Don’t forget to stop at the gift shop

I like to think of myself as a rather cultured individual. I have an annual pass to the Los Angeles County Museum of Art (LACMA). I’m a member of the Academy Museum of Motion Pictures. I’m on a waitlist to see the infinity mirror room at The Broad. I’ve enjoyed my many visits to the Museum of Contemporary Art (MOCA). And I make it a point to visit the Whitney whenever I’m in New York to take in the brilliant isolation, loneliness and realism of urban life that only Edward Hopper can convey.

I don’t know why I relate to Hopper so much, but the feeling of hopelessness and futility in his characters hits home with me. I have issues. Another post.

Anyway, despite the fact I’m just lousy with class, I have to admit I’ve never visited what could arguably be called the most interesting museum of all: the Poozeum in Williams, Arizona.

Or as their webpage says, “The Gateway to the Grand Canyon!” Whatever.

The Poozeum collection is made up of thousands of fossilized dinosaur droppings, including, as the website says, “ the wateringly huge ‘Barnum’.”

Interesting adjective.

You can even snap a selfie with a replica of a 4-foot wide titanosaur poop.

Honestly if I wanted a picture with a giant piece of shit I’d just go to a Trump rally.

Look, people can spend their money any way they want. And if a room full of dino droppings is their idea of seeing the sights, then have at it.

So enjoy your visit to the Poozeum. And if you happen to stop by the gift shop to pick up a little something for me, I’m fine with a tee shirt or poster.

Just not a paperweight.

The cars

I bought a new car over the weekend. I'll keep you in suspense until I actually take delivery, at which point I'm sure there'll be a post about it. But it got me thinking about a couple of things.

One is that no matter how faux friendly the salesman is with their mimicing technique-"You have a German Shepherd? I grew up with German Shepherds." "You used to live next to the beach? I live a block from the water." "So you like Breaking Bad? Best show ever!"—the car buying experience is awful.

Again, details for another post.

The other thing it reminded me of was all the cars I've owned.

Like the 1965 Plymouth Fury. It was my first car and it was an eight-cylinder beast. It ran great when it ran, which was usually about ten minutes at a time before something broke on it and had to be fixed. My parents bought the car for $500 from my cousin Mark, who I don't think I ever saw again after that. Wonder why?

By the way, the Fury was my first and last American car. Sorry Detroit, you had your chance.

Then there were the VWs. First was a 1971 Orange Super Beetle. I can still hear the gas sloshing around over my lap when I came to a stop since the gas tank was in front. That car got wiped out in a bad accident which left me with a little souvenir you can read about here.

Anyway I swore I'd never own a VW again, much less an orange one. That was right up until my 1973 Karmann Ghia called to me from the showroom floor. I loved that car, but what I didn't know is that it had originally come from the east coast. I found that out when the rocker panels started disintegrating. Rust never sleeps.

Just as a side note, when I met the wife she was driving a 1972 orange VW convertible, fully restored. Coincidence? I think not.

With my 1980 Celica, 1986 Supra, 1999 Land Cruiser and 2010 Lexus ES350, Toyota was well reprensented in my garage over the years.

Of course I speak metaphorically. There hasn't been room for a gnat's ass in my garage since the wedding. I'm not naming names.

There was the 1986 Mercedes E190 we bought from the wife's grandma in 1994. It was eight years old and had 12,000 grandma miles on it. There was a four and a six-cylinder model, and grandma had the four. It was like driving a brick, but the car didn't have the power to get out of its own way. Neither did grandma.

Then there was the 1995 Volvo 960 Wagon, which despite being the longest car I ever owned, could turn on a dime in the middle of the street. Volvo made its chops selling safety. They should've been selling turning radius.

My second experience with a Swedish car brand was the Saab 90 I bought off my friend Rob. It was a stick shift, and was technically my son's first car. But I was the one who wound up driving it the most, zipping around town and reliving my VW days when I learned to drive a stick. You know, real driving.

My 2000 Audi A6 was great right until it caught fire, which actually was a more pleasant experience than having the oil changed at the Audi dealer (there may be a hint there as to my new car).

Now you're up to date on my wheels. Or you will be when I post about the newest addition soon. And if you're keeping score on colors, it's one blue, two orange, two silver and six black.

They say the car you drive says a lot about you. Mine say, "Oh yeah, I'll have one of those."

Stop me if you've heard this one

In the ad biz, there’s a constant drive and desire to be different. To position brands in a unique way with a distinct voice that can only belong to them—even if it’s a parity brand and there’s a million others like it on the market. Been down the bottled water aisle lately?

Ironically, that same drive for differentiation seems to quickly fall by the wayside when it comes to quotes about landing the job.

A recent perusal of AgencySpy.com, which I almost never look at anymore now that I’m gainfully and gratefully employed client side, shows a striking similarity in suck up sentiment that almost makes me think they were all written by ChatGPT.

Except I think ChatGPT has more self respect and doesn’t know how to make that sucking sound. Yet.

Here’s what I’m talking about—and by the way, the agency and employee names have been, using a DOJ term, redacted to not embarrass them any more than they’ve already embarrassed themselves.

