Reading the signals

Since phones aren't actually used much for calling people anymore, there needs to be a better way to get in touch with people when you need them. Sure, texting is fun, but sometimes you have to wait a while before the person texts you back.

What we need is the next text. I'd like to nominate the bat signal.

Every time Lt. Gordon shined that sucker in the sky - and it's a lucky thing Gotham had cloudy nighttime weather - Batman would show in minutes.

I call that proof of concept.

When you're born, besides diaper rash and a Social Security number, every baby should get their own sky symbol to be used later in life on their individualized signals.

Not only would it bring people to you when you want them, it would stimulate the economy by providing work to thousands of designers and graphic artists. Copywriters would get work out of it too, because we all know eventually advertising agencies would find a way to convince people to sell space on their signals for headlines and marketing messages.

Bat ching!

The other thing is the sky is a much bigger screen than even the iPhone 6 Plus. A summoning signal can't help but get noticed, if not by the person it's intended for, at least by someone who knows them.

Then they could send a text and tell them to look up.

Five good things about advertising. You read that right.

I don't know whether you've noticed, but every once in a great while I use this blog to rag on advertising, the monster egos, the hipster planners and the open space seating (don't get me started).

But don't get the wrong idea. Despite my occasional rants, there are great things about working in advertising you don't get in, say, the insurance industry. Or working for the DMV. For example getting to dress like a fourteen-year old every day. Free food every single place you turn. Enjoying some of the most creative people you'll ever meet in any business on a daily basis.

Plus covered parking if you get to work early enough. So I hear.

Anyway it occurred to me I've had some great things happen as a result of being in the biz, and I don't talk about them nearly enough. But all of that's about to change. Here are five good things that've happened because I'm in the business I'm in:

1. I met my wife.

Of all the things that've happened and I've experienced since I've worked in advertising, I have to say the very best has been meeting my wife.

And when I say I have to say, I mean I have to say.

She was on an agency tour her first day, and they brought her around to the creative directors' office where I happened to be. I saw her in the doorway and thought "She's kind of cute." She saw me and thought, "OK, I can work with this."

She is the wind beneath my wings, the woman behind the man. She is my editor - yes I have one - and my best friend. She has the patience of a saint, although she doesn't really need it because being married to me is a walk in the park. Central Park at midnight, but still.

She makes me, my writing and my life better than it had any chance of being without her.

Well I think I've banked enough marriage points for one night, don't you? Love you honey.

2. I saw Springsteen in Atlanta.

I've worked on Taco Bell at three different agencies in my career (pauses until giggles are over for using the word career). And all three times, I had a great relationship with the client.

The first agency I worked on the account, the client was also a Springsteen fan. So when she went on a thirteen-market store tour, one of the stops was Atlanta, and it happened to be the same night as Springsteen was playing at the Omni.

She called their local market agency, and had them get some killer seats for the concert (media people can do anything). Then she called my agency in L.A., and told them to fly me to Atlanta so I could see the show with her and a few franchisees. My creative director told her I was swamped and wouldn't be able to make the trip. She told him she wasn't asking.

Next thing I knew, I was in a Lincoln Town Car on my way to LAX for a flight to Atlanta. That was a great day in advertising. And it was a great show.

3. I talked to Lee Clow about German Shepherds.

If you're not in advertising and don't know who Lee Clow is, suffice it to say he's an advertising legend. The real deal. Google him now.

If you're in advertising and you don't know who Lee Clow is, then you're not in advertising.

I freelanced for almost a year at Chiat Day, working on the Uncle Ben's account. I sat right behind Lee's office. Since Chiat is an extremely dog friendly agency, one day I brought the world's greatest dog, my long-haired German Shepherd Max to work with me. He was two and half at the time.

I started to walk Max past Lee's office, and Lee, who was with a group of people across the agency, saw him and immediately came over to us. He got down on his knees, started petting Max and asking me about him. Then he took us in his office, where he showed me pictures of his shepherds, both past and present. One of them looked startlingly like Max.

