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.

Do I stay or do I go

I’ve always had great admiration for people who have more than one skill set they can make a living with. For example, my late, great friend George Roux was an art director, illustrator, commercial director and photographer. And he was equally adept at all of them. Damn him.

The problem is, the only thing I can really do is write. And depending on who you talk to, or if you've followed this blog for any length of time, even that's a little shaky.

Like so many of my colleagues, I occasionally entertain the idea of leaving advertising and moving on to a new challenge. Usually during status meetings, listening to account planners giving their insights or staff meetings where management tells everyone how great the new open office seating will be.

Don’t get me wrong: it’s not that copywriting hasn’t been good to me or isn’t challenging, but occasionally a restlessness sets in and I start thinking there might be something else that would be even more rewarding. It’s the same way I felt about my high school girlfriend.

Because there isn't much money in bingeing Breaking Bad, Better Call Saul, The Americans and House Of Cards, I started thinking about other things to do besides what I’m doing.

Here’s a partial list:

Crowd Estimator

I’ve always been good with numbers. I figure I could be that guy they cut to on the local news at concerts or sporting events. “Jeff, that looks like quite a gathering at the stadium tonight.” “That’s right Bill, I’d say there’s about 15,000 people here for the big show.” Then I’d get in the car and go home. Good gig.

Tire Store owner

I love tire stores. That new rubber smell, the S, T, H, V, ZR, W and Y speed ratings (note to Prius owners: S is all you need). What’s not to like about a job where you can toss around words like lug nuts and lateral run out (that's shimmy to you civilians). Not to mention the go-to jokes about being "under pressure" all the time. BAM! I’ll be here all week.

Fortune Cookie Writer

Here’s a gig that capitalizes on experience I already have—always a good thing. Play to my strength. Also, it’s one sentence at a time. That works well for me. Just a quick zinger, something uplifting, hopeful and funny in six or seven words. Besides, my wife used to be VP of Marketing for Panda Express. I already speak fortune cookie.

Ticket Taker

Whenever the discussion turns to creating jobs, this is one I always think of. Unnecessary and easy (did I use the high school girlfriend joke yet?), I’d be great at this. Movie theaters, Broadway theaters or even parking lots, I’d take the tickets with flair and a smile. There’s really not a lot of time for conversation since everyone’s in a hurry, which is fine by me. If you’ve ever been with me in an elevator, you know sometimes conversation is the last thing I want.

Couples picture taker

This one seems obvious, and yet you don't see a lot of them. Ok, you know when you're with your significant other at Disneyland, a concert, on vacation or at a restaurant, and you take either bad selfies or shots of the two of you individually? I'd be the guy wearing the resort uniform, just walking the grounds looking for people doing that and then saying, "I'll take that for you." One or two clicks, and I'm off to save the next vacation memory. I'd meet people, get exercise, learn about all sorts of photographic equipment and probably have a good tan at the end of it all.

You may have noticed the one alternative career choice not on the list is professional blogger. There are a couple of reasons for that.

First, I know for a fact there's no money in it. And second, have you read this blog lately?

Culture club

You see a lot of sameness at Comic Con. Everywhere you look, there are people dressed up in costume, engaging in one of Merriam Webster's most recent word additions: cosplay.

For four days every July, the San Diego Convention Center is lousy with Stormtroopers, Ghostbusters, Jokers, Batmans, Supermans, Laura Crofts, Sleeping Beautys, Spidermans, Harley Quinns, Wolverines, Harry Potters, every character from Game Of Thrones and more. They are collectively all part of what the press likes to smugly dub "The Nerd Culture."

The word "culture" has become the go to adjective to describe large groups of people who generally share the same interests, have the same collective experience or do the same thing, together or separately. Much in the same way "-gate" is added to even the most minuscule hint of scandal.

There's a service culture. A truth culture. Modern culture. Art culture. Social culture. Fashion culture. Hero culture. I'm even part of one—blog culture.

Ironically, there's no yogurt culture. See what I did there?

Anyway, this label seems unnecessary. In many instances, it seems the word "community" would work just fine. Besides, practitioners of nerd culture are really just pop culture lovers with more free time, fewer girlfriends and less employment than the rest of us who enjoy the occasional Iron Man film or Walking Dead Experience.

This is my tenth Comic Con, and I've spoken to a lot of the people who attend over the years. Here's where I net out (pardon the ad lingo): if "nerd culture" means feeling confident enough to enthusiastically express how much you love a certain art form, having the freedom not to care what anyone thinks, retaining the innocence to believe there is still heroism left in the world and people are capable of rising to their better selves, then I only have one thing to say.

I'm all for it.

One month later...

Tomorrow is one month since my last post here at Rotation and Balance.

Although you may not have been consciously aware of it, I'm sure you felt a disturbance in the force. An unexplainable void in your life, you know, besides money, a loving relationship and worthwhile employment. For the last thirty days, you've had that creeping feeling the world was a little less entertaining. A lot less funny. Deep down, on the inside, a small, quiet voice was telling you something was missing.

Well now you know.

This isn't the first time I've taken a break from posting. I've done it before, although rarely for this length of time. Sometimes it's pure laziness (most times). Other times it's that I just don't have anything interesting to write about.

Of course, if I let that stop me I'd never write anything.

I have to say that, like you, I haven't exactly missed it. For starters it's been a busy month what with a home remodel going on. Do to refinishing hardwood floors in our house, we've had to move out, move into an airbnb, move out of an airbnb and move back into the house with kids and dogs in tow all in the space of the last ten days.

