Encore post: The right attitude

This year, Thanksgiving is going to be filled with more gratitude than most, starting with the fact we finally get to gather around the table again with family and friends. Like Joni Mitchell said, "You don't know what you've got til it's gone." The pandemic Thanksgivings reminded us of what we had. And, thankfully, have again.

So let's take this day to reflect on our blessings, hold those here and gone in our hearts, be thankful for all we have, and plot how we're going to slice a bigger piece of pumpkin pie without anyone noticing. Pro tip: turn on the TV and ask if anyone wants to watch the parade. That usually gives you a few minutes alone with the pie.

You're welcome. Happy Thanksgiving.

I don't think there's anyone who knows me, as much as anyone can know anyone, who'd argue the fact that I've gotten complaining down to an art form. I'm not proud.

Anyway, I thought it'd be good for me and everyone within earshot if I tried developing a different skill. So I'm choosing gratitude.

It's dawned on me, more than once, that in the scheme of things - the big picture - I have it pretty damn good in almost every area of my life. Not as good as some, but I'd be willing to bet better than most. And it's not that I'm ungrateful - quite the opposite in fact. But what I do know is I could make a more frequent habit of practicing gratitude. Maybe turn it into an everyday thing, because everyday, there's something to be grateful for.

It could start every morning. My pal Cameron always says any day above ground is a good day. So waking up each morning seems like a good thing to be grateful for.

I don't work in insurance or the fast food industry. I don't work on an assembly line. Not that there's anything wrong with those necessary jobs or the essential people that work hard in them. But I'm grateful I have a job that lets me make up stuff and dress like a fifteen-year old everyday.

I could've wound up working with a bunch of stiffs, boring people who make the long days even more excruciating than they already are. Instead, (almost) no matter which agency I'm at, I'm grateful I get to work with some of the funniest, most creative people in any business.

My wife and kids are healthy and love me.

My two dogs are healthy and love me.

My neighbors are healthy.

I'm finding it's doing me good to have an attitude of gratitude, even for the little things.

Finding a parking space when I turn in the lot.

Not having to wait in the slow line at the market.

Walking up to the washer just as it finishes the cycle.

I'm grateful for my friends, who support, encourage and uplift me in all my endeavors and wild schemes. I mean my current friends. I cut the whiners and complainers loose long ago - no time for them. I'm grateful I did that as well.

So that's all I wanted to say. No snarky post, no quippy little end line tonight. I'll wrap it up by saying I'm grateful to everyone who reads this on a regular, semi-regular or occasional basis.

That's it. Now I'm done with this post.

See? I even gave you something to be grateful for.

The five stages of advertising

I think it's safe to assume my ad agency creative broheim—and woheim—will immediately recognize these five stages of emotion. While your first thought might understandably be that they're the five stages of grief, they're actually the five stages we all go through while we're pushing the boulder uphill, attempting to get great work out the door.

Truth be told, there's a fine line between advertising and grief. Nah, I'm just messin' with ya. There is no line. It’s basically the same emotional rollercoaster as mourning a loss. While there might be slight variations on the themes from agency to agency, the experience always has a familiar ring to it.

DENIAL.

This happens right at the beginning: the kickoff meeting. They hand out the brief, and after a quick look see the head shaking starts. You're inside voice starts muttering things like “They can’t really want all this in the ad.” “It’s five pounds of shit in a two pound banner.” “This isn’t the real brief, no one would be that stupid.”

Which of course takes us seamlessly into the next stage.

ANGER.

I think Elvis put it best when he said, “Lord a’mighty, I feel my temperature risin’…” Anger kicks in at the precise moment you realize the client wants the ad packed with exactly everything they just told you they wanted in the kick off. And the account people promised it to them before they spoke to you.

If they'd had bagels at the kickoff maybe you'd have been more forgiving. But they had to cut back on the bagel budget because Cannes will be here before you know it. They'll be entering all that work you're shaking your head about. If I were you I wouldn't waste any time working on the acceptance speech.

I may have gotten off topic here.

Anyway, as all this goes running through your inner conversation, you can't help but default to a tactic that has about as much chance of working as a Republican healthcare plan.

BARGAINING.

This happens in the account exec or supe’s office, you know, the “they can’t be serious about this” meeting where you explain there’s no way what they’re asking for will work.

It's a tale as old as time. Once you walk out of that encounter, there's only one thing you'll be feeling.

DEPRESSION.

The account person already promised it to the client, and why don’t you just take a shot at it and see what you can do. And if you’re wondering what it is they’re putting on your shoulders right now, it’s the “Besides, the client isn’t happy with us and it’ll make the agency look bad if we don’t deliver.” weights.

