The best policy

The joke goes like this.

An 85-year old man decides to interview for a job with a tech company. The 24-year old HR person asks him, "What do you think is your biggest weakness?" The old man says, "I'd have to say I'm too honest." The HR person tells him, "I don't really think being honest is a weakness." The old man says, "I don't give a shit what you think."

It works for me on so many levels.

First and foremost is the unfrightened attitude. It's something I've been accused of having many times. Guilty as charged. And if you ask me, and you didn't, but if you did, there's too little of it in agencies these days.

A close writer friend of mine was in a meeting with her creative director. He had just finished some work, and said "I finally feel like I'm earning my paycheck." Without skipping a beat my friend said, "Well it's about God damn time."

He cracked up. Honesty camouflaged as a joke.

I've been freelance for a very long time, and one thing it does is knock the fear right out of you. Most fear in agencies is about getting fired or laid off. Here's the thing: it happens to everyone at some point. And if it happens, all it means is you showed up one day.

I don't have that fear. I've been out of work long periods of time, and I've been busier than hell for long periods of time. It all balances out. And if history has taught me anything, it's that I'll eventually land on my feet at another gig.

Or serving caramel macchiatos at The Daily Grind.

What I'm saying is don't keep it all inside. Speak your mind. Spit it out. Tell it like it is. Truth to power. Damn the torpedoes. The universe will reward you for it. You'll respect yourself for it. A grateful nation will thank you for it.

And if you wind up being the most honest person at the unemployment office, at least you'll have learned a valuable lesson.

Don't take advice from bloggers you don't know.

Where never is heard an encouraging word

Work in advertising long enough, and you realize despite all the books, effective management style classes and lists on the subject, there really are only two kinds of bosses in the agency world.

Command and control. And nurture and inspire.

Unfortunately, agencies are usually lousy with the first kind and scarce on the second.

There isn't a creative working that hasn't felt the clumsy, heavy-handed thumbprints of an overbearing creative director on their work.

For some reason (cough "ego" cough "insecurity" cough cough "douchecentric personality disorder" cough), they feel the need to "make the work their own," agency code for "Just put my name on the award show entry form." and "I think I'll stay at the International Carlton at Cannes this year."

Having been a creative director, I always made it a point never to forget what it's like to present work. And being a copywriter, I never forget what goes into coming up with those ideas. So I always went the nurture and inspire route.

Here's the dirty secret about being a creative director: it's a lot easier than some of them make it look. The trick is to hire great people, make sure they don't run off the rails, clear the path by running interference for them, then get out of their way and let them do what you hired them to do.

Their success is your success. Bask in the glow. Repeat.

I'd like to suggest not only creative directors, but everyone in agencies—and in life for that matter—try to be more encouraging, supportive and inspiring to their colleagues. It's not a lot to ask, and it is the golden rule after all—or at least golden rule adjacent. Be the kind of person people want to work for - it's how you'll get the best work out of them.

After all, you've already got the job.

A trip to the toolshed

Ad agencies are lousy with internal buzzwords and phrases—verbal shorthand that quickly let's you know what they mean without having to take up valuable meeting time being articulate or stringing a full sentence together. While there are a lot to choose from, the phrase I want to focus on here is one I hear at least once an hour at the agency.

Ladder up.

Now my fellow blogger and Sarajevo bobsled bronze medal winner Rich Siegel recently talked about the phrase over at Round Seventeen, so I won't go into any definitions here.

But it did get me thinking (eventually something had to) about other common tools that might be applicable to the ad biz.

Horizontal Plane

This happens to a lot of ads before they go out the door. An account person will say, "I don't get it." A creative director who's not fully vested in the stock-option plan yet will chime in with, "That might be a little over their heads." A planner will offer any number of unique insights like "Consumers want it, we just have to remind them." Horizontal planing an ad is setting the equalizer buttons in the middle. No highs, no lows. Just a flat, level communication forgotten before it's over.

Power Tools

This is a term creatives use to refer to douche-centric account people. There are of course the regular tools, but the term is reserved for the real overachievers. The ones who have it down to a science.

Vise Grip

With a big smile, a company credit card, a generous expense account and a hearty, hearty, hearty, hearty handshake, vise grip is what is commonly referred to as the new business guy. He laughs too loud at potential client jokes, leans in with pretend interest when he needs to look serious and always gets off on the wrong hand with his bone crushing greeting.

Wire Cutters

This refers to anyone in the agency who doesn't think twice about calling or texting you on your cell phone. They feel perfectly entitled to their share of your data plan and minutes anytime they want them. Reimbursement? That's just crazy talk. It's a modern phenomenon, mainly because everyone has a cell phone and dedicated lines on the desk in your office are a thing of the past. Come to think of it, so are desks. And offices.

