Of soup, botulism, bodegas and the obvious.

My mien, I'll admit, runs to the lugubrious. 

While I never give up and have always seem to stand and dust myself off after having been knocked down by a brush-back pitch to my chin, I am inclined to see the glass more, much more, than half empty.

I am a gloomy cuss.
But like Scaramouche I have a lot of fight in me.

Much of me has gone through life like Rafael Sabatini's Scaramouche. I was "born with the gift of laughter and a sense that the world was mad." 

You can combine that aspect with that of Melville's Ishmael. I often find myself "growing grim about the mouth." And even on the sunniest of days, it's not unusual to find me with a "damp, drizzly November in my soul."

Lately, when I think about the Holding Company-eviscerated advertising business--a business that had provided for various branches of my family--dozens of people--for more than three-quarters of a century, I find myself thinking about soup.

That's right, soup.

I'll have what he's having with a side-order
of stomach pump.

When I was an early teenager, say back in 1971, the Food and Drug Administration issued a public warning. A Westchester County man died--his wife became seriously ill--from botulism after eating the contents of a can of Bon Vivant vichyssoise soup.

More than one-million cans of soup were recalled. Five were contaminated with botulism and Bon Vivant's Newark, NJ plant was closed forever.

Text messages like this have become the coin
of the Holding Company realm.

Last night I got a text from a friend of mine--an Ogilvy colleague who had been working for that once-august agency for more than twenty years. She and her partner, also there for more than twenty years, were shit-canned.

That's when soup rode up on me, like a bad case of acid-reflux.

It occurred to me that our entire industry is like a can of soup. Specifically, a tainted can of soup. Like a can you open, pour into a pan and find, disgustingly, a rat's foot inside.

Since I started GeorgeCo., a Delaware Company, my views on the importance of our industry have been confirmed. Without having solicited a single piece of business, dozens of companies have found me.

I can divide the assignments I get into three groups. If I were still working in an agency, someone would call those groups "buckets," because the word bucket is ugly and a cliche. But nonetheless, I get three kinds of assignments.

1. An agency calls me. They need some help. On a pitch. In a crunch.

2. A client calls me. They need an ad or a TV spot, in a hurry. 

3. A client calls me. They send me approximately 32-thousand pages of badly-designed powerpoint and then they weep on the phone. "George," they confess like a saved man on his way to the electric chair, "no one knows who we are. And we don't know what we sell and what makes us different. We need your help."

It's not unusual for me to get a dozen notes like this a month.

This is an actual note from someone I never met.

The agency business, in its current state of self-immolation, has forgotten its reason for being. 

In an effort to grab a constant flow of client dimes--and pay-off the Holding Company extorted "protection-money," we have reduced what we do to the equivalent of a huge plastic cistern of Dubble Bubble gum next to the cash register at a run-down bodega with a worn formica countertop.

The industry has decided to sell small, unnecessary crap at point-of-sale for small amounts of money that, even in aggregate, are of little consequence. 

The industry is trying to support its huge, bloated corporate infrastructure by earning revenue two-cents at-a-time. 

The industry--and the Vulture Capitalist accountants who run the holding companies--just want to hear cash-registers ring. The industry's deportment reminds me of the back-asswards attitude of "entrepreneurs" and "visionaries" in the tech world before the dot-com bubble burst around 2001.

We lose money on everything we sell, but we make it up in volume.

WPP, in 2018, claimed over 133,000 employees.

IPG in the same year claimed over 54,000 employees.

Publicis lists 83,000.

Omnicom, just over 70,000.

I'll be blunt as a haymaker. You can't feed all those employees a piece of bubble gum at a time. And clients themselves will not occupy a prominent place in the gray-matter of consumers unless they do something big, prominent and important.

The biggest, most-vital thing a creative person, or an agency, can do is to help a company figure out who they are, what they sell and why. 

If you can do that with wit, simplicity and in a manner people will remember and talk about, the world--such as it is--will beat a path to your door. As so many have found the stone path leading to my rickety seaside cottage in Connecticut.

It's early Saturday morning as I write this. The sky is still dark. The rain is steady and mean. 

Whiskey is on the sofa with me. Dried off from her walk. Struggling to keep her puppy eyes open. More Carrera than canine.

I realize when I write posts like this, that I am giving things away. I, with seven-figure-revenue, am telling a multi-billion dollar industry how to become, again, relevant. 

