Encore post: Answer the call (to action)

You can’t overstate the ability of advertising people to inhale their own fumes. It may be part of the job description. I’ll have to check with HR.

Many of them have what I’d call an unrealistic sense of consumer behavior that should rightfully be filed under wishful thinking. For example, against all evidence from the beginning of advertising time, there’s a prevailing thought that just because you bark an order at the consumer and tell them to do something, they’ll actually do it.

If it were only that easy.

How else to explain the fact almost every piece of—let’s call it marketing communication—that gets produced has what’s referred to in the biz as a CTA. In civilian terms, a Call To Action.

It’s the instruction from the advertiser on what they want you to do next. And it’s not one-size-fits-all. There is no standard CTA. It can be anything from Learn More to Call Now. Sign Up to Get Started. Take the Survey to Talk To Us. Let’s Go to Join Free For A Month (that was Netflix-it was a great month).

It’s a good thing it’s there. Otherwise how would you know what to do, amiright?

Here’s the truth: agencies consider a 2% click rate on web ad CTAs a resounding success. If you were getting a 2% return on any investment in your life you’d be looking for a new place to invest. But when it’s a 2% click through on banner ads (don’t get me started), the champagne is flowing, the overgrown frat boys are high-fivin', backs are being slapped and the junior team is getting assigned the agency promo piece touting their digital prowess.

On every agency brief—the six to eight page document explaining the assignment and showing that otherwise educated people don't know what brief means—there’s a description about what the agency/client wants the consumer to do as a result of seeing the CTA. For example, “Include CTA to visit website to drive user to website.”

Hey, Captain Obvious, what color was George Washington’s white horse?

Anyway, it occurred to me how much better agency life would be if there were CTAs, like these, that you could click on when the situation called for it.

Make It Stop
Anytime anyone calls a meeting about what they discussed at the last meeting, and what they'll be discussing in the next meeting as a result of this meeting, all you do is click on this CTA and immediately all the sounds stop coming out of their mouth. Their lips are moving, but they're not saying anything. Oh wait, that's already happening.

Go Away
This one's a lifesaver. Great for personal space invaders, hallway talkers or the smug, self-righteous contrarian that lives to argue with everything you say. It's essentially the CTA that wishes them into the cornfield. I'm guessing that's going to be one crowded cornfield.

Not This Again
Remember that revision the client wanted, and you made, and then they took it out? And now they want it back in? This happens on a daily basis on every account in every agency. It just makes you shake your head and ask if they've always had this much trouble making up their mind (well, yes and no - BAM!). Hit this CTA, and it resets time back 15 minutes before the original request got re-requested. Normally only Superman can turn back time by flying counter clockwise to the earth's rotation. This will make it a lot easier on him.

Drop It
Basically a trap door for every occasion. Whatever they're doing to bother you, just hit this CTA and a trapdoor opens under them. Laugh and smile as they go plummeting down an endless tunnel that will eventually land them in the seventh circle of hell.

Or another meeting.

Encore post: Take the afternoon off

Every once in awhile on a Zoom call, my colleagues see me wearing this hat. And they always want to know the significance of 3:30. I explained it in this post about six years ago. But since I was asked again recently, I thought an encore posting might be timely.

So here you go. More than you ever wanted to know about this hat. Please to enjoy.

You might think what you're looking at is a ratty old baseball cap with 330 embroidered on it. You'd only be half right. What you're actually looking at is a collector's item.

Years ago, my colleagues and close personal friends Alan Otto, Tena Olson and I decided what America, and dare I say the world, was crying out for was another advertising agency.

And really, can you ever have enough?

So to fill the void, and to have a place to go where we could work with people and clients we like all day long, we immediately leapt into action and started getting together every Sunday morning at Starbuck's to map out our plan of attack for opening our own agency. Between lattes and banana bread, we batted around ideas how we'd differentiate our agency from the zillion others out there.

The first name we were going to go with was The Beefery. We took an old butcher cow chart, and instead of the names of the cuts we substituted clever ad terms, none of which I can remember right now. That may be why we never went with it. Under the heading of collector's items, there are also Beefery t-shirts and hats hidden away deep in some storage locker somewhere.

Anyway, we knew an agency called The Beefery wasn't going to get any vegan clients, but we were okay with that. Then, somewhere in the course of those caffeinated Sunday morning discussions, we decided to go with a name that represented something the three of us had experienced many, many times in our combined years in the business— nothing really good happens after 3:30 in the afternoon.

Ideas. Strategies. Disruptions. Pitches. Performance reviews. Client meetings. They all happen, but just not as well as they should after 3:30PM.

Our promise was we were going to get while the gettin' was good in the first three-quarters of the day. People were fresh, their creative juices flowing, they hadn't burned out yet. Every single day, we were going to hit the ground running first thing in the morning.

We'd be unstoppable. Then completely stoppable by 3:30.

Of course almost immediately it occurred to us, what with this being a "service business" and client emergencies having a timetable all their own, that clients would have a tough time buying into our philosophy. Which explains why, at the end of the day, 330 never got off the ground.

Despite that fact we continued to meet at Starbucks for months afterwards, occasionally talking about opening an agency but mostly just enjoying each other's company and the people watching.

Optimists that we were, when enthusiasm was at its highest we ponied up and had these hats made. I wear it all the time, and have to say I still like it a lot.

But not nearly as much as I like the idea of calling it a day at 3:30.

Not so Super

I’ll be the first to admit it. I am not by any stretch of the imagination or in any way a sports fan. I know what you’re thinking: how can someone like me who’s in peak physical condition not be into sports?

I know, it’s a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.

I do however occasionally like watching the World Series (baseball, right?) but that’s about it. Unless you count the Kentucky Derby, Preakness and Belmont Stakes because who doesn’t like horseys.

And reading the Racing Form. And placing bets.

Anyway, when Super Bowl Sunday rolls around every year, for the most part I look at it as the best day of the year to go to the movies, visit Disneyland or shop at South Coast Plaza. At least for about three and a half hours.

But because I’m in the line of work I’m in, I do have to slog through the game and watch the commercials. Including mine.