And by agency they mean them.

ACCEPTANCE.

You’re not getting out of it, so you take the shot. Maybe they’ll realize what they’re asking for is awful once they see it. Not likely, but keeping hope alive is all you've got right now. So off you and your partner go, deep sighs and muttering lines like, “Oh well, they’re getting the advertising they deserve.” and my personal favorite, “The checks clear.”

Of course, when this happens enough times and you come to the realization it ain't ever going to change, there's always a sixth stage to keep in mind once you've tried everything else.

HEADHUNTER.

Encore post: Curing cancer

This post originally appeared about eight years ago. Amazing isn't it? Not the post—the fact I've been cranking this stuff out over eight years.

The reason for the repost at this particular point in the juncture, I'm sorry to say, is the situation has gotten much, much worse. Seriousness at advertising agencies has reached—and forgive the term—pandemic proportions. It's spreading faster than ever.

What's driving it? Decisions and work that's data driven. Nonstop metric measuring (my metric's bigger than yours). Low supply and high demand for just about everything. Fear, fear and more fear. Of keeping jobs and accounts. Losing jobs and accounts. Flying under the radar. Standing out in the meeting. Budgets being cut. Fear at agencies in a post covid world is running more rampant than ever before.

All of this has led to more meetings and pep talks with charts showing how serious the situation is.

I prefer to take the opposing position: if we can't have fun and enjoy a business where we get to dress like fifteen-year olds, make shit up all day, eat free pizza, bagels and meeting leftovers more often than any healthy human should, then what hope is there?

Have a read and see if you don't agree.

And by all means, take this post very, very seriously. As I know you will.

Every once in awhile, I'm reminded in no uncertain terms that we do very important work in advertising. Very important. It’s obvious isn’t it? If the work wasn’t life or death - which it apparently is – then why would some people in the business treat it that way? People in advertising wouldn’t lie.

Nah, I’m just funnin’ ya. It isn’t. And they would.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: people take themselves too damn seriously in a business that’s supposed to be fun. Not fun in the ha-ha sense, but fun in the working hard, producing something we can be proud of creatively and that moves sales for the client sense.

There’s also award show and media girl fun, but that’s for another post.

Just today, a friend of mine asked what happened to, “Here’s a great idea, we love it, here’s a shitload of money now go produce it.” Good question.

The answer of course is fear. Fear is what happened to it. Fear of making a decision, and fear of taking responsibility for that decision. Fear of losing your job over that decision. Fear of telling a creative team to just go produce an idea without a room of 12 strangers who know nothing about it to back them up.

I’ve never been one to be accused of overthinking the work, and that may explain two things: first is my unfrightened attitude. For some reason, when you don’t take things as seriously as other people do it really bothers them. They feel like you’re not a “team player” (by the way, whole other post about that phrase coming soon - oops, may have tipped my hand).

And second, it’s the reason I prefer freelance. Going on staff means one thing and one thing only (hint: contrary to popular belief it's not job security). It means you have to take it seriously.

Don't misunderstand, I know full well there are serious aspects to what we do. Millions of dollars are spent, and clients, understandably, expect to results from it. Careers and reputations are often made and broken on one decision. But those things are the price of entry of being in the business, and everyone at the door waiting to come in knows it.

The thing is, after everything you've given and sacrificed and struggled through to get in, there's still a constant demand for a blood oath to show how serious you are about it.

For example, I’m not sure when it happened, but somewhere along the way the powers that be decided if creative people were really going to be serious about it, they should be on call 24 hrs. a day, like doctors (who actually are curing cancer and making a real difference). And they should be on call with their personal cell phones without reimbursement.

That seems fair.

There are agency cultures that live and breathe by the if-you're-not-here-on-Saturday-don't-bother-coming-in-Sunday credo. I've worked for them, we all have. But like my pal Rich Siegel at Round Seventeen so aptly put it, I didn't drink the Kool-Aid. No need to linger after school if I have nothing to do just to make sure I'm seen after hours.

If I'm not there, start without me.

Here's what I know for sure. We're creating a disposable product no one outside of the client is asking for. Occasionally it does some good. Once in a while it's extremely creative. And when it moves product, whatever that product is, it's a great thing for all involved. Don't get me wrong: just because our product is disposable doesn't mean there aren't great commercials deservedly burned into the public conscious for the right reasons. For example, Apple's "1984" spot.

But for every "1984" there are a thousand "Mucinex in. Mucus out." spots.

Which is hard to believe, given all the seriousness that went into them.