I can feel my wife shooting daggers at me.

"Why do you tell them your secrets?" she shivs.

I sip a sip of her nearly-famous viscous black coffee and then I sip another sip.

"It's good for business," I answer. "What's more, they can't read. What's more, they can't get out of the way of what they're doing. They've got their holding company vig to pay. That comes first and foremost. They have to supply a constant stream of cash to the Holding Company accountant-CEOs. 

Frank Nitti, Capone's second-in-command,
would just as soon castrate you with a rusty grapefruit knife as kiss his mother. 

Today he would be a CFO.

"If they don't, the Holding Company accountant-CEOs will come down on them like Frank Nitti squeezing in an iron vise the scrotum of a small-time yegg in Al Capone's Chicago.

"Besides they're too busy selling Dubble Bubble. And soup. With a side botulism and rat foot."

I hate you. And a quiz.

This might be dumb. And it's almost certainly too-heavy for a Friday. 

But I'm blaming it on Ronald Reagan. Good ol' genial John Birch impending nuclear annihilation Ronald Raygun.

He, I believe, started the modern trend of hating the business you're supposed to be leading. He and the hordes of Grover Norquist government-hating people decided the best thing to do--if you're only out for yourself, if you don't care about others and if you fundamentally believe the end-times are coming--is to "starve the beast." The beast being government.

Reagan was the leader of our government but kept asserting that government is fundamentally evil. If you're sentient, you may remember this bon mot.

Unfortunately, for about the last twenty years, I've seen a similar "I hate what I do for a living" sensibility in advertising. 

I've seen people who walk around believing that advertising makes people buy things they don't want or need. That advertising is a moral succubus. And that being in the field at all--though it's paying your rent and for your $375 sunglasses--is some sort of soul-selling evil that leads inevitably to public displays of self-hatred.

If you're embarrassed or ashamed to be in anything--a relationship, a career, a group or an agency--leave already. And don't look back.

It is this very self-hate and industry-wide self-abnegation that's led to the demotion and denigration of what we do. Accordingly, in my lifetime, I've seen the entire industry transform from the greatest creator of wealth and greatest propagator of brand-values to a procurement diminished "cost center." 

I've seen the industry become low-wage, low-margin and utterly unsustainable. Semiotically, I've seen the industry literally relocated from beautiful offices located near the center of American business--say mid-town Manhattan--to abandoned factory buildings on the literal fringes of major cities. Between Toyota dealers and methadone clinics.

This is directly related to advertising today being a business run by people who actually despise the business. 

It's being run by accountants. Insurance people. Operations bots. Professional penny-pinchers. Or communications plumbers working on improving the efficiency of popular annoyance rather than leveraging creativity to sell things.

It's being run by cynics. People who know the price of everything and the value of nothing.

I played baseball for a living 46 years ago. I've followed the sport for more than 55 years. I've seen what happens to teams that no longer believe in themselves, teams that believe they fundamentally can't play the game. Eventually, they can't. 

I don't want to jinx anything, but since I was ignominiously booted from Ogilvy at 4:30 in the afternoon nearly 11 months ago, though I was making their c-level money hand-over-fist, I have created GeorgeCo., a Delaware Company.

I'm exaggerating, of course, but 91% of my internal fiber believes that I might have, already, outstripped my former Alma Mater in revenue. I know my work is better. I know my client relationships are better. I know I'm winning more new business. And my client roster might be more august as well. All this and I am a one-man boat.

I wonder when S4 Capital will call.

I say this not to boast. But to make a point.

Success--in anything--starts, builds and is sustained by belief and enthusiasm. You have to believe in the value and importance of what you do. 

Most of all: You have to love it.

If I got kicked in the head by a horse and began interviewing to return to the agency business, or if I were a client looking for a creative partner, or if I were deciding whether or not to accept a client, I'd first assess a few things. Mostly if the people and companies I was thinking of working with actually loved the business. I'd have them answer a few questions before I made a move.

Scribbled here for your convenience and larceny.

"Ads that made me." A selection from Tim Maleeny, President and CSO, Havas.

A few weeks ago, I was lucky enough to persuade Kristin Cavallo, CEO of the Martin Agency, to contribute a post with a few of her favorite ads. You can see Kristen's post here.