Chiseling

The act of chipping away at an idea until it's virtually unrecognizable from its original form. Certain creative directors, account people and clients have been known to wield the chisel with more proficiency than Michaelangelo. Except the end result isn't nearly as pleasing to look at.

Do I stay or do I go

I’ve always had great admiration for people who have more than one skill set they can make a living with. For example, my late, great friend George Roux was an art director, illustrator, commercial director and photographer. And he was equally adept at all of them. Damn him.

The problem is, the only thing I can really do is write. And depending on who you talk to, or if you've followed this blog for any length of time, even that's a little shaky.

Like so many of my colleagues, I occasionally entertain the idea of leaving advertising and moving on to a new challenge. Usually during status meetings, listening to account planners giving their insights or staff meetings where management tells everyone how great the new open office seating will be.

Don’t get me wrong: it’s not that copywriting hasn’t been good to me or isn’t challenging, but occasionally a restlessness sets in and I start thinking there might be something else that would be even more rewarding. It’s the same way I felt about my high school girlfriend.

Because there isn't much money in bingeing Breaking Bad, Better Call Saul, The Americans and House Of Cards, I started thinking about other things to do besides what I’m doing.

Here’s a partial list:

Crowd Estimator

I’ve always been good with numbers. I figure I could be that guy they cut to on the local news at concerts or sporting events. “Jeff, that looks like quite a gathering at the stadium tonight.” “That’s right Bill, I’d say there’s about 15,000 people here for the big show.” Then I’d get in the car and go home. Good gig.

Tire Store owner

I love tire stores. That new rubber smell, the S, T, H, V, ZR, W and Y speed ratings (note to Prius owners: S is all you need). What’s not to like about a job where you can toss around words like lug nuts and lateral run out (that's shimmy to you civilians). Not to mention the go-to jokes about being "under pressure" all the time. BAM! I’ll be here all week.

Fortune Cookie Writer

Here’s a gig that capitalizes on experience I already have—always a good thing. Play to my strength. Also, it’s one sentence at a time. That works well for me. Just a quick zinger, something uplifting, hopeful and funny in six or seven words. Besides, my wife used to be VP of Marketing for Panda Express. I already speak fortune cookie.

Ticket Taker

Whenever the discussion turns to creating jobs, this is one I always think of. Unnecessary and easy (did I use the high school girlfriend joke yet?), I’d be great at this. Movie theaters, Broadway theaters or even parking lots, I’d take the tickets with flair and a smile. There’s really not a lot of time for conversation since everyone’s in a hurry, which is fine by me. If you’ve ever been with me in an elevator, you know sometimes conversation is the last thing I want.

Couples picture taker

This one seems obvious, and yet you don't see a lot of them. Ok, you know when you're with your significant other at Disneyland, a concert, on vacation or at a restaurant, and you take either bad selfies or shots of the two of you individually? I'd be the guy wearing the resort uniform, just walking the grounds looking for people doing that and then saying, "I'll take that for you." One or two clicks, and I'm off to save the next vacation memory. I'd meet people, get exercise, learn about all sorts of photographic equipment and probably have a good tan at the end of it all.

You may have noticed the one alternative career choice not on the list is professional blogger. There are a couple of reasons for that.

First, I know for a fact there's no money in it. And second, have you read this blog lately?

The envelope please

There are conflicting perceptions about what it's like to work in advertising.

The first, and I believe more commonly held belief, is that it's a contemptible, gutter occupation right down there with used car salesman, personal injury lawyer and income tax auditor.

The second is that it's a glamour-filled, creatively-driven, Hollywood-adjacent profession loaded with travel to exotic places and awards with stupid names that take up lots of shelf space.

Both are correct. But sometimes the pendulum swings more to one side than the other.

Case in point would be the assignment my art director partner and I just got: to design a window envelope for one of our clients.

Now, I say my art director and I, but this kind of assignment is what I like to call "an art problem." My partner, being the perfectionist she is, will attack this assignment with the same intensity she'd give a global branding campaign. Me? I'll probably head out for lunch.

The point is all that glitters isn't gold pencils when it comes to assignments in ad agencies.

Just because I had nothing better to do, when we kicked-off the assignment (yes we had a kick-off for an envelope), I asked about the strategy, data indicating need for an envelope, wanted to see examples of competing envelopes, needed to hear any "insights" the planner had on envelopes.

You can't do the job if you don't have the information. And even if I had the information I couldn't do the job. Art problem.

So in between social and digital campaigns, national branding brainstorming, new product introduction campaigns and assorted other communication channel assignments, I'll be right there in spirit with my partner while she designs the four or five window envelope options the client will want to see.

But as far as this particular assignment goes, I'm mailing it in.

Off the clock. Again.

The reason the title has the word "again" in it is because I've used this title before here. Feel free to compare and contrast the posts. They're both equally entertaining, humorous and a fun read in their own way. And of course, they both reflect my world-renowned humility.

