Clever gets crickets

Sit down ad kids, and let me tell you a story of days gone….hey! hey! Get off my lawn!

Where was I? Oh, right. Story of days gone by.

You’ll find this hard to believe, but before the interwebs, once people got their foot in the agency door, they had to drag a giant, sometimes heavy black portfolio in with them. Inside were usually unjustifiably expensively laminated samples of their work and a fat three-quarter inch video reel of their broadcast spots if they had any.

But before you got in the door for that interview, you had to get the attention of the creative director or at the very least their gatekeeper. And a lot people, including yours truly, tried to do that with self-promo pieces.

Eleven years ago, Venables Bell in San Francisco did an Audi spot called Prom for Super Bowl. And I loved it. I don't know if it's the best car commercial ever, but man did it land with me. The minute I saw it I decided I wanted to work there.

I sent them the promo piece above (mounted on black foam core, as one does). Why? Because Audi was their biggest account, I loved the work and I drove an A6.

Instead of submitting a conventional résumé which I was sure they got inundated with, I sent my Audi registration slip to show off my experience with the brand. In my mind, I imagined the team opening it and saying, “This is clever, unexpected, exactly the kind of thinking we want for Audi!”

I sent it off with all the confidence of revving an R8 next to your father's Oldsmobile at a green light. Then I waited. And waited. And waited some more.

Not a single word. Not a “Wow, this is clever.” Not a “Thanks, but we’re going in another direction.” Not even a polite “Who dis?” My inbox was emptier than a republican promise.

At first, I thought maybe they needed time to gather the team and properly marvel at my ingenuity. Or maybe the job was already promised to someone else, and my clever little stunt was simply a victim of bad timing.

What it turned out to be was a reminder creativity is a gamble. Sometimes you hit a home run, sometimes your ball lands in the neighbor’s yard.

Even though I didn’t hear back, I don’t regret sending it. I thought it was a fun idea at the time and I went for it. And maybe, just maybe, one day someone at Venables will stumble across my registration slip and think, "Wow, we missed out."

I believe that will happen right after Scarlett Johansson returns my call.

Anyway, I left the agency side for client side about five years ago, so I'm out of the agency shopping biz. But if I ever decide to go back, I’ll keep in mind the lesson I learned sending without hesitation what I thought was a funny promo piece to an agency.

That creativity, much like an Audi, isn’t about stopping.

I can't wait for the movie

So it’s a book review. I don’t do them often, but sometimes—like Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction—a book comes along that simply will not be ignored.

Like most ads, this book review comes with a disclaimer. I’ve been friends with the author for somewhere in the neighborhood of thirty years, and I may have had a hand in editing this book.

And by the way, it’s a finely edited book.

The book I’m talking about is Stones & Sticks by Cameron Day. It’s the thrilling conclusion to the advertising trilogy, along with Chew With Your Mind Open and Spittin' Chiclets, that we didn’t know we needed but now can’t live without.

In Stones & Sticks, Cameron, who has clearly earned every gray hair on his LinkedIn profile, delivers a masterclass on what it’s like to sit atop the creative food chain.

Spoiler alert: it’s not all cappuccinos and Cannes Lions.

This isn’t just a book—it’s a survival guide for anyone who’s made it to the big chair with “Creative” in the title, and discovered that it comes with less creating and more fending off crises.

From managing tantrum-prone copywriters and art directors to explaining why your budget really needs those extra drone shots, Cameron walks us through his journey in the high-stakes chaos of wielding ultimate responsibility with wit, wisdom, and just the right amount of jaded sarcasm.

Added bonus—if you’re looking for a fun drinking game, take a shot every time he drops an f-bomb.

The writing is sharp, as if every sentence were honed during a midnight brainstorm fueled by stale donuts and cold pizza, two items that are somehow always available at agencies. Yet beneath the humor lies a treasure trove of practical advice only someone who’s been through the advertising wars with a view from the top could offer. The anecdotes about managing clients who think “just make it pop” is a strategy will leave you laughing and crying—sometimes simultaneously.

What makes Stones & Sticks truly stand out is its brutal honesty. Cameron doesn’t shy away from the burnout, the compromises, or the sheer number of acronyms you’ll pretend to understand during boardroom presentations.

But it also reminds us why we fell in love with advertising in the first place: the thrill of turning a half-baked idea into something iconic.

By the time you close the book, which if you’re like me you’ll wind up doing in one reading, you’ll feel both inspired and slightly terrified—a perfect encapsulation of what it means to be a Creative Director or Executive CD.

Whether you’re an intern dreaming of greatness, or a grizzled vet wondering if it’s too late to start a llama farm, this is the book you need.

If it were a campaign, it’d win gold at the One Show. And the client might even approve the first draft.

There's no business like no business

Let’s talk about ideas. I’ll start. I have lots and lots of them. Not exactly an earth shattering revelation. After all, it’s what I do for a living. As Hyman Roth put it, “This is the business we’ve chosen.”

