Flush with embarrassment

Years ago, I went to New York. I don’t remember the reason for the visit, but since when does anybody need a reason to go to New York?

What I do remember is getting to the city around 6:30 a.m. and going to the apartment of my friend Susan, who was from New York but who I’d worked with in L.A.

I think it's safe to say she wasn't amused when, unannounced, I was knocking at the door of her one-and-a-half room apartment, suitcase in hand, at sunrise because my hotel room wasn’t ready.

But in spite of the fact I’d inadvertently gotten to see her without her makeup on, something she was extremely unhappy about, she let me stay a few hours until my room was ready.

The room I was waiting for was at the now long gone Biltmore Hotel on 43rd and Madison. Not only was it one of NY’s architectural landmarks since it opened on New Year’s day in 1913, it also happened to be smack in the center of the NY advertising scene (the show Mad Men gets its name from Madison Avenue), and I’d just started my first job at an agency.

I was still in awe and wonder of the magic, creativity, nice people and fun of it all.

You know, just like I am now.

Anyway, I checked in and went up to my room. What dawned on me as I was in the elevator was that I hadn’t gone to the bathroom since I’d gotten off the plane at Kennedy. So when I got to the room, I dropped my suitcase on the floor, ran to the bathroom, closed the door and then proceeded to pee like a racehorse.

Now, at this point, you might be asking yourself why I bothered to close the bathroom door when I was the only one in the room. Good question, and it’s the one I’d be asking myself in a minute.

When I was done, I washed my hands, grabbed the crystal doorknob not unlike the one you see here, turned it and pulled the door open.

Except the door didn’t open. The doorknob, stem and all, came out of the door.

For a minute I thought it was funny, and the sound of my laughter was echoing off the tile walls. That went on for awhile until I realized I needed to get out of there.

I tried several times to put the doorknob back in, but it wouldn't catch. Did I mention this was July? It was hot and disgusting outside, and getting pretty warm inside.

Since I was on a higher floor, I couldn't yell out the window for help. So I wound up doing the only thing I could do. Banging the doorknob I was holding against the door, and screaming for help like a little girl.

It was not my finest moment.

After what felt like about fifteen minutes, I'd worked up a good sweat because of the heat and humidity. At least I had water and towels to wash off.

Finally hotel security came to the door and set me free. Then they called maintenance to come fix the doorknob.

I thanked him, turned on the air conditioning as high as it would go, then flopped on the bed and slept for three hours.

When I talked to my friend Susan later in the day and told her what had happened, she reacted exactly like any New Yorker would in July.

She said, "You have air conditioning?"

Cheap laughs

If you know anything about me - and with over 655 posts I'd think you would by now - you know I'm an easy audience. I want to be entertained. I come to the show ready to laugh, willing to suspend disbelief.

I work in ad agencies. I suspend disbelief every day.

Like a great ad, humor should be simple, uncluttered. You should get it instantly. A joke doesn't have to be complex to be appreciated. And it shouldn't have to be explained. That goes for one-liners as well as stories.

Here's an example: what do you call a bear with no teeth? A gummy bear. Funny isn't the point, especially with that joke. The point is you got it immediately.

Let's try a story.

Saul and Maury are walking past a church when they see a sign in the window that reads "Become a Christian. 20 minutes. Will pay $10." Saul says to Maury, "I'm gonna do it. You wanna come with me?" Maury says, "No, I'll wait for you here." So Saul goes in the church, and Maury hangs around waiting for him. 20 minutes later, Saul comes out. Maury runs up to him and says, "So? Did you get your $10?" And Saul says, "Is that all you people think about?"

That joke right there is the reason I want to audition for the road company of this.

For me, there's nothing as entertaining as watching someone who really knows how to tell/sell a joke. It's what keeps Comedy Central in business. It's the reason comedy clubs with names like Giggles, Guffaws and Mr. Chuckles dot the landscape. It's why a lot of first dates become second dates.

It's also a personal barometer. With the endless meeting after meeting I have to be in every day at work, the way I judge whether they've been a successful (is there such a thing as a successful meeting?) is if I've been able to get the biggest laugh during the course of it. I know what you're thinking. But it's not so much an attention-getting maneuver as a survival tactic. While I'm thinking of something funny to say, it means I'm not listening to whatever they're droning on about. And there'll be another meeting in an hour to review what was said in this one, so I'm not missing anything.

Anyway, look at the time. You guys have been a great crowd, so I'm gonna to leave you with one more.