Anyone working in an ad agency will tell you it's not exactly a 9 to 5 job. An account goes into review, the creative director changes his mind, a deadline gets moved up, the creative director changes his mind, a new business pitch walks in the door, the creative director changes his mind, and the battle cry goes out: all hands on deck.

If you're following along with your Advertising-to-English Dictionary, that means don't buy any concert or airline tickets, make any dinner dates or plan on getting a lot of sleep for the next several nights or weekends.

Not that I'm not a team player (a term I hate, don't get me started), but here's the thing: when I'm done for the day, I'm done for the day. The nanosecond my feet are out of the building, I don't think about it until they're back in the building the following day. I have no problem flipping the switch.

Or flipping anything else for that matter.

I've written about how seriously some people in advertising take it. Fortunately I'm not one of those. Oh, I know, advertising helps the economy, gets information to the consumer they wouldn't otherwise have (want), builds brands. Whatever. I hate for you to have to hear it this way, but we're not doing God's work here. A grateful nation is never going to thank us for the latest banner ad or social post promoting "engagement" with your laundry detergent.

A close friend who owns an agency in San Francisco told me years ago it's better to work smarter than later. Can I get an amen to that?

Don't get me wrong: when I'm on the job, you have me 110%. I'm focused, I'm a concept generating machine. I'm on it. And contrary to how it may sound, I do recognize there are occasionally times when late hours and weekends can't be avoided. The problem is a lot of agencies confuse "can't be avoided" with "that's just how we do it."

You know when you call a doctor after hours you get that recording that says "If this is a medical emergency, hang up and call 911."

Mine would be "If this is an advertising emergency, you should've planned better. See you Monday."

Watered down

Like the lawn in a torrential downpour, or cocktails at the craps table in Las Vegas, ideas for Super Bowl spots from advertising agencies—like the people who create them—are often not what they start out to be.

For a lot of creatives, the Super Bowl spot is the Holy Grail, the pinnacle, the showcase where you can either make your mark and launch into a career arc filled with money, location shoots, media girls (another time) and a title too long to fit on the puny business cards you'll never carry.

Or it can be a spectacular flop seen by a billion people and sink you faster than the Quizno's Spongmonkeys—which by the way I think is awesome and one of my favorite commercials ever. Call me crazy, but I admire the bravery of it all. Just try not singing the tune after you've seen it.

I know, right?

Anyway, there are a few rules about the annual Super Bowl assignment that seem fairly universal no matter what agency you're at. First is the freelancer's spot never gets chosen, even if it does. No agency hands the biggest boondoggle and budget of the year to the freelancers to produce. And if their spot is picked, it's—take your pick: refined, evolved, massaged—just enough for them not to be able to claim it as their own.

Next, you would think that since the date of the Super Bowl is known over a year in advance, agencies would give themselves enough lead time to concept, sell and produce the spot they really want to make. Not so much. Virtually every agency starts working on their Super Bowl spot late in the game. Then it's a mad rush to meet the goal, with everyone hoping they don't fumble.

Ok, I'm done now.

Finally, just to prove God does have a sense of humor, it's almost always the team who couldn't care less about sports who has the winning spot. Then they have to go through the entire ordeal, pretending they're interested in the game and that they have a favorite team.

Sometimes, even though it's a score (sorry) to get your Super Bowl spot sold, it takes almost more than you can muster to get motivated to see it through.

But to quote Don Draper, "That's what the money's for."

The most important burrito of the day

One of the many benefits of being a freelancer, besides working at home in your underwear—and let's hope it's your underwear—and setting your own lunch break (mine is from noon to 4PM), is that the city is lousy with ad agencies you can choose to dial for dollars or actually work at.

It seems there are almost as many agencies as Starbucks. In fact, some of them are in Starbucks.

Anyway, when I have the luxury of deciding which ones I want to work for, there are several criteria I take into consideration before taking the gig.

First and most obvious is the caliber of the work. Is it smart, entertaining, memorable and effective. You know, like me.

Next, the caliber of people. Besides knowing what they're doing—which is far rarer than you think—are they people I want to work with, that I want with me in the trenches. I don't have to have drinks with them after work or share our deepest secrets, but I don't want to be stuck with people I can't stand for the length of the assignment.

Location, location, location. I've had offers from agencies in cities all over the place, for example New York, Detroit, San Francisco, San Diego and Bakersfield. Guess which one I said no to?

After all how many pickup trucks and country stations can a city boy take, amiright?

But it finally dawned on me there's another important factor to think about before making any employment decisions. Do they serve a breakfast burrito, and how good is it.

When I worked at Chiat, the breakfast burritos were exceptional. Dare I say even good enough to get me in to work early on occasion. Chiat has their own restaurant upstairs (note to all other agencies), so not only could I order a breakfast burrito, I could get it exactly the way I wanted it.

