I need 20 Sicilian Hunks.

Today was hell. Literally. I mean, it was like... cosmic intervention. And I didn't plan it that way. I was thinking that today I was going to work in my loose jeans and tshirt, play some loud music and have a nice time designing some shit brochure that I just couldn't think of how to do it. Um, yes, my main thing is copy, but I design too. Just that sometimes I think I can't do stuff and I procrastinate for so long until I face it head on and fight my way to a decent design. I usually surprise myself with a nice piece that I am proud of. This job was like that.

So I sit down. Buy myself a huge Diet Coke. Blast some nice Sinatra, and start designing. Perfect. Not a single human being is calling. Oh Lord, thank you. Now I can concentrate on this damn fucker and get it done. And, since I worked last night until I coudn't no more, I have all my jobs perfectly in order so I can spend all day working on this particular project.

I should have read Restrictions Apply's The Catch Up Game again. By the fourth song of the Chairman of the Board... the first client rings. I need this changed on this piece and that piece and remember to quote this and that and I know you are busy but here's what happened to your overdue bills, sorry but we screwed up and...

I'd rather get gang-banged than to have a day like today. Not kidding. (Now you know why I need the hunks) My ass never, ever moved more than two feet from my chair. How depressing.

In just a single moment, all my plans got screwed. I was calling dudes left and right, sending adaptations, revising old jobs that are really not a huge priority. And sitting there, right next to me, is the damn job I planned to work on, the difficult one who I know that is going to take forever...

I gave up. I was too tired and left it half done. I know I'm in huge deep feces right now, 'cause it is already super overdue. I don't care, I got better things to do. And hey, it's not like my check is arriving as fast as I deliver the damn piece.

I have a great bed. It is soft as hell, comfy, mushy... You lay in it and I swear it molds to your body. You can lay down and sleep instantly. I kid you not.

Tonight, my ass gets my bed. I'll just sleep in a corner and dream about Sicilians. Or this guy.

Weird Music Day!

Ok guys, let's all do this, like a worldwide WAS call to arms!!!

I remember that I used to do this years ago, and it was fun as hell. Made Fridays a lot easier in my book. I'll give you two days to find this song: Working for the Weekend, by Loverboy. Download it, buy it, I don't care. You'll find it, I guarantee it.

Ok, here's what we will all do. At some point on Friday, you gotta open your iTunes, check that the volume is at max... AND BLAST IT! PLAY IT LIKE THERE IS NO TOMORROW! Soon enough you'll need the sound of the amazing cowbell that starts the song. I know, it's an 80's stupid song... but trust me, you'll feel better come Friday.

Money Back Guarantee!! (Not)

Here comes cirrhosis!

I think I'm living in Nicholas Cage's "Leaving Las Vegas". Great. Why do advertising people drink so much, dammit? Don't start preaching on me, but, here's a fact that scares the living boobs out of me: I have been drinking for over 5 days now. And only with advertising people.

In all my latest days of Happy Hours, bars and anywhere else where alcohol is served, I've seen people talk about their bosses, their clients, their jobs... I've even seen a couple of briefs hanging around!!! And the great thing is, the more they drink, the more passionate becomes their anger. It's like seeing Anakin Skywalker down a Schlitz and suddenly... Darth Vader.

WAAAAAAAIT! It's not that I'm drunk all the time (I rarely get drunk anyway), it's just that the opportunity rises every single fucking day. For example. Wednesdays and Thursdays are Happy Hour nights. Some media pays for all the beer you want. Great. I'm there, 'cause I'm broke. Besides, we get to bitch about advertising while drinking cold ones. Heaven on earth. Oh, and all the media chicks start making a fool of themselves at the kareoke. Spielberg couldn't do a better comedy than watching this.

Fridays. The I hate my boyfriend day. All the advertising chicks go to a bar and bitch, first about their jobs, then about their boyfriends. This, my friends, lasts and lasts. So, I'm there. Love troubles and beer, here I come. Besides, we all buy each other our beers, like a great pissed off rotary club or something. Teamwork!

Saturdays. What are you doing day. This is when some of the close pals (which we also worked together at some point) call you up and start telling you about a great poker night at some place, or that a pal is showing the fight at his house. Put on your hottest jeans, honey. The great part about this day is, since everybody pitches in and buys alcohol, by the end of the night you drank the Niagara Falls and didn't have to pay for much.

Sundays. The I shouldn't have another drink but I have to tell you what happened on saturday day. This is when you get together with your closest pal, at the beach, of course, and you talk and talk about what happened on Saturday. This is, by the way, the gossip you will hear on Monday when we get to work.

All the ad people I know come out and flat out say that we all drink too much. But for some strange reason, we can't seem to stop meeting at the bar, every single day. What is wrong with us???