Murray and Sarah are going to the zoo. They're walking around looking at the animals, and they come to the monkey cage. A monkey comes up to them, and he's making all kinds of faces and gestures. Sarah says, "He's cute. Give him a peanut." Murray says, "No, they're expensive." Sarah says, "Give him a peanut!" So Murray reaches in the bag and tosses him a peanut. The monkey looks at it, sticks it up his ass, takes it out, then eats it. Sarah says, "I have never seen anything like that! What is wrong with this monkey? Give him another peanut, he's not gonna do that again." So Murray throws another peanut in and the monkey does the exact same thing. Sarah says, "You know, there's something wrong with this monkey. I'm gonna go to the zookeeper." So she goes to the zookeeper and tells him all about it. He listens, then he says to her, "Listen ma'am, it's really not a problem. About two weeks ago, that monkey accidentally swallowed a peach pit. Ever since then, he checks everything for size."

Goodnight everybody! Tip your waitress.

P.S. Actually wanted to end this post on a raunchier joke, but the wife reminded me this is a family blog. When you see me, ask me to tell it to you.

Stair masters

The agency I’m working at right now is in Huntington Beach, right next to the water (or as I like to call it, tsunami adjacent). It’s an awesome location, an even better view and a dream commute.

Because it’s where it is, the office is in a three-story, low-profile building. No doubt it’s not any taller or wider because it had to be approved by the brain trust that is the California Costal Commission.

Anyway, because it’s not some tall, mirrored high-rise office building in Irvine (is there any other kind there?), many people, myself included, use the stairs instead of the elevator to get from floor to floor. It’s faster, it provides a little bit of exercise during the day, and it’s also a few moments of quiet and privacy if there isn’t a lot of up and down traffic.

Also, people don’t point and laugh at you like they would if you took the elevator.

I know what you’re saying to yourself – “Jeff, you’re such a perfect physical specimen, why would you need any exercise, regardless of how little the amount?” While those are kind words you say, the fact that I need an oxygen tank by the time I get to the top of the stairs tells another story.

The last time I went to the gym with any regularity was when my son was born eighteen years ago. It’s fair to say I may have let myself go just a bit in that time. Although I still get mistaken a lot for that guy who plays Thor. From the toes out you can’t tell us apart.

So trotting up the stairs (down is considerably easier) about a hundred times a day for meetings on different floors is a good workout and an incentive to work out even more.

It is some consolation a few of the people I work with, who’ve been here and have been taking the stairs much longer than I have are also winded at the end of their climb.

But like my art director partner Imke says, she takes the stairs because she can. There’ll eventually come a day when she won’t be able to.

And really, that should be incentive enough.

My head hurts

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.

Mourning the commute

For many years, I had a strange coincidence regarding my morning commute. It seemed no matter what agency I worked at, whether it was in Brea, Irvine or Playa Del Rey, my commute was exactly 26 miles each way.

But they were morning rush hour freeway miles, which as anyone who's done it knows are like dog years except the conversion rate is much higher.

All this to say I'm extremely grateful for the commute I have these days to the agency I'm working at in Huntington Beach. The gig won't last forever, but I'm nothing if not blessed with the route I take. For starters, I don't have to get near a freeway to get there. I just cruise down PCH from my house to work, a breezy 25 minute ride if there's traffic.

The picture above is essentially the view I have to endure on my drive home.

Living in Long Beach, and working in either L.A. or Orange County, I was pretty much held hostage to the 405. The best I could ever hope for is that there'd be a few stretches along the way where I could get up to 35mph for a few miles.

I don't miss it at all. But I also feel like I'm standing on the tracks, and the train's coming. At some point, hopefully not anytime soon, it's inevitable I'll be one of the cars stuck in this picture of the 405 commute.

I'll also say this - it's nice to come into work relaxed and clear-headed, without excessive amounts of adrenaline running through my body from screaming at other drivers and letting them know I think they're number 1 (if you get my continental drift).

Well, that's not entirely true. I never screamed.

Phrase set on stun

Advertising is a business lousy with buzzwords. And not just ones we create for public consumption.

Within these walls, and I mean figuratively because as any creative who’s worked in an agency in the last fifteen years knows they don’t have walls anymore, there are all kinds of words and phrases it seems people can’t get enough of.

I’m talking about campaign integration. Laddering up. Digital growth. Emerging strategic social media. Content analysis. Monetization solutions. Everyone's picking the low hanging fruit, and pushing the envelope. And don’t even get me started on millenials, brand engagement or interactive experiential guru (not kidding).