But for as many ideas I have being in advertising, I’ve probably had just as many with regards to getting out of advertising. Don’t give me that look. It’s not the confession you think it is. The dirty little secret is everyone in advertising is working off a strategy.

An exit strategy.

I’ve done it as well. I know what you’re thinking: where did I ever find the time? Well, come to find out those endless, countless status meetings, agency pep talks and kick offs are actually good for something besides catching up on my naps.

Under the heading of sticking close to what you know, my late pal Mardel and I decided to open an ad agency of our own called Bigtime Professional Advertising. We did this because, as everyone knows, what the world always needs is one more ad agency. I wrote up some funny stationery that Mardel designed, and we entered it in an awards show under the self-promotion category and won.

So technically, even though we had no accounts, we were an award winning agency.

Then there was my radio production company called Radio Royale. It was Vegas themed, with the business cards looking like casino gambling chips. The tagline was, “It’s radio baby!”

Alright, they can’t all be gems. Let’s just say Dick Orkin’s Radio Ranch, Oink ink Radio and Bert Barz were not threatened.

The next one my friend Michelle South and I came up with. It was called Bar Soap. The idea was to reinvent the laundromats, especially those near colleges and universities, by attaching an upscale bar and restaurant to them. There’d be a large wall of glass on one side where customers could see the state-of-the-art machines and watch their laundry spin. They’d have an app to add more time to the machines, but there’d be a two-hour limit.

And they’d be happy with the results, because after a couple hours drinking who’s going to notice stains anyway, amIrite?

The last example is actually the first idea I had. The Guidance Counselor. After my late, great friend Paula (just realized too many friends are gone now. That’s another post…) who was VP of Marketing at Disneyland hired me to be a creative consultant on the review, I decided I liked being on the other side of the table at agencies. Not gonna lie- it was fun having creative directors who were assholes to me when I was freelancing for them suddenly bowing, scrapinng, serving me coffee and croissants and just generally laughing a little too hard at my jokes all in the name of trying to win the Disney account.

Won’t name names, but do the initials J.M. mean anything? Maybe yes, maybe no.

Anyway, my great, yes you guessed it, late friend George Roux designed my Guidance Counselor stationery when I decided to make a business out of it. That was as far as it ever went.

But now, I’m on a new career path I think is really going to pan out: multiple lottery winner.

Believe me, I’m working on it.

Cameo appearance

Here’s the dilemma I find myself in every October.

It just so happens the wife’s birthday and our wedding anniversary fall four short shopping days apart. And as I’ve been reminded many times, under no circumstances will one gift stretch across those four days to cover both occasions.

So because I love my bride as much as I do, and don't want to get docked marriage points, I spend a great deal of time and careful thought deciding what would be the perfect presents to get her. Usually they’re very specific gifts for each event. However this year, I had an idea for a gift for both that would be the same, but different.

”Mom! Dad’s talking in riddles again!” Fine. I’ll explain.

Because I know you commit each and every fabulous post on here to memory, you may reacall reading about the wife and I recently bingeing The Sopranos twice in a row, back to back. And besides the headliners, she has a couple characters she really likes.

One is Johnny “Sack” Sacrimoni, underboss of the Lupertazzi crime family, elegantly played by Vincent Curatola.

The other is Ralphie Cifaretto, member of the DiMeo crime family, viciously played by Joey “Pants” Pantoliano.

Because the wife and I had gone hard down The Sopranos rabbit hole, watching all the YouTube clips, listening to all the episodes of the Talking Sopranos podcast, reading all of creator David Chase’s interviews about that remarkably unsatisfying series ending, I thought a Sopranos-related gift would be in order.

Thanks to my son, young Mr. Spielberg, I'd been the recipient of a Cameo.com video for one my birthdays a while back. For those of you unfamiliar with Cameo, it’s a site where, for a fee, the actors, comedians, musicians, politicians and more celebrities ranging from A to D list will make a short video to give as a gift for whatever occasion you choose. If you're willing to pony up more, they'll even do a live call with you.

I decided to see who was available from The Sopranos, and come to find out Vince and Joey Pants were both on Cameo. I gave them each a short write up about my wife, told them what the occasion was and generally what I'd like them to say.

A hit list if you will. See what I did there?

Cameo says to give the talent five to seven days to get a video back to you, but both Vincent and Joey had the videos back to me within a couple hours. And both gentlemen were generous with their time and messages, going more than four times the average video length.

Needless to say, the wife was thrilled and surprised and loved both videos.

So if you're looking for a gift that's a little more personal and off the beaten path, I highly recommend perusing Cameo and checking it out. With celebrities ranginng from Snoop Dogg to Kevin Pollak to Richard Schiff to Paula Poundstone to NOT Tom Cruise, there's something for just about everyone.

And should your tastes run a little more to the marketing side, and you're willing to pay for a creative director/copywriter to record a short video for a loved one, I'm pretty sure that can be arranged too.

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 client side

It’s a little bit the grass is greener, a little bit you don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone.

Last September, when ten incredibly talented individuals and me (I know that reads like I'm not incredibly talented, but work with me) were unceremoniously and, dare I say, unjustifiably laid off from an agency, I had a decision to make.