As an only child, having it the way I want it is something I just take for granted.

The agency I'm currently at serves breakfast to the employees once every couple weeks. Today was my lucky day—it happened to be breakfast burritos. They weren't bad, but they weren't custom either.

To make it easier, they color-coded the wrappers. The red was made with ham, the green with bacon and the black with no meat at all (that's just crazy talk).

They were cut in half like the picture, and there was hot sauce and sour cream in bowls next to them—that's about as customized as they got.

Still, since my agency's tsunami adjacent, I can look out the window at the ocean, or eat out on the patio and feel the breeze, and somehow it makes the burrito taste much better than it otherwise would.

What am I saying? Just that if you're serving a quality breakfast burrito, odds are you're going to attract a higher caliber of talent.

And if you have Taco Tuesdays, dammit, I'll sign on the line.

Room to spare

Here's a lesson I learned early on: no matter how nice my room is, the producers' is nicer.

Years ago, I was in New York on a food shoot for Taco Bell. As anyone in advertising—and by anyone I mean copywriters—will tell you, it's essential to the process to have a copywriter on a food shoot. After all, those bagels on the craft services table aren't going to eat themselves.

Our producer happened to book us at one of my very favorite places to stay in New York, the Essex House on Central Park South.

He met us in the lobby, and before he got us checked in he handed us all envelopes full of cash, which was our "per diem", money to be used towards food, incidental items and other miscellaneous expenses. I looked in the envelope, and it was filled to overflowing with hundred-dollar bills. It was the kind of envelopes you see in the movies.

"Mr. Kensington appreciates you keeping this between us."

I couldn't have spent all the money in my envelope even if the shoot was two weeks, and even though it was New York. But God knows I tried.

I got up to my room, and I was amazed. I actually thought I was in the wrong room. It wasn't a room at all, but an enormous suite overlooking Central Park. The only thing better than enjoying New York on someone else's dime is enjoying it in style.

The little red light on the phone started blinking, and it was a message for the team to meet in our producers' room before we headed out. When we got to his room, I'd fully intended on thanking him for the spacious accommodations he'd somehow managed to arrange given the budget we had. I'm not sure I ever got that thank you out. When he opened the door, all I could see was a long, long hallway that we had to walk down before we even came into the room itself. Come to find out that for as nice as our rooms were, he hadn't skimped on himself. He booked a penthouse. My room looked like the maid's quarters by comparison. Don't get me wrong—I was mighty happy I had it as good as I did, but did he really need this palace all to himself?

Did I mention three bedrooms?

Anyway, I always have and always will love the Essex House, despite the fact it's been bought and sold about twenty times since this all happened (It's currently a Marriott, in case any of my close personal friends happen to work on that account). I'm trying to figure out a way to afford it on an upcoming trip to the city. It's been years, but maybe I'll call and drop the producer's name. No matter how many owners they've had, hotels have a way of remembering parties who book as many big rooms as we did.

Of course this time, it'll be on my dime.

On second thought, the maid's quarters will be just fine.

Soir Bleu

I've written here before about my love for Edward Hopper-esque paintings. But as Marvin Gaye would be the first to tell you, there ain't nothin' like the real thing.

There are so many Hopper portraits of lonely, isolated people unable to connect with themselves or anyone else, staring out windows or alone in a crowd at diners, it's hard to zone in on any one in particular (although for me, Nighthawks will always be the benchmark).

I'm not sure why I'm so drawn (SWIDT?) to these pictures, but I am.

Years ago the wife and I saw a Hopper exhibit at the Whitney in New York. It's one of the best exhibitions I've ever been to, and definitely my favorite (yes I look at other things besides comic book art).

Anyway, for some reason I was in a Hopper mood today, started going through his paintings and came across this one I'd forgotten about: Soir Bleu. Or as we say in English, Blue Night.

I don't know what to love about it first. The devastatingly sad and defeated clown (worked with him), as far from comical and funny as he could be. The far eastern lamps, swaying ever so slightly in the breeze. The eclectic cast of characters dining with and around the clown, including the man behind the post who looks suspiciously like Vincent Van Gogh.

Here is one of my favorite descriptions of what Hopper is trying to convey:

Soir Bleu is a vivid and monumental work painted in 1914, almost four years after Hopper's last sojourn in Paris. Its grand scale is an indication of how strong an impression Parisian life had made on the young Hopper.

At home in his New York studio, he created this melancholy allegory from reminiscences partly literary, partly art historical, and certainly personal. The artificiality of Soir Bleu is inevitable and intentional.

Hopper, as dramatist, has assembled a cast of characters and traditional types that play out timeless roles of courtship, solicitation, and tragic self-isolation. One of these characters is described in a preliminary drawing with a note, the shadowy isolated figure of the procurer seated alone at left. Hopper has also included a classically attired clown in white, a military officer in formal uniform, a bearded intellectual in a beret, perhaps an artist, and a well-dressed bourgeois couple. Standing beyond the balustrade, as though presiding over this mixed company, is a haughty beauty in gaudy maquillage, her painted face demanding attention in the brilliant glow of oriental lanterns in the cool blue night.