You’d hope agencies would be staffed with people fueled by passion and creativity who want to do the best possible work that wins awards, gets results, makes clients happy and lets them get more clients that let them do more great creative. And in some shops, you’ll find a lot of those people - especially if you’re looking in the creative department.

Problem is there aren’t enough of them. Instead, running around in agencies are people fueled by fear. Of losing the client, their job or their corner office - which they’ve probably already lost thanks to open floorplans.

Anyway, bitching and moaning about it isn’t going to change it. These buzzwords are like cockroaches: for every one you manage to kill, there’ll be a hundred more to replace it.

But next time I hear one of those words or phrases in one of the many meetings I’m in, I just may have to counter it with a word I find myself using more and more often.

Bullshit.

Tsunami adjacent

One trick to making the day a little better when you’re working at an agency is to work at one that follows the tried and true first rule of real estate: location, location, location.

I’ve worked at agencies located in industrial parks, in the corner of run down shopping malls and alongside an airport runway. As I’m sure you know by now, I’m not particularly picky as long as – say it with me - the checks clear. But it is infinitely more pleasant to be someplace with a spectacular view to distract me from having to come up with the next earth shakin’, product movin’, sales increasin’, consumer viewin’, client pleasin’, award winnin’ banner ad.

Which is why I quite like where I happen to be working right now.

It’s an agency in Huntington Beach. I don’t have to get on a freeway to get here – I just fly down PCH from my house for about twenty minutes, and enjoy the view of the naval ships refueling, and rearming, at the Seal Beach Naval Weapons station. I try to count the bumper-to-bumper cargo ships backed up in the ocean because of last week’s dockworkers strike at the port. And then, a little further down the road, I watch the surfers and wish I were one of them. I don’t surf, and I’d probably get smacked in the head with my own board, drown and die, but you know what I mean.

This agency is spread out over four buildings, and the picture above is the view from the one in front. The one with the café. And the happy hour on Thursdays. And free breakfasts on Fridays. I file it under things could be worse.

Of course, being me, while I sometimes appreciate the full impact of gazing out at the ocean in the middle of the workday, another thought does cross my mind no matter how hard I try to keep it out.

It looks like this:

Now, this isn't the first time I've posted about tsunamis. About three and half years ago I put up this post. But when I wrote that post, I was just passing through. Now, I spend at least eight hours a day tsunami adjacent, not counting my leisurely lunches I love so much.

I don't think it matters if I see it coming or not, because either way, once it hits, I'm going to be one big, fat, soggy piece of humanity floating down Main St. past Sushi On Fire and the Pizza Lounge.

I just light up a room don't I?

Anyway, I'll enjoy the view for now and try not to worry too much about tsunamis.

On the bright side, it's Huntington Beach. I can always get a pair of board shorts in a hurry if I need them.

Blame him

You want to know whose fault it is that I'm in advertising? It's his.

A long time ago, in a lifetime far, far away, I saw a job post on the UCLA job board for a position in the mailroom at an ad agency in Century City. I'd never given much thought to advertising, but I did give a little thought to paying my bills and my rent. So I interviewed for the position, turned on the charm and humor we all know and love and got the gig.

Come to find out the agency was Wells, Rich, Greene. And the creative director who arrived from New York shortly after I got there was Howie Cohen.

By the time Howie got there, I'm not sure which of my jobs I was on at the agency. I'd started in the mailroom, where I got to make my rounds, and talk with everyone every day. A social butterfly even back then.

Then I got promoted to running the stat camera (look it up) in the studio. Except it wasn't in the studio. It was in a small, badly ventilated room next to the studio. Since the camera used a lot of fragrant chemicals to develop the film, I'd have to hold my breath a lot, then run out of the room after I'd taken a shot of whatever camera ready art I was working with.

From there, I was bumped up to traffic person - excuse me, project manager. If you look in the Guiness Book of World Records, you'll see that I was the worst traffic person that's ever held the job. True fact.

Anyway, my grand plan, since I was a theater arts major, was to become an agency producer. I figured if I did that, I'd make all these contacts. I could get an agent and start my illustrious film career.

But a funny thing happened on the way to my three-picture deal.

One day, there were no creative people at the agency. A team was down in Rio on a shoot for Brittania Jeans. Another team was out sick. Yet a third team was at a client meeting. This all happened to be on a day when a Bran Chex print ad had to be written and presented. The account guy, a short man who looked like he was wearing those plastic glasses with the fake nose - except they were both his - was running around the agency trying to scrounge up someone to write the ad.

