Call time

I guess I haven't been paying attention, which will come as absolutely no shock to anyone who's ever been in a status meeting with me. But as I was barreling up the carpool lane of the 110, alone, thanks to my FasTrak transponder that charges me to use a lane my taxes have already paid for, I was genuinely surprised to see there are still freeway call boxes lining the four-lane.

These intermittently spaced call boxes, with their reassuring blue signs, are a throw back to my childhood. Which, if you ask anyone who knows me, I'm still in.

When I was a kid, my parents would take us to Gilman Hot Springs. Or Murrieta Hot Springs. Or Desert Hot Springs. Apparently Jews are attracted to hot springs like moths to canasta. I remember the drive always seemed like it took hours to get there. It was just in Riverside county, but it may as well have been another world.

I mean, have you been to Riverside county?

It didn't help that I was a worried little kid and always thought our dark blue Dodge Coronet would breakdown on the way. Actually, the only time I remember it breaking down was when I stole it one day to take it for a drive to the valley to see some girl before I had my license. I wound up at a Union Oil station on Van Nuys and Riverside, and called my parents to come pick me up. They said they'd be happy to drive out and get me, to which I said, "Yeah, about the driving out part..." They had to call friends of the family to drive them out.

It was a very long, quiet ride home. But I digress.

Anyway, my parents would always tell me we were fine, and that even if the car did break down, we'd just use the call box and, like magic, help would be on the way. It was very comforting. A lot more comforting than being the only person under 75 at whichever hot springs we were going to.

It's easy to think of call boxes as old technology. The truth is they're now equipped with the latest digital whammy-jammies, and probably have fewer dropped calls than AT&T. I always thought they were a little Jetson-y because they were the first things I remember that used solar panels to power the lights that made them visible at night.

You don't see very many people using them, because standing on the side of the freeway isn't the brightest idea, and almost everyone has a cell phone now.

But I still find knowing they're there very comforting.

It may be the only thing on the 110 that is.

A great Dame

Years ago, there was a Shubert Theater in Century City where the CAA mothership is now. The wife and I had been early season subscribers, and as a result for years enjoyed two fourth-row center seats to every production and concert that appeared there. And because we had such great seats, that we were never going to let go, we saw them all.

During the 2001 Shubert season, which included Mama Mia!, we also had tickets to another show: Dame Edna, the Royal Tour. At the time I had no idea who she was, but our seats were great and we were going.

Here are the things I remember. She brought two people out of the audience who hadn't had dinner, and had them sit at a table onstage. Then she brought out a phone and called Harry's Bar, which was downstairs from the theater, and ordered them dinner. When the dinner arrived, she served it to them, and they watched the rest of the show while eating dinner at their table on the side of the stage. Every once in awhile, she would ask them questions or talk to them.

It was a very interactive show, with Dame Edna talking to several people, including us, who were sitting up front. She asked one couple about their children, who weren't there, and who was taking care of them. Then she called their babysitter, and started quizzing her on how she was handling the children.

I realize I'm not even close to doing her justice describing what her show is like, but it's difficult to explain exactly what she does. Part satire, part improv, part slapstick, part social commentary, the only way to experience Dame Edna is to be one of her "possums," her affectionate name for her audience. This clip will give you a better idea than I can:

The character of Dame Edna is the creation of the brilliant Australian comedian Barry Humphries. He's almost 81 years old now, so this Farewell Tour may actually be just that. All the more reason if you can get a ticket, do it.

The other thing I distinctly remember is I have never laughed so hard in my life. I was crying, and my sides were literally aching. I instantly became a Dame Edna fan, and promised myself I'd see her every time she came to L.A. It's a promise I've made good on.

So a week from Friday, the wife and I are taking the kids to the Ahmanson, and we're going to see her Farewell Tour. I can't wait. I know it'll be a great evening start to finish, when she tosses her beloved gladiolas out to her possums.

And of course, I'm hoping the "farewell" part is the biggest joke of the evening.

The lost art

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

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

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

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

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

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

Open for business

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Both sides now

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'm hatin' it

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unemployment line

A friend of mine, who's an excellent writer, and I believe from my experiences with him a decent individual, put up a post about someone he didn't know who'd tried to contact him on LinkedIn. Universal experience. Happens to all of us.

Whoever it was that hit my friend up for a connection listed his job as Independent Marketing & Advertising Professional, which, as we all know, is LinkedIn code for unemployed. My friend replied maybe the guy wasn't that good at advertising if he couldn't think of a better way to say it.

Now, I totally recognize my friend was just being funny. And don't get me wrong. I like a harsh, sharp, snarky line as much as the next guy. God knows I've written my share of them. But this time, it just struck me wrong.

Not wrong, hurtful. I felt bad for the guy.

I've said it many times before - if you're in advertising and you're unemployed, all it means is you showed up one day. Obviously the guy was unemployed. We've all been. And I was startled that my friend, who knows what it's like to be unemployed, came off as harsh as he did in his comment.

The point of LinkedIn isn't to announce you're unemployed - it's to make yourself look as good as possible to potential employers and digitally network as much as possible. Two things it seems to me this guy was trying to do. (Just to be clear, I wouldn't link with someone I don't know either - but I wouldn't blame 'em for trying).

We're all in the advertising foxhole together, and anyone in the business will tell you things ain't what they used to be. And they're not going to be again. Me, my friend and the guy on LinkedIn are all just trying to do our best.

Every once in awhile, contrary to how it may appear, I believe a little slack-cutting is in order.