was clearly over the linePart One: Nixon resigns, Linda & Larry get marriedOn August 8, 1974, at 9:01pm Eastern, 6:01pm Pacific, Richard Milhous Nixon, the 37th President of the United States, addressed the nation on live television from the Oval Office. It took Nixon sixteen minutes to announce his resignation, which was remarkable, both because the scandal-plagued President was finally throwing in the towel and also because the average American needs only sixteen seconds to quit their job.
Three thousand miles away, in sunny Los Angeles, Larry Estrin, who was on his way to becoming the world’s best sound man, and Linda Stern, a public school teacher, were trying to hold a rehearsal dinner for their upcoming wedding. According to family legend, Nixon’s resignation ruined the rehearsal dinner. I always laughed at that particular family story, but after reading Nixonland, I was inspired to do a little oral history. So I called my mother and asked her what she remembered about that day.
“It was a fucking mess,” Mom said. “We were trying to rehearse, but everyone was too busy watching that crook resign.”
“Wait, your rehearsal dinner was actually a rehearsal?”
“Michael, you know your father. To him, a wedding was a show, and since it was our wedding, it was going to be a huge production. I had a wireless microphone in my bouquet, for Christ’s sake. This was 1974, normal people didn’t know from wireless mics. But that’s your father for you.”
Dad loved wireless technology, and he really loved putting on big-ass shows, so that tracked. But I didn’t see why a 16-minute speech would be so disruptive. So I asked why they didn’t just do the rehearsal after Nixon resigned.
“We tried to,” Mom said. “But it was crazy. Everyone was talking about Nixon resigning. They couldn’t talk about anything else. See, things were very different in those days. Watergate had been going on for more than a year, and we kept saying, they’ve got to get this crook already, what’s taking so long?”
“Actually, that kinda sounds like the present.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
“So everyone was super-focused on Nixon and the rehearsal dinner was sort of an afterthought, huh?”
“It was like we had all gotten together to watch this sonofabitch Nixon resign instead of a rehearsal dinner. Everyone was glued to the TV, everyone but your father.”
“What was he doing?”
“What do you think he was doing, Michael? He was on the phone, naturally. I think he was calling his friends at NBC.”
“Why them?”
“Well, at the time your father was doing a lot of work with NBC. Somehow, he knew, or he was told, that after he left office, Nixon would end up back in San Clemente, where he had a beautiful mansion, the sonofabitch. Anyway, your father had already done some very big shows by then, but he really wanted to do something with the President.”
“It was a life goal, a bucket list thing,” I said.
“Absolutely. Your father set his sights very high. But how do you get a job doing sound for the President? Who knows? We didn’t know. What are gonna do, just call the White House and say, I’d like to do your sound? I don’t think so.”
“So this was the closest Dad had come to date?”
“Yeah, he saw an opportunity to get, well not into that part of the business exactly, but closer to that business. Honestly, I think he gave his friends at NBC the gear for free. All those guys—they were all guys in those days—were supposed to come to the wedding, but they were in Orange County waiting for you-know-who to show up. We had to rearrange the seating chart, and we ended up having to pay for their dinners because it was too late to cancel. My parents were plotzing—you know what plotzing means, right?”
“Freaking the fuck out.”
“Right, plotzing. Anyway, my parents couldn’t believe people in your Dad’s industry lived like that. But that was life with your father—the would phone ring, and the next thing you knew, he’d be halfway around the world doing some show or big event.”
The next day, August 9, 1974, Nixon once again went on television, this time to bid farewell to the White House staff, and let’s be honest, lay the groundwork for his final act as an elder statesman.
Then Nixon walked out of the White House, crossed the White House lawn, and climbed the steps to Marine One for the final time. But before the chopper took off, Nixon, who early on in his career had learned that television could be a cruel and fickle mistress, left us with an iconic image that looked like triumph, even though we were actually watching his downfall.
Meanwhile, somewhere in San Clemente, Dad’s friends at NBC waited for the former President to return home so they could cover whatever news there was left to make. I asked Mom if Nixon held any media events after arriving in San Clemente. Like a witness testifying before Congress, Mom said she “couldn’t recall.” A cursory Google search didn’t yield any useful information, and Nixonland didn’t mention any public statements in the days after Nixon resigned.
Two days later, on August 11, 1974, Linda and Larry were married in a ceremony that took place without any interruptions for breaking news.
Linda and Larry Estrin on their wedding day, August 11, 1974Mom and I talked some more about family memories, but after reading Nixonland I still had one nagging question about my parents.
“Mom, can I ask you something personal?”
“Sure. What do I care?”
I hesitated, not because I was afraid to ask, but because I was afraid to know the answer.
“Do you remember who you voted for in the 1972 election?”
“Not Nixon!”
What a relief! The Democrats of the ‘60s and ‘70s were a far cry from their New Deal predecessors, but watching Nixon work his dark magic, I couldn’t help but worry that his spells might’ve worked on my parents.
“I voted for… oh for Christ’s sake, what was his name?”
“McGovern.”
“Yeah, that’s it. McGovern. I voted for Joe McGovern.”
“George McGovern. His first name was George.”
“Yeah, well, his campaign was kind of a mess. But what can I say, at least he wasn’t Nixon. That probably should’ve been his campaign slogan.”
“But Nixon was really popular. He won forty-nine states. Forty-seven million people voted for him, compared to twenty-nine million for McGovern.”
“What can I say, Michael? People are idiots.”
“But what about Dad?”
“Was he an idiot?” Mom asked.
“No… well, I mean… did he… um… vote for Nixon?”
“No, absolutely not.”
“Are you sure?”
“Michael, Jews voted Democratic in those days.”
That was true. I looked it up. In 1940 and 1944, 90 percent of American Jews voted for FDR. Harry Truman won 75 percent of the Jewish vote in 1948. Jews sort of liked Ike, but as I learned from Nixonland, everyone liked Ike, who was so popular that both parties wanted him to be their nominee for President. Throughout the 1960s, Jews proved to be a reliable voting bloc for JFK, LBJ, and Hubert Humphrey. But in the 1972 election, McGovern underperformed with Jewish voters, garnering only 65 percent of the vote.1
“Mom, a lot of Jews voted for Nixon in ‘72.”
“Oy. It was the Israel thing. See, a lot of Jews only think about what’s good for Israel when they vote. I don’t agree with that mentality, and neither did your father. But what can I say? Some Jews are meshuga.”
“I get that, but do you think it’s possible Dad voted for Nixon for reasons that had nothing to do with Israel?”
“No.”
Mom’s certitude was comforting, but I had to be sure.
“Here’s the thing,” I began, “Nixon was a master of the culture wars. One of the things I took away from Nixonland was that he split the Democratic coalition. Remember the silent majority and those construction workers who beat the shit out of hippies?”
“Yeah, that was really terrible. I saw it on TV. Horrible.”
“Well, those hippies and those construction workers were both reliable Democratic constituencies, and OK, maybe they really were split over the war in Vietnam, but Nixon found a way to ratchet up the heat on culture war stuff.”
“Michael, your father didn’t vote for Richard Nixon.”
“But how can you be so sure? You didn’t know Dad in 1972. Before you met him, Dad was Don Ho’s road manager, and he was doing all those USO shows for Bob Hope. He wasn’t exactly working for team counterculture.”
“The first time I met your father’s family, your aunt asked me if I was a Democrat. I think she asked me that before we even sat down. I remember thinking: that was weird.”
“Except, maybe her question wasn’t all that weird in those days,” I said.
I explained that another thing I took away from Nixonland was just how traumatic the political volatility of that era was. People weren’t just peacefully realigning into the camps they occupy today. There was a lot of political violence, a lot of anger, a lot of broken friendships, and a lot of families split in half by the wedge issues of the day.
“When I was growing up,” I continued, “it would’ve been weird to ask someone about their politics. But that was the ‘80s and ‘90s for you. Back in ‘72, I get the sense that things were much more like they are today.”
“You know, I guess I never really thought about it that way, but that sounds right,” Mom said.