Was I going to go back to the known routine of agency life? Or would I make a concerted effort to go client side? I know. The suspense is killing me too.

On one hand, it would mean going back to the all-hands-on-deck weekend fire drills, the bad pizza, the uninspired pep talks, people who think we’re curing cancer, anti-social creative directors with bad hair and worse taste in music, hoping against hope to save accounts that are out the door, and watching great work die a thousand deaths before it ever sees the light of day.

But it'd also mean working with friends I’ve known forever, some of the most creative people in the world who challenge me to up my game every day, not having to be there straight up at 9AM, longer than an hour lunches where food, ideas and occasionally drinks flow fast and furious, dressing like a fifteen-year old, the satisfaction of cracking the code on an assignment and the adrenaline rush of selling the work and seeing it produced.

Since it was coming up on the holidays, I decided to take awhile off to think about it.

When January rolled around, I thought maybe I might like to give client side a whirl. I'd had a taste of it when I freelanced at the Game Show Network for about five months—it was awesome. I loved every minute of it with the exception of having to sit through endless hours of Family Feud reruns.

”Survey says…..not this again!”

Come to find out from an agency producer I’d worked with who was now at a tech company (which happened to be about five minutes from my house) there was a position open I might be right for.

I wasn’t ready to give up bingeing Breaking Bad again yet, but I figured it’d been a long time since I’d had to interview anywhere and at the very least it’d be good practice.

The process was a long one. First there was a phone interview. Then another phone interview. Then a third. Once my new phone pals had been won over by my undeniable charm, razor-sharp wit and overabundant humility, it was time for the in-person interviews.

I met with four people—the person I'd report to, her boss and her boss's boss. I also interviewed with someone who worked with my potential boss and who loved a certain musician that I do (even though I used the word "boss" four times in this paragraph it's not the one you're thinking).

Next was a background check. I gave them two of my former colleagues for references, and they both gave me glowing reviews (P.S. the checks are on the way). I got a copy of the report, and was surprised and a bit unnerved to see how in depth it was beyond the interviews. It contained things I didn't remember, but at least no one asked about those two guys in Jersey. That would've been a dealbreaker.

It was almost a two-month process, but finally I got the gig. It was that intoxicating feeling of excitement and dred. I was really, really, really enjoying my time off, and now it had an expiration date.

I mentioned the company is close to home. But thanks to COVID, my five-minute commute is now a thirty-second one. I haven't worked in the office since I started, and I've never met most of the people I work with in-person. Although they all look good and clean up nice on Zoom.

I'm still adjusting to corporate culture. It's a tech company, but not in the loose way you might picture people working at Google or Apple. When my company used to have "jeans Fridays" it was a big deal. Of course now that everyone's working from home it'd be a big deal if they had "pants Fridays."

Many people have been there fifteen years or more. It's a company people like and want to stay at.

Unlike the freewheeling, improvised, do it on-the-fly nature of agencies, in my new corporate side of the world turns out there's a process, manual or paperwork for everything. Sorry, I meant everything.

All in all, I have to say it's been going pretty well. In the short time I've been there, I've already written and produced four spots starring an internationally famous sports figure. I'd tell you who, but I've said too much already.

As far as I've been able to cipher, the people I work with are lovely. They're hard-working, supportive, encouraging, understanding and appreciative of the work I do.

You know, just like in agencies. (Stops for a minute until the laughter dies down).

Anyway, I'm four months into it and learning a whole new way of operating in a new world. Each day I'm enjoying it more and more.

And I'm not just saying that cause I get the employee discount on all the cool stuff.

With friends like these

Say what you will about advertising…no, really, say what you will. I’ll wait here. Okay, now that you’ve got it out of your system we’ll begin.

Advertising has lots of currencies depending on what time of day it is. Sometimes the currency is liquor. Occasionally it’s pizza. Once in awhile it’s the camaraderie that can only come from sitting in a dark, cold edit bay for 57 hours straight.

But the most valuable, most consistent currency in the biz is, always has been and always will be relationships.

There’s an old idiom (Who’re you calling an idiom? – BAM!) that tells you to be nice to people on the way up cause you’ll see the same ones on the way down.

Funny story. The other day I ran into someone where I’m working who I worked with at another agency. I haven’t seen this person in about three years, but he recognized me and greeted me like we were long lost war buddies, shaking my hand like it was an Arkansas water pump and asking how I was. He could not have been happier to see me.

I actually felt sorry for him, because - even though I'm not a doctor - I could tell immediately he was suffering from an serious case of amnesia. At that other agency, he was a creative director and I was a freelance copywriter. Many times I had occasion to present work to him, only to have it shot down in what I would consider an unnecessarily arrogant and rude manner.

Clearly, his amnesia has made him forget that when we worked together, he treated me like, oh, what’s the word…oh yes. Shit.

My guess, and I'm going out on a limb here, is that his newfound fondness for me is because he was unceremoniously fired from that other agency, and has been forced to take a sudden deep dive into the freelance pool. Waters which I've been swimming in for a long time.