Here’s the problem: Apple set the bar for Super Bowl spots with their legendary “1984” commercial. You know, the one directed by Ridley Scott that we’re still talking about forty years later. But the downside of that spot was it got advertisers to think that just by pouring a ton of money into a spot, they’d have a memorable, entertaining Super Bowl spot that would ring up championship sales for whatever they were hawking.

Not so fast. If you watched the big game this year, you might’ve noticed there are about sixty examples that prove otherwise.

That’s not to say there haven’t been some enjoyable spots over the years. One of my favorites is this FedEx spot, which lays out in detail exactly what it takes to produce a successful Super Bowl spot. It's a low-res version, but you still get the idea.

Another is the Audi “Prom” spot. Everything about it is right—the casting, the dialog, the story, the production. They even caught lightning in a bottle with the reaction shot of the prom queen after the kiss.

The spot I liked most this year, besides mine, was actually this Disney+ commercial. Simple, engaging and not weighed down with celebrities and production value. It wasn’t forced.

I was discussing the spot with my close personal friend and blogger extraordinaire Rich Siegel, and he reminded me of the other reason I liked it so much. He said “When everyone is shouting, whisper.”

He’s right of course. Enough with the shouting.

In politics. In life. And especially in Super Bowl spots.

Encore post: Radio radio

Yesterday I was talking about radio with my pal Rich Siegel, author, owner and grand poobah of Round Seventeen. In one of my many business schemes, I asked Rich why don’t we start a radio production company. We’re both good writers with lots of radio production experience. It seemed like a win-win to me.

Rich replied, “Who pays for radio anymore?”

Thanks pal. Here’s my balloon –pop it.

Of course, he’s right.

For starters, there’s not a lot of radio being done, and what little there is certainly doesn't have any money – real money – thrown against it. Agencies usually just hand it off to the juniors, or the interns because they pay them even less than the juniors.

In most agencies, radio is considered the bastard stepchild to, well, to just about every other media. Maybe it’s because good radio is so hard to do, but many writers suddenly seem to get swamped when a radio assignment is up for grabs.

I’ve never looked at it that way.

The fact is, for the most part, the agency leaves you alone when you write radio. It’s not that high on the glam-o-meter, so you can usually fly under the radar and write some pretty fun stuff. But let me go back to an earlier point: good radio is hard to do.

There are of course basic rules to writing good radio. But if you've listened to any radio commercials lately, I'm sure you'll agree there need to be more.

Here are a few I’d add:

First, no more spots where the listener is eavesdropping on the recording session, and then the talent realizes they’re recording.

Next, no fake stand-up comedians with bad fake material and fake canned laughs.

Then, no more spots where the talent is talking about a sale with another talent, and suddenly there’s a door slam sound effect and the first talent says something to the effect of, “I guess everybody’s going to the (CLIENT NAME HERE) sale!”

Even though many writers use them, filler lines have got to go. You know the ones I mean. Lines like “so what’re you waiting for?” or “Hurry in now, the only thing that’ll be gone faster than these (PRODUCT NAME) is this sale.“

Lastly, the direction “more energy, have fun with it” must be banned from all recording sessions. No real person is that happy about having to take erectile dysfunction pills or diarrhea medicines.

This isn't the first time Rich and I have talked about starting a business. Just a few days ago, he suggested we start a deli.

I thought it was a good idea. Obviously, since we work in agencies, we already have enough baloney to stock it.

Encore post: Non-essential personnel

There’s been a great deal of discussion about essential and non-essential workers these past ten months. In the middle of a devastating pandemic, we quickly found out who we absolutely needed and who we could live without.

And the surprises weren’t all that surprising.

The people we take for granted day in and day out—grocery checkers and stockers, delivery people. Obviously the frontline medical heroes. The under siege postal workers (buy stamps). People who keep security and infrastructure going. As well as a long list of others.

And hey, you'll never guess who wasn’t considered essential. Give up? I hate for you to hear it this way but it's people who work in advertising agencies. I know, I’m as shocked as you are.

But here's something we know deep down in those places we don't talk about: the harsh reality is that was true even before the pandemic. And it’ll be true after.

Truth can be such a cruel mistress.

Come to find out in a non-existent survey not conducted by Gallop, that in the time of Covid, turns out people across every demographic—including some that haven’t even been segmented yet—actually set priorities about what's essential and what isn't.

While people are busy worrying whether a cough is just a cough or whether it's a debilitating virus that's going to have them fighting for their lives in the ER, oddly enough they don’t consider banner ads, screen takeovers, wild postings, commercials of any kind (with the exception of those two Match.com Satan ads), radio spots repeating the phone number three times, bus shelters, outdoor, paid social, email, direct response tchotchkes (no I didn't look up the spelling, yes it's correct), online surveys, YouTube pre-rolls, theater ads that piss you off before the movie (remember movies?), product placement in those movies, brochures, endcaps, welcome kits and more essential.

Even more non-essential? People who create them.

But fear not fellow agency people. Remember that many great artists aren't appreciated in their own time. Eventually this too shall pass, and people will come out of the plague culture and discover they hold a deep appreciation and fond nostalgia for all the ads they saw that began with "These are challenging times..." and ended with "We're in this together."

Someday the world at large will see the sense in theoretically normal-thinking adults putting their health and the health of loved ones at risk to bring them commercials that involved people breaking into dance for no reason, running footage, bite and smiles and people who aren't doctors but play one on television.

You know, the same as usual except now the people in them wear masks.

I've heard the arguments: we're keeping the economy going during a bad time. Bringing information people would have no. other. way. of getting. Setting an example by being at work, etc.

I got news for you. Essentially, you're kidding yourself.

Encore post: Client rewrites

I'm doing something right now I'd advise anyone writing a blog not to do. I'm writing this post while I'm extremely pissed off. I know what you're thinking, "But Jeff, you're usually so funny and easygoing and levelheaded, what could possibly put you in such a foul mood?"

Well, I'll tell you. Clients who want to be copywriters.

