In my five years of writing Ad Aged I have always tried to express myself with utter honesty. I've tried to pull no punches. Outside of never flat-out mentioning where I work or what clients I work on, I try my best to "call 'em as I see 'em."
Over the years I've removed a total of two posts. One because someone was afraid a client would recognize themselves and one because I acted stupidly and disparaged someone in a way I shouldn't have.
At times I realize my posts can be abrasive. Damning both the industry and by application the agency where I am working.
For all that, and perhaps due to Ad Aged's resolute unpopularity my agency doesn't try to either stifle or silence me. In their wisdom they recognize that one can both complain and be positive about work. I know it's hard, sometimes, to hold such contradictory positions at once.
I appreciate it.
And thank you.
Friday, September 21, 2012
Thursday, September 20, 2012
Jack Nicholson and creatives.
As a child of the '60s and '70s and a natural-born contrarian, I grew up "questioning authority." Especially fauxthority, of the clipboard toting, watch-checking, penny ante martinet sort.
A generation and a half ago this scene spoke to us--a depiction of rules and petty bullshit gone mad.
Today, real creatives are Jack.
We all know too many waitresses.
A generation and a half ago this scene spoke to us--a depiction of rules and petty bullshit gone mad.
Today, real creatives are Jack.
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
Here's to the...
I've been angry of late.
Hardly, coming from me, a newsworthy statement.
I've been angry that the ratio between the doers and the meeting makers, the blowhards, second-guessers, the theorists, the prescription writers and more, has fundamentally changed.
In other words there are about six people around each assignment that don't do anything but "manage" the assignment.
They don't advance the ball.
They dont't add value.
They don't make my life easier.
They certainly don't make the agency more profitable...there are too many of them for that.
Remember this: "Here's To The Crazy Ones. The misfits. The rebels. The trouble-makers. The round pegs in the square holes. The ones who see things differently. They're not fond of rules, and they have no respect for the status-quo. You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify, or vilify them. About the only thing you can't do is ignore them. Because they change things. They push the human race forward. And while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius. Because the people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world - are the ones who DO !"
Hardly, coming from me, a newsworthy statement.
I've been angry that the ratio between the doers and the meeting makers, the blowhards, second-guessers, the theorists, the prescription writers and more, has fundamentally changed.
In other words there are about six people around each assignment that don't do anything but "manage" the assignment.
They don't advance the ball.
They dont't add value.
They don't make my life easier.
They certainly don't make the agency more profitable...there are too many of them for that.
Remember this: "Here's To The Crazy Ones. The misfits. The rebels. The trouble-makers. The round pegs in the square holes. The ones who see things differently. They're not fond of rules, and they have no respect for the status-quo. You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify, or vilify them. About the only thing you can't do is ignore them. Because they change things. They push the human race forward. And while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius. Because the people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world - are the ones who DO !"
Today it could be written like this: "Here's to the Serious Ones. The conformists. The rules-followers. The rules-makers. The timesheet police. The ones who see things as best practices. They love rules and they punish violations of the status-quo. You can salute them, grovel to them, kiss the hems of their garments. About the only thing you can't do is ignore them. Because they're the people who run agencies. Because they approve your billability. They get you canned for being "difficult." They push creative work backward. And while some may see them as the solution, we see a problem. Because the people officious enough to rule agencies are the ones who do."
A 10-second video billboard.
I've been asked by one of my account people (whom I hereby dub 'the princess of pain') to look at some "video billboards" that come to us from the networks as "value add" for having spent media dollars.
"What do these need to say?" I asked her.
She replied, "Ron and I are developing a creative POV."
Writing these 10-second static billboards is not way up in the pantheon of challenges. Almost 30 years ago, before I had any experience in the business, I had to do a bunch of these. That was a good thing. It helped me learn to time words.
Today, of course, there are no juniors left. And people who make good money come up with things called "creative POVs."
Back to the 10-second billboard.
We don't need a POV.
We need some actual words.
They took about 10 seconds to write.
"What do these need to say?" I asked her.
She replied, "Ron and I are developing a creative POV."
Writing these 10-second static billboards is not way up in the pantheon of challenges. Almost 30 years ago, before I had any experience in the business, I had to do a bunch of these. That was a good thing. It helped me learn to time words.
Today, of course, there are no juniors left. And people who make good money come up with things called "creative POVs."
Back to the 10-second billboard.
We don't need a POV.
We need some actual words.
They took about 10 seconds to write.
Is there hope for the world?
Much of what we see and read--about violence, intolerance, the spectre of an environmental holocaust, the widening gap between the haves and the have-nots and so much more could lead us all to conclude that the world is going to hell in a hand-basket and if we're not facing global annihilation, well then, we're pretty damn close to it.