But, and here's an example of how much I've grown and how mature I can be if I really try, I want to give him the same benefit of the doubt I hope anyone would give me. He may be a different person now than when we worked together. Perhaps he's grown as an individual and creative person. He might be more confident in his talents, and therefore has no reason to treat people the way he treated me in the past.

So I'm going to step up, put my big boy pants on, be the bigger man and let bygones be bygones.

I know you're waiting for the zinger put down at the end here. But not today. Today I'm about forgiveness and generosity to someone who treated me badly in the past.

Which is why I'm not telling him my day rate. It would only upset him.

Bed check

I'm not a scientist. And I'm not particularly well versed in the theory of time and space. But after years working in them, I can definitely tell you that time in advertising agency creative departments is a relative thing.

One of the beauties of it is that it's not as structured as other occupations. Creatives usually roll into the office between 9 and 10, and roll out when their work is done—whenever that happens to be. Or not.

Creatives tend to have a tough time shutting down the production line when it comes to thinking of ideas. And even if we make a concerted effort, the ideas just have a way of breaking through.

At the stroke of midnight. In the shower. On weekends. During holidays. At weddings. In the middle of funerals. Almost anywhere, the wheels are always turning. That's because the wheels don't punch a time clock, and they don't always turn as well with all the distractions of the open floorplan office. Don't get me started.

Apparently management at the last agency I worked at wasn't quite in sync with the creative process and the irregular hours it involves. So they did bed check on our group in the morning and late afternoon. One or two people would casually stroll through the office, acting as inconspicuously as possible with their heads swiveling from side to side and a notepad in their hands. Without regard to whether people were at the client, in a meeting, at lunch, working from home or just in the bathroom, they'd tally up the empty desks and report back to headquarters.

My creative director made a point of bringing it up in one of the creative meetings we'd have every few weeks where all the teams would gather to, you know, catch up and be family. Agencies are very big on being family.

The way these meetings usually went is everyone would gather at a long table in the conference room, then be encouraged to talk about how their day was going. What they were working on. Or vent about anything that was bothering them.

What was bothering most of us were these damn meetings.

The creative director said he was taking a lot of heat about the empty desks the management spies saw during bed check. To which I say if you can't take the heat...

Anyway, he made a point of saying he didn't care if we were there or not, as long as the work got done. (Hear that buzzing sound? That's the needle on the lie detector going into the red).

The upshot of it all was that for about three days after, people dragged themselves in at the expected hours, the ones we were reminded were the regular business hours as listed in the employee handbook. But to no one's surprise, the handbook wasn't a bestseller in the creative department. Within days everyone was back on creative standard time.

I think as long as the work gets done, you're available somehow when people need you, it really doesn't matter where the magic happens. There are any number of technologies that make it easy to be on the job without being at the job. And any number of coffee shops with free wifi.

Plus no one's doing bed check at Starbucks.

Throwing in the towel

There are a few things you should know about me if you don’t already. First is this: I don’t like what I don’t like, and I like what I like. (Chandler impression): Could it BE any simpler? I’m not complicated. At least not that way.

Next, and I think my current wife and every girlfriend I’ve ever had will back me up on this, I’m a catch. Especially when it comes to household chores like laundry and doing the dishes. You know, the ones everyone tries to avoid. While others are looking for an excuse not to, I charge head-first towards the dryer or the sink, ready to get the job done.

I’m the first responder of household chores.

Finally, in case you haven’t noticed, my personality might be best described as slightly compulsive. Exhibit A: Breaking Bad. Exhibits B, C and D: Springsteen, “my high school girlfriend” jokes, craps tables at the Venetian.

It’s no secret when I find something I like, I tend to go overboard with it. Which brings me to the Stonewall Kitchen dishtowels you see here. I love 'em.

Because one of the things on the long list of things I can’t stand is dishes in the sink—other things include paper straws, toilet paper from Trader Joe’s and whiny creative directors who haven't learned how to put the fun in dysfunctional—I wind up doing the dishes almost every night. And while a lot of that's just rinsing and putting them in our fabulous, whisper-quiet Bosch dishwasher, there’s also a considerable amount of hand-washing ones my wife calls "How many times do I have to say it—that cannot go in the dishwasher." To dry those, I can’t use just any dishtowel.

I need one that’s properly weighted. Thick enough to absorb, but not get water-logged. Not overdesigned with birds or flowers. One that retains its soft-to-the-touch feel before, during and after I'm done.

Stonewall Kitchen is that dishtowel.

I know what you're thinking: "Jeff's going on and on about a stupid dishtowel. He must be trying to get a bunch of them free from Stonewall Kitchen."

Frankly, I'm completely insulted you'd even entertain the idea that I'd stoop so low and be so obvious about doing something like that.

And I'll let you know when they get here.

Firing squad

I've said it before and I'll say it again. If you get fired in advertising, all it means is you showed up one day.