There's a story I may have told before here, but it bears repeating. Paul Keye, who owned Keye Donna Perlstein, one of the great Los Angeles creative shops that isn't around anymore, wasn't just the creative director. He was also a copywriter, and a great one at that. He was presenting his work at a client meeting, and the client was being particularly dickish about it. Finally the client made some bullshit, insignificant, arbitrary change, like "the" to "a". He looked up at Paul and said, "What can I say Paul, I'm a frustrated copywriter."

To which Paul took a beat, then replied, "No, I'm the frustrated copywriter. You're an asshole."

Any copywriter who's been in the ad biz more than ten minutes has had the joyless experience of the client reworking their copy, with total disregard for what goes into creating it. Even when they like the copy, clients rarely get the nuance, cadence, subtlety, humor and rhythm of words well written. One of the most common places they take refuge is "I don't get it, how will any of our customers?"

Respect from clients for consumers intelligence is harder to find than a Christmas bonus.

Don't get me wrong: I'm sure occasionally a client will contribute something positive and helpful that doesn't make the copy sound like a strategy statement. Just like occasionally I believe I'll win the lottery, or Scarlett Johansson will return my calls.

If you think I'm painting clients in broad strokes and generalizations, take a look and listen to TV and radio commercials tonight. They were all client approved before they got there. We'll talk about the ratio of good to bad when you're done.

Originally this post was going to be about the subject of overthinking, but then I realized it's essentially the same thing. Clients examine copy with a magnifying glass the consumer will never use—assuming they even read the copy in the first place (you know the old saying).

It is endlessly frustrating with one client. The good news however is I have several who've been chiming in on how they think it should read. Copy by committee. Mmmm mmmm good.

Here's what I try to think about to keep it all in perspective. When Goodby had the notoriously bad Carl's Jr. account, they insisted on rewriting virtually everything that was presented to them. When asked about it, Jeff Goodby allegedly said, "It's a great deal. They write the copy and pay me." After it left, Goodby apologized to the staff for taking the business in the first place.

Whenever a creative chimes in with anything unflattering about the client, they're usually met with the fact that the client pays the bill and can have it the way they want. Thanks, but we already know this. I pay my doctor bills, but I don't get to tell him how to do the surgery. But then medicine isn't a collaborative sport like advertising. Which leads me to another thing: we're not curing cancer here. Don't get me started.

Here's the thing: this isn't my first rodeo. I know clients are always going to be changing copy, sometimes with the genuine intention of thinking they're making it better. And sometimes just because they're frustrated copywriters.

So I'll try to keep Jeff Goodby's comment in mind, along with my own personal motto.

The checks clear.

Streaming service

Trust me, this isn’t one you’ll want to watch.

If you take a quick cruise through any tech store or online site, there are a plethora of consumer-ready technologies designed to make life more convenient and productive. And all of it is produced with the best intentions. But like me trying to do home repairs, some things are best left to the professionals.

Case in point is this little device that would never have been invented had there not been an anxious world and grateful nation clamoring for it. The U-Scan. It's a miniaturized health lab that attaches to your toilet bowl and collects urine for home urine screening.

So how do you know if urine need of it?

Well if you’d prefer to be spared the indignity of peeing in a cup at your doctor’s office—something I personally always enjoy for both target practice and hand-eye coordination—you’ll probably be one of the first in line for this smart device. Of course as I write this I have to ask myself how smart it can really be sitting in a toilet all day.

But then I freelanced at Jordan McGrath so who am I to judge.

The U-Scan can run a variety of different test results and analysis for things like specific gravity (as opposed to unspecified gravity), PH, vitamin C and keytone levels. It also provides ideal hydration levels and protein-vegetable balance.

Although I imagine if you’ve had asparagus lately the results are going to be wildly skewed.

The point is I like showing off things I can do remotely with my smartphone like turning on the lights, setting my alarm system, starting my car, switching on the DVR remotely. But do I really need it to show me how my pee is doing on any given day? No. No I do not.

Anyway if you have an inkling, or in this case a tinkling, that this is going to be something you just have to have, urine luck. The U-Scan will be on sale in the US soon pending FDA approval.

And don't worry if some people feel they have to judge and shame you for it.

You can always just tell them to piss off.

Heavenly Day and the New Year

Oh heavenly day
All the clouds blew away
Got no trouble today
With anyone

I've been thinking lately—I could stop that sentence right there just to see the shock on the faces of people who know me and former employers. But I'll keep going.

I've been thinking lately about the last time I was genuinely happy and carefree. Now don't get me wrong, I'm a generally happy person most of the time. Cynical, but happy. But sometimes I can't stop myself from wondering exactly how long ago it was that I wasn't worried about bills, kids, dogs, money, safety for my loved ones, the car breaking down, the state of the world, the state of the union, if the alarm was turned on, if the stove was turned off, my weight, my job, my wardrobe, my health, my sleep patterns, did I mention money? And on and on.

While there may be a supply shortage of children's cold medicine, baby formula, airline pilots, Sriracha, semiconductor chips and tampons, it seems there's always a never ending glut of things to worry about, even if they're things we don't need to worry about (Full disclosure: not actually that concerned about the tampons).

So how do I find some peace with my worries running through my brain like a runaway train? One way is by listening to Patti Griffin's Heavenly Day.

It gives me, how the kids say, "all the feels."

Her beautiful voice, the gentle, unhurried arrangement and the nuanced accompanyment of Buddy Miller takes me back to a worry free time, when simple things were enough. And it gives me an unncharacteristically optimistic hope they can be again.

But maybe more importantly, it reminds me to be present in the moment, which in advertising isn't always something you want to do—especially in status meetings, creative reviews, pep talks or town halls.

The song also subtly drives home the point that although there are admittedly times when it doesn't feel like it—like during political discussions, hard joking or deciding which black shirt I should wear—the people I love and who love me are in reality all I need.

The smile on your face
I live only to see
It's enough for me baby
It's enough for me

Now before you start flaming the complaint box, I know this post isn't the well written, laugh riot, quippy, quotable read you've become accustomed to from me. But seriously, how much did you pay for it? I rest my case.

Besides if you want funny and well written, there's always Round Seventeen.