In the wake of that post, I've gotten my friend and former colleague (we were at Hal Riney together) Tim Maleeny to contribute a few of his choices. Tim, is also an Ogilvy vet, an inveterate contrarian and a "fixer of agencies."

He's currently Chief Strategy Officer at Havas North America. Tim lives in Tribeca where he occasionally writes mystery novels, the latest of which is "Boxing the Octopus," available here.

I asked Tim (and if you're not careful, I may ask you,) "What ads 'made' you. Where do you go to set a high bar? What got you excited about advertising? What makes you say, 'I wish I did that?'"

Tim responded with the following: "George, thanks for inviting me to "Ad Aged," a daily dose of sanity for an industry that's lost its mind. I've culled a list from my endless scroll of favorites. Like you, I still love great advertising and occasionally go through historical reels to find or rediscover lost gems that raise the bar--versus solving for the lowest common denominator."

Thanks, Tim.

I think it's important to point out that now that accountants, operations people, data crunchers, theorists and consultants have taken over the industry, it's nice to have some thoughts from a genuine advertising person who genuinely loves advertising. 

Remember loving advertising? Why anyone would work with or for an agency or for agency people who don't love it is beyond me. Tim's picks aren't merely "creative." They're work that used creativity to get noticed, get a point across and get talked about. 

I'd wager that the heads of most agency holding companies and a large majority of agency management doesn't even believe in the efficacy of advertising itself.

Enough of my editorializing. Tim's picks:

1. Saturn "Alaska." Agency: Hal Riney & Partners.

I was fortunate to spend many years at Hal Riney & Partners when Hal was still around and the agency was independent. Colleagues who never worked at an independent agency don't fully appreciate the culture of a founder-run shop when it comes to sheer confidence and a collective obsession with the work. 

As Nike is to Wieden, the Saturn case was to Riney. And this campaign redefined how car advertising could work without driving footage and grill shots. Imagine telling a client that you wanted to do a spot about a product defect and recall?

2. Jameson "Lost Barrel." Agency: TBWA\Chiat\Day.

Beyond my personal fondness for cephalopods, this long-running campaign demonstrates why production values matter, even (or especially) in a world where we spend more time online than watching TV. At a time when the industry is talking about storytelling as if it's a new concept, it's worth acknowledging that making your brand the protagonist in an epic 30-second story isn't easy. And it's becoming a lost art.

3. Johnny Walker "The Man Who Walked Around the World." Agency: BBH.

From casting Robert Carlyle to shooting this short film as a single take, Johnny Walker's origin story is proof that tapping into a brand's DNA can give me a reason to make it a badge. Too often strategy fixates on the consumer or the competition without giving enough due to a brand's soul, which is why so much advertising has become interchangeable and forgettable.

4. Henry Weinhard's "Saloon." Agency: Hal Riney & Partners.

Craftsmanship matters. Here's a spot that plays off the colloquial bar call for Henry Weinhard's Beer in a script carried entirely by first names, with no other copy necessary. Writers like Paul Mimiaga are few and far between.

5. Old Spice "The Man Your Man Could Smell Like." Agency: Wieden & Kennedy.

So much of Wieden's work could go on this list but I chose Old Spice because it resurrected a brand that was marketed nearly to extinction by the packaged good madness of pre-testing, process, and unique selling propositions. This campaign would never have been produced following standard P&G protocols, so kudos to Wieden for being stubborn, and the runaway results gave momentary courage to other brands stuck in the 1950s.

6. Dos Equis "The Most Interesting Man in the World." Agency: Havas.

A nod to Havas colleagues who came before me and built a campaign that took a barely known beer and drove double-digit growth in a flat category. The campaign sells the brand by underselling the product with the infamous line, "I don't always drink beer..." Another example of why pre-testing never leads to fame--this was creative talent and a brave client.

7. IBM "Reality Detector." Agency: Ogilvy.

Anyone who's ever worked on a global B2B or technology account owes a debt of gratitude to Steve Hayden and the late Chris Wall, who paved the way for smart, shareable advertising in a drab dull arena, from Apple to IBM. The original e-business campaign saved a great company that Wall Street wanted to break up for spare parts and redefined Ogilvy for years to come. 

This spot was part of a small arc in an incredibly eclectic campaign that lasted years and led the way to the brilliant work on Smarter Planet.