Jobs in the ad biz hinge on a number of factors, and often job performance is the least of them. How you get along with A) the creative director B) the client C) the clients' wife D) creative services or any number of other individuals can affect how long your shelf life is at an agency. Decisions that determine your fate at an agency are almost always entirely out of your hands, and can be made based on campaigns you've sold (or not sold), the shirt you're wearing (or not wearing) that day or the color of your eyes. The tag line for this blog says "We didn't invent random." Ad agencies did.

Like many people who make ads that make America buy, I've been laid off a few times in my career (pausing until giggling fit is over for using the word "career"). And I can tell you from experience, it takes a village. It's not as straightforward as it once was. No one says, "You're fired! Collect your things and get out!"

Well, they say the second part, but now they say it in accordance with state labor laws.

Here's an example. I'm not going to name the agency I was working for, Y&R, but I was let go after almost three years there. I'd originally been brought in as a freelancer, but the creative director and I hit it off and he decided he wanted me to stick around. So he offered me more work and less money, and I said, "Where do I sign?"

Fast forward a few years later. I'm in a meeting in Versailles, which was the agency's big conference room. For some reason, ad agencies love to name their conference rooms after cities. Or cars. Or explorers. Or movie characters. We take our creativity where we can find it. I worked at this one shop that just had numbers for their conference rooms. It was a nice change of pace.

Where was I? Oh yeah.

As I'm in this meeting, my creative director pokes his head in the door and says, "Hey Jeff, can I talk to you for a minute?" This is how it always begins.

I walk out of the room with him, and while we're walking he's making uncomfortable small talk about the meeting he pulled me out of. I notice we're going upstairs towards HR. When I ask what's up, he says to the office of the head of HR.

Alright, so I know what's coming, and I said, "Are you kidding me?" To which he said, "It's out of my hands. There was nothing I could do." To which I said, "Really? I thought you were the boss. How about you let me speak to the person in charge?"

I was pissed.

In the office, he sat uncomfortably to the side, not making eye contact - as they always do - while the head of HR told me I was being let go, gave me an end date, paperwork, blah blah blah. I learned shortly thereafter I was one of five people let go that day. I'm sure it was out of their boss' hands as well.

I came back the next day and spoke to both of them about getting more severance. My boss said nothing, and the head of HR said no. But this story does have a happy ending.

Some time later, that head of HR got let go - ironic ain't it? I was talking to a mutual friend, and come to find out the former head of HR had wanted her to ask me if I'd write some copy for a website she was setting up for her post-agency life.

I'm nothing if not a giver, so after a nanosecond of thought, I told my friend I'd like her to relay my two-word answer to the former HR head verbatim.

Since this is a family blog, I won't repeat them here. But they were exactly the two words you think they were.

You break it you own it. Again.

Earlier in the evening, when I was much more awake, I was in the mood to write a new blogpost tonight. But that was then and this is now. Nonetheless I didn't want you to go to sleep without a little reading material, so I'm revisiting this little number from a couple years ago. It holds up pretty well. See if you agree.

Now that we're in the hopefully soon-to-be-ending era of the shithole president, it seems every media outlet—or fake news organization as he likes to slander them—is lousy with Breaking News stories almost every minute of every day.

Not that some of them aren't legit, what with the liar-in-chief committing several impeachable crimes and saying (or tweeting) monumentally stupid, ignorant, racist, misogynist, homophobic, climate change denying, lies, uninformed and just plain wrong things minute-by-minute on a daily basis.

But in reality, a lot of the Breaking News is just an attention getting graphic to induce us to stay tuned for not necessarily new information on ongoing stories, reports and rumors that haven't been confirmed or profiles that aren't so much breaking as being updated.

All of which got me thinking (eventually something had to) about what would actually constitute Breaking News in advertising agencies.

Client only wants to see one idea.

Breaking with tradition, a major automotive client today asked the agency to only present one idea for the global branding campaign. "We don't know what you guys are doing all day, but we have work to do. No one has time to sit through three hours of storyboards and ripomatics on ideas your creative director 'Just couldn't let go.' Show us the one and get on with it."

ManifestNO

For a recent new business pitch, none of the agency copywriters were asked to work on a manifesto. Not by the creative director. Not by the account director. Not by the general manager, although he may have tried. Cell reception is bad from the golf course.

Instead of a lofty, cleverly worded, Jeff Bridges, Alec Baldwin or Peter Coyote sound-a-like voiced statement about what the product is, means and how it impacts the world and all who come in contact with it, the unexpected decision was made to just roll the dice and show up with good work.

No insights

In what witnesses called a startling admission and an unintentional moment of truth, the agency revealed it has absolutely no insights. None. Gerard Pennysworth, Vice President of Knit Caps, Ironic T-Shirts and Global Strategic Planning was quoted as saying, "Your guess is as good as mine. I don't know why the hell anyone does what they do."

Agency gives team enough time

Used to only having 15-minute coffee breaks to create global branding campaigns, yesterday a creative team was told they'd have three weeks to come up with a single television spot. When told they were in fact not the subjects of a cruel joke, the team went into shock and required immediate medical attention.