So since we're just hours away from the new year, I want to suggest you try on my new found attitude of cautious optimism things will be getting better and brighter in the next 365 days. I also recommend turning off the news, stopping the doom scrolling and reorganizing your priorities. The earth is four and a half billion years old, and we're just here for a second. Shouldn't we be taking the time to focus our attention, energy and passion on the things and people that really matter? Yes. Yes we should.

So my New Year's wish for you is that all your burdens will be lifted, and just enjoying each other will be enough.

From the sides, top and bottom of my cynical, happy heart, may your 2023 be filled with nothing but heavenly days.

No one at my shoulder bringing me fears
Got no clouds up above me bringing me tears
Got nothing to tell you, I've got nothing much to say
Only I'm glad to be here with you
On this heavenly, heavenly, heavenly, heavenly
Heavenly day

Encore post: Answer the call

You can’t overstate the ability of advertising people to inhale their own fumes. It may be part of the job description. I’ll have to check with HR.

Many of them have what I’d call an unrealistic sense of consumer behavior that should rightfully be filed under wishful thinking. For example, against all evidence from the beginning of advertising time, there’s a prevailing thought that just because you bark an order at the consumer and tell them to do something, they’ll actually do it.

If it were only that easy.

How else to explain the fact almost every piece of—let’s call it marketing communication—that gets produced has what’s referred to in the biz as a CTA. In civilian terms, a Call To Action.

It’s the instruction from the advertiser on what they want you to do next. And it’s not one-size-fits-all. There is no standard CTA. It can be anything from Learn More to Call Now. Sign Up to Get Started. Take the Survey to Talk To Us. Let’s Go to Join Free For A Month (that was Netflix-it was a great month).

It’s a good thing it’s there. Otherwise how would you know what to do, amiright?

Here’s the truth: agencies consider a 2% click rate on web ad CTAs a resounding success. If you were getting a 2% return on any investment in your life you’d be looking for a new place to invest. But when it’s a 2% click through on banner ads (don’t get me started), the champagne is flowing, the overgrown frat boys are high-fivin', backs are being slapped and the junior team is getting assigned the agency promo piece touting their digital prowess.

On every agency brief—the six to eight page document explaining the assignment and showing that otherwise educated people don't know what brief means—there’s a description about what the agency/client wants the consumer to do as a result of seeing the CTA. For example, “Include CTA to visit website to drive user to website.”

Hey, Captain Obvious, what color was George Washington’s white horse?

Anyway, it occurred to me how much better agency life would be if there were CTAs, like these, that you could click on when the situation called for it.

Make It Stop
Anytime anyone calls a meeting about what they discussed at the last meeting, and what they'll be discussing in the next meeting as a result of this meeting, all you do is click on this CTA and immediately all the sounds stop coming out of their mouth. Their lips are moving, but they're not saying anything. Oh wait, that's already happening.

Go Away
This one's a lifesaver. Great for personal space invaders, hallway talkers or the smug, self-righteous contrarian that lives to argue with everything you say. It's essentially the CTA that wishes them into the cornfield. I'm guessing that's going to be one crowded cornfield.

Not This Again
Remember that revision the client wanted, and you made, and then they took it out? And now they want it back in? This happens on a daily basis on every account in every agency. It just makes you shake your head and ask if they've always had this much trouble making up their mind (well, yes and no - BAM!). Hit this CTA, and it resets time back 15 minutes before the original request got re-requested. Normally only Superman can turn back time by flying counter clockwise to the earth's rotation. This will make it a lot easier on him.

Drop It
Basically a trap door for every occasion. Whatever they're doing to bother you, just hit this CTA and a trapdoor opens under them. Laugh and smile as they go plummeting down an endless tunnel that will eventually land them in the seventh circle of hell.

Or another meeting.

Encore post: Ass scratching' nomad

Before I tell you how "ass scratchin' nomad" became my new favorite saying, let's talk about the picture.

If you're a regular reader—and if you are you should get out more often—you know each post usually has a large, relevant photo centered at the top.

But I felt, and I believe you will too, that no one needed to see this particular picture any larger than it is.

Just so you know, the photo isn't of the person I'll be talking about. Butt the action is (see what I did there?).

Because our agency has grown so fast, there are now more people than there is space for them all (still waiting for them to ask me for recommendations about who to tie the can to-don't get me started). Anyway, an individual at my agency, who doesn't have an actual desk or workspace to call his own, wanders around from desk to desk and person to person doing whatever the fuck it is he does there.

So get this: apparently while he was discussing business with someone at the agency, he was leaning on the end of their desk, with his elbows in front of him, and his low-riding blue-jeaned derriere sticking out in the aisle between desks.

And while that may have been a comfortable position for him to discuss business, it wasn't exactly the best view for the individual sitting at the desk directly behind him.

Little did they know the view was about to get a lot worse.

Apparently Mr. No Office had an itch to scratch. So, being cultured and part of polite society, he quickly excused himself, went to find some privacy in the men's room, and discreetly attended to the need.

I'm just messin' with you. He crammed his hand down his pants, under the waistband, and scratched his sweaty, unwashed ass for longer than anyone wanted to watch.

It's the kind of slick move legends are made of. It's also the kind of story that spreads like wildfire through an agency.

I share an office just down the way from where the ass-scratching incident occurred. With me in our one-window, no-view office are three roommates. One of them happens to be an extremely funny writer. Wait, I meant another extremely funny writer.

When the story of the ass scratching eventually made its way to our office, my fellow writer was mortified. She couldn't believe someone would do that kind of thing out in the open for everyone to see. I don't remember her exact words, but it was something to the effect of, "As if the job isn't hard enough, now I have to worry about seeing some ass-scratchin' nomad when I'm walking in the office."

BAM! My new favorite phrase was born.

If you know anything about me, you know I'll often take a phrase or joke I like, hang on to it like a rodeo rider and run it into the ground until people know I'm going to say it before I do. If you think I'm kidding, go back through my posts and see if you can count how many times you see the words "high school girlfriend."

True to form, every day since I heard it, I've been trying to work "ass scratchin' nomad" into my office conversation at least once a day.

So thank you to my writer roommate for a line I'm having immense fun with, and that cracks me up every time I think about it.