“So we can’t really say for sure who Dad voted for in ‘72, but you don’t think he voted for Nixon?” I pressed.
“Let’s put it this way: his family would’ve disowned him, and if I thought he had voted for Nixon, I wouldn’t have married him. Come to think of it, I guess we were all a little meshuga back then.”
I felt relieved. Mom’s answer wasn’t definitive, but it was as close as I was going to get to answering this particular question. Then another question popped into my mind.
“Hey Mom, what were you doing in ‘72?”
“Oh god. I was teaching elementary school in the San Fernando Valley.”
“Pacoima?”
“No, this was before Pacoima. This was the West Valley, which was pretty rural in those days. My students were mostly white and very poor. Their parents actually voted for George Wallace in ‘68, if you can believe that?”
“After reading Nixonland, I can believe anything about this country.”
“Yeah, well I was a young teacher, and I couldn’t believe there were George Wallace voters in Los Angeles. The guy was a segregationist for Christ’s sake!”
“I take it your students weren’t exactly McGovern fans in ‘72?”
“Fans? These kids didn’t even know there was an election. Their parents filled their heads with a bunch of racist crap, and to be honest, the school system wasn’t really interested in educating them.”
“Yikes.”
“You got that right. But I said, screw it. I built a lesson plan around elections. The basics like democracy, checks and balances, the Electoral College. They actually loved it so much I took them on field trips to the local campaign offices for Nixon and McGovern.”
“What was that like?”
“The Democrats weren’t great. They didn’t really have anything to say to the kids and when I asked if we could get some buttons or bumper stickers, they tried to charge us for that stuff. I guess they were broke.”
“What about the Republicans?”
“Believe it or not, the Nixon people were lovely. They talked to the kids and gave us tons of buttons and bumper stickers. I wanted to barf, but I just smiled.”
“Sounds like the Nixon people were well-funded?”
“Yeah, in retrospect it should’ve been a sign that McGovern was screwed. But the kids didn’t care who won. They were fascinated by politics. After they learned about the First Amendment, they staged a protest. I was really proud of them.”
“What were they protesting?”
“The cafeteria food. It really was awful. I remember they made some great signs and marched around the school. Then their parents found out they were protesting, and they went to the principal to complain about me.”
“Did you get in trouble?”
“I was always getting in trouble at that job. But this was the worst time because the parents were calling me a Communist.”
“A Communist? For teaching their kids about democracy, civics, and free speech?”
“Yeah, can you believe that? But it was a different time. People were nuts back then.”
“Actually, it kinda sounds like 2022.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. What can I say? Nixon really did a number on America.”
Intermission: All the President’s MenIn 1976, two years after Larry and Linda were married, Warner Bros. released All the President’s Men. The movie was based on the 1974 book of the same name by Carl Bernstein and Bob Woodward, the two Washington Post beat reporters whose investigation into what seemed like a nothing-burger of a burglary ended up bringing down Richard Nixon. If you can believe it, the film, which depicts two handsome reporters pounding the pavement, drinking too much coffee, asking basic questions, and typing, grossed $70 million at the box office—a metric fuck-ton of money in those days.
The following year, in 1977, All The President’s Men was nominated for eight Academy Awards, including Best Picture. Dad did the sound for the Oscar broadcast (a gig he did for decades). Meanwhile Mom, who probably didn’t realize she was one month pregnant with me, sat in the audience at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, where she rooted for All The President’s Men to win. Unfortunately, the Academy voters picked Rocky, a story about an underdog boxer, over a film about two underdog reporters who worked their butts off to save American democracy.
But Mom wouldn’t be denied her fandom. A few months later, Mom was deep into her second trimester and stuck at home. She watched All The President’s Men over and over again on TV. Years later, she introduced me to All The President’s Men, a movie I’ve seen dozens of times. After I asked Mom about the wedding rehearsal fiasco and who she and Dad voted for in ‘72, we reminisced about one of our favorite films.
Mom is partial to the scene where Attorney General John Mitchell threatens Washington Post publisher Katharine Graham.
“You tell your publisher, tell Katie Graham she’s gonna get her tit caught in a big wringer if that’s published.”
My favorite scene is where Woodward and Bernstein complain that they haven’t had any luck yet, and Washington Post editor Ben Bradlee replies, “get some.”
Of course, none of this is relevant to the next part of my story, which is why I put it in the intermission. But as you stretch your legs, use the bathroom, or grab a snack, I recommend watching All The President’s Men. They don’t make movies like this one anymore!
Part Two: PA at a FuneralRichard Nixon died April 22, 1994. Five days later, on April 27, his state funeral was held at the Nixon Library in Yorba Linda, California.
This time, Dad got the gig! And why not? He had already done the sound for the dedication of the Nixon Library in 1990, a gig he got by working on Reagan’s first and second inaugurals, as well as the 1988 Presidential Debates. The best sound man in the world had finally done what he only dreamed of doing back in 1974—he had broken into the big time of Presidential events. (Dad would go on to do every Presidential Debate until his death in 2015, as well as the inaugurations of George H.W. Bush, Bill Clinton twice, and Barack Obama twice).
“Michael, how about you work with me on the funeral,” Dad asked? “I need a PA, and it’s short notice.”
I was a junior in high school, but by then I already knew the PA job well. Run errands, run fresh walkie-talkie batteries to the crew, and try not to run your mouth. At sixteen, that last one was sometimes a challenge for me.
“Is America really going to do a state funeral for Tricky Dick?” I demanded.
Then I rattled off just a few of Nixon’s sins. Red-baiting. Dog-whistling in Dixie to carry out his Southern Strategy. The Enemies List. Lying about his secret peace plan in the 1968 election. Expanding the war to Cambodia and Laos. Lying about the war again in 1972. The war on drugs. And of course, Watergate.
Dad could’ve pointed out some of the good things Nixon had done, like going to China, détente with the Soviets, the EPA, OSHA, and giving Hunter S. Thompson endless amounts of fantastic gonzo material. But instead, Dad patiently explained that it was important to honor a former President, even a disgraced one.
I don’t think I believed that then, and I’m not sure I believe that now. But I know my dad always felt that Presidential events—debates, inaugurations, and even state funerals—were about country, not party. In Dad’s mind, the content of any President’s message wasn’t nearly as important as the fact that an American President’s message was being broadcast live around in the world in stereo.
Not that Dad’s patriotism made a dent in my teenage cynicism. I agreed to be Dad’s PA because it was a day off from school, a chance to make a few bucks, and maybe witness a little history. Unfortunately, I don’t remember much about the day. Here’s what I do recall.
While we were setting up, I cracked some jokes about “bugging” Nixon’s casket for “old times sake.” Nobody laughed. Dad sent me to get donuts.
Later on, I got into a heated debate with some members of the United States Marine band about video games. I argued that Mortal Kombat II was better than Street Fighter II, but the Marines wouldn’t hear it. They did, however, eat the remaining donuts.
When the public arrived, I remember being shocked that so many people who didn’t even know Richard Nixon would show up to his funeral. The crowd was overwhelming conservative. They seemed to have a good day honoring their hero, but I did hear some grumbling about the high prices The Nixon Library charged for snacks and bottled water.
I saw U.N. Secretary General Boutros Boutros-Ghali coming out of the VIP bathroom. Later, on the ride home, I probably annoyed Dad a lot by saying Boutros Boutros-Ghali over and over again because, let’s face it, it’s a very fun name to say.
Finally, for the first and only time in my life, I saw every living U.S. President—Clinton, George H.W. Bush, Reagan, Carter, and Ford—gathered in the same place. That felt historic, and pretty cool!
Unfortunately, I can’t call my dad to interview him about what he remembers from that day. So I did the next best thing. I searched for a recording of Nixon’s funeral on YouTube. There were lots of copies to choose from, including four hours of commercial-free, ticker-free CNN coverage. But I went with a different video of the funeral.
The video below is a master tape of the Nixon funeral. The camera is wobbly and the audio is unmixed. Viewers back home wouldn’t have seen this footage. Oddly enough, this copy is the property of The Clinton Library.