We can also look at our own industry and see horrors. We can bemoan the lack of jobs and the lack of job security. We can rue the decline in creative quality. We can go on about the general stupidity and cupidity of our business.
We can do all that and spend a lot of time doing so.
I suppose doing so is our right and our prerogative.
But, of course, there are other ways of looking at things. Here are two for instances.
60 years ago for all intents and purposes black people couldn't vote in our country. They couldn't live where they chose and go to school where they wanted to. In many precincts they couldn't check into a hotel, eat in a restaurant, go see a movie, or use a toilet.
Today, things are by no means perfect, and there are legions of people who would like to take us back, but things have--for all the problems that still remain--undeniably improved.
40 years ago we had lead in our gasoline and tons of PCBs were being dumped into our waters. The air isn't clean today and neither is the water. But it is better. Positive people have been a positive force for positive change.
Even in advertising, an industry beset by seismic changes, people are eager, people are working hard, people are trying new things.
Tonight I am in LA on business and I took a long cab ride to see my daughter who is in college out here--in an idyllic town about an hour east of LA. My cabdriver was a 24-year-old Moroccan who was working his way through college on his way to getting a degree in computer engineering. He studies all day and drives all night.
My daughter is similarly hard-working and ambitious. And she's willing to face down all sorts of obstacles on her way to becoming a marine biologist. Or a scuba teacher. Or something.
My two cents says that the world sucks in many horrific ways.
But as long as people like tonight's cabdriver and my daughter and...you...keep trying to do something good with your life, there's hope.
We can also look at our own industry and see horrors. We can bemoan the lack of jobs and the lack of job security. We can rue the decline in creative quality. We can go on about the general stupidity and cupidity of our business.
We can do all that and spend a lot of time doing so.
I suppose doing so is our right and our prerogative.
But, of course, there are other ways of looking at things. Here are two for instances.
60 years ago for all intents and purposes black people couldn't vote in our country. They couldn't live where they chose and go to school where they wanted to. In many precincts they couldn't check into a hotel, eat in a restaurant, go see a movie, or use a toilet.
Today, things are by no means perfect, and there are legions of people who would like to take us back, but things have--for all the problems that still remain--undeniably improved.
40 years ago we had lead in our gasoline and tons of PCBs were being dumped into our waters. The air isn't clean today and neither is the water. But it is better. Positive people have been a positive force for positive change.
Even in advertising, an industry beset by seismic changes, people are eager, people are working hard, people are trying new things.
Tonight I am in LA on business and I took a long cab ride to see my daughter who is in college out here--in an idyllic town about an hour east of LA. My cabdriver was a 24-year-old Moroccan who was working his way through college on his way to getting a degree in computer engineering. He studies all day and drives all night.
My daughter is similarly hard-working and ambitious. And she's willing to face down all sorts of obstacles on her way to becoming a marine biologist. Or a scuba teacher. Or something.
My two cents says that the world sucks in many horrific ways.
But as long as people like tonight's cabdriver and my daughter and...you...keep trying to do something good with your life, there's hope.
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
Aunt Louise.
I suppose every family has at least one, a family member who, like Lenny in Steinbeck's "Of Mice and Men" was kicked in the head by a horse when he or she was young. In my family, I guess it was my cousin Marc, who was a suicide about 30 years ago, slitting his wrists in a bathtub and letting his blood mix slowing, inexorably with the warm bath water.
In my wife's family, it is Aunt Louise, who lives alone in a now Puerto Rican neighborhood in Elizabeth, New Jersey.
Aunt Louise isn't a bad woman, she's harmless, actually, but now that she's pushing 80, she pretty much helpless too. Most people in the family can't take too much of Aunt Louise but my wife has a heart of gold and she had the old lady is over last night for Rosh Hashana dinner.
Mostly when Louise is over I let her talk without me saying too much. She's a woman without a great deal of intellectual resources and spends much of her time alone, so when she's out, you're bound to get a few hours of stream of consciousness. Enough to make you wish you were unconscious.
Nevertheless, regardless of how insipid and painful the evening, there are things we as humans must do for other humans. So we have Aunt Louise over. We show her pictures of the kids. We take her for a walk in the park near our apartment that overlooks the river. We even put together a care package so she has something home-cooked once in a while.
Even Uncle Slappy, who likes to be the center of attention when he is up from Boca, willingly played second fiddle last night. He's no fan of Aunt Louise, but like my wife, he's a warm, compassionate person. As important he understands that warmth and compassion make us more, not less, human.
Most people don't watch old movies like I do. And if they do, maybe they regard a great director like Frank Capra as saccharine and sentimental. I think in "The New Yorker's" review of "It's a Wonderful Life," they said the movie had a "cast-iron charm."