We talked about a half hour, not just about the dogs but about advertising in general, life, family, and then the shepherds again. Then he had to get back to the meeting he'd left when he came over to us. When Max and I came out of his office, the Associate Creative Director who'd brought me in for the job saw us walking out with him. He came up to me after and said, "What was that about?" To which I replied, "Geez it gets so old. Every day, it's 'Jeff, how would you do it?'"

4. I overcame my fear of flying.

You'd never know it now, but I used to have a horrible fear of flying. Now I just have a horrible fear of flying coach.

I'd go out of my way and do just about anything not to get on a plane. One time, I took at train to San Antonio, Texas for a client meeting. At the time, the head of the agency thought I was being creative. Today he'd just think I'm an idiot.

Anyway, years ago I wound up freelancing at Foote, Cone and Belding in San Francisco. I lived in Santa Monica. But I figured it was only an hour flight twice a week, and the odds were in my favor I'd be fine.

Turns out my first week, I flew to San Francisco, then to Dallas for focus groups, then back to San Francisco, then to Atlanta (also for focus groups), then back to San Francisco, then to L.A. for a friend's going away party, then back up to San Francisco. Seven flights the first week. There were also weeks I'd go back and forth from L.A. two or three times.

I earned a lot of United miles, got upgraded frequently and learned to love flying. A friend of mine even gave me a charm that says Flyboy. Of course statistically, flying is still the safest way to travel. And the nicest. Did I mention the upgrades?

5. The friends I keep.

Maybe the best thing about working in advertising are the people I get to work with (for the most part - you know who you are). I get to hang with exceptionally creative people I learn from, and who force me to raise my game every time. We're in the advertising foxhole together, and it makes even the worst days more bearable.

There you have it. Now you can't accuse me of not saying anything nice about advertising. And if I'm going to be truthful, there are many other good things to say about it. So much so, I was thinking maybe I should turn this into an ongoing series of posts, like my wildly successful Don't Ask, Guilty Pleasures or Things I Love About Costco series. But then, I had another thought.

Let's not get carried away.

An apology

Late last night I put up a post, which I've been doing fairly regularly these past few weeks.

I was in a hurry to post something before midnight, although I didn't really have anything much to talk about.

I know. When has that stopped me before?

Still, it bothered me. The post was forced, poorly written, and built around an end line more stupid than clever.

I know. When's that stopped me before?

But, as Spinal Tap teaches us, there's a fine line, and I felt like I crossed it. So I did something I rarely do. I took the post down.

Every once in awhile I go back through my posts and reread them. And, without spraining my arm patting myself on the back, some of them are pretty damn good. Funny. Well-written. Insightful. Thought-provoking. Alright, maybe not. But they make good time killers, and that should at least be the price of entry.

Last nights' post was none of these.

So what I'm saying is if you were one of the unfortunate ones who actually read it while it was up, I'd like to apologize.

But if you've followed me on here for any length of time, I think you know what I'm not saying is it won't happen again.

Cool it

I love air conditioning. Which may explain why I like colder climates, like San Francisco, Portland and Seattle.

I think it's because I have a very low sweat point. Anything over 60 degrees, and people are trying to throw pennies in me and make a wish.

Anything over 70 degrees and I look like a real-life version of Albert Brooks in Broadcast News.

So of course, being a Los Angeles native and still living in southern California doesn't present me with a lot of opportunities to appreciate the cool weather. Or wear nice wool jackets. Sure there's the occasional plummet to 58 degrees, but you never know when that's coming which makes it hard to plan for.

One dream vacation of mine would be to stay a few nights in the Ice Hotel in Sweden. It's built in winter, melts in the summer and rebuilt the following winter.

The very definition of a seasonal business.

They have cool rooms like the one here, and warm rooms, which are in more permanent structures on the property. But no one goes there for the warm room.