So that's a hectic third of the month right there.

I've also been enjoying taking time to read and catch up with other ad-bashing blogs, like Round Seventeen, the Ad Contrarian and Ad Aged. They all say a lot of things I'd have said if I'd been posting the past month. Only they're saying them better than I would have.

The truth is I've started to post a number of times in the past month, but nothing really interested me enough to see it through. To quote Stephen King, one of my writing heroes, every false start felt like I was shoveling shit from a sitting position.

Not that it's ever stopped me before.

All of this is to say the month of no blogposts is over. I'm getting back in the saddle, and ready to ride into better metaphors than this one. I think all our lives are going to be better now that I've made this decision.

And if that turns out not to be the case, there's always next month.

Au revoir

You don't have enough paper, or a monitor big enough to list all the things I'm not good at. There just aren't enough hours in the day. But if you decided you had nothing better to do than to try, at the very top would have to be saying goodbye to my children when they're taking off somewhere.

Lets start here: I want them to travel the world, be explorers and adventurers, have experiences and memories that will shape who they are and widen their horizons.

It's just that I hate saying goodbye to them.

When my daughter went on her 8th grade class trip back east I was a mess. When they left us to fly home from New York together it brought me to tears. When my son went to UT in Austin, you could've mopped the streets with me.

Then when he transferred back and I saw the grocery bills, well, I digress.

So today was another one. He took off about an hour ago for Paris, with a couple of days planned for a side trip to London. He'll be meeting up and traveling with a good friend of his, and he'll be staying with a good friend of mine in London. Plus, if he has any questions at all about Paris, he knows how to get hold of my friend Janice MacLeod, who literally wrote the book on it.

I'm excited for him, but I hate to see him go. But let's be clear again—I do want him to go.

What makes it harder is he's not traveling in the world I traveled in. It's a lot more dangerous, although at least he's going to two cities that are probably among the safest in the world right now for all the wrong reasons.

See, that part right there? You know what that is? That's the parent tax anyone with children pays every day. It's that low, constant hum of white noise in the back of your brain asking "Are they alright? Are they safe? Are they being careful?" You come to understand it's the reason our parents still treat us like kids no matter how old we get. They'll never stop. And I suppose I won't either.

So, I put on my brave face, bid my boy au revoir, wish him a safe, wonderful and exciting (in the good way) trip. And when he returns in a week, his horizons will have been widened, his world view expanded and his budget blown.

But then I was already thinking this was going to cost me a few Euros by the time it's all over.

The envelope please

There are conflicting perceptions about what it's like to work in advertising.

The first, and I believe more commonly held belief, is that it's a contemptible, gutter occupation right down there with used car salesman, personal injury lawyer and income tax auditor.

The second is that it's a glamour-filled, creatively-driven, Hollywood-adjacent profession loaded with travel to exotic places and awards with stupid names that take up lots of shelf space.

Both are correct. But sometimes the pendulum swings more to one side than the other.

Case in point would be the assignment my art director partner and I just got: to design a window envelope for one of our clients.

Now, I say my art director and I, but this kind of assignment is what I like to call "an art problem." My partner, being the perfectionist she is, will attack this assignment with the same intensity she'd give a global branding campaign. Me? I'll probably head out for lunch.

The point is all that glitters isn't gold pencils when it comes to assignments in ad agencies.

Just because I had nothing better to do, when we kicked-off the assignment (yes we had a kick-off for an envelope), I asked about the strategy, data indicating need for an envelope, wanted to see examples of competing envelopes, needed to hear any "insights" the planner had on envelopes.

You can't do the job if you don't have the information. And even if I had the information I couldn't do the job. Art problem.

So in between social and digital campaigns, national branding brainstorming, new product introduction campaigns and assorted other communication channel assignments, I'll be right there in spirit with my partner while she designs the four or five window envelope options the client will want to see.

But as far as this particular assignment goes, I'm mailing it in.

Where's my parade?

I'm not gonna lie—I'm feeling a recognition shortage when it comes to appreciation for the many things I do for others. As you can imagine, being an only child makes this feeling of not being the center of the universe something I'm completely unfamiliar with.

Here's the most recent example of how I go out of my way to make life better for the people I love, as well as those around me.

Yesterday, I realized the family was double booked for Saturday night, August 12th. I know, right? We had tickets to both Straight No Chaser at the Greek Theater and to The Curious Incident Of The Dog In The Night Time at the Ahmanson Theater at the Music Center. A decision had to be made, and quickly.

Realizing immediately I couldn't change the concert date, but as an Ahmanson subscriber could exchange those tickets, I called the Music Center box office. I talked with Raphael, a subscriber concierge who spoke with a slightly affected accent and more than a hint of condescension in his voice.

Nevertheless, I persisted.

After finding some equal ground and achievable objectives we could agree on, Raphael then exchanged my four tickets for a week earlier, considerably better orchestra seats, much further up and dead center. Sure, he let me know it wasn't an even exchange and there was an additional fee required, but I didn't hesitate. I fired up the VISA card and paid it.

Giver, remember?

It wasn't easy or fun, took time out of my day and cost me money. But I did it for the same reason Walter White started his meth empire: for the family.

Maybe it's because I work in advertising, where recognition is a form of currency, awards are highly sought after (even if you don't go to Cannes to get them) and getting attention is the name of the game. Or maybe it's just being an only child and a glory hog.

Who's to say?

All I know is recognition or not, I'll keep going out of my way to take on the jobs that have to be done that no one else wants to do.

For example tonight, I'm setting the table for the family. Whether anyone notices or not.