In Soir Bleu, we witness Hopper's early attempt to create, rather than merely record, a sophisticated, anti-sentimental allegory of adult city life. Back in America many years later, he would stage the masterpiece Nighthawks (1942) with all the worldly reality he sought in Soir Bleu but was too young to make emotionally convincing. However, this major early painting gives a clear indication of Hopper's enormous ambition for his art.

Now I realize no one comes to this blog for a discussion about the meaning of art, its nuances or relevance to the current culture. In fact I'm not sure why anyone comes to this blog at all. My guess is it's a combination of typing errors and glitchy routers.

Nonetheless, occasionally I like to take a break from writing snarky posts, agency bashing and random rambling and appreciate the inspiring, creative genius of true masters like Hopper.

You might be concerned about the fact I'm attracted to paintings that leave me feeling melancholy, depressed and isolated. Don't be.

I work in advertising. I'm used to it.

'Twas the night before Christmas - 2016 Edition

This is the third year in a row I've put up this post on Christmas Eve. It's become somewhat of a holiday tradition. I say somewhat, because nobody really expects or wants it, but I keep posting it anyway. It's like Deck The Halls or Do You Hear What I Hear. The request lines aren't jammed, yet you hear it a lot. Besides, normally I'd be doing all my last minute errands like eating all the cookies the wife made for tomorrow, and dipping into the pumpkin pie early. But it is the season of giving, and damn it, if we know anything about me we know I'm a giver.

I think the best gift any of us can ask for is that 2016 ends as planned, and that we all survive the next few years. I know, Mr. Glass Half Full.

So hug those you love, make sure they know, and please to enjoy this little diddy one more time. And the very merriest Christmas to you and yours.

‘Twas the night before Christmas in the agency halls
Not a planner was stirring, there were no client calls
The glasses were hung by the conference room with care
In hopes the Christmas party would soon begin there

Creative directors nestled with campaigns that were dead
While visions of Gold Lions danced in their head
They’d talk of production and work they had done
It was true this year’s party would be nothing but fun

When out in the lobby there rose such a clatter
I sprang from the status meeting to see what was the matter
Was it the new intern wearing an Urban Outfitters jacket
What could possibly be making all of that racket

With a little old driver, so lively and quick
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came
And he whistled and shouted and called them by name

Now Dasher! Now Dancer! Now Prancer and Vixen!
Let’s go in the kitchen and see what they’re fixen!
To the corner office and just down the hall
They found trays of hors de oeuvres and ate them all!

The staff would look forward to the holiday bonus
Saying "as hard as we’ve worked of course they would owe us"
The general manager spoke, it was quite a summit
He told us all how profits had started to plummet

Cutbacks, downsizing, raise-freezes, client losses
He would if he could, but not so the bosses
He charted the bonus with marker not chalk
He wrote on the white board “That’s just crazy talk.”

They showed the work that’d been done through the year
But with no bonuses the staff was not of good cheer
Sure there was music and dancing for those who were able
Even some shenanigans on the conference room table

Soon it was over, soon it was gone
All the carrying they’d planned had been carried on
The party was finished, the tinsel unhung
The songs they were singing had all been sung

After bad luck like this, what else could they add
It was Christmas, and really, things weren’t that bad
Until he exclaimed as his limo drove out of sight
Happy pink slip to all, and to all a good night!

An agency by any other name

A few weeks ago, , an article in the online edition of Adweek called Why Today’s Ad Agencies Are Reluctant To Call Themselves ‘Ad Agencies’ attempted to explain why agencies are now opting for more relevant and contemporary descriptors.

Like new-model, multidisciplinary marketing communications firm. Strategic content innovation partners. New media integration facilitators. And the ever popular, rarely true, agents of disruption (Great band, saw them at the Roxy in '08. You're welcome Rich Siegel).

The argument is that they feel being called an ‘ad agency’ is too limiting, and connotes all that mid to late '60s, Mad Men hijinks and buzzword whammy jammy they've tried hard to separate themselves from. More than anything, they'd like current and potential clients to think of them as jacks of all trades, everything to everyone.

I of course would like people to think of me as Chris Hemsworth's body double, but that isn't happening either.

This agency identity crisis is nothing new in the ad world. There isn’t an agency new business person worth their weight in cold calls who doesn’t know how to give a hearty handshake, pick up the lunch tab and bark "yes" when the question is “Can you guys handle that?”

Digital? We’re all bits and bites baby.

Social? This rather lengthy sentence you’re reading right now is exactly 140 characters – how many “ad agencies” do you know that can pull that off? (Go ahead, I’ll wait while you fire up character count).