He called Howie, who wasn't in that day, and asked who he should get to write the ad. And Howie said "Give it to Jeff."

So I wrote it. While it didn't win any awards, I'm pretty sure it's still the best written ad for a high-fiber cereal Reader's Digest has ever run.

Shortly after that, Howie promoted me to junior copywriter. Honestly, it was thrilling. I was excited to be working with the team, Howie and his partner Bob Pasqualina, who had created the legendary "I can't believe I ate the whole thing" Alka-Seltzer commercial.

As you might imagine, earning his bona fides working in New York advertising during that time, Howie has many, many stories that only someone who lived it can tell. And nobody tells a better story than Howie. If you want to read some good ones, definitely have a peek at his blog MadMensch.com.

I'm happy to say Howie is still working his magic in the world of advertising. I'm still working mine as well, although so far nothing I've done has made it to the Advertising Hall Of Fame. Yes, I said so far. Keep hope alive.

Anyway, I don't know if I ever actually thanked Howie and told him how grateful I am for launching me into a career I didn't even know I wanted. But if I haven't, I'm doing it now.

And by the way, for all the creative directors I may work for in the future, if you don't like something I write, now you know who to talk to.

After dark

This will be very deja vu-ish (funny, you don't look vu-ish) to my fellow copywriters and art directors.

You've been working for eight weeks on an important presentation to the client. The day of the big meeting finally comes. It's a Wednesday at 4pm. There's no immediate deadline, but this was the day and time everyone was available, so this is when it was scheduled for.

As the meeting goes along, the client laughs at the right places, nods their head and you're thinking how great it's going. Then just as you're all getting ready for Miller time, as you're walking out the door, the CMO asks if they can have a word with the management supe and the creative director.

When they come out of the conference room, the smiles are gone. So are any thoughts of Miller time. The clients you thought loved everything had a little problem with it. They hated everything. And they want to see new work in the morning.

The call goes out - everyone at the agency stay at the agency. Place your dinner order and cancel your plans for the night. You're there until morning, coming up with new ideas for the clients to hopefully like as much as they led you to believe they liked the first ones.

There are so many things wrong with this picture it's hard to know where to start. But I'll start here: What does it say about a client who knows you took a couple months honing to perfection the ideas you just presented, and then asks you for entirely new ones fifteen hours later?

It says they're an asshole.

Anyone who had any idea what it takes to do what you just did would realize it doesn't happen in that short amount of time. They're poking a dog with a stick. Watching you jump through the hoop. They're laughing, and not with you.

The other thing that's wrong with the picture is the agency agreed to do it. Without an ounce of self-respect, dignity or value for their own work, they cut themselves off at the knees and affirm to the asshole client the work they do really has no worth, since you spent months working on it the first time when you could've just come up with it overnight. Like the account leaders just told them you would.

There comes a point, at work, in life, where you have to - and let me quote the bumpersticker here - just say no. When you have to make clear you respect yourself even if they don't. That great thinking takes time. And the fourteen hours from 5pm to 7am is not that time.

I'm not saying you can't come up with something, you can. But at that time of night and level of burnout and exhaustion, when creatives are cracking each other up with bad Christopher Walken impressions, scrounging around for cold pizza and sleeping face down on their keyboards, it won't be anything either of you will be proud of.

Which only lowers their opinion of the agency further. It's a vicious circle.

Still, the same people that agreed to this insane request will be the ones high-fiving each other like overgrown frat boys just for the fact they managed to churn out something that, if there were any justice, would be sitting at the bottom of a birdcage. We've all been there.

I think anyone who knows me would agree that while I'm a joy to work with and for the most part a little social butterfly, I also have a short fuse and don't suffer fools lightly. Another thing they'd tell you is I don't have a problem saying no for the right reasons when everyone above me is saying yes for the wrong ones.

No matter what time of day it is.

Oooowwwwdi

Every once in a while, a commercial comes along that restores my faith in advertising. Well, faith is a strong word. Let’s just say occasionally a spot grabs hold of me and won’t let go.

The Audi Super Bowl spot called Prom is one of them.

I love this commercial. Everything about it is perfect. The casting, the writing, the performances, the cinematography, all of it.

The fact that it’s for a car I love – yes I still miss my A6 – doesn’t hurt either.

