Jun 4, 2014

Drop dead, Diva

Divas are an advertising reality and a sad one to boot. I know artists, writers and musicians who are proud of their work and are endlessly more humble than some cock sniffing copywriter or dickwad artist that somehow think the ground they tread should be worshipped. The fact remains, I’ve never gotten divas of any sort, though much less so advertising ones.

Feeling proud of a painting, a picture, a song, a story or a sculpture has a hell of a lot more relevance than being petulant over some hand lotion advertisement. The fact is that there are some people that need to look down upon others to feel as if they have some sort of self worth. Again, this is sad, though it happens in various scenarios.

The thing is that in advertising, you’re often selling something through communication or at least you’re trying to do your best. Sure, you want to build a brand identity and engage the audience and gain relevance… still, you’re selling something, which is an argument you can make for most artforms… I get it. Authors sell books. Artists sell paintings. Your work matters, you matter... so you are a corporate artiste then.

Happy?

I hope so, because guess what, that still doesn’t give you the right to look down on anyone, be they from the same department or heaven forbid, one of the minions from other departments who should truly worship the ground you walk on. That’s the thing, divas have this need to be worshipped, to have their ass kissed and hunger continuous praise.

That’s cute… and also a little sad. Ok a lot sad. Because it means you don’t believe in your work and need others to validate your self-worth. It means that deep down, you know that even if you’re talented, part of you is still a hack because you get paid twice a month and have a dayjob. Sure, you get to wear t-shirts, flip-flops, don’t shave and smell like what the Big Lebowsky looks like he smells, but still, you’re a lamb… you’re a corporate peon… and it scares you shitless that you’ll look back and only have a portfolio as your testament in life.

So keep up the act, because some people may be fooled, others might buy in and kiss your ass, but in the end it won’t matter, because you know you’re just like the rest of us.


Sweet dreams.

Jun 2, 2014

Oh my God, we’re SO connected

It’s amazing, really… every time I write an agency asking about the money I’m owed, they were just thinking about me, they just asked about the status of my petition and they were drawing me with water colors and happy little trees. Truly, the level of connectedness with an agency I undercharged for work I did in record time is amazing.

Three months I’ve been connected with someone who contracted me where every-single-time I write, they were spooked by how connected we are. It's uncanny. 

It’s not that I don’t matter since they received what they needed and the other part of the equation is collateral. It’s just that the fates have not aligned so I can receive pay for the service I offered in 9 days because I’m sure anyone could have translated a 115 page manual in that time. They just saw the connection we had and allowed me the honor to translate it.

That companies take some time to pay is understandable. That an agency working on an account you know finished their fiscal year two months ago takes over three months to pay for something they needed rush is not a lack of professionalism, it’s just something that happened… because of the fates.

The interesting thing is that I’ve actually worked for this client before... not the agency... the client. I know the people who work the account. So maybe an email to them will show just how connected we all are.


May the fates smile kindly to all those who pay on time and dispense with the drama and bullshit that truly shows why advertising sucks.

May 10, 2014

There’s some shit on the corner of your smug smile

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Some people just need to always be right. They live for the thrill of the moment when they are able to tell you, uh, uh uh… this should be written/done/handled this way. It’s cute really that some people are THAT much concerned with looking at what everyone else does rather than focus on what they do.

Hey, don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I don’t appreciate the helping hand if I typoed myself. It’s just that you don’t have to be a dick about it.

In every single place I’ve worked at, I’ve seen people like this and they continue to survive because they point out other people’s flaws. In part to help, godbless them, and in part to look away from their own plate and their own work because it’s always a little harder and a little more unpleasant to point out your very own brand of fuck up.

So why am I writing this? Because I suspect that if anyone still reads this blog, they’ve felt the frustration of having to breathe deep and thank some jackoff who noticed a mistake you’d done. I just had my dose of this and this person has done this often… and I’m just itching for that next time they fuck up, because maybe, just maybe, I’ll say, you know what you would say right now? And tell them what they’d say, only to finish with. But since I’m me, and I’m not such a shallow superficial diaper stain, I’ll just send the work with the correction and be happy for a job well done without treating you like a dog, since you obviously don’t need any more shit on your face. Tootles.

For now though, zen moment, breathe and remember, this shit job does not define me… or you. So smile and enjoy the week.

Apr 18, 2014

Boxes and molds


Can someone please explain the obsession of breaking the mold and thinking outside the box? I hear it from all fucking sides. Everyone in stereo clamoring for the revolutionary ideas that will yield results and save the account.

Well here’s something you don’t hear every day:

There’s nothing wrong with the mold or thinking within the box.

Before you decide to become all righteous with your moustache an d shower me with patchouli droppings, hear me out. I’m NOT saying don’t question the quo and don’t push boundaries. Not at all, when you have the chance to do this, the client with the budget and the balls then fucking go for it. In the meantime, accept that many clients are not willing to risk something without a guaranteed ROI (Return of Investment).