When we were discussing the event, someone said the moral of the story is if you're going to scratch an itch like that, maybe you ought to find a more discreet place to do it. But I think that's all wrong.

The moral of the story is don't shake hands with him.

Cold truth

There are a lot of things I’ve forgotten as I’ve gotten older, not to mention a few I’d like to forget.

Like that spontaneous date I went on with a very attractive temp receptionist I met at an agency I was working at that shall go unnamed. Wells Rich Greene.

Because I thought it’d be an impressive thing to do, we drove the ninety-five miles from L.A. to Santa Barbara for dinner and back. Had I put a little more thought into it, I would've realized just how long a drive that is after a hard day's work, not to mention a whole lot of conversation to fill with someone you don’t know. And the Chart House in Malibu would've worked just as well and had me home a lot earlier.

Live and learn.

I might be getting off topic here. We were on things I’ve forgotten.

One of them is how to be sick.

Last week, for the first time in over two years, I got sick. Really sick. It wasn’t covid, although at first I wasn’t sure. My symptoms — runny nose, sneezing, coughing, aching, mild difficulty catching my breath — were right in line with the dreaded 'rona virus. But come to find out the months and months of masking, keeping my distance from people, tons of hand sanitizer and washing my hands more obsessively than Howard Hughes paid off. After home testing every day for the last five days, I had what I like to call a case of novid.

It wasn’t that nasty flu going around either. Although some symptoms were similar, the telltale flu fever never arrived. It was some killer cold/respiratory/bronchial thing that saw me and decided since my immune system hadn’t had a real workout in a couple years I was an easy target.

Anyway, not being able to focus on much more than breathing and trying to score two-point shots lobbing used Kleenex from my bed to the trash can, I did something I haven’t done in years: I called in sick.

Calling in sick when you’re working a 100% remote is a different experience. In the before days when I had to commute to an office, calling in sick meant sweet relief from having to get ready, fight traffic and slog through the day.

Now it meant I didn’t have to walk from my bed to my desk.

Speaking of getting older, here’s another thing I noticed: I don’t bounce back as quick as I used to. Colds, even bad ones, were always a 24 or 48 hour ordeal tops. As I’m writing this, I’m on my seventh day of it, although it does seem to be easing up.

In between watching The Social Network twice a day on HBO and the third season of Dead To Me and Neal Brennan's comedy special Blocks on Netflix, besides what being sick is like I remembered another thing I'd forgotten.

Business goes on without me.

And it’ll all be there when I get back.

Coming attractions

With everything going on in the world, you may not have noticed this hasn't been what anyone would call a productive year blogpost wise for me. I suppose one could speculate on the reasons for that.

You might chalk it up to pandemic malaise.

Or being too exhausted and thought out after spending my day writing for a leading cybersecurity company.

Maybe it was the sense a lot of ground I was going to cover had been covered. I mean how many posts about Springsteen, Breaking Bad and ad agency idiocy can one person read, let alone write.

It might've been that with incredibly entertaining, thoughful, hilarious, well-written blogs like Rich Siegel's Round Seventeen, and Jeff Eaker's Kingdom of Failure readily available on the interwebs, I didn't feel the need to keep throwing my URL in the ring.

But I finally figured out the reason. And it was right there in front of me the whole time.

As Will Patton said to Griffin Dunne in After Hours— "lack of discipline."

Not saying it was a total lack of discipline. Problem was it was the exact same amount I apply to my new year's resolutions to diet, exercise, get through my ever rising tower of unread books, clean the garage and, did I mention my diet?

You see where I'm going.

But like disco and eating at Five Guys, that's all behind me now.

I've gotten my second wind, and here at Rotation and Balance headquarters we're going to be ramping up the line.

Normally I don't like to tip my hand, show my cards, spill the beans or whatever the fuck that saying is. But because you may recall I've made this promise once or twice before here, I wanted to give you a little sneak preview of the topics that will be coming up in the next couple weeks for your reading and time-wasting pleasure.

There will be a fine piece on how I recently came out to my car one morning only to find out it'd been broken into and ransacked.

I'll have a little rant about LAX and all the joy that implies.

You can look forward to reading what a monumental prick Matthew Perry is (could he be any more of an asshole?).

There'll be a tribute to my friend and former boss Amy who passed away recently (#fuckcancer).

And, just in time for the holiday season, I'll have my musings on my experience giving the wife not one, but two Cameo videos from some of her favorite actors.

Those are just a few on the list, but there are many more to come.

So like shoulder pads, floral wallpaper and patchwork denim, I'm back.

Besides, if I'm writing I won't be eating. So there's hope for that diet resolution yet.

Family unties

In his most recent Ad Contrarian newsletter (which you can and should subscribe to here), the great Bob Hoffman says, “Anytime you see the word journey you know you’re in for some massive bullshit.”

The same can be said anytime your employer calls a town hall meeting—inevitably at the most inconvenient time—either in the lobby or on Zoom to tell the underpaid, overworked staff they’re more than just employees working for the man: they’re family.

While this point of view occurs at client side companies I've worked at, I've heard it from literally every agency I've ever been at. For some reason, the commeraderie and casual environment, combined with the rapid-fire wit and intelligence that pervades agency hallways and open office seating is frequently mistaken by leadership for a bond and allegiance that extends beyond the paycheck.

Clearly family means different things to leadership than it does to say Merriam Webster, who defines it as a group of people who live together, or one that is similar to another related by blood, marriage, law, custom or members of one’s intimate social group.

Some greeting card companies and inspirational posters (with and without kittens) define family as people in your life who want you in theirs. The ones who accept you for who you are. Love you no matter what, and would do anything to see you smile.

When was the last time an agency gave a rat’s ass about you smiling?

The truth is when agencies and companies talk about family, it’s more along the lines of the Sopranos. As long as you’re making them money, you’re part of the family. But the minute you’re not, or decide to leave, you're dead to them.

I worked for a company for two years. A lot of that time was spent writing about their core values, with emphasis on how they cared for their employees and considered them *checks notes* family. When I gave notice, I wanted to meet with the VP of Marketing to thank him for everything. Two meetings were scheduled, two meetings were cancelled. I wrote him a nice, personal email afterwards. Never heard back.