I spent a few hours with the video of Nixon’s funeral. I was trying to remember what teenage me would’ve thought of the event, but mostly I just thought about my dad and how hard he worked to give his kids backstage passes to history.
Eventually, I gave up trying to remember what teenage me was thinking. Instead, I thought about Nixonland.
Watching his funeral on YouTube, I had to hand it to Nixon. The poor Quaker kid from Orange County had come a very long way. At various points in Nixon’s career, many of the attendees at his funeral had sought to defeat him, but here they were honoring him. And if they weren’t shedding any tears at his passing, their presence gave Nixon what he had always sought: respect.
To me, Senator Bob Dole nailed it when he credited Nixon with being a generation ahead of everyone else in politics, adding, “I believe the second half of the 20th century will be known as the Age of Nixon.” I suspect Nixonland author Rick Perlstein would cosign that and perhaps add that Nixon has shaped much of the 21st century too.
I groaned when California Governor Pete Wilson talked about working as young aide for Nixon, then credited his old boss with convincing him to run for Congress. If you don’t know, Wilson was the face of California’s Prop 187, a vicious 1994 anti-immigrant law that bigots continue to use as their model to this day.
Then I watched Bill Clinton eulogize Richard Nixon. Some people like to say history repeats itself. Others like to say history doesn’t repeat itself, but sometimes it rhymes. I don’t know if either of those aphorism are true. But watching the only President with hippie bona fides praise the counterculture’s arch nemesis showed me that, at the very least, history has one hell of a sense of humor.
Thank you for reading Situation Normal. This post is public so feel free to share it!
Stick around and chat about the story!I love hearing from readers like you because it makes writing Situation Normal so much fun! If you enjoyed this story, please let me know by leaving a comment below. Or, if you’re the type of person who likes a prompt, consider the following questions:
I really enjoyed Nixonland. Is there a history book you’re fond of?
Talking to my mom about what she was doing in 1972 was an eye-opener. If you were around in ‘72, what were you up to?
What do you think: does history repeat itself, does it rhyme, or is history’s sense of humor some next-level shit?
Are you a fan of All the President’s Men, or do you hate cinema?
According to Christina, my Nixon impression is “OK.” Can you do any impressions of political figures? What’s the trick to your impression?
Will you do me a favor and email this story to your friends?
Help Situation Normal: share it!Situation Normal grows because readers like YOU share these stories. Please forward this email to a friend (or enemy), post this story on social media, discuss it on Reddit and MetaFilter, link to it in your newsletter, or hit the share button 👇
Show your support for Situation Normal by hitting that ❤️ button 🙏👇1August 17, 2022
Slice of life humor in search of a title
Last week, I told you there’s no such thing as coincidence. Well, that was a bunch of crap. As Mark Dykeman, who writes How About This commented, “Two things can happen for completely different reasons at roughly the same time, and people can get caught up in those intersections of chance.” By coincidence, I guess, Tab emailed me a photo that really drove Mark’s point home.
One arrow added for emphasis, additional twelve arrows added for lolz.Well played, Tab and Mark, well played!
Snackle Box is on trend!The conversation about coincidences was actually part of a larger conversation about something called a Snackle Box, which grew out of a previous conversation about the time I went to a stranger’s home to buy a cheese plate, which after some discussion, turned out to be a charcuterie board.
A Snackle Box is a fishing tackle box that’s been repurposed to carry snacks like cheese, or charcuterie. When I first saw it, I figured the Snackle Box was one of those random products that’s just weird enough to catch the eye of some poor bastard laboring in an internet content mill. But it turns out that actual humans are feasting on Snackle Boxes. Anne Kadet, who writes Café Anne, left the following comment:
I was so taken by the idea of the Snackle Box that I had to google it. It’s a huge trend! The best versions, of course, are filled with candy cookies and general junk food, PLUS cheese, PLUS nuts, PLUS pepperoni, PLUS sugar cereal. Enjoy!
Naturally, I needed to confirm Anne’s findings, so I turned to the internet’s best authority on trends: TikTok. Turns out, there are a lot of TikToks about Snackle Boxes. Here are a few popular TikToks.
Life hack Snackle Box👇
@thebastfamilyHow to SURVIVE TRAVEL with a MINI HUMAN! Thanks @aylajalyn #toddlerhack #travelwithkids #travelwithtoddlers #travelhack #parenthack #familytravel[image error]Tiktok failed to load.Enable 3rd party cookies or use another browser
ASMR Snackle Box👇
@eatpayyloveThe ultimate snackle box made with my @walmart faves😍 Perfect for any summertime adventure, movie night, or study sesh! #Ad[image error]Tiktok failed to load.Enable 3rd party cookies or use another browser
Random act of kindness Snackle Box👇
@mortgagefeliciaSnacks ARE his love language. #theoffice #bestboss #snacklebox[image error]Tiktok failed to load.Enable 3rd party cookies or use another browser
Baller & shot caller charcuterie Snackle Box👇
@skybutSnackle box 😎[image error]Tiktok failed to load.Enable 3rd party cookies or use another browserI’m a Lebowski, You’re a Lebowski
At the risk of getting political, I wore a Lebowski 2020 t-shirt to a local burger joint. Unlike a child who wanders into the middle of a movie and wants to know [what’s going on], the cashier took an immediate and informed interest in my attire.
“Love your t-shirt, sir.”
“Thanks. But I’m the Dude. So that’s what you call me. You know? That or His Dudeness, or Duder, or, you know, El Duderino, if you’re not into the whole brevity thing.”
“Well, it really ties the room together.”
We traded a few more Big Lebowski quotes, then I said something about how we could be here all night.
“We probably could be here all night,” he said. “What can I get you?”
I thought about ordering a white Russian, but since I don’t really drink and the burger joint didn’t appear to have a liquor license, I got a Cobb salad and a fountain drink.
The fountain was one of those fancy Coca-Cola machines where you construct your own soda. I selected a diet vanilla cream soda, but when the soda came out of the dispenser it looked a little funky.
I took a sip. Too much soda water, not enough syrup. I tried a few more concoctions, but they all ended the same way. No soda tonight, not unless I hit up the In ‘N Out Burger on Radford.
Thankfully, the Dude abides, and he also drinks iced tea.
Did law enforcement find Mr. Big?After banging the drum about my stolen catalytic converter (here and here), my friend Wendy hit me up on Twitter with astonishing news. According to an Oregon Public Broadcasting story, police in Beaverton took down a ring of 14 catalytic converter thieves. Allegedly, the ring trafficked more than 44,000 stolen catalytic converters since January 2021. That’s a lot of precious metals!
ICYMII wrote about returning to the office and coconut water. Not a single Situation Normal reader raised their hand to defend offices or coconut water. Obviously, Situation Normal readers are the best people in the world.
Some housekeeping
Seven weeks ago, I began putting out a Wednesday edition of Situation Normal. I called that edition Big Wednesday because it comes out on Wednesdays and because I’m a sucker for obscure movie references.
But just like Charlie, I don’t surf, so the connection between Situation Normal and the 1978 John Milius surfing epic Big Wednesday was always tenuous at best.
Long story short, I plan to futz around with some new names for the Wednesday edition of Situation Normal. So, if you’re wondering what’s going on, now you know.
Another change around here. After nearly two years on Substack, I finally decided to add a header image, logo, and tweak the default color & font settings. If you like the new look, you have Christina to thank for it. And if you don’t like the new look, you’ll get used to it in time for me to change the aesthetic again. Here’s the banner (in GIF form, naturally) 👇
Stick around and chat!You know the drill. I’ve got questions, you may or may not have answers.
Was I wrong about coincidences the first time, or was I wrong about coincidences the second time?
I’m a Lebowski, but are YOU a Lebowski?
What kind of a guy goes to a burger joint and orders a Cobb salad?
Have you bought your Snackle Box yet? What will you fill it with?
Are you a fan of Big Wednesday, or do you hate cinema?
Do you have any suggestions for what to call the Wednesday edition of Situation Normal?
