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.

New math

I have a high threshold for creepiness. I like horror movies. I want the teenagers to go into the dark cave. After the car breaks down in the rain on the deserted road, I can't wait for them to knock on the door of the creepy house. I love it when they don't know their shadows are moving independently of them. And toy clowns with eyes that follow them around the room? Yes please.

But I saw something on television this morning that creeped me out more than any movie has in a long time. This commercial for Mathnasium.

First of all, in the same way people who live in Anaheim never go to Disneyland, I almost never pay attention to commercials. However when the creepfactor is cranked up to eleven, it can't help but be a slow, drive by car wreck I can't look away from.

To quote Stefon, "This spot's got everything."

A pedestrian concept.

White-bread casting.

Bargain-basement CGI.

Needle drop music.

Giant A+ spray painted on the classroom wall (to go with the A+ on all the freakishly animated student sweaters).

Annoying voiceover.

Kid giving a thumbs up.

A token Asian cause, you know, math.

A maybe Hispanic kid and his maybe Hispanic mom.

A kid that says, "Awesome." Because that's how kids talk.

Not sure why, but for some reason for me the spot has an "It's a cookbook!" quality to it. Maybe it's the bad CGI on the badly animated students.

Here's what I think would help: if the kid at the end of the spot smiled and looked at his reflection in the car window. We'd hold for a beat, then his reflection suddenly turns into a killer clown, breaks through the glass and rips the little suckers' throat out.

I know, it probably wouldn't be good for enrollment. But you can't tell me it wouldn't add up to a much more memorable spot.

Watered down

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

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

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

I know, right?

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

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

Ok, I'm done now.

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

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

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

Room to spare

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Did I mention three bedrooms?

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

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

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

The chance you take

It's like the arrow in the Fed Ex logo. Once you see it, you can never not see it.

For years, Jared just looked like a nerdy guy who lost a ton of weight and struck it big by eating Subway sandwiches.

But now, instead of nerdy he looks evil. And at Subway he's referred to as "Jared who?"

That they'll get in trouble, wind up in the middle of a scandal or die mid-campaign has always been the chance you take when you use a celebrity as a spokesperson. Or create one.

What Jared did was particularly despicable. And the fallout was quick and predictable: Subway severed all ties with him minutes after the first story broke and he hadn't yet been formally accused of anything. Then they hired a new ad agency to give them a fresh campaign and a new start. To which I say, "How's that working out for you?"

Ad agencies are never more optimistic than when they get a new piece of business. And Subway is a big account. I wish them luck, but this particular kind of tarnish keeps coming up like onions on a Black Forest Ham sub. Jared will be associated with Subway for campaigns and years to come, regardless of what they do. Not fair, but true.

Some celebrities, like Tiger Woods, manage to recover from scandal. But because of the repulsiveness of their transgressions, the Jareds and Bill Cosbys of the endorsement world aren't ever coming back.

Using a spokesperson is always a crapshoot. It's borrowed interest, but unlike a lot of people in the business I'm not necessarily against it as long as the person is right for the product and the message.

The problem that you run into is often all the A-list celebrities you want are taken. Then you wind up with a spot like this:

At least the only thing Loggia was ever guilty of was being in a bad commercial.

It makes the job harder, but it's better to hang a campaign on an idea than a celebrity. It's the only surefire way to avoid this kind of bad publicity and the lasting fallout that follows it.

If Jared was smart, he kept the giant jeans he used to hold up in the early commercials.

When this is all over, they're all he's going to have left.

Brace for no impact

My good friend, former office wife and best-selling author Janice MacLeod had a way of putting what we do (what she used to do) in perspective, summing it up in six precise, well-chosen words.

We’re creating a legacy of garbage.

Besides agency holding companies, the digital team and the person who schedules the meetings, I don’t know of anyone who can’t wait for more advertising to burn their eyes. They say the average person is exposed to roughly anywhere between 500 and 7,000 advertising messages a day.

Whichever number is right, it’s too damn much.

No wonder advertising doesn’t have the impact it once did. If it ever really did. Sure there are quantitative and qualitative studies showing the effectiveness of any given message in any medium. Except digital. No one buys anything because of digital, no matter what the guy in the knit cap and ironic t-shirt says.

They can test the results as much as they want, but as an old friend used to say to me, "The only thing testing proves is that testing works."

There’s a lot of job justification that goes on in advertising. It’s the reason Powerpoint was invented. But every time I sit through a presentation where someone is telling me how effective the advertising has been, I’m reminded of William Goldman’s great line about Hollywood: No one knows anything.

Advertised cold bottled water during the heat wave and sales went up? Who could’ve seen that coming?