“We create meaningful change for everyday brands that reach well beyond 30-second spots,” said XXXXX in a statement. “So, we’re making sure we bring the same level of emotional engagement and entertainment to a digital or instore campaign that we do to TV. I’m proud of our ability to keep the full spectrum of communications in mind with everything we create.” - ECD

Meaningful change. Emotional engagement. Full spectrum of communications. If there’s an awards category for “Buzzwords we think the client wants to hear” this one’s definitely a contender.

“Finding the sweet spot between what audiences and brands want is the key to modern growth planning,” said XXXXX in a statement. “I’m excited to build even more of that muscle out at XXXXXXXXXXXXXX to help our clients grow.” – Global Chief Audience Architect

I don’t even know where to start with this one. Is it the bullshit title of Global Chief Audience Architect that wreaks of calling the janitor a “Sanitation Engineer” or do I begin with “Finding the sweet spot between what audiences and brands want…” Here’s a flash for you Chuckles: audiences want advertising that’s entertaining, doesn’t pound them over the head and is worth thirty seconds of their time. What they don’t want is a screen takeover when they’re car shopping online. But it is nice you want to help your clients grow. Kinda the price of entry, amIrite?

“I am thrilled to join XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX and to work on XXXXXXXXX, one of the greatest brands in the world. The level of creativity in the XXXXXXX brand across so many global markets, and the way in which XXXXXXX drives culture, make this a dream opportunity for me,” – Global Chief Creative Officer

Well, I have to hand it to him. He got the clients name in the quote three times.¬ Of course, since it’s a car company he’s talking about, I’m guessing a lot of intention went into the term “drives culture.” I’m happy for him that he finally got his dream opportunity to work on “one of the greatest brands in the world.” Maybe his world, not mine.

“I’m passionate about creating the right conditions for the agency, our people and our clients to do their very best work to help change the world.” – EVP/ECD

And finally, the “change the world” quote. Every agency has one. This is like going to the racetrack, betting on the three-legged horse with crutches because that’s obviously the winner. Alright, so analogies aren’t my strong suit but you see where I’m going. Every agency wants to change the world, and so few of them do. Apple and Chiat did with 1984, the perfect blending of product (which actually didn’t come out until a year after the commercial), message and execution.

I do sympathize though. It’s never easy coming up with a quote that will age well when you’re asked for one. Which is why my standard replies no matter what the question, is “Measure twice, cut once.” Or “I’m not the guy to ask.”

You can quote me on that.

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.

Nok Nok, who's gone?

If you’ve followed this blog for any length of time, and if you have feel free to use Covid as an excuse, then you already know I’m always thinking ahead.

A little over fourteen years ago, I wrote a fabulous piece about my estate plans. You can read it here. Now I know what you’re saying to yourself: “He’s been cranking out this crap for fourteen years?” Trust me, get in line.

At any rate, I was thinking about my exit strategy again lately, and realized while the big pieces of the goodbye puzzle are in place, there will be lots of loose ends to tie up. And it just seemed rude to leave it all for whoever draws the short straw and has to figure it out.

Which is why I ordered a Nok Box.

Frankly I’d be surprised if you haven’t heard of it. It seems like every third email I get and every second Instagram reel that comes up is selling them.

Hmmmm, what does the algorithm know that I don’t?

Nok stands for Next Of Kin. It’s a pre-made group of file folders, complete with individual instruction sheets for each of them, telling me what details and information to fill them with. Being the little organizer I am, because somebody has to be, this appealed to me in a big way. There are so many odds and ends to deal with at the end of the road, I wanted to make it easy on those I’m leaving behind.

Although just to be clear, I’m not planning on going anywhere soon.

So now begins the task of pulling all the info together, so my heirs will be able to find their way through their grief and cash the life insurance checks as soon as possible.

The one other thing I’m going to do to make it easy on them is plan my own memorial and funeral ahead of time, so the only thing they'll have to do is call for a pickup. I know they’ll be grieving deeply, which is why I thought an iPod in the casket playing the sound of someone frantically knocking on a heavy wooden door might add a little levity to the situation.

Anyway I’m not thinking anything fancy. Just a plywood casket, and markers so everyone can write something on it. I’d like to spend eternity in a black t-shirt and cargo shorts, and have a player with a fully charged battery and Thunder Road on repeat.

I know, I’m as shocked as you are.

Encore encore post: Bowled over

This is the second time I've encored this post. Hence the double "encore" in the title. It wasn't a typo, although given my fat fingers and Apple's miniscule keyboard it easily could've been.

The reason I'm reposting again is I saw the brilliant and hilarious John Mulaney at the Hollywood Bowl Saturday night, and I was awe struck, again, at what a spectacular venue it is.

I'll have a post about the show, our fabulous first-row box seats, our parking spot that created immediate jealousy with other parkers and the fine meal we had there soon, but in the meantime, enjoy this hilarious, insightful, yet somehow humble quick read.

I've played the Hollywood Bowl.