8. Geico "Fencing." Agency: The Martin Agency.

A random, recent spot from a campaign that reminds clients everywhere that brands matter and advertising works. By keeping executions fresh, this campaign dispelled the media myth that running a single execution again and again will pound your target into submission. Thanks to Kristen Cavallo and the talented folks at the Martin Agency for keeping this iconic campaign going.

9. Chipotle "Farmed and Dangerous." Agency: Piro.

Smart and subversive and endlessly entertaining, a rare example of un-branded content for Chipotle intended to change perceptions of sustainable farming without ever mentioning the brand sponsoring the series. Marketing more entertaining than most so-called entertainment on TV, years ahead of its time.

58 things I don't need:

It's that time of the year again. 

If there were any agencies left that still did production (not in the basements of their holding-company-rented low-rent buildings) it would be time for production companies to bestow all sorts of largesse on all sorts of creative people. 

Of course, agencies, production companies, production, largesse and, even, creative people are all, it seems, more or less vestiges of pre-Sorrellian times. Even so, the list below will serve to remind one and all that Scrooge himself might have taken a withered page from my lugubrious playbook. 

In short, and as always, leave me alone:

1. Socks with affirmations printed on them.

2. A personal trainer yelling at me.

3. Anyone yelling at me.

4. SEO solicitation from someone I don't know on Linked In.

5. Political opinions from washed-up actors.

6. Waiters asking me 'how is everything tasting this evening." And waiters referred to as servers who don't play tennis.

7. The little plastic tables they now put inside pizza boxes. They pollute the world so you get more cheese. And cheesy goodness.

8. Brands that make anything with ocean plastic.

9. Neighbors who fight over garbage cans.

10. Blueberry bagels.

11. Pictures of your fucking Christmas tree.

12. Agency holding companies.

13. The services of a Chief Risk Officer.

14. Fast food. 

15. Chatbots that pop-up the moment you visit a site.

16. Any car advertisement that uses the word adrenaline.

17. $6 coffee and the 16-minute line to get it.

18. People gushing about a TV series.

19. Anything to do with any Kardashian in any context.

20. People who are anti-science, anti-vaccine, anti-fact.

21. Jokey newscasters. With bad shoes. Whether or not I can see their shoes, I know they're bad.

22. The corporate moguls who decided news should be entertainment.

23. Sports uniforms with corporate logos on them.

24. Sports stadiums paid for by taxpayers with corporate logos on them.

25. Sports stadiums paid for by taxpayers with all the best seats reserved for rich people who don't pay taxes.

26. Mitch McConnell's chins, two through 42.

27. Any commercial that shows people spontaneously breaking into dance.

28. Car commercials with spokesvixens who aren't funny and can't act. Especially the Toyota lady.

29. People who tweet proudly that their opinions are their own.

30. Any mention of black-random-day-of-the-week or cyber-day-of-the-week.

31. Frida Kahlo and her interstate eyebrow.

32. Anything from a major brand that they claim is free.

33. Accepting cookies. Extortion in exchange for web-viewing.

34. Movies for adults about comic book heroes.

35. People who feed the birds, especially rat birds.

36. Soft ice-cream places that close in the winter.

37. Loyalty cards from retailers.

38. Showerheads lower than my head.

39. Instructions with pictograms instead of words.

40. Anything or anyone that calls itself "smart," as in
your smart-speaker.

41. "I'm just a start-up," as a synonym for "I can't pay you."

42. People who say, "We need a stronger call to action" when what they're actually selling is crap.

43. People who post those word jumbles that claim "2021 will be defined by the first three words you see."

44. Or who ask about your five favorite albums.

45. Or anything about anything in retrograde. Except republicans who have been in retrograde since at least Thomas E. Dewey.

46. Leaf blowers. Especially on days that end in Y.

47. Chicken wings. Except on chickens.

48. Inspirational quotations from virtually anyone.

49. Anyone that finishes a sentence with, 'you're welcome.'

50. Pre-torn jeans.

51. Skinny jeans.

52. People who use the word craft. 

53. Swiffer.

54. Auto-tuned music.

55. Any strong opinion or judgment based about the Oxford comma.

56. Coins.

57. Television weather people talking about weather events.

58. Lionizing the recently dead.

I'm not afraid anymore.