Contribute to Situation Normal!Do you have a question about something I’ve written? Got a hilarious anecdote or overheard you want to share? See something on the internet, or IRL, that made you LOL or WTF? Find a funny product like the snackle box in the wild? Have suggestion for what I should call the Wednesday edition? Send your submissions to me at 👇
michael.j.estrin@gmail.com
When submitting, please tell me if you’d like to use an alias, or do the first name last initial thing. If you write a newsletter, I’m happy to link to it, so let me know!
Until Sunday, when I’ll have another story…
Slice of life humor in search of a title
Last week, I told you there’s no such thing as coincidence. Well, that was a bunch of crap. As Mark Dykeman, who writes How About This commented, “Two things can happen for completely different reasons at roughly the same time, and people can get caught up in those intersections of chance.” By coincidence, I guess, Tab emailed me a photo that really drove Mark’s point home.
One arrow added for emphasis, additional twelve arrows added for lolz.Well played, Tab and Mark, well played!
Snackle Box is on trend!The conversation about coincidences was actually part of a larger conversation about something called a Snackle Box, which grew out of a previous conversation about the time I went to a stranger’s home to buy a cheese plate, which after some discussion, turned out to be a charcuterie board.
A Snackle Box is a fishing tackle box that’s been repurposed to carry snacks like cheese, or charcuterie. When I first saw it, I figured the Snackle Box was one of those random products that’s just weird enough to catch the eye of some poor bastard laboring in an internet content mill. But it turns out that actual humans are feasting on Snackle Boxes. Anne Kadet, who writes Café Anne, left the following comment:
I was so taken by the idea of the Snackle Box that I had to google it. It’s a huge trend! The best versions, of course, are filled with candy cookies and general junk food, PLUS cheese, PLUS nuts, PLUS pepperoni, PLUS sugar cereal. Enjoy!
Naturally, I needed to confirm Anne’s findings, so I turned to the internet’s best authority on trends: TikTok. Turns out, there are a lot of TikToks about Snackle Boxes. Here are a few popular TikToks.
Life hack Snackle Box👇
@thebastfamilyHow to SURVIVE TRAVEL with a MINI HUMAN! Thanks @aylajalyn #toddlerhack #travelwithkids #travelwithtoddlers #travelhack #parenthack #familytravel[image error]Tiktok failed to load.Enable 3rd party cookies or use another browser
ASMR Snackle Box👇
@eatpayyloveThe ultimate snackle box made with my @walmart faves😍 Perfect for any summertime adventure, movie night, or study sesh! #Ad[image error]Tiktok failed to load.Enable 3rd party cookies or use another browser
Random act of kindness Snackle Box👇
@mortgagefeliciaSnacks ARE his love language. #theoffice #bestboss #snacklebox[image error]Tiktok failed to load.Enable 3rd party cookies or use another browser
Baller & shot caller charcuterie Snackle Box👇
@skybutSnackle box 😎[image error]Tiktok failed to load.Enable 3rd party cookies or use another browserI’m a Lebowski, You’re a Lebowski
At the risk of getting political, I wore a Lebowski 2020 t-shirt to a local burger joint. Unlike a child who wanders into the middle of a movie and wants to know [what’s going on], the cashier took an immediate and informed interest in my attire.
“Love your t-shirt, sir.”
“Thanks. But I’m the Dude. So that’s what you call me. You know? That or His Dudeness, or Duder, or, you know, El Duderino, if you’re not into the whole brevity thing.”
“Well, it really ties the room together.”
We traded a few more Big Lebowski quotes, then I said something about how we could be here all night.
“We probably could be here all night,” he said. “What can I get you?”
I thought about ordering a white Russian, but since I don’t really drink and the burger joint didn’t appear to have a liquor license, I got a Cobb salad and a fountain drink.
The fountain was one of those fancy Coca-Cola machines where you construct your own soda. I selected a diet vanilla cream soda, but when the soda came out of the dispenser it looked a little funky.
I took a sip. Too much soda water, not enough syrup. I tried a few more concoctions, but they all ended the same way. No soda tonight, not unless I hit up the In ‘N Out Burger on Radford.
Thankfully, the Dude abides, and he also drinks iced tea.
Did law enforcement find Mr. Big?After banging the drum about my stolen catalytic converter (here and here), my friend Wendy hit me up on Twitter with astonishing news. According to an Oregon Public Broadcasting story, police in Beaverton took down a ring of 14 catalytic converter thieves. Allegedly, the ring trafficked more than 44,000 stolen catalytic converters since January 2021. That’s a lot of precious metals!
ICYMII wrote about returning to the office and coconut water. Not a single Situation Normal reader raised their hand to defend offices or coconut water. Obviously, Situation Normal readers are the best people in the world.
Some housekeeping
Seven weeks ago, I began putting out a Wednesday edition of Situation Normal. I called that edition Big Wednesday because it comes out on Wednesdays and because I’m a sucker for obscure movie references.
But just like Charlie, I don’t surf, so the connection between Situation Normal and the 1978 John Milius surfing epic Big Wednesday was always tenuous at best.
Long story short, I plan to futz around with some new names for the Wednesday edition of Situation Normal. So, if you’re wondering what’s going on, now you know.
Another change around here. After nearly two years on Substack, I finally decided to add a header image, logo, and tweak the default color & font settings. If you like the new look, you have Christina to thank for it. And if you don’t like the new look, you’ll get used to it in time for me to change the aesthetic again. Here’s the banner (in GIF form, naturally) 👇
Stick around and chat!You know the drill. I’ve got questions, you may or may not have answers.
Was I wrong about coincidences the first time, or was I wrong about coincidences the second time?
I’m a Lebowski, but are YOU a Lebowski?
What kind of a guy goes to a burger joint and orders a Cobb salad?
Have you bought your Snackle Box yet? What will you fill it with?
Are you a fan of Big Wednesday, or do you hate cinema?
Do you have any suggestions for what to call the Wednesday edition of Situation Normal?
Contribute to Situation Normal!Do you have a question about something I’ve written? Got a hilarious anecdote or overheard you want to share? See something on the internet, or IRL, that made you LOL or WTF? Find a funny product like the snackle box in the wild? Have suggestion for what I should call the Wednesday edition? Send your submissions to me at 👇
michael.j.estrin@gmail.com
When submitting, please tell me if you’d like to use an alias, or do the first name last initial thing. If you write a newsletter, I’m happy to link to it, so let me know!
Until Sunday, when I’ll have another story…
August 14, 2022
Truth, lies, and coconut water
Photo by Tangerine Newt on UnsplashFew people realize this, but many of the worst decisions in the history of business were made in offices. New Coke, the poster child for business blunders, was conceived in an office. The actual geniuses working in the Eastman Kodak labs invented the technology for the digital camera, but their “genius” bosses, who worked out of offices in Rochester, New York, screwed up big time by betting the future on physical film. Then there’s the infamous AOL merger with Time Warner—an awful idea that was further compounded by the fact that two offices were involved in the fiasco.
Honestly, I’d rather not dwell on these colossal fuck-ups. I’d rather write a silly story about frozen pizza, or home improvement projects, or the zany things baristas say. But Situation Normal isn’t just here for the laughs, it’s here to save the world from a really big mistake. And that mistake, my friends, is the office.
Google “back to office” and you’ll see the mistake I’m talking about. Actually, don’t Google anything! Instead, stay here and check out these screenshots of headlines from various media outlets👇
Obviously, there’s a big push to get workers back to the office. And after two-plus years of working remote, there’s an equally big counter-push to stay the fuck away from the office. The debate about where we work is a total shit-show, but the internet loves shit-shows, which is why we’ll probably be talking about the future of the office forever.
Now, I’m not a policy wonk, or a labor leader, or a business-human. I have no clue what the future of work will look like. But I have worked in an office, and I’m here to tell you that it was an unmitigated disaster. This is my story.