Ok, not exactly played. I've walked across the stage in front of an audience. My high school graduation was held at the Hollywood Bowl, and it might've been the most awesome part of high school except for the time I talked my Consumer Law and Economics teacher Mr. Blackman into thinking he'd lost my final term paper (if my kids are reading this, don't even think about it). He gave me an A, but I still feel bad about it.

Having grown up an L.A. kid, I've seen plenty of concerts at the Bowl, so many I can't remember them all.

I saw The Eagles take it easy. If you could read my mind you'd know I also saw Gordon Lightfoot. When school was out for summer I saw Alice Cooper.

I've seen Bruce Springsteen and Jackson Browne perform together (I know, I'm as shocked as you are) for Survival Sunday 4, an anti-nuke benefit concert.

It's getting to the point I remember Crosby Stills and Nash belting out Suite: Judy Blue Eyes. I can absolutely confirm the Go-Go's got the beat. I saw Laurie Andersen do whatever the hell it was she was doing. I've seen Steve Martin getting wild and crazy with Edie Brickell while fireworks were going off in the sky.

There have been many, many more, but you get my drift.

Not all my memories are happy ones. There was the night my pal David Weitz and I were driving in my 1965 Plymouth Fury. Highland Avenue was jammed because of the show at the Bowl, so we turned up into the surrounding hills to see if we could find a shortcut around it. Out of nowhere, a police car appeared behind us, lights flashing. The officers told us through the speakers to get out of the car slowly with our hands up. We were young, but we weren't stupid. We knew this was serious.

Once we were out of the car, hands up, they got out of their car with guns drawn and pointed right at us. They told me to open the trunk, which I did slowly and with my hands in sight at all times. They didn't find whatever they were looking for, and after checking our I.D.'s, they let us go. Apparently we fit the description of two guys who'd been robbing the hillside homes recently. I figured the description was brutally handsome and incredibly funny.

Anyway, the reason my mind's on the Bowl is because a week from tonight, I'll be there again, not on stage, but watching the first J.J. Abrams' Star Trek with the Los Angeles Philharmonic playing the score alongside the movie. It should be a great night.

If you've never been there, or it's been awhile, you owe it to yourself to go. It truly is one of the greatest venues, in one of the most beautiful settings, you'll ever see a show at.

Even if you don't get a diploma at the end of it.

Encore post: Answer the call (to action)

You can’t overstate the ability of advertising people to inhale their own fumes. It may be part of the job description. I’ll have to check with HR.

Many of them have what I’d call an unrealistic sense of consumer behavior that should rightfully be filed under wishful thinking. For example, against all evidence from the beginning of advertising time, there’s a prevailing thought that just because you bark an order at the consumer and tell them to do something, they’ll actually do it.

If it were only that easy.

How else to explain the fact almost every piece of—let’s call it marketing communication—that gets produced has what’s referred to in the biz as a CTA. In civilian terms, a Call To Action.

It’s the instruction from the advertiser on what they want you to do next. And it’s not one-size-fits-all. There is no standard CTA. It can be anything from Learn More to Call Now. Sign Up to Get Started. Take the Survey to Talk To Us. Let’s Go to Join Free For A Month (that was Netflix-it was a great month).

It’s a good thing it’s there. Otherwise how would you know what to do, amiright?

Here’s the truth: agencies consider a 2% click rate on web ad CTAs a resounding success. If you were getting a 2% return on any investment in your life you’d be looking for a new place to invest. But when it’s a 2% click through on banner ads (don’t get me started), the champagne is flowing, the overgrown frat boys are high-fivin', backs are being slapped and the junior team is getting assigned the agency promo piece touting their digital prowess.

On every agency brief—the six to eight page document explaining the assignment and showing that otherwise educated people don't know what brief means—there’s a description about what the agency/client wants the consumer to do as a result of seeing the CTA. For example, “Include CTA to visit website to drive user to website.”

Hey, Captain Obvious, what color was George Washington’s white horse?

Anyway, it occurred to me how much better agency life would be if there were CTAs, like these, that you could click on when the situation called for it.

Make It Stop
Anytime anyone calls a meeting about what they discussed at the last meeting, and what they'll be discussing in the next meeting as a result of this meeting, all you do is click on this CTA and immediately all the sounds stop coming out of their mouth. Their lips are moving, but they're not saying anything. Oh wait, that's already happening.

Go Away
This one's a lifesaver. Great for personal space invaders, hallway talkers or the smug, self-righteous contrarian that lives to argue with everything you say. It's essentially the CTA that wishes them into the cornfield. I'm guessing that's going to be one crowded cornfield.

Not This Again
Remember that revision the client wanted, and you made, and then they took it out? And now they want it back in? This happens on a daily basis on every account in every agency. It just makes you shake your head and ask if they've always had this much trouble making up their mind (well, yes and no - BAM!). Hit this CTA, and it resets time back 15 minutes before the original request got re-requested. Normally only Superman can turn back time by flying counter clockwise to the earth's rotation. This will make it a lot easier on him.

Drop It
Basically a trap door for every occasion. Whatever they're doing to bother you, just hit this CTA and a trapdoor opens under them. Laugh and smile as they go plummeting down an endless tunnel that will eventually land them in the seventh circle of hell.

Or another meeting.