When you start out as a writer, even if it's when you're a third-grader and you're assigned to write about your Christmas break, you usually have to wrestle with a demon or two.

Most people clam up when they have something to write. Mostly because they've been told that writing is something not everybody can do. Or because they put pressure on themselves to write something for the ages. Or they're worried about their grade. Or revealing themselves. Or if it will be the requisite length. Or whatever.

Even among professional writers--even copywriters in advertising--I find that most people avoid actually writing. 

It could be that they hate deadlines. Or they're afraid of their boss or their clients. Or the legions of account people picking over the bones of your work like they're in a lifeboat at sea, starving to death and they just killed a seagull.

People, I've found, hear voices when they write. It could be that aforementioned third-grade teacher who instilled in them some cockeyed notion that there's a right and a wrong way to write. Or it could be the 79 things the client wants in the space your art director's allotted for copy--which has enough room for about 12 words. Or it could be that you're somehow comparing yourself to some gigantic writer superego who you can never quite measure up to.

For years I was in this group of timorous tappers on the keyboard of life.

I remember when I had to write my first ad for Steve Hayden and Chris Wall on some complex IBM server. In my mind, they loomed behind me and shook their heads like Ichabod Crane. 

I remember when I was asked to write a long piece on something I knew nothing about--cloud computing--for the fearsomely demanding Steve Simpson. And another writer was given the same assignment. In my mind I wasn't only facing Steve--I was facing a guy who I feared was better than I.

But writing, it turns out, is like anything else. 

As Yogi Berra might have said, "The only way to do it is to do it."

Being old helps of course.

This ain't my first rodeo. In fact, during my first rodeo, I think the riders were trying to break stegosauri--not stallions. 

Also, from my earliest days as a catalog copywriter to my days of writing twenty ads a week at Bloomingdale's, till today, I've written literally thousands of ads. 

All of them on deadline.

And half of them because no one else could.

I've also had the great good fortune to have been born with a stiff-neck. I'm as stubborn as a confederate statue. And my sense of discipline makes Bruce Lee appear to be a slacker.

That means that nearly every spare moment I have, I am writing something.

My humble blog--a stupid one-man-boat that at this point might be constructed of two-million words--is getting about 80,000 readers a week. And I'm getting about 100 notes a week from people telling me how much they like my shit.

This writing is also getting me business. Business from all around the world. People like what I do and ask me to do it for them.

Mostly, I don't let myself think about things too much. I don't, like Hemingway, face the blank screen as if it's the white bull of fear.

I just write.

Like I talk.

I try to do the things I do best. 

Be clear.

Be honest.

Be strange.

Funny.

And sometimes throw a curve-ball when the batter is expecting the heat.

What I've noticed through the years is that I no longer put off getting down to work. I read the brief sixteen thousand times. I read the notes I made during meetings. 

And then I write.

So fast there's no time or space for fear or second-guessing to intrude.

I don't think there's a pill you can take to get this way. 

And, I'll admit, I ain't writing something for posterity. Or probing the meaning of the universe.

Usually, I'm selling a pasta, a pc, or a principle.

Usually, I have assignments coming in like jets into LaGuardia on a Friday night.

There's really no time to dilly-dally and nothing to be gained by putting things off.

I've learned to talk myself out of being afraid.

That's what I've learned so far.

Only the Dead know Advertising.

A lot of people in our industry have been left for dead.

They've reached a certain age.

The agency business has decided to be one of decoration rather than one of substance.

Or they've pissed off someone somehow over the last four or five decades.

They might freelance a bit here or there. 

Either directly for clients or on occasion for the six or eleven agencies still able to keep their lights on.

Did I say eleven?

I mean ten.

Ooops.

Nine.

One of the lessons I learned through the years is that businesses have to be run like ball teams.

You always have to have an eagle eye out for talent.

More often than not, you find it the most unexpected of places. Like when I played for the Seraperos de Saltillo and a tall Indio with long muscled arms wired like bridge cables would come down from a mountain village.

Many times he was barefoot. Walking through the dusty streets of Saltillo without shoes because his father was plowing and needed the family's pair.

Gordo would run into the locker-room and bring the boy some spikes. Hector would urge him to climb the hill and uncoil his arm.

It would strike like a cobra.

With fastballs lethal and mean.

Talent.