The Interview
In the fall of 2009, I felt like there was something missing at work. I liked my job as a trade reporter covering ad tech, and I liked the people I worked with, but I wanted more. I wanted to make the world a better place by building a scaled, decentralized, humor-based solution that leverages dynamic laughter protocols in social, mobile, and local environments. Naturally, I joined a startup.
Of course, startup is just a fancy word that means broke-ass company. The particular broke-ass company that I joined was in the content business, which at that time, was more than a decade into a historic ass-whooping at the hands of a massive technological disruption called The Internet.
Our founder was Oliver, a television writer-producer who saw the writing on the wall during the 2007-08 Writer’s Guild strike. By the time the dust had settled on that particular dust-up, Oliver had concluded that content creators were, technically speaking, doomed.
“If you can’t beat ‘em, might as well join ‘em,” Oliver told his assistant, Stan.
And so, Oliver created a Web series and Stan helped produce it.
Right away, there were problems. First, producing a Web series was expensive. Second, the “business model” for a Web series at that time was to put it up on YouTube, hope it goes viral, then ask your accountant about a tax write-off. Oliver and Stan probably should’ve called it quits, but instead they called me and asked if I was interested in a business proposition.
“It takes a long time to produce a season of the Web series,” Stan told me.
“And it costs a lot of money,” Oliver added.
“So, we’re thinking that we should have a website with funny articles to keep the audience engaged between seasons,” Stan said.
“That’s where you come in,” Oliver said. “We need a writer-editor who can run the website day-to-day, grow the audience, and make this thing a going concern.”
“Are you in?” Stan asked.
The job paid about the same as what I was making as a reporter, but it came with 100% fewer benefits. Still, I was eager to pivot my writing toward entertainment, and I liked the sound of “new media.”
Office Space
A few days before I was supposed to start my new job, Christina asked a really good question about the gig.
“Hey, where’s your office?”
“Office?”
“Yeah, you know, a place where you’re supposed to work. Where’s your new office, Michael?”
Suddenly, I felt like an idiot. The interview had been at a restaurant. Over Niçoise salads, we talked about the future of media, content strategies, and a bunch of other stuff. But we hadn’t talked about an office.
“I dunno,” I said. “Let me get Stan on the horn.”
“Hey Stan, quick question. Where’s our office?”
“Nothing gets by you,” Stan said. “We don’t have an office, yet. But I’ve been telling Oliver that we need to get one, and since you’re coming on board, I think we can make it happen. Sit tight.”
About an hour later, Oliver called me.
“So, you think we need an office, huh?”
“I dunno. The Silicon Valley firms started in garages. I guess a garage isn’t technically an office in the classic sense of the word. Also, the garage stories are probably more myth than fact, so…”
“Well, in Hollywood we follow the John Ford school and print the legend,” Oliver said. “But my garage is a mess. Let me see what I can do about some office space.”
“That would be great… you know, for productivity.”
True Bromance
The night before my first day, Oliver emailed me the address of our new office. Except, it wasn’t our office, exactly. The plan was to borrow office space from a coconut water company.
I met Stan and Oliver at the coconut water company bright and early the next day. Oliver explained that he was friends with a Brazilian man named Paulo, who owned the coconut water company. Then Paulo gave us a quick tour of their office, told us to drink all the coconut water we wanted, and directed us to an empty conference room we could use as our office. He even gave Stan a set of keys so that we could come and go as we pleased.
The three of us spent the next two hours in that conference room generating content ideas and writing them down on the white boards that lined the walls. With a few dozen promising ideas in the works, Oliver told us he had to get to his TV job. So, Stan and I buckled down to make some internet.
I was halfway through a listicle when Stan tapped me on the shoulder. He had placed three paper cups on the table in front of me.
“Do you wanna try some coconut water?” Stan asked.
“Not really.”
“Will you humor me?”
I didn’t want to be rude. For all I knew, Stan was a diehard coconut water guy who might see my refusal as yucking his yum. When in Rome, I told myself. Then I reached for the cup nearest to me and took a sip.
“Well?” Stan asked.
“It’s… bad. Like really bad. It’s too sweet, and I’m picking up notes of… dirt.”
Stan placed the second cup in front of me.
“Try this one,” he said.
“Is it better?”
“Just try it.”
I tried the second cup of coconut water. The flavor was different, but the taste was just as awful.
“Yuck.”
“No good?”
“Terrible.”
“What about this one?”
Stan placed the third cup in front of me. I picked it up and took a sip.
“Thoughts?”
“Yeah, here’s a thought: they should serve this stuff with a gasoline chaser. It’s fucking awful.”
“Good,” Stan said.
“Good?”
“Yeah, this is good news.”
“How’s that?”
“Well, we agree that the coconut water sucks. But what’s more important is that you didn’t hold back. You were honest with me. Honesty is important.”
“It is?”
“Of course it is. We’re in a subjective business, home-skillet. If we can’t be honest with each other about an idea, or a joke, or this dog-shit coconut water, we’re lost. Understand?”
Stan had a point, although I wished that he had made his point in a less disgusting way, and I wasn’t crazy about him calling me home-skillet. But I didn’t have any hard feelings about the coconut water incident. Stan took me out for lunch and to shoot the shit. Almost immediately, we became collaborators and good friends. For a time, we created really engaging content for the algorithms!
Big Little Lies
For the most part, Stan and I kept to ourselves in our borrowed conference room. We had a beast called the internet to feed, and so we worked 12-hour days to pump out as much content as we could. But every once in a while, the coconut water people would remember that they had lent office space to a writer’s room masquerading as a company.
Usually, they’d ask Stan and me if we were getting enough coconut water. We always said yes because we didn’t want them to bring us any more coconut water. But I may have taken that ruse a little too far when I begged off their offer to take a case home by explaining that I already had two cases in my trunk, and three more back at my apartment. It was a harmless lie, or so I thought.
One day, when Stan and I came back from lunch, the entire coconut water team was waiting for us.
“There they are,” Paulo said. “The two biggest coconut water fans in all of Los Angeles.”
We could’ve come clean right then and there. We should’ve told them that we never drank the coconut water they gave us, that we were sneaking other beverages on the outside, that we thought their whole business was coconuts. But instead, I said something like, “Yup, that’s us! We’re a couple of coconuts.”
Paulo laughed, then he said something about doing a branded content deal with us, assuming we had the traffic, which we didn’t.
“Well, we really need to get back to work,” Stan said. “The internet isn’t going to create itself.”
“Wait, we need your help,” Paulo said. “We’re testing a new product. It has açaí in it.”
“I heard açaí is about to have a moment,” I said.
Paulo snapped his fingers.
“Michael is on trend.”
“What’s ass-I-eee?” Stan asked.
Paulo frowned. He spent the next two minutes explaining açaí and its health benefits. Then he spent another five minutes trying to teach Stan how to pronounce açaí correctly. The lesson didn’t stick, but it didn’t matter. Our açaí class was merely prelude to a taste test, and unlike the last taste test, I wasn’t sure honesty was the best policy.
Stan and I drank the coconut water at the same time, but Stan spoke first.
“What do you think, Michael?”
I looked at Stan, my friend and collaborator. If someone had punched him in the dick at that moment, I would’ve been fine with it. But violence isn’t the answer, especially if the question is about coconut water. I needed to think fast. I needed to say something positive, and it had to be convincing.
“I think it’s your best product!” I said.
Stan shot me a sideways look. But technically, I wasn’t lying. The açaí coconut water was bad, but it was better than the other three flavors.
“I agree,” Stan said. “This is my favorite.”
“Why?” Paulo demanded.
This time, Stan passed the buck to me with a look.
“I dunno,” I began, “it’s just so… refreshing.”
“Invigorating,” Stan agreed.
“Yes!” Paulo said.
The rest of the coconut water team cheered.
“You see,” Paulo said. “They love it!”
Stan and I both raised our cups, but neither of us could muster the will for another sip.
“This is our newest product,” Paulo said. “Green light!”
Everyone cheered. Everyone except the coconut water company’s marketing director.
“You don’t want to test it wider?” she asked.
Paulo looked at us. His smile was as big as a coconut.