Encore post: My head hurts

A little over six years ago, I put up this post about overthinking. And I'm happy to say in that time, what with the thousands hundreds dozens nine industry power players who've read it, absolutley nothing has changed.

Even though the advertising world looks drastically different today what with working from home, hybrid home/office situations, the great resignation, Zoomers and reimbursed wi-fi, it's comforting to know one thing that will never change is the uncanny ability for (certain) agency people to make mountains out of molehills.

Whatever you do, don't overthink this little updated intro too much. It's clear I didn't.

Please to enjoy.

Ad agencies are overflowing with lots of things. Creative ideas. People with opinions. Knit caps. Tattoos. Bad coffee. One thing there's also no shortage of is The Overthinkers - people who overthink every little thing. Every single thing. Over. And over. And over.

Don't get me wrong: I'm all for the well thought out question. A dash of examination. A pinch of should we or shouldn't we. But I’ve often wondered what it is The Overthinkers actually bring to the table. Sure, they manage to turn every item on the brief (all fifteen pages of it) into an event in the Second Guessing Olympics, with all of them going for the gold. But beyond that, what does it all add up to?

Every time The Overthinkers reconsider a point they reconsidered a minute ago, the work has to change, because “this time they’ve got it.”

Until the next time.

It’s the reason work is constantly being revised, rewritten, revamped and regurgitated all way up to the last minute. It’s why meetings and more meetings are held to reveal the latest insight and observations.

Until the next ones.

And it’s the cause of enormous amounts of time and confusion being unnecessarily added into the process.

Planners, brand strategists, VP's of Cultural Trend Metrics - or whatever they hell they're calling themselves this week - have managed to turn what should be a single-focused insight into a Three-Card Monty game of strategy. If you can guess which card it’s under, you win the strategy to work against.

Spoiler alert: you never win.

The Overthinkers have to keep changing the rules, because if they don’t they’re out of a job. It's like the paid consultant who has to create a problem so he can solve it, and then create another one to keep the checks rolling in.

In the name of simplicity, efficiency and a better product, it might be a good thing for The Overthinkers to take one for the team and move on.

Then creatives could execute against a simple strategy, in a short, concise brief we’d only have to meet about once.

Of course, The Overthinkers might wonder why they ever left such a cush position. The good news is they’d have plenty of time to overthink about it.

Rediscovering Raymond

Here’s how our sitcom rotation goes (I like using the word “rotation” for obvious reasons).

It started with nightly mini-binges of Seinfeld. Every night from 10 to 11pm, channel 13 runs back-to-back episodes, and the wife and I would watch them while we were struggling to arrange the five-thousand pillows on the bed before falling asleep (don’t get me started).

The problem is in that particular syndication package, there are only a limited number of episodes, which means they keep running the same ones over and over. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. It’s just that they're not as funny when you see it for the tenth time within three weeks.

So we made the move from the corner restaurant to Central Perk. Nick At Nite fills their evening lineup with episode after episode of Friends from about 8pm to midnight every night. Could it be more entertaining?

But while NAN runs more Friends episodes, if you watch them long enough you wind up with the same issue. So we decided to pivot and take a break from Friends.

While we were using the clicker to run down the channels to see what else we could binge, we discovered every evening at 8pm TV Land runs a whole bunch of Everybody Loves Raymond. It was like striking comedy gold. We’d forgotten how out-and-out hilarious, relatable and pitch perfect Raymond is. It ran for 9 years, and though it's not often mentioned in the same breath as those other two sitcoms, it's one of the best and funniest that ever was.

One of the ways you can tell how brilliant it is on every level is the fact many of the most hilarious scenes take place with the five main characters—Ray (Ray Romano), Debra (Patricia Heaton), Frank (Peter Boyle), Marie (Doris Roberts) and Robert (Brad Garrett)—just sitting on the couch or at the kitchen table just talking. Not walking around, not gesturing wildly, not being contrived. Just talking.

It’s testimony to the brilliant writing and talent of this finely tuned cast.

I know Seinfeld is a staple for a lot of people, and what with the reunion, the sad, not so funny reunion, it’s been the year of Friends again. But if you're looking for some genuine laughs you didn't even know you had, I can’t recommend enough that you drop in on the Barone family.

As Frank would say, "Holy crap is that a funny show!"

Gone phishing

How gullible are you? Here’s how you find out: take the last four numbers of your Social Security card, add them to the year you were born and that’s the percentage of how gullible you are.

Want to know the rapper name for someone as gullible as you? Take your first dog’s name and the last thing you ate and you’ll have it.