When I was at Ally & Gargano, I was friendly with Kiki Fernandez, the mailroom guy. He had been there since the beginning, when giants roamed the hallways and Kiki stored everything in his head.

He told me how the best people in the agency kept a small index-card-file in their memories. 

Terse.

Epigrammatic.

Of everyone they ever met in the business. Of every portfolio they ever saw. A box-score of every ad or commercial that they liked and who did it.

Today, we've professionalized that job of finding people. 

ECDs and CCOs are too busy. They've handed off that task to others. Finding people has become a bureaucratic task. Not the driver of the agency.

Mistake.

Big Mistake.

I'm thinking, it's Monday now, by Tuesday I could announce the opening of an Agency called DEAD.

It would be staffed by a few dozen people the industry has deemed deceased.

It would have a level-of-talent so far beyond any other agency in the world, it would make Wieden & Kennedy look like a production of Andrew Lloyd Weber's "Cats" performed by Donald Trump in spandex and a cast made up of the Trump cabinet, with make-up by Rudy Guiliani and costumes by Sean Spicer.

DEAD would attract clients who behave very well.

Trusting clients.

Clients more about "wit" than "nit." 

More "that's it," than "that's shit."

Clients who understand that a brief can/should be no longer than five or seven words.

"We want to be famous."

"We want to kill our competition."

"We want to sell shitloads."

"We want to define who and what we are."

That's enough direction when you've got DEAD people on your business.

Most of the DEAD people I'm speaking of would be thrilled to work this way.

What's more, my guess is DEAD would be cheaper than most-every other agency because DEAD has the experience and wisdom to be fast. They've spent their bygone lifetimes following that old carpenters' dicta: measure twice, cut once.

Of course, this is just a cadaver of a pipe-dream. 

While I could pull DEAD together in an afternoon or two, and I'm sure my idea would work, I'm not sure there's any client who would have the balls.

Dead or alive.

The stuff that dreams are made on.

I woke up yesterday at 3:47.

That's unusually early, even for me.

My sleep patterns have changed since my wife, Whiskey and I have been bivouacking in the wilds of the Gingham Coast. I am perfectly circadian now. I wake with the rising of Venus, the morning star. And I fall asleep when first I see the red planet rise in the east.

I like to say I have the sleep habits of a Gloucester fisherman. And the aroma.

My ever-lovin' tells me that's not true.

I smell worse.

Besides my infernal alignment with the heavens, there was another reason I woke early.

Work.

I have a large-agency-sized assignment that's due on December 9th. The client sent me a note last night asking for a check-in today. I'm still in the marination phase. 

The first thing I do when I have an assignment is to create a file with a document within that file. I call it "___________ running." It's just a place for me to scribble notes, phrases, observations, ideas. Good, bad or ugly.

What I usually write in this space is "unconcerted" effort. I'm not focused on the exigencies of the assignment. I don't out to find ideas, I let them find me.

One of my guides in all this is Columbia professor and Nobel-prize-winner, Eric Kandel. His great book "The Age of Insight," should be required reading for anyone who works in a responsible position in any creative enterprise. If there are any such people.

Of course, that assumes that holding company executives can read. Or do anything, in fact, but spout accepted (and usually wrong) illogic and platitudes. We're better at accepted wisdom than accepting wisdom.

You can read more about Kandel here.

Kandel writes, "Sleep is a forgotten country of the mind. A vast majority of our technologies are built for our waking state, even though a third of our lives are spent asleep. 

"Current technological interfaces miss an opportunity to access the unique, imaginative, elastic cognition ongoing during dreams and semi-lucid states. In turn, each of us misses an opportunity to use interfaces to influence our own processes of memory consolidation, creative insight generation, gist extraction, and emotion regulation that are so deeply sleep-dependent. In this project, we explore ways to augment human creativity by extending, influencing, and capturing dreams in Stage 1 sleep. 

"Sleep offers an opportunity for prompting creative thought in the absence of directed attention, if only dreams can be controlled."

That was a lot to read, I know.

And it runs counter to the accountancy-mania of creative management in which creative people are managed by the same dogma that's meant to raise productivity among factory-workers or ditch diggers.

I can imagine the looks on the faces of about 39-thousand petty bureaucrats and ECDs when I tell them I'm going home to dream. But without unconscious mental cogitation, the apotheosis of creativity would be a PowerPoint presentation.