Nevertheless there's a bit from Capra's highly-relevant 1939 classic "Mr. Smith Goes to Washington," in which Jimmy Stewart excoriates the Senate for being callous and greedy. He says, "I wouldn't give you two cents for all your fancy rules if, behind them, they didn't have a little bit of plain, ordinary, everyday kindness and a little looking out for the other fella, too."
Today, I'm sorry, we seem all about rules and nothing about kindness. And looking out for the other fella? Well, in the words of Budd Schulberg's Sammy Glick, "going through life with a conscience is like driving with your brake on."
In my wife's family, it is Aunt Louise, who lives alone in a now Puerto Rican neighborhood in Elizabeth, New Jersey.
Aunt Louise isn't a bad woman, she's harmless, actually, but now that she's pushing 80, she pretty much helpless too. Most people in the family can't take too much of Aunt Louise but my wife has a heart of gold and she had the old lady is over last night for Rosh Hashana dinner.
Mostly when Louise is over I let her talk without me saying too much. She's a woman without a great deal of intellectual resources and spends much of her time alone, so when she's out, you're bound to get a few hours of stream of consciousness. Enough to make you wish you were unconscious.
Nevertheless, regardless of how insipid and painful the evening, there are things we as humans must do for other humans. So we have Aunt Louise over. We show her pictures of the kids. We take her for a walk in the park near our apartment that overlooks the river. We even put together a care package so she has something home-cooked once in a while.
Even Uncle Slappy, who likes to be the center of attention when he is up from Boca, willingly played second fiddle last night. He's no fan of Aunt Louise, but like my wife, he's a warm, compassionate person. As important he understands that warmth and compassion make us more, not less, human.
Most people don't watch old movies like I do. And if they do, maybe they regard a great director like Frank Capra as saccharine and sentimental. I think in "The New Yorker's" review of "It's a Wonderful Life," they said the movie had a "cast-iron charm."
Nevertheless there's a bit from Capra's highly-relevant 1939 classic "Mr. Smith Goes to Washington," in which Jimmy Stewart excoriates the Senate for being callous and greedy. He says, "I wouldn't give you two cents for all your fancy rules if, behind them, they didn't have a little bit of plain, ordinary, everyday kindness and a little looking out for the other fella, too."
Today, I'm sorry, we seem all about rules and nothing about kindness. And looking out for the other fella? Well, in the words of Budd Schulberg's Sammy Glick, "going through life with a conscience is like driving with your brake on."
Morale II.
I've been steadily employed in the advertising business since the early years of the Reagan administration and since that time have worked, not counting freelance, at a dozen agencies. Over the years I've spent a fair amount of time thinking about what makes some agencies successful and other agencies simply suc.
Some anonymous dickweed posted a comment on my post yesterday entitled "Morale." He seems to think that the only alternative to being treated like shit at an agency is--his words-- to "quit."
This notion--which affects all of America, not just the advertising industry is rampant today. It's the idea that little things that show people they matter are not cost-effective. That showing people consideration for the hard-work they do is somehow a sign of corporate weakness. That treating people with dignity and respect is anti-competitive.
Experience tells me the opposite is true. Agencies that call someone personally when they're instrumental in winning a piece of business tend to be agencies that produce great work and retain great people. Agencies that show that they care, which can be reflected in hundreds of different ways, are often agencies that do the best work.
In short, penny-pinching is costly.
Most agencies and the holding companies that rule them with an iron spreadsheet, don't realize this truest of truisms.
They think you can bludgeon people into some sort of anesthetized morale.
They think morale is when everyone believes "they're just lucky to have a job."
Some anonymous dickweed posted a comment on my post yesterday entitled "Morale." He seems to think that the only alternative to being treated like shit at an agency is--his words-- to "quit."
This notion--which affects all of America, not just the advertising industry is rampant today. It's the idea that little things that show people they matter are not cost-effective. That showing people consideration for the hard-work they do is somehow a sign of corporate weakness. That treating people with dignity and respect is anti-competitive.
Experience tells me the opposite is true. Agencies that call someone personally when they're instrumental in winning a piece of business tend to be agencies that produce great work and retain great people. Agencies that show that they care, which can be reflected in hundreds of different ways, are often agencies that do the best work.
In short, penny-pinching is costly.
Most agencies and the holding companies that rule them with an iron spreadsheet, don't realize this truest of truisms.
They think you can bludgeon people into some sort of anesthetized morale.
They think morale is when everyone believes "they're just lucky to have a job."
Monday, September 17, 2012
Morale.
I've been at or near the top of enough agencies to have been made to sit in countless meetings where stuffed shirts of various sorts (and the creatives they summon to their side, especially when they themselves don't have a clue) discuss things like agency culture, morale and retention rates.