Would you rather be here?

Monday is right upon us. Grab a cup of coffee and deal with it. No more sleeping late, no more drinks (at least until the end of the day). Another week of please move the logo two steps to the right, put the product name on Caps in that radio spot, you have to do a print, radio and Tv ad in less than two days. And if you come in 6 minutes late, you get a memo. Ah, what a crappy world we live in.

Here is an anonymous post, and this photo made me almost weep in agony. Enjoy Halong Bay, Vietnam.

My dad wants a logo. What an asshole.

Many months have gone by and maybe you know a little about me. Yep, I swear and talk like truck driver, I love boxing, I work sick most of the times, I love to wear grungy clothes when I can, I'm considered one of the guys... and my mother is the single most important thing in my life.

So now I decided to tell you the whole story, so you know how pissed I am at my "father". And I say that word with all the sarcasm in the world.

My dad calls me up (I still curse the day someone gave him my cell phone) and asks to make him a logo. I am dumbfounded. Here is a man who made my mom's life miserable. Mine too. An awful father who cared only about himself. A dead beat dad.

When I was younger, I tried to connect with him to no avail. I called, I visited. It was like it didn't matter. So after a while, I gave up. I am a strong believer that you HAVE to give your 100% to someone, but if that someone doesn't give back, fuck it, leave. Quit now. I did all I could. Have a nice life.

So, 15 years go by. I have a great life with mom. I went to college, had nice grades, started working at advertising, got married, got divorced, started my own business. I made it, and all the help I had was because of my mother. Along the way, I forgot the fact that I had a biological father out there. My stepdad became my dad. He was there for me all the way, including giving me away at my so called wedding. He has been there when I have gotten really sick, when I have been at the operating table he was right there with me until the anesthesia kicked in.

News of my business circles around the father side of the family. That and my cell phone number, I guess. Then, the unthinkable happens. The asshole calls to ask for a logo. Not to ask if I am ok, if I need something, if I want to hang out with him and try to reconnect. Nope, he wants a dumb ass logo for his dumb ass business. And, he details in his email exactly what he wants. By the way, his description of the logo is... anal leakage. The worst idea ever. He wants it in less than a week, please write back and tell him when it is done. Thank you and good bye.

Dumb fuck! I call up my mom. Hey mom, look what the cat dragged in. She goes ballistic. He should leave you alone, can't he understand all that you suffered over years and years? Is he dumb or something? The balls on this man! You made it on your own, with no help from him whatsoever... and now, after almost 18 years of not looking after you he wants a logo? Give me his damn phone, I will scream at him to leave you alone.

No mom, it's ok. I'll just ram my logo brief up my ass and forget that it ever happened. He can't be that dumb to realize that if I don't pick up the phone it's because I don't want to talk with him ever again. Know what she said?

I married the guy. He's dumb. Grrrrrrrrreat.

My dad sucks more than advertising. And I'm not doing the logo. That is my final answer, Regis.

A post from the Net: The Story

For the past few months, I've been writing catalog and newspaper ad copy for a local retailer. I noticed something odd the first week or so I was in ad strategy meetings: the big buzzword here is "story." What story are we trying to tell in this spread? What's the story in this ad?

Except when they say "story," they don't mean story. There's no rising action-climax-denouement progression.

I don't consider it a story unless something happens. (Or it's by Raymond Carver.)

My theory is this: once upon a time, someone at an executive level was told that advertising is more effective if it tells a story. "Great," the unknown executive said, "we'll tell a story on every spread!" So there were meetings, and strategic initiatives, and discussions of best practices, and at the end of the day it was decided that from this day forward, every spread would tell a story.

And the next day, nothing changed but the words they used to describe what they wanted. Instead of talking about an ad's message or takeaway point, people talked about the story, and by story, they meant message.

Police Sketch Doodles!!!

Some weeks ago, Joker was kidding about what would we get if you guys would try to make a police sketch of us. That got me thinking...

Since we here at WAS joined the Creative Protection Program, and we love our anonymity, well, we can't just say who we are. Why? Well, some people don't have a sense of humor. They could get mad. CD's, AE's, clients... even creatives that we know would get insulted, and for no reason. We write about advertising because we love to hate it, not because we got a vendetta or something. We write about what really happens when you pass the receptionist... and enter hell. And we do this because we love to bitch and moan. And maybe some get a laugh, learn something, or just pass the day with some fucked up creatives with time to spare.

Hey! Maybe you have been drinking a round of beers with us and don't know our secret identities. Maybe you went to the mall, saw us from a distance and not have a clue that we are part of the blog you love to read. Who knows... But if we tell you who we are, then... we have to kill you. Not...

Anyway. Since I started this, then... (sigh)... it should be appropiate that I name myself to get sketched. Get to it. Send the doodles at adssuck@gmail.com.