“Stan and Michael are our test, and they love it! It’s a green light.”
“OK,” the marketing director said. “Green light.”
Risky Business
A few months after Stan and I stepped way the hell out of our lane to help green light a new line açaí-flavored coconut water, the coconut water company took off. Suddenly, there was coconut water everywhere we looked. Remarkably, people even claimed to like the stuff. Within a year, Paulo sold his coconut water company to a major beverage distributor.
Now, I know what you’re thinking, dear reader. A lot of good decisions were made in that coconut water office. Even the questionable decision to rely on a couple of coconuts like me and Stan, while unsound in its methodology, did lead to success. And you’re right, Paulo and Team Coconut Water hit the jackpot. But eventually, the coconut water fad fizzled. And when it did, the people working at the beverage distributor’s office were left holding a bag of açaí-flavored shit.
Speaking of shit, our startup pretty much just flushed Oliver’s money down the toilet. Around the time the taste-makers crowned coconut water the beverage of 2010, we called it quits.
Oliver was kind in his assessment of what had happened.
“The internet just wasn’t ready for us,” he said. “Like a lot of great ideas, we were too early.”
Stan took a more cynical line.
“New media is a con,” he said. “It’s all the same work for less money.”
I agreed with Oliver and Stan. We were early on an idea that would turn out to be worth far less money than we hoped. But deep down, I knew the real cause of our troubles.
We had an office… and it ruined us.
Stick around and chat about the story!I love hearing from readers like you because it makes writing Situation Normal so much fun! If you enjoyed this story, please let me know by leaving a comment below. Or, if you’re the type of person who likes a prompt, consider the following questions:
Do you work in an office, or have you ever worked in an office? Was the office a center of excellence, or the road to ruin?
Would you rather work remote, or work in an office?
Is your ideal work scenario aligned with your employer’s policy, or you #unaligned? How’s that working out for you and your employer?
What’s your favorite workplace comedy? I’m fond of the 1980s cult classic Head Office and the supremely underrated show Workaholics.
Let’s talk about coconut water. It’s awful, right?
Support Situation Normal by sharing it!Situation Normal grows because readers like YOU share these stories. Please forward this email to a friend (or enemy), post this story on social media, discuss it on Reddit and MetaFilter, link to it in your newsletter, or hit the share button 👇
Show your support for Situation NormalHit that ❤️ button 🙏👇
Truth, lies, and coconut water
Photo by Tangerine Newt on UnsplashFew people realize this, but many of the worst decisions in the history of business were made in offices. New Coke, the poster child for business blunders, was conceived in an office. The actual geniuses working in the Eastman Kodak labs invented the technology for the digital camera, but their “genius” bosses, who worked out of offices in Rochester, New York, screwed up big time by betting the future on physical film. Then there’s the infamous AOL merger with Time Warner—an awful idea that was further compounded by the fact that two offices were involved in the fiasco.
Honestly, I’d rather not dwell on these colossal fuck-ups. I’d rather write a silly story about frozen pizza, or home improvement projects, or the zany things baristas say. But Situation Normal isn’t just here for the laughs, it’s here to save the world from a really big mistake. And that mistake, my friends, is the office.
Google “back to office” and you’ll see the mistake I’m talking about. Actually, don’t Google anything! Instead, stay here and check out these screenshots of headlines from various media outlets👇
Obviously, there’s a big push to get workers back to the office. And after two-plus years of working remote, there’s an equally big counter-push to stay the fuck away from the office. The debate about where we work is a total shit-show, but the internet loves shit-shows, which is why we’ll probably be talking about the future of the office forever.
Now, I’m not a policy wonk, or a labor leader, or a business-human. I have no clue what the future of work will look like. But I have worked in an office, and I’m here to tell you that it was an unmitigated disaster. This is my story.
The Interview
In the fall of 2009, I felt like there was something missing at work. I liked my job as a trade reporter covering ad tech, and I liked the people I worked with, but I wanted more. I wanted to make the world a better place by building a scaled, decentralized, humor-based solution that leverages dynamic laughter protocols in social, mobile, and local environments. Naturally, I joined a startup.
Of course, startup is just a fancy word that means broke-ass company. The particular broke-ass company that I joined was in the content business, which at that time, was more than a decade into a historic ass-whooping at the hands of a massive technological disruption called The Internet.
Our founder was Oliver, a television writer-producer who saw the writing on the wall during the 2007-08 Writer’s Guild strike. By the time the dust had settled on that particular dust-up, Oliver had concluded that content creators were, technically speaking, doomed.
“If you can’t beat ‘em, might as well join ‘em,” Oliver told his assistant, Stan.
And so, Oliver created a Web series and Stan helped produce it.
Right away, there were problems. First, producing a Web series was expensive. Second, the “business model” for a Web series at that time was to put it up on YouTube, hope it goes viral, then ask your accountant about a tax write-off. Oliver and Stan probably should’ve called it quits, but instead they called me and asked if I was interested in a business proposition.
“It takes a long time to produce a season of the Web series,” Stan told me.
“And it costs a lot of money,” Oliver added.
“So, we’re thinking that we should have a website with funny articles to keep the audience engaged between seasons,” Stan said.
“That’s where you come in,” Oliver said. “We need a writer-editor who can run the website day-to-day, grow the audience, and make this thing a going concern.”
“Are you in?” Stan asked.
The job paid about the same as what I was making as a reporter, but it came with 100% fewer benefits. Still, I was eager to pivot my writing toward entertainment, and I liked the sound of “new media.”
Office Space
A few days before I was supposed to start my new job, Christina asked a really good question about the gig.
“Hey, where’s your office?”
“Office?”
“Yeah, you know, a place where you’re supposed to work. Where’s your new office, Michael?”
Suddenly, I felt like an idiot. The interview had been at a restaurant. Over Niçoise salads, we talked about the future of media, content strategies, and a bunch of other stuff. But we hadn’t talked about an office.
“I dunno,” I said. “Let me get Stan on the horn.”
“Hey Stan, quick question. Where’s our office?”
“Nothing gets by you,” Stan said. “We don’t have an office, yet. But I’ve been telling Oliver that we need to get one, and since you’re coming on board, I think we can make it happen. Sit tight.”
About an hour later, Oliver called me.
“So, you think we need an office, huh?”
“I dunno. The Silicon Valley firms started in garages. I guess a garage isn’t technically an office in the classic sense of the word. Also, the garage stories are probably more myth than fact, so…”
“Well, in Hollywood we follow the John Ford school and print the legend,” Oliver said. “But my garage is a mess. Let me see what I can do about some office space.”
“That would be great… you know, for productivity.”
True Bromance
The night before my first day, Oliver emailed me the address of our new office. Except, it wasn’t our office, exactly. The plan was to borrow office space from a coconut water company.
I met Stan and Oliver at the coconut water company bright and early the next day. Oliver explained that he was friends with a Brazilian man named Paulo, who owned the coconut water company. Then Paulo gave us a quick tour of their office, told us to drink all the coconut water we wanted, and directed us to an empty conference room we could use as our office. He even gave Stan a set of keys so that we could come and go as we pleased.
The three of us spent the next two hours in that conference room generating content ideas and writing them down on the white boards that lined the walls. With a few dozen promising ideas in the works, Oliver told us he had to get to his TV job. So, Stan and I buckled down to make some internet.
I was halfway through a listicle when Stan tapped me on the shoulder. He had placed three paper cups on the table in front of me.
“Do you wanna try some coconut water?” Stan asked.
“Not really.”
“Will you humor me?”
I didn’t want to be rude. For all I knew, Stan was a diehard coconut water guy who might see my refusal as yucking his yum. When in Rome, I told myself. Then I reached for the cup nearest to me and took a sip.
“Well?” Stan asked.
“It’s… bad. Like really bad. It’s too sweet, and I’m picking up notes of… dirt.”
Stan placed the second cup in front of me.
“Try this one,” he said.
“Is it better?”
“Just try it.”
I tried the second cup of coconut water. The flavor was different, but the taste was just as awful.
“Yuck.”