From the minute he heard I was going, as far as he was concerned I was gone. And it was a really nice email. Oh well.

When I worked at an agency that shall go nameless—as all agencies within walking distance of the beach, Sancho's Tacos and Pacific City should—they unexpectedly and unceremoniously let a group creative director go who, unlike the executive creative director that tied the can to him, was extremely popular and well liked. True to form, it happened Sopranos style: he went out to lunch and never came back. The next day, the executive creative director sent out a bullshit email condescendingly explaining how these things happen, and we're all still family and we'll get past this sad day together.

He didn't even work up a sweat shoveling that hard.

All this is to give you an important safety tip—don't cross the streams. Work is work, and family is family.

It's easy to tell the difference. Real family doesn't need a town hall to tell you who they are.

Muh muh muh my Flurona

It’s amazing to me how much our collective vocabulary has expanded in the last couple of infectious years. Suddenly we’re tossing around words like “viral load” and “antigen” and “herd immunity.”

And, as Rich Siegel would be the first to tell you, while all of those would make awesome band names, we probably could’ve done without them and just gone on with our average eighth-grade vocabularies the rest of our lives.

But, as I wrote about here, in the not so illustrious advertising tradition of combining two words to make an astonishingly bad third one nobody would ever use even if they had a gun to their head, it seems medical science has jumped on the bandwagon.

We now have a name for the virus you have when you have the bad luck to come down with the seasonal flu and covid-19 at the same time: Flurona.

Two mints in one.

I suppose it’s a catchy (no pun intended) way of identifying what’s ailing ya. It’s also a way to broadcast your monumental bad luck to the world.

And while the odds of contracting both respiratory illnesses simultaneously are small, the risk of hospitalization is considerably greater. Fortunately, you can now get a flurona vaccine, which is exactly what it sounds like. Two vaccines in one shot.

So if you haven’t had your flu shot, and you’re due for a covid booster, just sidle up to the CVS pharmacist/bartender and order yourself a Flurona straight up.

Be careful not to ask for a Shingmonia, Hepatolio or Measbies. Those shots aren’t ready yet.

Agency side. Client side.

If you’ve followed this blog any amount of time, first let me say thank you and I understand your disappointment.

For those that have in fact been following, you may already be aware I've gone client side and am no longer on the agency side of the table. In case you're not familiar with my job-hopping journey (pausing to laugh for using the word journey), here's a quick little recap.

Near the end of 2019, I left—and by left I mean was laid off in a 12-person sweep—from my cushy, high-paid, high-powered, impressively titled, glamorous job introducing a new luxury car brand to a grateful nation from the tony beachside offices of a Korean owned advertising agency that shall go unnamed.

Innocean.

You might also know that afterwards, I enjoyed six bliss-filled, worry-free months of freelance, matinees, lunches with friends, bingeing Breaking Bad (again), cutting down the stack of books on my bedside table (not reading them, just cutting them down), playing with my dogs and spending daylight hours with the family.

But while I was living the good life and cashing the freelance checks, come to find out this nasty little virus was making its deadly way around the globe. And suddenly every headline in the trades was screaming about layoffs and furloughs, cutting freelance budgets and dwindling product inventory as infection rates were rising.

It was at that point I decided maybe the smart play would be to park myself somewhere for a while until this covid thing blew over. You know, one day just disappeared like a miracle. Fuck Trump.

Anyway I knew I wasn’t ready to go back to an agency. And even if I had been, they weren’t hiring.

Coincidentally about this time, a friend of a friend I used to work with who had gone to a tech company mostly known for their printers, scanners, projectors and sports personality spokesperson, told me they were looking for a writer. Long story short—if that’s even possible at this point—I went, I interviewed, I charmed, I brought the funny and I got the gig. I’m assuming my friend got the referral fee.

Normally this is where I'd make the joke (again) about not naming the company, then I'd name the company. Comedy gold. But when I signed on with this tech company, in the slew of onboarding paperwork there was something about mentioning them in social media or a blog, and what else I'd have to say if I dropped their name. I really should read these things more thoroughly. And while I usually like to gamble, my Jedi instincts are telling me not to do it today. But I've given you enough to go on—you can figure it out.

Alright, against my better judgement here's one more clue: their first product was the EP-101, and every product after was considered the son of the EP-101. What do you need, a roadmap?

Anyway, here's what I've learned since being on the client side: she’s a whole other country. It’s like the United States and England. You know you’re both speaking the same language, yet there are still different ways of saying the same thing that are unique to the territory.

Agency: “I know it’s 10am but we need it by noon.”
Client side: “We’re already past the deadline. I can only give you 5 more days.”

Agency: “I’m going shopping after lunch. I’ll be back later.”
Client side: “Lunch is from noon to 1PM. If you’re taking a late lunch please let your manager know.”

Agency: “This is pretty edgy. Let’s see what happens.”
Client side: “Can you make it duller? (not the stupidest thing ever said to me, but still deserving of a post all its own—coming soon)

Agency: “Where did you get those ripped jeans – they’re rad!”
Client side: “We’re pleased to announce jean Fridays!” Please see the employee manual for specifics.

Agency: The creative director will never go for that.
Client side: "Tell creative we're changing it to read like this."

There are things I miss about being in an agency creative department. The flexible hours, the money, dressing like a 17-year old, the money, being with sharp, funny, talented, creative people all day every day, the money, and the sense of all of us being in the foxhole together and working as a single entity—not unlike the borg in Star Trek. And of course, the money.

But client side at my company—look at me talking like a team player—does have its advantages. For one thing, my job isn't at the mercy of a creative director who had a client meeting go south. Or a client's spouse who thinks their nephew could do it better. It also helps that we're a financially solid global technology company that's done very well even in the time of covid. In fact, we were designated an essential company because many of our products are designed for home office use, and made the transition to working at that new Ikea desk under your bedroom window easier.

So the bottom line is I'm glad I made the change. And while I have the occasional feeling of buyer's remorse and the grass is always greener, I see myself here for a long time, doing some pretty nice work with our cool spokesperson and a group of genuinely nice people.