Occasionally a director is able to catch lightning in the lens. I think he/she did it here with the shot of the prom queen opening her eyes, just after the shot of him behind the wheel with his black eye. It’s a reaction shot of her, but you feel as spellbound as she does.

So many car spots make the mistake of trying to communicate what it feels like to drive their vehicle. Where this spot succeeds brilliantly – from taking the principal’s parking spot to the beeline he makes towards the prom queen – is conveying how driving the Audi makes you feel inside. Everyone knows that feeling. Everyone wants it. What's engaging about this spot is that it’s about so much more than the car.

If you’re a regular reader of this blog, you know I don’t lavish commercials or the business with praise very often. But to me, the simplicity, the universal truth of it, the underdog winning consequences be damned, is all done so well I wanted to make sure people are aware of it.

You know, besides the billion people who saw it on the Super Bowl.

Spaced out

What's the difference between a giant asteroid, comet and meteor hitting the earth? The answer is you're dead.

This Monday, an asteroid, which, I don't have to tell you, consists of metals and rocky material, is going to pass by earth fairly close in astronomical terms. It'll come within 745,000 miles of us, and should be visible with clear skies and an expensive pair of binoculars.

Just like Linkin Park at Greensboro Coliseum.

This particular asteroid has the unfortunate name of 2004 BL86, which only tells me that whoever names these things really needs to hire an agency do a naming exploration, as well as commercials for the fly by.

One agency might create an animated asteroid character along the lines of Mr. Mucinex or the RAID bugs. They could call it something clever that tests well, like Mr. Asteroid.

Another might use a D-list celebrity in an asteroid costume, warning us of the close proximity. Kathy Griffin, keep your phone line open.

I'm sure there's also any number of westside shops ready with a bearded hipster, deadpan, obscure reference-filled, dripping with irony spot where the only thing the wardrobe person has to worry about is which t-shirt goes with which pair of faded jeans and knit cap.

For all our sake, let's hope that asteroid isn't as far off course as I'm off topic.

At any given time, as the chart to the left frighteningly shows, there are hundreds of asteroids with bad aim trying to reunite us with the dinosaurs. And these are just the ones we know about.

Scientists refer to a potentially catastrophic asteroid strike as an EEE: earth extinction event. It could take a couple forms. It might hit us so hard it'd kick up a dust and dirt cloud blocking out the sun for centuries, making the air unbreathable and killing all life on earth. Or it might just hit the earth so hard it knocks it out of its orbit, and on a path straight towards the sun (stock up on SPF 1,000,000 now).

Maybe there's a scenario where it doesn't hit us at all, but just flies by super close. If the timing's right, it'd be a great way to open next year's Tournament of Roses parade. Followed by the stealth bomber of course.

I'm personally of the belief that if one were on course to wipe us out, the government wouldn't tell us for fear of panic in the streets. And really, the panic would be misplaced because unless you're Richard Branson, you really don't have a way off the planet in time to avoid it. I know there are a lot of secrets the government keeps that it shouldn't, but I'd be fine not knowing. One minute I'm sitting in my living room watching my 12th binge of Breaking Bad, the next minute I'm dust. Lights out. The really sad thing is the house probably wouldn't look much worse than it does now.

Fascination with our own demise is nothing new. Hollywood's had a great time of it for years, making movies like Armageddon where Bruce Willis and crew save earth from the asteroid. I've seen the movie. I think being wiped out by the asteroid would be more entertaining.

If you're looking for how popular keeping an eye on asteroids has become, you don't need a telescope to see it. NASA Jet Propulsion Laboratory (JPL) whose job is to keep an eye on these things has an asteroid watch page and Twitter feed (@AsteroidWatch). There's also an Asteroid Watch app , so while you're updating your Facebook status on your smartphone you can also check how long until you take the big dirtnap.

It's like my art director partner Pete Andress used to say: we hang by a thread. None of us know when the hit is coming. So I guess the point is to stop our petty fighting, get our priorities straight, love each other, and just enjoy it all while we're here.

Right after we up the homeowner's insurance.

Under inflated balls

In the last few days we've been hearing a lot about under inflated footballs. Allegedly, the New England Patriots used them to help win their AFC Championship game against the Colts last Sunday.

Let's pause for a minute and congratulate me on the fact I actually know the names of two teams and what they were playing for. I'm as surprised as you are.

The reason under inflated balls (I'll never get tired of that phrase) make a difference is that they're easier to grip and throw.