“No good?”
“Terrible.”
“What about this one?”
Stan placed the third cup in front of me. I picked it up and took a sip.
“Thoughts?”
“Yeah, here’s a thought: they should serve this stuff with a gasoline chaser. It’s fucking awful.”
“Good,” Stan said.
“Good?”
“Yeah, this is good news.”
“How’s that?”
“Well, we agree that the coconut water sucks. But what’s more important is that you didn’t hold back. You were honest with me. Honesty is important.”
“It is?”
“Of course it is. We’re in a subjective business, home-skillet. If we can’t be honest with each other about an idea, or a joke, or this dog-shit coconut water, we’re lost. Understand?”
Stan had a point, although I wished that he had made his point in a less disgusting way, and I wasn’t crazy about him calling me home-skillet. But I didn’t have any hard feelings about the coconut water incident. Stan took me out for lunch and to shoot the shit. Almost immediately, we became collaborators and good friends. For a time, we created really engaging content for the algorithms!
Big Little Lies
For the most part, Stan and I kept to ourselves in our borrowed conference room. We had a beast called the internet to feed, and so we worked 12-hour days to pump out as much content as we could. But every once in a while, the coconut water people would remember that they had lent office space to a writer’s room masquerading as a company.
Usually, they’d ask Stan and me if we were getting enough coconut water. We always said yes because we didn’t want them to bring us any more coconut water. But I may have taken that ruse a little too far when I begged off their offer to take a case home by explaining that I already had two cases in my trunk, and three more back at my apartment. It was a harmless lie, or so I thought.
One day, when Stan and I came back from lunch, the entire coconut water team was waiting for us.
“There they are,” Paulo said. “The two biggest coconut water fans in all of Los Angeles.”
We could’ve come clean right then and there. We should’ve told them that we never drank the coconut water they gave us, that we were sneaking other beverages on the outside, that we thought their whole business was coconuts. But instead, I said something like, “Yup, that’s us! We’re a couple of coconuts.”
Paulo laughed, then he said something about doing a branded content deal with us, assuming we had the traffic, which we didn’t.
“Well, we really need to get back to work,” Stan said. “The internet isn’t going to create itself.”
“Wait, we need your help,” Paulo said. “We’re testing a new product. It has açaí in it.”
“I heard açaí is about to have a moment,” I said.
Paulo snapped his fingers.
“Michael is on trend.”
“What’s ass-I-eee?” Stan asked.
Paulo frowned. He spent the next two minutes explaining açaí and its health benefits. Then he spent another five minutes trying to teach Stan how to pronounce açaí correctly. The lesson didn’t stick, but it didn’t matter. Our açaí class was merely prelude to a taste test, and unlike the last taste test, I wasn’t sure honesty was the best policy.
Stan and I drank the coconut water at the same time, but Stan spoke first.
“What do you think, Michael?”
I looked at Stan, my friend and collaborator. If someone had punched him in the dick at that moment, I would’ve been fine with it. But violence isn’t the answer, especially if the question is about coconut water. I needed to think fast. I needed to say something positive, and it had to be convincing.
“I think it’s your best product!” I said.
Stan shot me a sideways look. But technically, I wasn’t lying. The açaí coconut water was bad, but it was better than the other three flavors.
“I agree,” Stan said. “This is my favorite.”
“Why?” Paulo demanded.
This time, Stan passed the buck to me with a look.
“I dunno,” I began, “it’s just so… refreshing.”
“Invigorating,” Stan agreed.
“Yes!” Paulo said.
The rest of the coconut water team cheered.
“You see,” Paulo said. “They love it!”
Stan and I both raised our cups, but neither of us could muster the will for another sip.
“This is our newest product,” Paulo said. “Green light!”
Everyone cheered. Everyone except the coconut water company’s marketing director.
“You don’t want to test it wider?” she asked.
Paulo looked at us. His smile was as big as a coconut.
“Stan and Michael are our test, and they love it! It’s a green light.”
“OK,” the marketing director said. “Green light.”
Risky Business
A few months after Stan and I stepped way the hell out of our lane to help green light a new line açaí-flavored coconut water, the coconut water company took off. Suddenly, there was coconut water everywhere we looked. Remarkably, people even claimed to like the stuff. Within a year, Paulo sold his coconut water company to a major beverage distributor.
Now, I know what you’re thinking, dear reader. A lot of good decisions were made in that coconut water office. Even the questionable decision to rely on a couple of coconuts like me and Stan, while unsound in its methodology, did lead to success. And you’re right, Paulo and Team Coconut Water hit the jackpot. But eventually, the coconut water fad fizzled. And when it did, the people working at the beverage distributor’s office were left holding a bag of açaí-flavored shit.
Speaking of shit, our startup pretty much just flushed Oliver’s money down the toilet. Around the time the taste-makers crowned coconut water the beverage of 2010, we called it quits.
Oliver was kind in his assessment of what had happened.
“The internet just wasn’t ready for us,” he said. “Like a lot of great ideas, we were too early.”
Stan took a more cynical line.
“New media is a con,” he said. “It’s all the same work for less money.”
I agreed with Oliver and Stan. We were early on an idea that would turn out to be worth far less money than we hoped. But deep down, I knew the real cause of our troubles.
We had an office… and it ruined us.
Stick around and chat about the story!I love hearing from readers like you because it makes writing Situation Normal so much fun! If you enjoyed this story, please let me know by leaving a comment below. Or, if you’re the type of person who likes a prompt, consider the following questions:
Do you work in an office, or have you ever worked in an office? Was the office a center of excellence, or the road to ruin?
Would you rather work remote, or work in an office?
Is your ideal work scenario aligned with your employer’s policy, or you #unaligned? How’s that working out for you and your employer?
What’s your favorite workplace comedy? I’m fond of the 1980s cult classic Head Office and the supremely underrated show Workaholics.
Let’s talk about coconut water. It’s awful, right?
Support Situation Normal by sharing it!Situation Normal grows because readers like YOU share these stories. Please forward this email to a friend (or enemy), post this story on social media, discuss it on Reddit and MetaFilter, link to it in your newsletter, or hit the share button 👇
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August 10, 2022
Big Wednesday #6
If fictional detectives like Ezekiel “Easy” Rawlins and The Dude have taught me anything about solving mysteries, it’s this: there’s no such thing as a coincidence. I think fictional LAPD detective Harry Bosch put it best when he said, “I don’t believe in coincidences; I never have, and I never will.”
Of course, Harry Bosch doesn’t believe in work/life balance, taking vacations days, or communicating with his partner. That’s because Harry Bosch exists only to clear cases and shout-out his favorite Los Angeles restaurants. He is a mystery-solving machine, with a side of chilaquiles.
Anyway, I’ve been pondering a mystery that’s been sitting on my desk for nearly a week. Reader Tab emailed to say, “You wrote about charcuterie and now it is showing up in my news app. Coincidence???” For proof, Tab shared a link to an article titled People Are Turning Tackle Boxes Into Portable Charcuterie Boards Called a ‘Snackle Box’.
First, let’s just take a moment to applaud the innovation that disrupted the humble tackle box and turned it into mobile charcuterie carrier. I’m not saying that kind of innovation will get us to Mars, but I am saying that when we do colonize the Red Planet, we’ll be bringing the finest meats and cheese in all the galaxy.
As for the mystery, we’ve already established that there are no coincidences. So that answers that question, Tab. But what’s happening here? Did reading my story ensnare Tab in a web of thinly-disguised advertorial content? I don’t have access to Tab’s digital profile, so I can’t say for sure. Like Bob Seger, I’m working on mysteries without any clues. But I’ve got a few theories:
The commercial internet promises to connect you with friends and supply you with an endless content feed. But in reality, the internet is a vast surveillance network that took Tab’s passing interest in a Situation Normal story about cheese and turned it into a targeted campaign of never-ending charcuterie content that won’t stop until Tab transforms every item they own into a vessel for meats and cheeses.
Charcuterie is a having a moment, and the tackle box is proof that we’re about to hit peak charcuterie.