I've heard all sorts of proposals to accomplish said tasks, but all I've ever said in response to such ideas is this: you're pissing into the wind. What you're proposing, beer on Thursdays, comp-time for weekend work, etc. doesn't amount to a hill of beans. They might make you feel better. You can report to whomever you report to that you've put together a 10-point plan. But in the real world of despairing agency morale, they'll work as well as a Senegalese state internet provider.
Here's the thing. Simple and to the point.
If you want to improve morale in your agency, it costs some money.
You don't put senior creative people in "economy" seats on the red-eye and expect them to go to client meetings within hours of the time they land.
If you want to squeeze everything out of them like a Polish washerwoman wringing the water out of a hand-towel, all your "morale" initiatives aren't worth a bucket of warm piss.
If you want me to work at near coronary levels, at least have the decency to pony up a couple hundred bucks and put me in business class.
As you would if you really gave a rat's sphincter about morale.
I've heard all sorts of proposals to accomplish said tasks, but all I've ever said in response to such ideas is this: you're pissing into the wind. What you're proposing, beer on Thursdays, comp-time for weekend work, etc. doesn't amount to a hill of beans. They might make you feel better. You can report to whomever you report to that you've put together a 10-point plan. But in the real world of despairing agency morale, they'll work as well as a Senegalese state internet provider.
Here's the thing. Simple and to the point.
If you want to improve morale in your agency, it costs some money.
You don't put senior creative people in "economy" seats on the red-eye and expect them to go to client meetings within hours of the time they land.
If you want to squeeze everything out of them like a Polish washerwoman wringing the water out of a hand-towel, all your "morale" initiatives aren't worth a bucket of warm piss.
If you want me to work at near coronary levels, at least have the decency to pony up a couple hundred bucks and put me in business class.
As you would if you really gave a rat's sphincter about morale.
Sunday, September 16, 2012
Uncle Slappy goes across town.
Uncle Slappy and Aunt Sylvie are up for the High Holy Days. They arrived yesterday from Boca and won't be leaving until the day after Yom Kippur, so in total they'll be with us for a dozen days. I won't complain, after all, there's never a dull moment when they are here.
Tonight for the celebratory meal for once my wife didn't cook. Her brother had invited us over to his apartment on the west side and he and his girlfriend handled the culinary chores. As Yogi Berra may or may not have said, we should have stood in bed.
Uncle Slappy was polite throughout the meal, but once we got into the cab to go home, he was non-stop.
He started as he usually does with a loaded question.
"They have some ordinance on the west side against serving food hot?" he began. "And the brisket looked like it was cut with a hatchet, not a knife."
I tried to temper the old man's anger. "They tried, Uncle Slappy."
Slappy returned my attempt with the fury of a Serena Williams forehand.
"Try, try. The food tasted like what they serve in the basement of a synagogue. When the schvartzes cook for the entire congregation."
I admitted it left something to be desired.
"You remember the Galloping Gourmet?" Slappy asked. "Well they have something in common with him. The food tasted like it was made by a horse."
At this point the cab was nearing my apartment. I looked over to Slappy and thought I saw a tear, an actual tear in his eye.
"A piece of cake, they could have served. I diet all year so I can have a piece of cake on Rosh Hashanah. Strawberries, feh."
We entered my apartment. I immediately brewed Slappy and Sylvie coffee the way they like it, strong like Turkish coffee.
"We have some cake, Uncle Slappy. Seven-layer or cinnamon babka."
Again I thought I saw a tear.
I gave the old man a small schtickel of each. And then seconds.
Tonight for the celebratory meal for once my wife didn't cook. Her brother had invited us over to his apartment on the west side and he and his girlfriend handled the culinary chores. As Yogi Berra may or may not have said, we should have stood in bed.
Uncle Slappy was polite throughout the meal, but once we got into the cab to go home, he was non-stop.
He started as he usually does with a loaded question.
"They have some ordinance on the west side against serving food hot?" he began. "And the brisket looked like it was cut with a hatchet, not a knife."
I tried to temper the old man's anger. "They tried, Uncle Slappy."
Slappy returned my attempt with the fury of a Serena Williams forehand.
"Try, try. The food tasted like what they serve in the basement of a synagogue. When the schvartzes cook for the entire congregation."
I admitted it left something to be desired.
"You remember the Galloping Gourmet?" Slappy asked. "Well they have something in common with him. The food tasted like it was made by a horse."
At this point the cab was nearing my apartment. I looked over to Slappy and thought I saw a tear, an actual tear in his eye.
"A piece of cake, they could have served. I diet all year so I can have a piece of cake on Rosh Hashanah. Strawberries, feh."
We entered my apartment. I immediately brewed Slappy and Sylvie coffee the way they like it, strong like Turkish coffee.
"We have some cake, Uncle Slappy. Seven-layer or cinnamon babka."
Again I thought I saw a tear.
I gave the old man a small schtickel of each. And then seconds.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)