I started this post talking about how I love air conditioning. To me, one of the greatest sensations is walking inside from a hot day into a freezing casino...er...building. I also like sliding under the bedsheets, pulling up the blanket and going to sleep in an ice-cold room.

Admittedly, it's not the most energy efficient way to live. But what I do is run my electricity at about 125% capacity. They when they ask everyone to conserve energy and cut back 20%, I dial it down to 105%. It's what I like to call a win-win.

Anyway, it's 70 degrees outside, 62 inside and a half hour before midnight. So I'm heading off to bed.

Right after I turn it down to 57.

Flush with embarrassment

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

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

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

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

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

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

You know, just like I am now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was not my finest moment.

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

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

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

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

She said, "You have air conditioning?"

That's the ticket

There are a lot of people I've seen in concert not necessarily because I'm a fan, but because I think I should see them. The reason can range anywhere from they're a living legend, like when I saw Sinatra and Sammy Davis Jr. at the Greek Theater, to they may not be around much longer, like when I saw Elvis at what was then the Intercontinental Hotel in Vegas (although technically my parents dragged me to that one, but I can still say I saw him).

One group that falls into both categories is The Rolling Stones.

Every time they've ever toured, I've sworn to myself I'd see them. And after hearing this morning they're going to tour for the first time since 2006, I made the promise again.

What's stopped me in the past has been money. Now, if you know anything about me, and really, we don't have any secrets, you know I'm a pampered poodle: I don't sit in the back of the plane. I don't stay in the standard hotel room. And I don't sit in the nosebleed seats at concerts, unless it's Springsteen and those are the only seats left. I'm guessing you already knew that too.

Stones tickets have traditionally gone for between $300-$600 face value. And me being me, guess which ones I want? That's $1200 before parking if I take the wife. I've never paid that to see anyone. Okay, well maybe once I might've paid close to that (twice as much) for front row seats to Springsteen at the Christic Institute concert with Jackson Browne and Bonnie Raitt. But it was his first concert in years and all acoustic. Front row seats, how often's that gonna happen? It was my money, I earned it and I don't have to defend it to you dammit, so how about you back off.

Glad we settled that.

Anyway, as we all know with Ticketbastards, er, Ticketmaster, the ticket price is just the beginning.

While hotels and airlines have just recently caught on, Ticketmaster has been tacking on bullshit fees to the face cost of a ticket for years. So even if you're seeing a show with a $65 face value ticket, you could wind up paying around a $100 after the extra charges.

Bands have fought Ticketmaster. So have fans. But the bottom line is they're not about to change. They don't exactly have a monopoly, but they have a majority of contracts with the major concert venues across the country. So it's pay or stay home.

I haven't made up my mind if I'm going to pony up for the Stones tickets this time, although I'm thinking I just might. Because you can't fight the law of averages forever.

I probably spend more time contemplating this than I should. I know it's only rock and roll.

But I like it.

Agency Standard Time

You're already familiar with Pacific Standard Time, Central Standard Time and Eastern Standard Time. What you may not be acquainted with is Agency Standard Time.

It isn't tracked on a clock or a calendar. In fact, it's barely tracked at all (except for freelancer hours - those are tracked very carefully). Agency Standard Time redefines the whole time-we'll start when we're ready continuum.

In agency time, meetings are scheduled at lunch and Fridays at five. One hour meetings take two-and-a-half hours. Or fifteen minutes. Weekends are yours, unless they're not. Up is down, black is white, night is day. In agencies, time is like a gas - ever expanding to fill the space it occupies. And since gas is mostly hot air, well, you see where I'm going.

Oddly enough, the ability to carve time out for golf with the client, trips to Cannes or SXSW and filling out award entry forms from the One Show to the Effies are remarkably unaffected.

Unlike the ability to blow smoke, or convince the client "this is exactly what Apple would do..." time simply isn't a respected commodity at ad agencies.

Well, at least yours isn't.