Situation Normal isn’t really a humor newsletter. In actuality, this whole thing is a stealth marketing campaign for Big Charcuterie.
Do any of these theories hold water? It’s too early say. But I promise you this: I’m prepared to follow the facts wherever they go, and I’ll stay on this charcuterie case until it’s solved.
Crime doesn’t pay, but democracy doesLast week, I shared an email exchange with George, a man who wants to monetize Situation Normal and fight disinformation. In a poll, I asked YOU how I should respond to George. Turns out, 62 percent of you are keen to run an email phishing scam. While I’m reluctant to commit a crime, I’m vehemently pro-democracy. So vehemently pro-democracy, in fact, that I followed the will of the people by asking George for his banking information. Here’s what I wrote:
I’ll let you know if George writes back. With any luck, there’s enough money in George’s account to buy charcuterie tackle boxes for every single Situation Normal subscriber.
Everyone loved MildredReader E.O. Connors sent in a curious photograph of a park bench dedicated to the loving memory of Mildred C. Jones (1905 - 1999). At first glance, the bench looks like a typical memorial. There’s a plaque with some basic information and a bench. I don’t know why we remember loved ones by inviting strangers to sit on a memorial bench, but that’s a question for another day. The question E.O. Connors and I want answered is about Mildred’s spouses. How many spouses did she have? And what’s the story behind her partners putting aside their rivalry for Mildred’s affections to collaborate on this fine memorial? I don’t know about you, but I’m getting strong There’s Something About Mary vibes from the Mildred C. Jones memorial bench.
By the way, E.O. Connors writes Where’s the Bathroom?!, a funny Substack with travel humor, memoir, and advice for people on the move. Check it out!
ICYMII wrote about leasing a Ford Fiesta, aka the worst car ever. Our lease ended in 2015, but Ford still sends us recall notices. In fact, it was an errant recall notice that prompted me to write about our terrible decision to lease a Ford Fiesta. Well, I have some more information on the current recall. Here’s what Ford wrote about the nature of the recall:
Stick around and chat!You know the drill. I’ve got questions, you may or may not have answers.
Do you believe in coincidences, or has your favorite fictional detective cured you of your need to oversimplify the impenetrable mysteries of everyday life?
Do you own a “snackle box,” or are you interested in purchasing one?
Assuming George writes back with his bank information, what should we do with the money (aside from buying every Situation Normal subscriber a snackle box)?
Mildred’s bench reminds us that we’re mortal. Assuming you have unlimited funds, what would your memorial be?
Do you know anyone who drives a Ford Fiesta? If so, would you please warn them that their doors may open unexpectedly while driving?
Contribute to Situation Normal!Do you have a question about something I’ve written? Got a hilarious anecdote or overheard you want to share? See something on the internet, or IRL, that made you LOL or WTF? Find a funny product like the snackle box in the wild? Send your submissions to me at 👇
michael.j.estrin@gmail.com
When submitting, please tell me if you’d like to use an alias, or do the first name last initial thing. If you write a newsletter, I’m happy to link to it, so let me know!
Until Sunday, when I’ll have another story about… something.
Big Wednesday #6
If fictional detectives like Ezekiel “Easy” Rawlins and The Dude have taught me anything about solving mysteries, it’s this: there’s no such thing as a coincidence. I think fictional LAPD detective Harry Bosch put it best when he said, “I don’t believe in coincidences; I never have, and I never will.”
Of course, Harry Bosch doesn’t believe in work/life balance, taking vacations days, or communicating with his partner. That’s because Harry Bosch exists only to clear cases and shout-out his favorite Los Angeles restaurants. He is a mystery-solving machine, with a side of chilaquiles.
Anyway, I’ve been pondering a mystery that’s been sitting on my desk for nearly a week. Reader Tab emailed to say, “You wrote about charcuterie and now it is showing up in my news app. Coincidence???” For proof, Tab shared a link to an article titled People Are Turning Tackle Boxes Into Portable Charcuterie Boards Called a ‘Snackle Box’.
First, let’s just take a moment to applaud the innovation that disrupted the humble tackle box and turned it into mobile charcuterie carrier. I’m not saying that kind of innovation will get us to Mars, but I am saying that when we do colonize the Red Planet, we’ll be bringing the finest meats and cheese in all the galaxy.
As for the mystery, we’ve already established that there are no coincidences. So that answers that question, Tab. But what’s happening here? Did reading my story ensnare Tab in a web of thinly-disguised advertorial content? I don’t have access to Tab’s digital profile, so I can’t say for sure. Like Bob Seger, I’m working on mysteries without any clues. But I’ve got a few theories:
The commercial internet promises to connect you with friends and supply you with an endless content feed. But in reality, the internet is a vast surveillance network that took Tab’s passing interest in a Situation Normal story about cheese and turned it into a targeted campaign of never-ending charcuterie content that won’t stop until Tab transforms every item they own into a vessel for meats and cheeses.
Charcuterie is a having a moment, and the tackle box is proof that we’re about to hit peak charcuterie.
Situation Normal isn’t really a humor newsletter. In actuality, this whole thing is a stealth marketing campaign for Big Charcuterie.
Do any of these theories hold water? It’s too early say. But I promise you this: I’m prepared to follow the facts wherever they go, and I’ll stay on this charcuterie case until it’s solved.
Crime doesn’t pay, but democracy doesLast week, I shared an email exchange with George, a man who wants to monetize Situation Normal and fight disinformation. In a poll, I asked YOU how I should respond to George. Turns out, 62 percent of you are keen to run an email phishing scam. While I’m reluctant to commit a crime, I’m vehemently pro-democracy. So vehemently pro-democracy, in fact, that I followed the will of the people by asking George for his banking information. Here’s what I wrote:
I’ll let you know if George writes back. With any luck, there’s enough money in George’s account to buy charcuterie tackle boxes for every single Situation Normal subscriber.
Everyone loved MildredReader E.O. Connors sent in a curious photograph of a park bench dedicated to the loving memory of Mildred C. Jones (1905 - 1999). At first glance, the bench looks like a typical memorial. There’s a plaque with some basic information and a bench. I don’t know why we remember loved ones by inviting strangers to sit on a memorial bench, but that’s a question for another day. The question E.O. Connors and I want answered is about Mildred’s spouses. How many spouses did she have? And what’s the story behind her partners putting aside their rivalry for Mildred’s affections to collaborate on this fine memorial? I don’t know about you, but I’m getting strong There’s Something About Mary vibes from the Mildred C. Jones memorial bench.
By the way, E.O. Connors writes Where’s the Bathroom?!, a funny Substack with travel humor, memoir, and advice for people on the move. Check it out!
ICYMII wrote about leasing a Ford Fiesta, aka the worst car ever. Our lease ended in 2015, but Ford still sends us recall notices. In fact, it was an errant recall notice that prompted me to write about our terrible decision to lease a Ford Fiesta. Well, I have some more information on the current recall. Here’s what Ford wrote about the nature of the recall:
Stick around and chat!You know the drill. I’ve got questions, you may or may not have answers.
Do you believe in coincidences, or has your favorite fictional detective cured you of your need to oversimplify the impenetrable mysteries of everyday life?
Do you own a “snackle box,” or are you interested in purchasing one?
Assuming George writes back with his bank information, what should we do with the money (aside from buying every Situation Normal subscriber a snackle box)?
Mildred’s bench reminds us that we’re mortal. Assuming you have unlimited funds, what would your memorial be?
Do you know anyone who drives a Ford Fiesta? If so, would you please warn them that their doors may open unexpectedly while driving?
Contribute to Situation Normal!Do you have a question about something I’ve written? Got a hilarious anecdote or overheard you want to share? See something on the internet, or IRL, that made you LOL or WTF? Find a funny product like the snackle box in the wild? Send your submissions to me at 👇
michael.j.estrin@gmail.com
When submitting, please tell me if you’d like to use an alias, or do the first name last initial thing. If you write a newsletter, I’m happy to link to it, so let me know!
Until Sunday, when I’ll have another story about… something.