Buzzwords not allowed

Several account people were let go today for violating the recently instituted "no buzzwords or phrases" rule. When asked if perhaps the punishment was a bit too severe, Director of Human Services and People Management Kathleen Laytoff replied, "It's always difficult to let people go, but net-net at the end of the day, they just 'laddered up' once too often."

I read the whole thing

I can't believe I was there for the whole thing. Well, not the whole thing. But a lot of it.

Let me back it up a bit. It's not often I'll start a book and read it cover to cover in one sitting. But I had a feeling that was going to happen with I Can't Believe I Lived The Whole Thing by my mentor, and the man who gave me my copywriting career, Howie Cohen.

As I've written before, you can blame it on him.

There are two reasons I got through the book faster than Brett Kavanaugh driving to a liquor store near closing time. First, if I can be honest, I wanted to see if my name was in it. Spoiler alert: it's not. Apparently I haven't had the impact on Howie's life that he's had on mine.

Whatever. We move on.

The other is I couldn't put it down.

As reads go, this is a great one. The true story of an advertising legend and Hall Of Famer—did I mention he gave me my start—Howie brings the mad men days of the business in New York to life in vivid, humorous and detailed fashion.

I didn't meet Howie until he moved to L.A. and I worked with him at Wells Rich Greene. I was witness to a lot of the stories he tells in the book. And the ones I wasn't I heard the first time straight from him. Like Mary Wells bringing him and partner Bob Pasqualina into her office, and in front of clients threatening to hang them out to dry for something impolitic they said in a New York Times interview. And I still use the line, "Please excuse the leather smell." when people get in my car.

It'll make sense when you read it.

Here's the thing: I've known Howie for two thirds of my life. His influence on my path cannot be overstated. I know a lot of people have worked with him, and they all like to claim him as their own. It's understandable, I do it too. But only because I'm entitled to because I knew him first.

His book captures the craziness, creativity, relationships, frustrations and rewards of the ad biz in a way only someone who has lived it at the top can. Whether you're in the business or not, it's a great story that'll have you laughing out loud and shaking your head there was actually a time like that.

Personally, I got to relive some of the best times of my professional life (stopping to laugh for using the word professional). As I was reading, I remembered stories Howie told me I hoped would be in the book, and they are. Moments I was there for—like another legend, Mary Wells, addressing the staff after the loss of the Jack In The Box account. And there are the personal battles Howie's fought and won that I never knew about. He reveals them with a disarming rawness and honesty.

Even though my name's not in the book, there are lots of other names that I know and have worked with. And while Howie and I have differing opinions on some of them, it's fun to read his take.

Howie's always had greatness about him, and he's as true to who he is as anyone I've ever known.

You can see it on every page.

The creative review

Here's what doesn't happen in the insurance business. A group of senior management people don't get together in a room with the underwriters every time they write a policy to evaluate how well they've done it.

"I don't know, it just seems to me you could've referenced a more recent actuarial table." "With regards to the deductible, does that line up with the property value in terms of reimbursement?" It doesn't happen in insurance, or most industries. Oh sure, someone takes a quick look before it goes out, but it doesn't have to go through committee.

Because, as any third-grader could tell you, that would be bullshit and a monumental waste of time and resources.

But in advertising, you can't underestimate people's need to be part of the process. And because creative work is the product, it's the one dance everyone likes being invited to.

If you're not familiar with creative reviews, it's where anywhere from one person to several people working on the account, near the account, in the same hallway as the account or in the building next door to the account get together and "review" the work to make sure it's on strategy, saying and doing what it's supposed to. At least that's the theory.

Now a few different things can happen in creative reviews. The work can just go through swimmingly, earning nodding heads, praise, kudos and unanimous agreement from everyone. This rarely happens.

Another way it could go is the creative director will see something strategically off point and, so as not to embarrass the creative team, gently offer up meaningful, constructive suggestions how to course correct to make the work more relevant and effective. This too is a rare occurrence.

Usually, especially if deadlines are tight (they always are) or clients are demanding (they always are), or the creative director has had their own work shot down by the client more times than Glenn Close's dreams of winning an Oscar, it's a complete and total shit show.

There are certain creative directors—although God knows, and let me make this as clear as I can, none that I work with—who just love to hear themselves talk. They laugh heartily at their own jokes, and are constantly taking trips down memory lane reliving their glory days which may or may not have ever actually happened. You can almost set a clock to it—that's right about the time they not so much critique your work as explain exactly how they'd do it. Then they ask you to take another shot at it.

Which, as anyone who's been on the receiving end of that comment will tell you is code for go back to your office—or assigned open office seating space—and do up what they just told you.

Here's the thing: I'm not Hemingway (if you follow this blog even a little you already know that). And while I'm also not a junior reporting for his first day of work, I get the process. Someone with a bigger title and pay grade has to look at the work to make sure it's hitting the marks it's supposed to. But when it's, oh, just for argument's sake let's say an overrated, egotistical, abusive, job-jumping, work-stealing, credit-grabbing, kickback-taking alcoholic who's shut down every agency they've ever worked at and wouldn't know a good idea if they fu..er...tripped over it (family blog)—again, not that I work with anyone like that—then it becomes somewhat frustrating.

