T'was the night before Christmas: 2021 Edition

It's been a couple years since I put up this post on Christmas Eve, and honestly I debated whether or not to do it at all this year.

However it is the season of giving, and damn it, if we know anything about me we know I'm a giver.

As you may have noticed, this year has been somewhat different than years past. But despite covid, my virus paranoia and my obsessive hand-washing, I actually do look forward to the coming year with uncharacteristic hope and optimism.

Plus I look fabulous in a mask, so there’s that.

So for the holidays, this year more than ever, give those you love the present that will mean the most. Hug them tight, and make sure they know how much they're loved.

Please enjoy this little diddy, revised for the times we find ourselves in.

I wish the very merriest Christmas to each and every one of you and yours. And a healthy, happy new year to us all.

‘Twas the night before Christmas and all ‘round the world

A sense of great unease had spun and had swirled

The covid tests hung by the fireplace with care

In hopes a vaxxed Santa soon would be there

Families nestled with thoughts of spiked virus balls in their head

And visions of immunity and slowing the spread

They’d talk of frustration with shut downs and such

And the fact last year they hadn’t gone out very much

When out in the living room there rose such a clatter

I stopped rapid testing to see what was the matter

The door had been locked, did somebody hack it

What could possibly be making all of that racket

With a little old driver, so lively and quick

I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came

And he whistled and shouted and called them by name

Now Dasher! Now Dancer! Now Prancer and Vixen!

We’ve had our boosters and the vaccine’s kicked in

We’re masked and we’re ready to spread Christmas joy

All ‘round the world tonight, to every girl and boy

This year we’re over the naughty and nice list

We’re going to all the children’s homes that exist

Parents are weary and children are tired

Of figuring out where and how and what is required

But we’re all in this together if we just hang on tight

And get over ourselves and keep doing what’s right

It can be beat, it really can be done

If we all do our part, each and every one

So while the spirit may not move us as it has in years past

Let’s look towards the day when finally at long last

This virus is behind us and life’s again what it should be

And the season is joyous for you and for me

Until that day comes let’s care for each other

And consider all our sisters and every brother

We’re all a piece of the puzzle, it’s really quite a feat

Together as one is the only way we’re complete

That’s not to say this years’ losses should be forgotten

By any measure, the last 365 days have been rotten

But we can pick ourselves up, we know how to do it

And despite how it looks, we will all get through it

Then he jumped in his sled with a sparkle in his eye

Gave a shout and a holler and flew towards the sky

He looked back and exclaimed, “remember at the end of every tunnel there’s light

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”

Agency side. Client side.

If you’ve followed this blog any amount of time, first let me say thank you and I understand your disappointment.

For those that have in fact been following, you may already be aware I've gone client side and am no longer on the agency side of the table. In case you're not familiar with my job-hopping journey (pausing to laugh for using the word journey), here's a quick little recap.

Near the end of 2019, I left—and by left I mean was laid off in a 12-person sweep—from my cushy, high-paid, high-powered, impressively titled, glamorous job introducing a new luxury car brand to a grateful nation from the tony beachside offices of a Korean owned advertising agency that shall go unnamed.

Innocean.

You might also know that afterwards, I enjoyed six bliss-filled, worry-free months of freelance, matinees, lunches with friends, bingeing Breaking Bad (again), cutting down the stack of books on my bedside table (not reading them, just cutting them down), playing with my dogs and spending daylight hours with the family.

But while I was living the good life and cashing the freelance checks, come to find out this nasty little virus was making its deadly way around the globe. And suddenly every headline in the trades was screaming about layoffs and furloughs, cutting freelance budgets and dwindling product inventory as infection rates were rising.

It was at that point I decided maybe the smart play would be to park myself somewhere for a while until this covid thing blew over. You know, one day just disappeared like a miracle. Fuck Trump.

Anyway I knew I wasn’t ready to go back to an agency. And even if I had been, they weren’t hiring.

Coincidentally about this time, a friend of a friend I used to work with who had gone to a tech company mostly known for their printers, scanners, projectors and sports personality spokesperson, told me they were looking for a writer. Long story short—if that’s even possible at this point—I went, I interviewed, I charmed, I brought the funny and I got the gig. I’m assuming my friend got the referral fee.

Normally this is where I'd make the joke (again) about not naming the company, then I'd name the company. Comedy gold. But when I signed on with this tech company, in the slew of onboarding paperwork there was something about mentioning them in social media or a blog, and what else I'd have to say if I dropped their name. I really should read these things more thoroughly. And while I usually like to gamble, my Jedi instincts are telling me not to do it today. But I've given you enough to go on—you can figure it out.

Alright, against my better judgement here's one more clue: their first product was the EP-101, and every product after was considered the son of the EP-101. What do you need, a roadmap?

Anyway, here's what I've learned since being on the client side: she’s a whole other country. It’s like the United States and England. You know you’re both speaking the same language, yet there are still different ways of saying the same thing that are unique to the territory.

Agency: “I know it’s 10am but we need it by noon.”
Client side: “We’re already past the deadline. I can only give you 5 more days.”

Agency: “I’m going shopping after lunch. I’ll be back later.”
Client side: “Lunch is from noon to 1PM. If you’re taking a late lunch please let your manager know.”

Agency: “This is pretty edgy. Let’s see what happens.”
Client side: “Can you make it duller? (not the stupidest thing ever said to me, but still deserving of a post all its own—coming soon)

Agency: “Where did you get those ripped jeans – they’re rad!”
Client side: “We’re pleased to announce jean Fridays!” Please see the employee manual for specifics.

Agency: The creative director will never go for that.
Client side: "Tell creative we're changing it to read like this."

There are things I miss about being in an agency creative department. The flexible hours, the money, dressing like a 17-year old, the money, being with sharp, funny, talented, creative people all day every day, the money, and the sense of all of us being in the foxhole together and working as a single entity—not unlike the borg in Star Trek. And of course, the money.

But client side at my company—look at me talking like a team player—does have its advantages. For one thing, my job isn't at the mercy of a creative director who had a client meeting go south. Or a client's spouse who thinks their nephew could do it better. It also helps that we're a financially solid global technology company that's done very well even in the time of covid. In fact, we were designated an essential company because many of our products are designed for home office use, and made the transition to working at that new Ikea desk under your bedroom window easier.

So the bottom line is I'm glad I made the change. And while I have the occasional feeling of buyer's remorse and the grass is always greener, I see myself here for a long time, doing some pretty nice work with our cool spokesperson and a group of genuinely nice people.

Right up until the next time someone tells me to make it duller.

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!"