If you think those fun and funny questions that keep popping up in memes on right-wing propaganda highways like Facebook are nothing more than a humorous diversion, then the laugh’s on you.

They’re actually sophisticated, well-designed, algorithmically enhanced, individually targeted ways to fool you into ponying up passwords, security question answers, user names and other personal information that in any other circumstance you’d never reveal to anyone.

The term is phishing. And while phishing originally applied to emails that tried to get you to reveal your personal information to people like that Nigerian prince who needed your bank account to deposit the lottery winnings/inheritance he had waiting for you, the term now applies to any online scheme to rube you out of your personal info.

Full disclosure—I’ve answered a few of these my own self, but only after careful consideration as to the possibility of discerning any of my info from my answers. Of course, I won't know if I got it right until it's too late.

The other part of it is advertising. You and your eyes are the only product Facebook has to sell to advertisers. By posing seemingly harmless, mildly entertaining questions and getting you to answer them, Facebook algorithms easily divvy up a dossier of your likes and dislikes, political views, salary, occupation and more into demographic buckets to justify their ad rates to agencies and advertisers.

Not to burst anyone’s fun bubble, but I’m old enough to remember when privacy was a thing. It still is with me. And if you want to protect yourself from fraud, identity theft, a barrage of advertisements and unscrupulous social network creators, it should still be a thing with you too.

My recommendation is find your fun elsewhere, in ways that won’t separate you from your money without you knowing.

And if anyone asks why you won’t answer these fun questions, tell them rapper Ace Shrimp Burrito told you not to.

What is bullshit

So really, what was it all for?

When legendary longtime Jeopardy host Alex Trebek died of pancreatic cancer last November, speculation about his replacement took off faster than Bret Kavanaugh on a beer run. Everyone had an opinion about who should fill Alex’s big shoes.

Jeopardy, in a move equal parts ratings grab and audition process, lined up a series of diverse and interesting guest hosts for the show while a decision was being made about the permanent one.

Almost immediately, Ken Jennings—the highest-earning American gameshow contestant, and the longest winning streak ever on Jeopardy with 74 consecutive wins—rose to the frontrunner position for the job. Jennings was already a contributing producer on the show, and seemed like a no brainer (see what I did there?) to replace Trebek. He was also first in the series of guest hosts.

After him came the show’s executive producer, also exec producer of Wheel Of Fortune and one of the main decision makers regarding Alex’s replacement, Mike Richards.

Conflict of interest much?

Richards had hosted a couple of game shows before and it showed. As the wife so perfectly put it, Richards is the Wink Martindale of Alex Trebeks. Way too slick, humorless and cold (even though I hear he speaks well of me), he was stilted and didn’t relate particularly well to contestants during the nightly interviews after the first commercial break.

The small talk seemed forced—like watching a Boston Dynamics robot trying to dance like a human. Close, but not quite right.

But eventually his two weeks as guest host ended, and the show moved on to other hosts including Katie Couric, Anderson Cooper, Sanjay Gupta, David Faber, Robin Roberts, George Stephanopoulos, Aaron Rogers, Buzzy Cohen (another former Jeopardy champion), Mayim Bialik, Savannah Guthrie and fan favorite LeVar Burton.

Now, I’m human—not Boston Dynamics human but real human—and as such had my own favorites. Even before the guest hosts were announced, I thought Anderson Cooper would make a great Jeopardy host. I still do.

Ken Jennings would be great, and his connection to the show and Alex makes him a comforting and poignant prescence.

Sanjay Gupta, Mayim Bialik or LeVar Burton would all be historic choices for obvious reasons, and would fit the bill splendidly.

And David Faber, the current guest host, simply feels like he's always been there and part of it.

They were all warm, genuine, had a sense of humor plus the brainpower and gravitas to host the fact-based juggernaut. Mike Richards was never on my list. He was charactature of a gameshow host. Nothing more than a footnote.

Well well, come to find out the braintrust at Sony, who produces the show, doesn't quite see it that way. In fact, you’ll never guess who’s the frontrunner to replace Alex. Give up? It’s executive producer, main decision maker, android prototype and very white guy Mike Richards! I know. I’m as shocked as you are. Apparently he’s in final negotiations to become the permanent host.

Even though many of the other guest hosts had day jobs, and were doing the show just to raise money for their favorite charities (Jeopardy donated the nightly combined contestant winnings to them), it was a glimpse into how interesting and fun the show could have become with the right person at the podium.

Anyway, you have thirty seconds players: here’s the clue: This colloquial phrase describes the reason Mike Richards, executive producer of Jeopardy is likely to replace Alex.

What is the fix was in from the start.