Traditional? We haven’t forgotten our roots, even though we’d like you to.

Experiential? It’s an experience in itself just working with us.

I understand the thinking behind offering one-stop shopping for clients: agencies don’t want pieces of the new media pie going other places that specialize, have expertise and a track record in it—especially if those places are going do a better job of it.

The other thing is when it comes to new business, pride has never been a quality that's run rampant in agencies. They'll gladly over-represent capabilities, say they can when they can't and for the most part let clients slap 'em silly and call them Sally if it means more business.

Part of the problem is consumers don't draw a distinction between the "ad agency" that created, say, the legendary Apple 1984 spot, and the one that does local ads for Empire Carpets. All they see are good ads and bad ads.

Another reason none of these companies want to be called an ad agency is that in almost every survey of least popular occupations, advertising professional comes in right behind used car dealer and prostitutes, both of whom work with considerably higher margins and know how not to leave money on the table. Or the dresser.

Maybe next time they do a survey, they can ask about a name that might command more respect, like Communication Response Alliance Partners.

Or they can just use the acronym.

In the zone

Here's a sign you'll never see in advertising agencies. Not because it's a bad idea, but because you couldn't buy enough of them to cover all the areas, cubicles and open seating that would need them.

That and the fact no one would observe the rule anyway.

There are a lot of ingredients that fuel successful agencies. Coffee. Creativity. Insight. Brains. Energy. Endurance. Optimism. Pessimism. Humor. The ever shifting line between art and commerce. Those innocent, wide-eyed, crazy bounders who believe against all evidence and reason what consumers are really looking for are more ways to engage with your client's brand.

But because of the nature of the beast—buildings loaded with egos, knit caps, planners, egos, man-buns, ironic t-shirts, skinny jeans, millennials, unrestrained enthusiasm, egos, people who know better, egos, people who enjoy inhaling their own fumes, egos and meetings, help me Jesus the meetings—agencies can't help but run on another more fragrant ingredient.

It is after all a sales job. And while there are good salespeople and bad ones, tolerable ones and insufferable ones, at the end of the day (EOTD = ad term, don't get me started) it all boils down to the size shovel they're using.

I know a lot of people in the business will call bullshit on this post.

But that's only because they didn't read the sign.

Fan club

Since I’m certain you’re a regular reader of this blog, anxiously awaiting each days’ post with a powerful mix of excitement, dread and nausea, I know you remember the post I wrote here about being a cool weather person.

That doesn’t just apply to the great, humid outdoors. It goes for the office as well.

I love almost everything about my current gig: the location, the commute, the many lunchtime options. On occasion, even the work. What I’m not a fan of is being hot—working up a nice sweaty sheen while I’m trying to type. Sure the place is air conditioned, but it’s just not set low enough for my liking.

So I decided I'd treat myself to one of those little desk fans, and have it aimed at my face all day. Would it dry my eyes out? Numb my face? Muss my hair? Maybe. But at least I’d be cool.

When I mentioned this to the wife, she decided I deserved far better than the average desk fan I was ready to slap down my credit card for at Target. So out of the goodness of her heart, she bought me her favorite deskman: the Chillout.

This little miracle of technology not only cools things down, it actually makes me feel downright cold—no easy task. With two speeds—arctic and not as arctic—its tower design manages to create a bubble of cool air, as opposed to an air of cool, all around me without the loud racket of fan blades rattling my nerves.

In fact I can’t remember anything this cold and quiet since my high school girlfriend.

While it does the job I want it to do, I'm sure it'd take more than one Chillout to counter all the hot air you find in an agency.

But like a hundred lawyers at the bottom of the ocean, it's a start.

A laughing matter

I, like most humans, enjoy a good laugh.

Not just a regular laugh. I'm talking about the kind of hysterical, on-the-edge, stress-relieving, people-who-see-you-think-you're-losing-your-mind, crying cause I'm laughing so hard, stopping for a minute, thinking I've got my composure and then bursting out into wailing, crying laughter all over again.

The kind of laughter where you feel like a wet noodle afterwards.

That was the reaction I had to this cartoon the first time I saw it. I can't tell you why it made me laugh so hard. Maybe it's that I've worked on so many fast food accounts—including Taco Bell three times at three different agencies—that it struck me the way it did.

Yes, Taco Bell at three different agencies. It's just the kind of masochist I am.

One of those times happened to be Tracy Locke, which is where I worked when I first saw this. It was the front of a greeting card at a store called Aahs on Wilshire Blvd. in Santa Monica. Chris Bouteé, my red-headed woman, a good friend and a fine writer in her own right and I had gone to lunch at a formerly popular, now defunct westside restaurant called the Bicycle Shop.

After our tasty yet overpriced meal, we walked a couple blocks down to Aahs so I could pick up a gift for someone. We were in different parts of the store, and I happened to be perusing the many racks of greeting cards when I saw this one. And I lost it.