There are $6000 rebates on cars during December, and year end car sales set records? Must’ve been that exceptional retail car spot, you know, the one with the running footage and giant supers.

I could go into what I think of brand loyalty, but Bob Hoffman over at The Ad Contrarian said it perfectly. I suppose there’s an argument to be made that consumers wouldn’t know about these deals if advertising didn’t tell them. Fair enough, but like so much of retail advertising, the ads are just the messenger. The deal is the closer.

There are only a handful of ads with enough inherent greatness and lasting impact to make you want to talk about them reverentially. The go-to example is the Apple 1984 spot directed by Ridley Scott.

Seeing it thirty years later, it still stands up and stands out as one of the greatest commercials of all time. You can never underestimate the power of a great looking blonde with a sledgehammer.

If I was looking for a profession where I could create something lasting people loved, talked about and made them feel glad every time they saw or thought of it, I might not have chosen this one.

On the other hand, Michelangelo never got to stay in a penthouse at the Essex House for a shoot on the company dime. So I suppose it all evens out.

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.

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.

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.

Typo happens

Has this ever happened to you? You work on a commercial for weeks, concepting it, selling to the client, getting the budget approved, shooting it and then finally seeing it on the air. Only to discover there's a typo in it.

Not talking about a little teeny typo buried in the legal copy. I'm talking about a big ass typo right out there for the world to see.

It happened to me years ago. I was working on the Coco's Restaurant account, and they wanted to promote a Prime Rib, Steak and Shrimp offer. Should've been easy enough.

Except when the spot got to air, the end title card read "Prime Rib, Steak and Shimp."

The interesting part is the spot ran for three weeks before some eagle-eyed viewer called to say there was a typo.

Afterwards, I did a little math and figured out that between myself and my partner, all the account people, all the clients, all the production and editorial people who had seen it before it was released for air, over 61 pairs of eyes had missed the typo.

The promotion was over before we had to do anything about it. To this day I don't know if the client even knew.

In today's marketing wars, I'm sure heads would roll if an obvious mistake like that somehow made it out the door.

But back in the day, we all had a good laff about it.

Curing cancer

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.

Portlandia

I haven't been to Portland in a long time. Somewhere around nine years. And I miss it.

The last time I was there, I lived for three weeks at the Hotel Lucia downtown while I was shooting a commercial for an agency called Perceive that no longer exists (it barely existed when it did). Because we were also editing up there, I had plenty of time to explore the city. If you've ever been there, you already know it's a good walking town.

Alan Otto, my friend (currently) and creative director (at the time) would meet in the lobby every morning. Then we'd pick a direction and start walking for as long as we could before we had to be at the shoot or the edit. One morning we walked to the 97-year old Portland Luggage Company where I picked up a mid-size Boyt suitcase to complete my set and had it shipped home.

I love luggage stores. Whole other post.

Another great thing is that all of Oregon is a Powerball state. And for someone like me who's inclined to play the lottery since I won $5,000 in it once (yes I did), it was fun to play in a multi-state draw where we're talking real retirement money.

By the way, the hotel you see here isn't the Lucia. It's the Benson, just a block and a half up the street. It's one of the grand old hotels you run into, a 100-years old - the one where presidents, foreign dignitaries and celebrities stay when they come to town. In fact when we were shooting up there, at three in the morning Nic Cage was playing piano and singing to Lisa Marie Presley in the lobby.

Anyway, I imagine it'll be somewhat of a let down for them, but the Benson is where I'll be staying when I return to Portland in May. I'm looking forward to it because it's Portland, but also because the reason I'm going is for a gathering to celebrate my dear friend Paul Decker's life.

The good news is I already know what suitcase I'm taking with me.

Groundhog's meeting

How many times has this happened to you?

You're in a creative meeting with other teams, and the creative director is telling you about the television spot he wants you to come up with. He says the spot should be moving. Should make the consumer feel something besides nauseous or insulted. You should make it unlike anything the competition is doing. Unlike anything that's been seen or done before.

Here's the funny part.

Immediately on the heels of instructing you and your colleagues to make it different, he starts subtly dropping code words that every creative recognizes. Words that tell you to make it exactly like what everyone else is doing.

If you're not in advertising you may have a hard time understanding this. The only way you'd have a harder time is if you were in advertising.

The truth is that in creative meetings at agencies across the country, this kind of thing happens more often than a Charlie Sheen interview. It's the reason so much advertising looks alike.

A writer friend of mine (who had a joke in the meeting that I'm still laughing at) told me that he never bites the hand that feeds him. Excellent advice.

So I'll work on the spot, using the directions I was given. One of which was to make it great.

I'll start by looking at a great spot the competition did.