I don't understand.

I just went on The Wall Street Journal's site at www.wsj.com and I saw the banner ad above.

What? Huh? Are you kidding?

First off, Wachovia, at least the consumer banking portion, is being jobbed out to Citibank. Second, I'm not sure anyone is thinking about investing right now. And third, I don't think anyone is concerned about "weathering market volatility"--people are thinking about merely surviving.

Some jokes for the High Holidays.

You can tell you're at a synagogue by all the German cars parked outside.

The rabbi was so boring I shot myself in the temple.

Why do so many Jews convert? They sit in temple and say "Jesus Christ get me out of here."

I always get up early on Rosh HaShanah. I want to make sure I'm able to nap in synagogue.

So, there's a synagogue with a rodent problem. The first exterminator puts out mouse traps and kills all the mice, but a week later, all the mice are back. The second exterminator bring a cat who chases all the mice away, but a week later, all the mice are back. The third exterminator puts cheese all over the bima and the mice all come out and he Bar Mitzvah's them all. So they never come back.

My seats were so good this year I could almost see the rabbi.

I first noticed this at the Republican De-mention.

At the Republican Convention, I noticed dozens and dozens of people waving placards that read "Service." In today's New York Times there is a photograph of Palin walking down an aisle and people waving placards that read "Country First."

What's the Orwellian point here? Why one-word slogans that say nothing--or imply that the other guy doesn't believe in the words on those placards. (Remember, at the very same convention, Obama was derided for his community service.)

Orwell wrote that in the thought-policed future, the sheer number of words would be reduced--because many words lead to a nuanced complexity of thought. Control the supply of words, control a nation's ability to think.

That's all for now.

No title.

I was just in the mood to write this.

"Non amo te, Sabidi, nec possum dicere quare;
Hoc tantum posso dicere, non amo te."

That's from a Latin poet called Martial and it means:
"I don't like you, Sabidius, and I can't say why; all I can say is I don't like you."

Robert Graves, he of "I, Claudius" fame, turned the whole mess into a nursery rhyme I'm thinking a lot about lately. Maybe it's work. The economy. The election. Whatever the cause, it's rattling through my head.

"I Do Not Like Thee Doctor Fell"

I do not like thee, Doctor Fell,
The reason why I cannot tell;
But this I know, and know full well,
I do not like thee, Doctor Fell.

"I'm George Bush and I approved this platitude."

On a lark I went to whitehouse.gov, the president's homepage. When I clicked on the link that said "economy," I found the picture above as the header.

As Orwell noted:

War is Peace.

I guess this is coming:
Poor is rich.
Idle is busy.
Down is up.

The banking crisis.

As I walked through SOHO this morning, past the clothing stores featuring wares a mere executive creative director can't afford, past the restaurants that sell $15 cocktails, past the stores that sell $22 bars of soap, past the washed out painted ads on the sides of old factory buildings that read: Twine Rope and Corrugated Boxes, I do not wonder about why we are a nation in arrears.

We buy without paying.
We shop without needing.
We god without praying.
We reap without seeding.

And now some words from e.e. cummings.

i sing of Olaf glad and big... (XXX)
e.e. cummings

i sing of Olaf glad and big
whose warmest heart recoiled at war:
a conscientious object-or

his wellbelovéd colonel (trig
westpointer most succinctly bred)
took erring Olaf soon in hand;
but-though an host of overjoyed
noncoms (first knocking on the head
him) do through icy waters roll
that helplessness which others stroke
with brushes recently employed
anent this muddy toiletbowl,
while kindred intellects evoke
allegiance per blunt instruments-
Olaf (being to all intents
a corpse and wanting any rag
upon what God unto him gave)
responds, without getting annoyed
"I will not kiss your fucking flag"

straightaway the silver bird looked grave
(departing hurriedly to shave)

but-though all kinds of officers
(a yearning nation's blueeyed pride)
their passive prey did kick and curse
until for wear their clarion
voices and boots were much the worse,
and egged the firstclassprivates on
his rectum wickedly to tease
by means of skillfully applied
bayonets roasted hot with heat-
Olaf (upon what were once knees)
does almost ceaselessly repeat
"there is some shit I will not eat"

our president,being of which
assertions duly notified
threw the yellowsonofabitch
into a dungeon,where he died

Christ (of His mercy infinite)
i pray to see;and Olaf,too

preponderatingly because
unless statistics lie he was
more brave than me:more blond than you

What to drink during a Depression.

I am personally abstemious, that is, I am a non-drinker. But many of my advertising colleagues--or ex-colleagues--seem to take comfort from a bit o' the grape. Of course a bit o' the grape can cost a lot o' the green these days and more and more of my friends are looking for an alternative to the expensive swill they swilled when the stock market was in the five digits.

Fear not, friend. With some ingenuity the very products you have in your basement, medicine cabinet or under the sink in the kitchen are yours for the mixing. First a word about grape juice. Welch's, I'm told, sweet, viscous Welch's cuts the astringent taste of nearly anything. So put on that oversized raincoat and shoplift a 64-er from your local bodega (if it's still open.) Once home mix the Welch's (3 parts juice/1 part alcohol) with whatever you've found around the house--Listerine, paint thinner, rubbing alcohol, gasoline from the riding mower, even Drano--though for that, I recommend a 5 to 1 ratio!

Whatever gets you through the night, as John Lennon sang, s'alright.

Tomorrow's post will feature money saving recipes. Squirrel fricasse, Pigeon au vin and Rat-atouille.

The Presidential Mastde-bate.

Oy vey iz mir.

I watched the debate last night. I would have learned more debating the virtues of Maryann v. the Movie Star, Betty v. Veronica or Lassie v. Flipper.

Both of these blandidates are inspecting, recalling and defending decisions reputedly made in years gone by to the absolute addle-patedness of viewers.

I think either candidate could gallop ahead in a landslide (or, more appropriately a mudslide) if instead of focusing on the demise of Smoot-Hawley tarrif or some other legislative arcana, they focused instead wholly and completely on America, the brand.

Look what they've done to our brand, ma.

How do you, Sen. McCain think of America? Obama? What does America mean? Where does our brand stand today? How do we get our brand back?

At my agency I have banned all post-mortems because post-mortems look back in time. Instead I have instituted LANS meetings. Learning And Next Steps. Where is our work taking our clients' brands and ours?

I'd like to know the candidates' LANS.

I'd also like to know Sarah Palin's IQ but I've misplaced my magnifying glass.