It was one of those laughs that shadowed me the rest of the day (it didn't help that I'd bought the card and kept looking at it). In meetings, working with my art director, kick-offs—didn't matter. I was useless the rest of the day.

By the way, many people think that part hasn't worn off yet.

Anyway, while the cartoon doesn't make me laugh as hard as it did the first time, it still brings a smile to my face every time I see it. I think it's part brilliance of the cartoon, and part of my original hysterical laughter echoing through the years in my head.

The good news is I still laugh plenty in agency meetings. Except now it's to myself, and for entirely different reasons.

Goodbye Jack Riley

As I wrote about here, I've been blessed to have worked with some of the greatest voiceover talent ever to set foot behind a microphone.

Sadly, today one of them—a legend, and one of my favorites—departed for that great recording booth in the sky.

Most people remember Jack Riley from his role as Elliott Carlin on the original Bob Newhart show. I'll always remember him for the many times we worked together on my radio spots over the years.

I was introduced to Jack early in my career (in the loosest sense of the word), and he instantly became part of my repertory voiceover group (every copywriter has one) that I loved to work with, and used in every spot I could. Jack, together with his dry, droll, sarcastic, hilarious reads elevated my scripts to a place they never could've gotten to with the words alone.

Besides being hilariously funny and fast, he was an incredibly kind man. Early on he patiently took direction from this junior copywriter who hadn't done much radio. He was gracious and thoughtful, hearing me out and offering nuanced suggestions about how he could make it better. Funnier. More memorable. Did I say funnier?

Tonight, my guess is Jack is in Studio C at HeavenSound Recording, along with a few other former members of my rep company like Gary Owens, Joanie Gerber and Bob Ridgely. Not sure who the client is, but I hope whoever booked the session added a nice long bumper. There's going to be a lot of improvising and laughter before the first take.

Thank you Jack for your kindness, your patience, your availability in every sense, and showing me how a true professional does it.

Rest in peace.

Trick of the trade

Freelancing at ad agencies, or anyplace for that matter, there are commonplace, everyday things I, like most people, have to tend to.

Check email. Answer said email. Check bank balances. Go on Facebook, Twitter and Instgram and tell people I'm working on a social assignment (I kid because I love). Perhaps, hypothetically, respond to a request for other freelance.

The problem is to do those things, I have to go through the agency server to connect to the interwebs. And then, the agency has the password to my bank account, and can read that email I got from the Head Of The China Treasury, who has a charitable donation of $35,000,000 only I can be trusted with (it was easy - all they wanted was my bank account and social security number. The transfer will be here any day now).

Many people far less paranoid than I am just shrug their shoulders, use the servers and surrender a certain amount of privacy for a nice day rate.

So what's a guy who loves his day rate and his privacy to do? Glad you asked.

You pick up one of these little gizmos.

This is my own personal wi-fi hotspot. About the size of a credit card, half as thick as an iPad and password protected, I connect to it and suddenly I can do all my personal business from my computer without the prying eyes of the IT guy, who really should be more worried about getting me that mouse I asked for three weeks ago.

Now, I could've used my smartphone as a hotspot, but then I'd have had to change my plan. And since I've been on AT&T with unlimited data plan since my first iPhone, I wasn't going to do anything to jeopardize that deal.

This device, cleverly called My Go Phone, lets me buy either 2G, 5G or 8G of data a month. I chose the 8G - it's seventy-five tax deductible dollars a month and worth every penny.

So if you have a personal email, a financial matter, or—hypothetically—a job offer you'd like to discuss with me, feel free to email me. Thanks to this snappy bit of technology, it'll just be between us.

Until Mike in Digital Experience hacks it.

Drive time

A good commute can be the difference between happy Jeff, and his evil twin – pissed off, short-fused, grudge-holding, horn-honking, lane-changing, one finger saluting, swearing like a drunk longshoreman Jeff.

So what makes a good commute? Well, for starters—and this should come as no surprise—distance.

For a long time, in what I believe was a very strange coincidence—or was it?—my commute to the agencies I was working at was exactly 26 miles each way. It seemed to be my travel threshold.

Even though 26 miles doesn’t sound like a lot, you can do the math - and if you can't then I believe it's a damning indictment of our public education system. Don't get me started. Where was I? Oh, right. It's 52 miles round trip. But at 8:30 a.m. or 6 p.m. going against traffic on the 405, they feel like dog miles. It may as well be a 1000.

All this to say my commute now is spectacular. The agency I’m currently at is right at the beach (or as I called it the last time I wrote about it, tsunami adjacent). I don’t have to get on a freeway to get there, I just cruise down Pacific Coast Highway from my house. There’s never any traffic on that stretch of PCH at that time of day, and it takes me about 20 to 25 minutes to arrive unstressed and un-pissed off at work.