On the other hand, it does make for good blog material.

You break it you own it

Now that we're in the hopefully soon-to-be-ending era of the shithole president, it seems every media outlet—or fake news organization as he likes to slander them—is lousy with Breaking News stories almost every minute of every day.

Not that some of them aren't legit, what with the liar-in-chief committing several impeachable crimes and saying (or tweeting) monumentally stupid, ignorant, racist, misogynist, homophobic, climate change denying, lies, uninformed and just plain wrong things minute-by-minute on a daily basis.

But in reality, a lot of the Breaking News is just an attention getting graphic to induce us to stay tuned for not necessarily new information on ongoing stories, reports and rumors that haven't been confirmed or profiles that aren't so much breaking as being updated.

All of which got me thinking (eventually something had to) about what would actually constitute Breaking News in advertising agencies.

Client only wants to see one idea.

Breaking with tradition, a major automotive client today asked the agency to only present one idea for the global branding campaign. "We don't know what you guys are doing all day, but we have work to do. No one has time to sit through three hours of storyboards and ripomatics on ideas your creative director 'Just couldn't let go.' Show us the one and get on with it."

ManifestNO

For a recent new business pitch, none of the agency copywriters were asked to work on a manifesto. Not by the creative director. Not by the account director. Not by the general manager, although he may have tried. Cell reception is bad from the golf course.

Instead of a lofty, cleverly worded, Jeff Bridges, Alec Baldwin or Peter Coyote sound-a-like voiced statement about what the product is, means and how it impacts the world and all who come in contact with it, the unexpected decision was made to just roll the dice and show up with good work.

No insights

In what witnesses called a startling admission and an unintentional moment of truth, the agency revealed it has absolutely no insights. None. Gerard Pennysworth, Vice President of Knit Caps, Ironic T-Shirts and Global Strategic Planning was quoted as saying, "Your guess is as good as mine. I don't know why the hell anyone does what they do."

Agency gives team enough time

Used to only having 15-minute coffee breaks to create global branding campaigns, yesterday a creative team was told they'd have three weeks to come up with a single television spot. When told they were in fact not the subjects of a cruel joke, the team went into shock and required immediate medical attention.

Buzzwords not allowed

Several account people were let go today for violating the recently instituted "no buzzwords or phrases" rule. When asked if perhaps the punishment was a bit too severe, Director of Human Services and People Management Kathleen Laytoff replied, "It's always difficult to let people go, but net-net at the end of the day, they just 'laddered up' once too often."

The best policy

The joke goes like this.

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

It works for me on so many levels.

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

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

He cracked up. Honesty camouflaged as a joke.

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

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

Or serving caramel macchiatos at The Daily Grind.

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

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

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

Where never is heard an encouraging word

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

Command and control. And nurture and inspire.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

After all, you've already got the job.

A trip to the toolshed

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

Ladder up.

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

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

Horizontal Plane

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

Power Tools

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

Vise Grip

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

Wire Cutters

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

Chiseling

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

Off the clock. Again.

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

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

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

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

Or flipping anything else for that matter.

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

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

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

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

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

Round here

You may have noticed I haven't written a new post in a while (undisciplined).

And frankly, there have been a lot of reasons for that (laziness).

I've been unbelievably busy with work (couch potato). I've had family obligations (binge watching). I've been concentrating on other projects (lotto tickets).

But I did want to take a few minutes out of my busy schedule (napping) to do something I have never done before—offer a bit of advice to my fellow blogger and swing dance instructor Rich Siegel over at Round Seventeen.

Now, normally I don't make it my business to tell anyone else how to do theirs. I don't give other parents advice on how to raise their kids, although God knows with the devil spawn some of them have unleashed on the planet they could use it. I don't offer relationship advice, even though I know the secret to a long and trouble-free relationship most married men find out soon enough involves two words: Yes dear.

But since Rich is a friend of mine, I want the best for him and his blog because, and I think if you're followed me for any length of time and gotten past the crippling disappointment, you know I'm a giver.

So here's the advice: It's time to change the name of your blog. Not that Round Seventeen isn't a fine name, but based on my personal experience as of late, I don't think it's an accurate one anymore.

I can't remember the last time copy got routed less than seventeen times. For starters, once I've used up the entire three to four hours I get to craft a compelling brand story people will relate to, find humor in and want to know more about, it first has to get routed through several of what I like to euphemistically call layers.

The account team.

Strategy.

Account planner.

Product specialist.

Legal.

Associate creative director.

Group creative director.

Proofreading.

Executive creative director.

The cleaning lady on three.

And, if I'm lucky, then it finally makes its way to the client.

That's ten stops it has to make before it gets out the door. And if any of those people have a change, suggestion, idea, whim, opinion, thinks something's missing, thinks something else should be included, forwards a suggestion (mandatory) from the client or just. doesn't. get. it., then, as if I'd written it on a boomerang, it comes back to me for revisions.