Here's the thing: while the issue of under inflated balls is a relatively new discussion for the NFL, it's been rampant in ad agencies ever since the very first "new and improved." Many have suffered the affliction for years. Surprisingly, the condition is anatomically agnostic. It affects both men and women in the business.

The symptoms are readily apparent, although they do vary. They can run anywhere from letting the client write the copy, to telling the creative team, "I could present this but I know you can do better." Other symptoms include run-on meetings, not challenging client mandates, letting the work go down in flames without so much as a whimper, insisting the bulk of the budget be shifted to digital and reading the brief word for word.

If you find yourself in a completely ridiculous argument lasting four hours or more with someone who has never created a thing in their life, yet continues to criticize your work, they most likely have an untreated case of under inflated balls.

Try to be understanding and not judgmental. Give them the same reassuring, constructive advice their doctor would.

Grow a pair.

The lost art

So much advertising is like an American trying to talk to someone who speaks a different language. They figure if they just keep talking louder and louder, eventually you'll understand what they're saying.

What with the marketplace more competitive than ever, and advertising budgets more frugal than ever, with their "mention the product name three times in the first five seconds" and "Make that print ad logo bigger, I can hardly see it from across the street" mandates, clients are all turning into those people adrift at sea, screaming and waving as loudly as they can so the plane will see them.

It's safe - yet another thing clients like - to say that in a business that never had much subtlety to start with, what little is left is rapidly disappearing.

This isn't news to anyone in the creative department. It isn't even really news to the clients that demand the screaming ads. They're just in denial. They'll ask you where their names a subtle, funny, intelligent commercial everyone likes spot is. And when you bring it to them, they'll tell you it takes too long to get to the product. Or that they don't get it. Or that it won't test well.

Anyway, as much of a bitch session this post seems to be (is), it's also a thank you note. To creatives and clients alike who fight the good fight, and get their humor filled, intelligent, unexpected, message subtly embedded ads out the door.

They're an ongoing inspiration it can still be done. It's quality work we'd remember on its own merits. Even if the rest of the landscape wasn't so easy to forget.

Open for business

As I was just saying the other day to my good friend Rich Siegel, creator, curator and pledge drive MC for his Round Seventeen blog, Rich I said, you can never have enough posts slamming open space office seating.

I've written many times about the particular challenges to getting anything productive done in that environment, including here. Rich has also displayed a few well-written tirades about it, like this one for example. But it's not just a couple of malcontent, disgruntled and yet extremely talented and worth every penny and more of their day rate copywriters doing the complaining.

The monumental failure of open space floor plans has also been well-covered in many publications I'm proud to say I've stolen from some of the finer agency mailrooms around town. Fortune to Fast Company, the Washington Post to New York Magazine, and everything in between.

Now, it's one thing to bitch and moan when you're one of the cogs in a giant holding company wheel who's forced to work at the picnic table. It's quite another when the company who set it up that way realizes the insanity of it and warns you about it.

I noticed a help wanted ad, a section of which is shown above, that lets you know just what you're getting into should you decide to work with them. In case it's not legible on that Kaypro II screen (employee offices aren't the only place they're saving money), here's what it says:

Ability to work and write in an open office environment with a considerable amount of distractions and interruptions.

I don't know the exact definition of the phrase "mixed message", but I have an idea this is pretty damn close.

What they're saying is, "Hey, we know it's virtually impossible to get anything done in this office setup, but we don't care. Deal with it." Fair enough. I suppose we all have our own choice to make.

But if a company tells me, brags to me, they had a bad idea that's making them less productive, my job more difficult and they're sticking with it because it's cheaper to have me overcome their stupid obstacles than it is for them to change it, my choice would be a resounding, unequivocal no thank you.

Right after I hear what day rate they're offering.

Both sides now

When you work in the insurance business, you don't get to have an opinion about whether the claim form is filled out correctly - it either is or it isn't. If you're fixing cars, no one's looking for an opinion about the intricacies and meaning of the repair - it's either fixed or it's not. In the case of the Saab 900 I used to own, it was not. Whole other story.

In advertising, the lines are more blurred when it comes to the work. There's room for opinions. And, as anyone on the creative side of the business will tell you, everyone has one.

One of the unspoken agreements when you work at an agency is the expectation you're going to be a company man, an advocate of the work regardless of its merits, good or bad, subtle or crass, exploitative or not. And if you're a stakeholder in the work - a writer, art director or producer - the agreement isn't that unspoken. Of course you're going to defend your work.

Here's the thing though. If you're going to work in this business, you have to put on your big boy pants and realize that there are going to be lots of opinions about the work, and they're not all going to agree with yours.