Which brings me to the second component in a good commute: the destination.

I’ve worked for a few agencies in San Francisco over the years. They all have the same politics, personalities and British-accented, insight spouting, knit-cap wearing planners every other agency has. Here’s the difference: at the end of the day, I’d open the door to leave, and I’d be in San Francisco. It made up for a lot of ills. Flight and all, my commute to the San Francisco shops from my house was often faster than my commute to Orange County.

Another item that makes for a good commute is the scenery. You can have a short commute where you get to work in no time, but if it takes you through the senseless murder district coming and going, it’s still not very pleasant.

Since my commute du jour runs down PCH, I get to see the ocean, surfers, joggers and beach rats while I drive there and back. If I’m working a little later (stops to laugh at the thought of working later), I can even manage to catch a summer sunset. Like the old saying goes, getting there is half the fun.

Of course, depending which agency you're commuting to, it just may be all the fun.

Ghostwriter

The wide and raging river of taglines, headlines, subheads, subject lines, pre-headers, bold lead-ins, body copy, banner ads, manifestos, landing pages, social media posts, positioning statements and concept write-ups seems to flow on endlessly no matter which ad agency I happen to find myself at.

This of course is an excellent situation for a freelancer, because when the river dries up so does the bank account.

But as any copywriter will tell you, occasionally you have to deal with a bout of what real writer’s who aren’t creating a legacy of garbage (Legacy Of Garbage ©Janice MacLeod) refer to as writer’s block. For whatever reason, sometimes the words that make America buy just aren’t there when you need them.

Which is fine if you’re writing a snarky little blog only nine people read, and then only when reruns of the Bachelorette aren’t on. But when you’re a hired gun up against a deadline, there are no excuses. If the words aren’t there you have to go out and find them.

Fortunately I know just where to look. To my son James.

They say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. But I don’t have an apple tree, because it attracts rats to the backyard and I have a black thumb and would probably kill it anyway. And who wants to eat apples that fall off a rat-infested tree into the dirt. There’s not enough Dawn and Brillo to get them clean enough for me to eat. Don't get me started on the worms.

I may have wandered off track here.

My son is a great writer. He's unburdened by strategy briefs, client concerns, nervous account people, award-whore creative directors, account planners whispering sweet nothing in his ear – and I do mean nothing. He just likes to make up fun lines. So on those rare occasions when I need to get a fresh, untarnished perspective because my brain has gone into vapor lock, I just give him a call and tell him what I need.

Give me some car headlines that talk about performance. Knock out a few lines for this video game. I need something for a hotel in half an hour.

He always delivers.

I'd like to think he gets his writing talent from my side of the family, but I think it's just who he is. Screenwriting major, hello? This is a kid who's not afraid of throwing it out there and seeing what happens.

So, to the agencies I work for now, and will in the future, rest assured that when it comes to writing copy for your prestigious clients, and even your lesser ones, I'm going to give it everything I've got. Including my first born.

Change in the weather

It occurred to me that agencies have a lot in common with the weather. No matter how hard you try to predict it, you really can’t be sure what it’s going to be from one day to the next.

In fact, there are some weather terms that can just as easily be applied to the agency culture as well as the inhabitants. For example:

Jet Stream

You know when the creative director, account supervisor, planner, junior account executive (in charge of the carry-ons) and research director board a plane together to fly to yet another Adweek seminar on Digital Creativity Strategies and Better Banner Ads in the Caribbean? The one you told them about and wanted to go to, except there was no budget for you? That’s the Jet Stream.

The Mean Temperature

Agencies are notoriously angry places. It doesn't take much to set them off. Someone's work sold and yours didn't. You weren't invited to a meeting you should've been at (don't worry-meetings are like buses). No one brought in bagels. Someone looked at you the wrong way. People at agencies have thin skins and long memories. They're not exactly rays of sunshine to begin with, but when they feel they've been wronged they're meaner than a junkyard dog having his anal glands expressed. When you figure out exactly who's mad at who, and how mad they are, that's the Mean Temperature.

High Pressure System

These kind of systems can be created in a number of ways. An approaching deadline. A meeting with HR. Finding out what someone else makes. The creative director wants to "talk" about his/her "idea." These systems can be found daily in the ever changing environment of the agency world.

Unstable Air

This is usually found in meetings where planners are involved. They're almost always telling you their insight that just isn't quite insightful enough. Usually they know it, and as a result aren't making the point as confidently as they'd hoped. Hence, unstable air.

Wind Chill

What you get when that joke you made about the creative director gets back to them.

Warm Front

The new receptionist. That's all I'm sayin'.

Of course, there are many more terms that apply, but I'll leave them for another post. After all, many of you reading this still think of advertising as a fun, glamorous, star-studded business to be in.

And I wouldn't want to rain on your parade.