After they're made, some well-meaning, highly intelligent, over-worked, underpaid and incredibly organized project manager gets to route it through all those people again. And again. And again.

Every time an "and" gets added. A "the" needs to be included. Disclaimers have to be changed (as if anyone reads them-thanks legal). Something gets underlined. A word gets bolded. An accolade gets deleted. Whatever the change, the copy suits up and does another lap.

By the time it gets back to me to sign off on, we're on round twenty eight. At least. Of course, as any writer in an agency will tell you, it'd be great if it stopped at twenty-eight. But sadly, predictably, it doesn't.

What people don't know about advertising is it's a lot like Groundhog's Day—the same assignments keep coming back over and over until the powers that be decide it's been watered down, legalesed and tamed enough to make it out the door to the client for their changes. I mean approval.

Now, I don't want you to get the wrong idea. And as I read this over, I see that would be easy to do. Great work, classic advertising, the kind you remember and talk about for years—I'm looking at you Apple 1984 spot—doesn't happen the first time out. I'm fairly certain anything good I've done and I'm proud of took plenty of victory laps around the agency before it saw the light of day. So I do realize in some cases, this painstaking and often frustrating process has its upside.

Anyway Rich, you don't have to do it today, but you probably want to think about a more realistic number for the old blog title. Of course I suppose it's possible a writer of your caliber may not have to go more than seventeen rounds.

And if that's the case, just forget I said anything.

Can it

I believe the decline and eventual demise of the service culture started with gas stations (What is this, a blogpost or a masters thesis?!) For the most part that is. Unless you're shopping at Nordstrom - those people are awesome and completely disprove that part about the service culture dying. But let's not worry about that right now. Stay with me.

Where was I? Oh, right. At the risk of sounding like my parents, there was a time when the gas station attendant didn't live in a bullet-proof box, stocked to the rafters with Pepsi, motor oil, off-brand Kleenex, Gatorade and all sorts of heart-stoppin' salty snacks. They'd actually come out to your car, give you a wave and smile and ask you to pop the hood (no, that isn't a euphemism). Then they'd wash your windshield, fill the tank, check the oil - and the tires - all for the price of the gas. No add ons, no extra fees.

But those days, like gas for $1.29 a gallon, are long gone.

Now, consumers are asked - in some cases required - to do things we assumed were included in the cost of doing business.

Instead of the station attendant coming out of the office, we get out of our cars to pump our own fuel, clean our own windshields, check our own oil and tell that creepy guy hanging around the gas pumps that no, we don't have two bucks so he can get gas for his fictional car that ran out two blocks from here.

Despite twelve checkout counters, three of which are open, and one of those a 15 Items Or Less Express Lane, we check ourselves out (no, the other way) at the supermarket. And we put our groceries in bags that we've brought with us.

Thanks to the interwebs, former travel agents, whose value wasn't just in booking a trip, but in letting us know the secret hotels, best deals and off the beaten path places to stay or visit are now serving fries at McDonald's. That's because their occupation has been decimated since we started booking our own flights, picking our own seats and paying a la carte for any extras. Airlines even charge a fee for you to talk to an actual representative on the phone.

We can also diagnose what's ailing us online. Plug in the symptoms, and pages of unreliable, pharma-sponsored medical advice suddenly appears. (I told my doctor I was looking up something on the internet, to which he gave me a disapproving look and said, "Oh good. We HIGHLY recommend the internet.")

Under the camouflage of improving the customer experience, businesses have found ways to cut their costs dramatically by turning many of their job descriptions into do-it-yourself positions. The same way companies tell you how productive open office seating is.

Despite all the personal and intimate information I've shared on here over the years - and really, we have no secrets - you may not be aware I took a Consumer Law and Economics class in high school. It was taught by Mr. Blackman, and was basically a Ralph Nader-esque hour every day, instilling in me the squeaky wheel theory: my right as a consumer to complain and keep complaining until I get what I want. You know, like creative directors.

So in that spirit, I'm drawing a line in the sand, well, in the garbage, at sorting my own trash.

To start with, I have a trust issue with restaurants that ask me to separate landfill items from recyclables. Bless their well-intentioned little corporate hearts, but really, I don't want to work that hard after I eat. I'm too full and I usually need a nap. Besides, there are no guidelines about which trash goes into which bin. One man's recyclable is another man's landfill. I'd probably ignore the guidelines even if they had them, but you see where I'm going.

The best I'll do is not throw away plastic baskets the tacos come in, or the glass bowl for the salad. Silverware however is a cruel tease, sometimes hiding under a napkin and accidentally winding up in the trash. Which is where it stays, because if I want to go dumpster diving I'll do it in Tiffany's trash bins, not Rubio's.

Anyway, I'm done griping now about the way things used to be. I suppose the good outweighs the bad in the end, and the speed at which things can be accomplished by doing it myself is what's gained, even if personal interaction and a more leisurely paced world is lost.

Besides, as long as no one's asking me to do my own prostate exam I'm good.