But... whatever you do, please... Make it sexy. Ha.

The Main Event: Rookies vs. Seniors

In this corner, fighting out of years of advertising... With hundreds of wins by lots of approved campaigns and experience, The Seniors.

And in this corner, fighting out of maybe college or some small little ad agency you don't know about... With wins by new creativity and hunger for experience, The Rookies.

I'll try to keep it above the belt (talk about balls and some people get testy, pun intended).

Round One. Fight!

I'm a senior. Not because I need the title (I am soooo beyond titles it's disgusting), but because in this business, after 3 or 4 years you should be considered one. You have some experience, by now you should know the basics and then some. Being a senior is like having an American Express. It has its privileges. You get paid more, you can manage your time a little bit more (in La La Land), you get your opinion heard sometimes (if your CD is not a dickwad). People get to know you and what you do, and suddenly the calls come from another agency wanting to offer things they will never, ever, in your wildest dreams will come true. Seems like a wonderful life but... not really because advertising sucks. Anyway... this is not really a post about whom is better than whom.

This is my homage to rookies.

Hey there guys! It really sucks being a rookie, right? I've been there, got a Tshirt. It sucks... ba---... ass. Rookies are one special breed that no CD or boss understands. Have they forgotten what it felt like? I can! See if this rings a bell.

You get interviewed. Your potential boss comes in, with a great smile and a tan provided by hours of golf and sailing. He sits down and tells you this great line: "I really like your work, you have great potential. We think you could work with us. Hey, this is a great agency, we have lots of great accounts you can work on. You will learn lots of stuff. If you decide to join the team, you will be placed with a great copy/art director, and you will have all the decision making in what comes out. We want your input. You can come in and joke around, we have a great atmosphere, creatives here have a blast. Are you in?"

You, delighted as hell and broke, decide to utter one single word, the word that will destroy you and haunt you till you rot: yes.

First day comes. You even come in early, wearing your wildest message tshirt and some run down jeans. You are busting out with new ideas, you are more than willing to stay longer if it means that your ad will get approved and published. You think your creative director will hear you out, get your points and you are happy as hell to meet your partner.

First job comes in. Do an adaptation. Second job. Do some corrections. Third job. Remember that adaptation? They want it in black and white. But... what happened to being part of the creative process? Um... You're a rookie. You have to wait for that. What the hell?, you think. Um. Welcome to the great life of advertising. This is the adults table. Go sit at the kiddie table and wait 'till you grow up. That pisses me off.

OOOOOh I wish some Creative Directors read our blog, really. In fact, let's turn this post to them, shall we?

Hey, YOU CREATIVE DIRECTOR! Yeah, you sitting there reading last week's emails. What is the matter with you, anyways? Are you out of your mind or something? Did the joint you smoked in '77 gave you some permanent brain damage? Rookies are a great source for creativity!!! They have hundreds of great ideas! They are sitting there, waiting for you to give them something to sink their teeth into! They want to work! They are willing to work long hours, because they want their shit on the newspaper, tv, radio or whatever great media plan there is at the moment! Give them a chance, dammit! By thinking that only seniors can handle the "big" accounts you are making a huge mistake. Rookies can handle their business as well as the next guy.

The last big ad agency I worked on had a bunch of rookies come by. Some seniors just made them sit at a corner and watch. If they were lucky, they were given shit jobs to revise. Fuck that, I'd say. Sit down, here's the brief. Since I'm working on this, so are you, mister. Help us out. Talk with us for a while until we come up with a decent idea. This is the way to work a rookie, in my honest opinion. Give them the hard shit as well as the easy stuff. They have to learn, and fast. My job was to report back to my CD and tell them if we thought this person could handle it. Some didn't, some did. Some were just awful and picked the wrong business. Some were gold mines, but they shined because some other person gave them a chance.

And this is a bit of fact I hate even more: some shit creative, senior, but of course, will make rookies work on a campaign because they simply don't want to do it or because they are so fried and tired they don't want to work that day. Funny thing is? The campaign gets approved, makes a bunch load of money and what happens? The senior takes all the credit. The rookie goes back to adaptations and copy revisions, as nothing happened. But the thing is, by not giving credit where credit is due, they cannot get ahead.

So, my message to all those young padawans out there is... keep trying, dudes. Fight. Ask for more difficult jobs. Don't settle for shit revisions only. Get involved. Bitch your way out or Rookieland. The only way to a better life in advertising is by demanding work, good work, from your Creative Director. Prove yourself, ask for that great pat on the back when you do something great, you deserve it.

A warning... Give it time, but not that much. Because if you feel after a couple of years that you're still slaving away and you are not learning anything new or contributing something... well, read below. You'll get the picture.

ROOKIES RULE!!!