Case in point: the recent McDonald's "Signs" commercial. I already told you what I think of it here. Over 20 years ago I worked on McDonald's, but their advertising has changed several times over the years. And the fact that I got paid to work on it a very long time ago didn't buy them a promise I'd love everything they do forever and ever.

No one sets out to do a crass, exploitative, manipulative, cynical spot on purpose. At least I hope they don't. But even if you're a stakeholder, you have to realize the world is not having their checks signed by the same people you are. There'll be different opinions.

It's the price of admission to work in this business.

So it really comes down to two choices. You can let opinions that don't agree with yours roll off your back.

Or you can gear up and spend a lot of energy fighting each and every one like they're a kitchen grease fire that needs to be put out.

Which would be a complete waste of time. Not unlike that McDonald's spot.

I'm hatin' it

There really are so few things that offend me in advertising. In fact, for the most part, I usually feel the same way about it that I do about free speech and comedy material - everything's fair game.

But even though they're sometimes hard to see, the lines are there. And McDonald's, in my opinion, has crossed one with this commercial.

I recognize the neighborhood McDonald's is just that: a member of the community, and a business that wants to support it. And to that end, I think there's nothing wrong with posting messages on their reader boards about what's going on in their town, their state or the world.

But when they make a manipulative (Carry On as the soundtrack? Subtle.), crass commercial exploiting genuine tragedy in the world, it's offensive. How many minutes away are we from the spot with the Je susis Charlie sign?

It might get a pass if it were genuinely in service of the greater good. But, let's not kid ourselves or let them kid us. They're doing it to sell their cereal-filled, heart-attack inducing, greasy little burgers.

McDonald's, with it's menu of over a hundred items and rapidly declining sales, lost it's way a long time ago.

Too bad they don't have an agency that can help them find their way back.

Goodbye Taylor

I come down hard on advertising in a lot of these posts, and for the most part advertising deserves it. But without a doubt one of the best things about being in this business is the people you get to work with.

To my great joy and surprise, I got to work with Taylor Negron early on.

I'd known who Taylor was for a long time. I had a lot of friends who were stand ups, and I spent a lot of years hanging out at the Improv on Melrose and the legendary Comedy Store on Sunset Blvd. My good friend Ned was even the MC at the store for awhile.

I'd seen Taylor perform many, many times. He was offbeat, unique and had a timing and sensibility all his own. It was his uniqueness that made him so compelling. Even though he may not have been well known in the mainstream, he was a comedian that other comedians admired.

Years ago, I wanted Taylor for a Church's Fried Chicken commercial I did, and was shocked when he came in and read for it. Which of course he didn't have to - the part was his, and I was prepared to fall on my sword with the client, the director, my creative director, the account people or anyone who said it wasn't.

Fortunately, everyone saw his remarkable talent and what he brought to the table. It was hard not to.

I'd like to say we became great pals after that, but we didn't. I did however continue to follow him, and was always excited when he came onscreen in the various movie roles he had like Fast Times At Ridgemont High and The Last Boy Scout, where he was a wicked blond-haired villain long before Javier Bardem ever thought about bleaching his hair for the Bond film.

In one of those ooo-weeee-oooo moments, I was thinking about Taylor just the other day, wondering why I hadn't seen him in anything in awhile. I didn't know he was fighting cancer, apparently for some time. And I'm heartbroken he lost the fight.

Anyway, thank you Taylor for your talent, for making me laugh, and for making my work far better than it would've been without you. I feel blessed to have been one of the lucky ones.

Rest in peace.

State of the reunion

For as much of a social butterfly I like to think I am - and don't get me wrong, I can light up a room - I've somehow managed never to go to any of the reunions at the many agencies I've worked at. Sometimes it was intentional, other times circumstantial. The circumstances were I didn't want to go.

Anyway, a couple Saturdays ago, at the last minute, I noticed an invitation had been sent to me. So for once, I decided to get over myself and make the effort. I'm pleased to report it was well worth it.

For a little over two years, I worked at an agency called DBC in downtown L.A. It was during the time the city was blasting the subway tunnels under 7th Street, and they'd ripped up the asphalt and replaced it with wood planks during construction. One of the owners, Brad Ball, had a great line about it. He said, "L.A. is such a classy city it has hardwood streets." Still cracks me up.

Anyway, I know a few get togethers have happened in the many years since I was there, even one at a park extremely close to my house. But despite my polite refusals in the past, this time I decided to take the dive.