Right up until the next time someone tells me to make it duller.

The five stages of advertising

I think it's safe to assume my ad agency creative broheim—and woheim—will immediately recognize these five stages of emotion. While your first thought might understandably be that they're the five stages of grief, they're actually the five stages we all go through while we're pushing the boulder uphill, attempting to get great work out the door.

Truth be told, there's a fine line between advertising and grief. Nah, I'm just messin' with ya. There is no line. It’s basically the same emotional rollercoaster as mourning a loss. While there might be slight variations on the themes from agency to agency, the experience always has a familiar ring to it.

DENIAL.

This happens right at the beginning: the kickoff meeting. They hand out the brief, and after a quick look see the head shaking starts. You're inside voice starts muttering things like “They can’t really want all this in the ad.” “It’s five pounds of shit in a two pound banner.” “This isn’t the real brief, no one would be that stupid.”

Which of course takes us seamlessly into the next stage.

ANGER.

I think Elvis put it best when he said, “Lord a’mighty, I feel my temperature risin’…” Anger kicks in at the precise moment you realize the client wants the ad packed with exactly everything they just told you they wanted in the kick off. And the account people promised it to them before they spoke to you.

If they'd had bagels at the kickoff maybe you'd have been more forgiving. But they had to cut back on the bagel budget because Cannes will be here before you know it. They'll be entering all that work you're shaking your head about. If I were you I wouldn't waste any time working on the acceptance speech.

I may have gotten off topic here.

Anyway, as all this goes running through your inner conversation, you can't help but default to a tactic that has about as much chance of working as a Republican healthcare plan.

BARGAINING.

This happens in the account exec or supe’s office, you know, the “they can’t be serious about this” meeting where you explain there’s no way what they’re asking for will work.

It's a tale as old as time. Once you walk out of that encounter, there's only one thing you'll be feeling.

DEPRESSION.

The account person already promised it to the client, and why don’t you just take a shot at it and see what you can do. And if you’re wondering what it is they’re putting on your shoulders right now, it’s the “Besides, the client isn’t happy with us and it’ll make the agency look bad if we don’t deliver.” weights.

And by agency they mean them.

ACCEPTANCE.

You’re not getting out of it, so you take the shot. Maybe they’ll realize what they’re asking for is awful once they see it. Not likely, but keeping hope alive is all you've got right now. So off you and your partner go, deep sighs and muttering lines like, “Oh well, they’re getting the advertising they deserve.” and my personal favorite, “The checks clear.”

Of course, when this happens enough times and you come to the realization it ain't ever going to change, there's always a sixth stage to keep in mind once you've tried everything else.

HEADHUNTER.

Encore post: Curing cancer

This post originally appeared about eight years ago. Amazing isn't it? Not the post—the fact I've been cranking this stuff out over eight years.

The reason for the repost at this particular point in the juncture, I'm sorry to say, is the situation has gotten much, much worse. Seriousness at advertising agencies has reached—and forgive the term—pandemic proportions. It's spreading faster than ever.

What's driving it? Decisions and work that's data driven. Nonstop metric measuring (my metric's bigger than yours). Low supply and high demand for just about everything. Fear, fear and more fear. Of keeping jobs and accounts. Losing jobs and accounts. Flying under the radar. Standing out in the meeting. Budgets being cut. Fear at agencies in a post covid world is running more rampant than ever before.

All of this has led to more meetings and pep talks with charts showing how serious the situation is.

I prefer to take the opposing position: if we can't have fun and enjoy a business where we get to dress like fifteen-year olds, make shit up all day, eat free pizza, bagels and meeting leftovers more often than any healthy human should, then what hope is there?

Have a read and see if you don't agree.

And by all means, take this post very, very seriously. As I know you will.

Every once in awhile, I'm reminded in no uncertain terms that we do very important work in advertising. Very important. It’s obvious isn’t it? If the work wasn’t life or death - which it apparently is – then why would some people in the business treat it that way? People in advertising wouldn’t lie.

Nah, I’m just funnin’ ya. It isn’t. And they would.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: people take themselves too damn seriously in a business that’s supposed to be fun. Not fun in the ha-ha sense, but fun in the working hard, producing something we can be proud of creatively and that moves sales for the client sense.

There’s also award show and media girl fun, but that’s for another post.

Just today, a friend of mine asked what happened to, “Here’s a great idea, we love it, here’s a shitload of money now go produce it.” Good question.

The answer of course is fear. Fear is what happened to it. Fear of making a decision, and fear of taking responsibility for that decision. Fear of losing your job over that decision. Fear of telling a creative team to just go produce an idea without a room of 12 strangers who know nothing about it to back them up.

I’ve never been one to be accused of overthinking the work, and that may explain two things: first is my unfrightened attitude. For some reason, when you don’t take things as seriously as other people do it really bothers them. They feel like you’re not a “team player” (by the way, whole other post about that phrase coming soon - oops, may have tipped my hand).

And second, it’s the reason I prefer freelance. Going on staff means one thing and one thing only (hint: contrary to popular belief it's not job security). It means you have to take it seriously.

Don't misunderstand, I know full well there are serious aspects to what we do. Millions of dollars are spent, and clients, understandably, expect to results from it. Careers and reputations are often made and broken on one decision. But those things are the price of entry of being in the business, and everyone at the door waiting to come in knows it.

The thing is, after everything you've given and sacrificed and struggled through to get in, there's still a constant demand for a blood oath to show how serious you are about it.

For example, I’m not sure when it happened, but somewhere along the way the powers that be decided if creative people were really going to be serious about it, they should be on call 24 hrs. a day, like doctors (who actually are curing cancer and making a real difference). And they should be on call with their personal cell phones without reimbursement.

That seems fair.

There are agency cultures that live and breathe by the if-you're-not-here-on-Saturday-don't-bother-coming-in-Sunday credo. I've worked for them, we all have. But like my pal Rich Siegel at Round Seventeen so aptly put it, I didn't drink the Kool-Aid. No need to linger after school if I have nothing to do just to make sure I'm seen after hours.