Also, before you come bitching that you don’t get to do anything fun, accept one thing… the box and the mold offer more space than you care to admit. But it’s the act of NOT being a Maverick or a rebel that fucking kills you.

Drop your ego, dispense with the drama and show just how much you can do within the confines of established normalcy. Show results, get the numbers, show them who’s the fucking expert and all the time tell them that with a little more risk, they could get double the rewards. If they don’t bite, it’s Ok, it’s not the end of the world, it’s just a job… and that’s the other reminder: this is just a job.

Apr 16, 2014

Redo Resend Repeat



Fuck reduce, reuse and recyle… this is the bread and butter of the advertising industry and what clients pay for. They think they’re paying for creativity or strategy? Fuck no, they’re paying for rehashed ideas that have been revised ad nauseum. They’re getting refried beans. They’re getting last year’s leftovers with a zesty new twist of bullshit lime.

I have lost count how many times in advertising and beyond I’ve had to redo something because someone didn’t know how to explain something. And this is coming from someone who picks up the phone and walks to someone’s desk to ask and clarify. Yet I can’t help but feel as if we’re the Modern Times of office work.

Modern Times is a brilliant movie by Charles Chaplin talking about the effects of repetitive industrial operations that become embedded in Charlie beyond the point of his control and it begs the question, have we been doing things wrong so long, it requires a complete overhaul and relearning how to do things?

The simple answer: FUCK YES.

There is NO reason why you have to do something more than once with the exception of needing to meet the expectations of more than one person who in turn have visions that do not coincide. If you clarify, shit should get done in an average work day in time for you to go to your home, eat your Lean Cuisine and revel in the satisfaction of watching TV on your DVR and fastforwarding through what is essentially what you use to pay cable with, advertising work.

But instead of bitching about it and venting and ranting, here’s a call to arms. Fucking question the method. Question the process. Question the revisions. Question everything. Question every single goddamn opinion because that’s what it is, it’s an opinion and opinions often mean empty work that costs money rather than produce results.

So here’s to questioning and giving your traffic personnel and execs the ulcers they wish unto you, because guess what, after we get past this unpleasant bit of revision of processes, EVERYONE will be happy.

Cheers

Apr 14, 2014

Shit concerto in F Minor


I remember when I lost my work poop cherry… that time when my sphincter and my colon looked at me with somber eyes and said, we can’t hold it in Cap’n, we gotta push it out. It was not a pleasant experience for many reasons, though that’s another post for another day because obviously this will not be the only shit post to be had in the following months.

No, this is not about the first time my ass cheeks were touched by foreign plastic. This is about bathrooms with more than one stall and why I can’t deal with it. It’s one thing to have to shit at work. It’s another thing altogether to have to shit with company.

When my colonic zen moment has been interrupted by another fecal flinger, I’ve known to suck it up (literally) and hold it in for later. I suspect I’m not the only one to have this happen because let’s face it, shit shyness happens.

Some people could give half a fuck whether they have to shit in front of their moms. Logs must be released from the bowel beaver dam. The interesting part is when people shit with reckless abandon in tandem. It’s almost as if it’s a duel of the shits. It’s an epic battle of who can splatter and splash worse than the other and who can generate the more powerful biofuel to chemically assault their crapper counterpart.

It’s fucking epic. It’s like two thunder gods throwing caution to the wind and woe to anyone who isn’t wise enough to hold their piss for another time. I’ve had to pee under these conditions and it was a true test of how much I could multitask while holding my breath and controlling audible reactions.

I can’t do that shit, literally. My shit is a loner shit, it is a shy shit, it is a tender shit that wants to share an intimate moment with me while I scroll down my Twitter feed. Still, props to those people who can do it because it takes a special kind of fucker to shit louder than the person next to them, and an even more peculiar brand of asshole to write about it.

Cheers

Apr 12, 2014

Guilty pleasures, music video edition: Philip Bailey


It's not every day you see a steaming pile of crap video that makes you gasp, sigh, lurch, hurl and wonder, just who the fuck thought this was a good idea.

Enter Philip Bailey's 80's extravaganza Walking on the Chinese Wall. Just... just... look at it. It's wonderful!

It's fucking awful, it's hokey, it's lame, it's like Rick Astley fucked Billy Ocean and out came Philp Bailey! This type of music can't be denied, because even if it's lame... here's the kicker...

You'll be humming this tune for days.

So here's to more rubbish to feed the wicked!

The end is nigh, so thanks for all the fish


Well kiddies, if there’s anyone still out there that reads this blog or has us in their RSS feed, suffice to say we’ve been busy… sure. Our little blog has touched our lives in some of the most deliciously inappropriate ways and it’s time to grow beyond the blogosphere and come to the real world.

That means that this is our farewell tour. The blog will be closing on a poetic date in the coming months and in the meantime, we’ll be entertaining you guys with a final barrage of carnage for your enjoyment. All farewells and words of wisdom will be forthcoming. 

For now though, let’s start things off with a thanks and a warning… it’s gonna get messy in this motherfucker. 


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