I'm glad I did.

I'd spent so long focusing on a few people there I didn't like - really didn't like - that I neglected to devote any brain space to the ones I actually liked and enjoyed, but had forgotten how much. I was happy to see all the faces there, and genuinely missed many of the ones who weren't able to make it.

As conversation usually goes at these things, we caught up on our current lives, as well as past ones. That's the beauty of reunions: they're moments out of time. Suddenly, you're with a roomful of people who can fill in the blanks about who you were, and what you did way back when (not always a good thing, but always amusing).

So, this is my personal thank you to all my friends who were there and made me feel so damn welcome.

And even though I can already feel my loner, anti-social, too-cool-for-reunion ways creeping back in, before they take over completely let me say I can't wait for the next time we all get together.

For starters, with any luck, I'll be a lot thinner.

Hot enough for ya?

If you know anything about me from this blog, and I’m guessing you probably know more than you want to, you know I’m most definitely not a morning person. The reason I’m not a morning person is because I’m a late night person. I’ll stay up until all wee hours of the morning, catching up on shows I have waiting for me on the DVR, binging again on Breaking Bad, or thinking of things to post on this blog.

Which as anyone who reads it will tell you I have mixed success with.

To the point. I had a 10 a.m. meeting this morning. You’d think because I knew about it last night I would’ve gone to bed early in order to wake up early. You’d be wrong.

So when the alarm went off, I shuffled into the shower (no, it didn’t wake or refresh me), got dressed and headed out to the office to be in by 9 to prepare for the meeting.

And by prepare, I mean get coffee, chat it up, check Facebook, read Round Seventeen, and then, if there’s time, take a look at what I’m supposed to be presenting.

Being disciplined and focused has never been my strong suit.

Anyway, apparently I forgot about the fight the 405 south and I had years ago. To this day, it still spends every waking moment trying to exact it's revenge with me. And it succeeded this morning. Traffic was more horrendous than usual, so I was forced to get off and take surface streets into work in order to make it on time.

I rolled into the parking lot at 9 straight up, only to be greeted by people pouring out the doors of the building, a fire truck parked in front of it and people in bright orange vests, who looked like Walmart greeters, directing everyone to the far side of the parking lot away from the building.

Not being awake enough to really have anything register, I started walking into the building. I was stopped by one of the greeters, who told me it was a fire drill. It’s the exercise office buildings are required to go through to make sure they’re ready in case The Towering Inferno 2 ever gets made, and they use their building.

Once the drill was over, everyone went back into the building. Since everyone who was going to be in my meeting was in the parking lot, the meeting got pushed back almost an hour.

Nevertheless, I learned a valuable lesson about fire safety, taking the stairs and staying calm in an emergency.

I also learned to sleep late even when you're not supposed to. It won't matter.

A little foggy on the subject

When I worked at FCB in San Francisco, I developed the very enjoyable habit of going to the San Francisco Ad Awards show every year. Not only was it a way to see the outstanding creative work being done around town, it gave me a great excuse to go up north and catch up with my many friends who live there. Sadly, the SF ad show eventually went the way of southern California’s Belding awards.

Which means I can still go see my friends, I just can’t write it off (as easily).

I remember one year, the show was being held at the historic Fillmore, where icons like Jimi Hendrix, The Grateful Dead, Jefferson Airplane and Muddy Waters played. You could feel history in the hall.

At this particular awards show, George Zimmer, founder and former CEO of Men’s Wearhouse, was the master of ceremonies. He made a joke wondering why all these other accounts were winning awards for their creativity but his wasn’t. I can only assume it was a rhetorical question.

Every year I went, there was the usual grousing from losing agencies about how Goodby would steal the show - much the same way people used to complain about Chiat walking off with the Beldings every year, until they changed the rules and judging criteria. Funny how sometimes entry fees speak louder than the work.

Anyway, the SF show always seemed to be a lot looser and more freewheeling.

I remember the funniest line of the night was from a presenter who starting talking about how grateful he was for his career in advertising, and then rattled off all the things he wouldn’t want to be in life.

At the top of the list was Hal Riney’s liver.

Even then it was a gutsy line. But it just speaks to the no-holds-barred fun the SF show used to be.

In a couple weeks, I'll be heading back up to go to the wedding of a good friend of mine. I'm looking forward to the wedding, the city and the feeling of possibility and originality that seems to go with it.

And if I have time, I'll catch a show at the Fillmore.