If I'm not there, start without me.

Here's what I know for sure. We're creating a disposable product no one outside of the client is asking for. Occasionally it does some good. Once in a while it's extremely creative. And when it moves product, whatever that product is, it's a great thing for all involved. Don't get me wrong: just because our product is disposable doesn't mean there aren't great commercials deservedly burned into the public conscious for the right reasons. For example, Apple's "1984" spot.

But for every "1984" there are a thousand "Mucinex in. Mucus out." spots.

Which is hard to believe, given all the seriousness that went into them.

Encore post: My head hurts

A little over six years ago, I put up this post about overthinking. And I'm happy to say in that time, what with the thousands hundreds dozens nine industry power players who've read it, absolutley nothing has changed.

Even though the advertising world looks drastically different today what with working from home, hybrid home/office situations, the great resignation, Zoomers and reimbursed wi-fi, it's comforting to know one thing that will never change is the uncanny ability for (certain) agency people to make mountains out of molehills.

Whatever you do, don't overthink this little updated intro too much. It's clear I didn't.

Please to enjoy.

Ad agencies are overflowing with lots of things. Creative ideas. People with opinions. Knit caps. Tattoos. Bad coffee. One thing there's also no shortage of is The Overthinkers - people who overthink every little thing. Every single thing. Over. And over. And over.

Don't get me wrong: I'm all for the well thought out question. A dash of examination. A pinch of should we or shouldn't we. But I’ve often wondered what it is The Overthinkers actually bring to the table. Sure, they manage to turn every item on the brief (all fifteen pages of it) into an event in the Second Guessing Olympics, with all of them going for the gold. But beyond that, what does it all add up to?

Every time The Overthinkers reconsider a point they reconsidered a minute ago, the work has to change, because “this time they’ve got it.”

Until the next time.

It’s the reason work is constantly being revised, rewritten, revamped and regurgitated all way up to the last minute. It’s why meetings and more meetings are held to reveal the latest insight and observations.

Until the next ones.

And it’s the cause of enormous amounts of time and confusion being unnecessarily added into the process.

Planners, brand strategists, VP's of Cultural Trend Metrics - or whatever they hell they're calling themselves this week - have managed to turn what should be a single-focused insight into a Three-Card Monty game of strategy. If you can guess which card it’s under, you win the strategy to work against.

Spoiler alert: you never win.

The Overthinkers have to keep changing the rules, because if they don’t they’re out of a job. It's like the paid consultant who has to create a problem so he can solve it, and then create another one to keep the checks rolling in.

In the name of simplicity, efficiency and a better product, it might be a good thing for The Overthinkers to take one for the team and move on.

Then creatives could execute against a simple strategy, in a short, concise brief we’d only have to meet about once.

Of course, The Overthinkers might wonder why they ever left such a cush position. The good news is they’d have plenty of time to overthink about it.

Gone phishing

How gullible are you? Here’s how you find out: take the last four numbers of your Social Security card, add them to the year you were born and that’s the percentage of how gullible you are.

Want to know the rapper name for someone as gullible as you? Take your first dog’s name and the last thing you ate and you’ll have it.

If you think those fun and funny questions that keep popping up in memes on right-wing propaganda highways like Facebook are nothing more than a humorous diversion, then the laugh’s on you.

They’re actually sophisticated, well-designed, algorithmically enhanced, individually targeted ways to fool you into ponying up passwords, security question answers, user names and other personal information that in any other circumstance you’d never reveal to anyone.

The term is phishing. And while phishing originally applied to emails that tried to get you to reveal your personal information to people like that Nigerian prince who needed your bank account to deposit the lottery winnings/inheritance he had waiting for you, the term now applies to any online scheme to rube you out of your personal info.

Full disclosure—I’ve answered a few of these my own self, but only after careful consideration as to the possibility of discerning any of my info from my answers. Of course, I won't know if I got it right until it's too late.

The other part of it is advertising. You and your eyes are the only product Facebook has to sell to advertisers. By posing seemingly harmless, mildly entertaining questions and getting you to answer them, Facebook algorithms easily divvy up a dossier of your likes and dislikes, political views, salary, occupation and more into demographic buckets to justify their ad rates to agencies and advertisers.

Not to burst anyone’s fun bubble, but I’m old enough to remember when privacy was a thing. It still is with me. And if you want to protect yourself from fraud, identity theft, a barrage of advertisements and unscrupulous social network creators, it should still be a thing with you too.

My recommendation is find your fun elsewhere, in ways that won’t separate you from your money without you knowing.

And if anyone asks why you won’t answer these fun questions, tell them rapper Ace Shrimp Burrito told you not to.

Hipster

Let’s start with the title. There were a lot of ways I could have gone with it:

Shoot From The Hip.

Hip Hip Hooray.

Joined At The Hip.

Hip Hop.

Hip-A-Long Cassidy.

Keep Hip Alive.

But I didn’t choose any of those. Instead I went with Hipster, because it conjured up an image of Rich in a knit cap, wearing ripped jeans and an olive drab t-shirt with a vaguely smug, ironic saying on it.

I know how much he’d like that.

Rich by the way is my good friend Rich Siegel, proprietor and author of the RoundSeventeen blog, former captain of the USA pole vaulting team and bronze winner in the ’96 Olympics in Barcelona.

After years of breakdancing and spinning, poppin’ and lockin’, and his part time gig as an Elvis impersonator at the Graceland chapel in Vegas, his hip had enough Jailhouse Rockin'.

So this past Monday he walked with a limp into the hospital bright and early and had hip replacement surgery, which he so eloquently wrote about about here.

I spoke with him by text yesterday, and he was doing fine. A lot of napping. As those of us in the tribe say, “Why is this day different than other days?”

Anyway, I along with his other friends and quite possibly some members of his own family he doesn’t owe money to are glad he came through it swimmingly. I imagine he’ll be back on his feet setting off airport metal detectors, working on his Lee Majors impression (look it up), auditioning for Dancing With The Stars and doing a #glitchchallenge (@_aubreyfisher) on the IG in no time.

Get well soon Rich. Oh, and by the way, fuck Trump.