Over the over forty years I've been writing for a living I've learned a few things. Primary among those is the "control of sleep."

I know how to put shards and lithics of ideas into the stewpot of my head and have them all boil together while I sleep. I know how to put a hundred stimuli on for an overnight simmer. I also know how to trust what comes out when I awake.

Naturally, sometimes nothing comes out. Sometimes your brain takes a night off. Or it spends the evening thinking about some winsome lass you knew decades ago and things that might have been. 

But other times, like last night, the gourmet kitchen in my brain works like Julia Child.

I faced my new MacBook Pro at 4 yesterday morning, my imperative check-in seven-and-a-half hours away. I typed. I typed some more. I wrote so many sentences that made sense to me, I reduced my type-size two points from the 14pt. I can read without my glasses to 12pt. which strains me a bit. But eight I had filled two pages.

I'm not finished with what I have to do.

But I got weeks' of work done.

Even before Whiskey woke up.

I'll try again soon to write some more.

Or at least I'll sleep on it.

You're bothering me.

When you spend a significant amount of time with little kids and when you watch TV or see movies with them, you can quickly divide the world, Manichean style, into two schools of thought.

One school seems to say, "they're just kids. Their brains aren't well developed. To be interesting to them, we have to talk down to them."

The other school takes a different approach. It says, "these kids might not have a two-dollar vocabulary, but they're more sophisticated than you'd suppose and they can handle some pretty complex ideas as long as they're presented in an age-appropriate way."

A couple hundred thousand years ago, our hominid ancestors figured this out pretty well. There wasn't, half-a-million years back, a notion of childhood--a discrete time for kids to toddle, grow and learn. Kids, as soon as they could walk, were given jobs to do. Chewing animal bones to remove sinew, cutting stone blades or caring for other young people.

They had less to do, but they were never made to feel useless. In fact, if kids hadn't learned to pull their weight they'd probably have perished. The Neanderthal world was a pay as you go place.

I've noticed in advertising people making the work have a hard-time not talking to people like they're imbeciles. They either don't understand their audience or they think their audience is dumb.

If you're a New Yorker think how many ads you've seen that mimic language that no New Yorker ever uses. Sometimes it seems that 1/3 of all ads contain some allusion to the city never sleeping and another 1/3 seem to believe that the only thing a New Yorker ever says is fuhgeddaboutit.

To me, talking down to kids or trading in cliches is just a form of bias. The talker doesn't take the time to really think. He or she just assumes. Pre-judges.

As you get older, you get more and more messages that seem more and more cliche. Whether it's how older people are depicted in pharma ads (I can't wait to talk to my fictional grandchildren about my fictional COPD, using the Big Bad Wolf as a metaphor.) I also can't wait until I spin arms-outstretched in a field of wheat because I've licked my anal leakage issues. And I can't wait till I press my face against a wall in a dark room because I'm feeling depressed.

So much of what we see and hear is unreal, un-human and un-natural. As an industry or a discipline, we seem not only to use stock photography but to think in stock and cookie-cutter ways.

Just an hour or so ago I got a letter from a State Farm insurance agent who has an office near where my wife and I are holed up while we try to ride out the Covid storm.

I'm sure the agent is a very nice woman and she means well. 

But someone convinced someone at State Farm that in order to sound modern and contemporary, they had to write their business letters for insurance products with a certain 21st century air of insouciance. Or stupidity.

The header on the letter said, "Don't you just love that lower rate smell?"

My wife asked me why I was shaking my head.

I recited the line.

"You're kidding," she said.

"I suppose someone thought that was funny," I said.

"Lower rate smell?"

"Here's the worst thing," I answered. "Someone fought for that line. Someone fought to sell it."

I'll admit, the few times a decade I think about insurance, I'm not usually in a jokey mood. I understand why GEICO chose to be funny--they were unknown and humor got them known. I even understand--though I hate--the work done for Progressive. But now virtually everyone in the category is trying to do the same spot.

I suspect the LiMu Emu is working well because Liberty Mutual was all but unknown a few years back. And whoever did Mayhem had a pretty good run for a while. But this shit from State Farm.

It's all trying so hard.

It's all so devoid of meaning, devoid of persuasion or humor or, heaven forfend, reasons why.

I guess these brands only want to be noticed.

But noticed isn't good enough.

You have to be liked.

The advertising industry's holiday gift guide.

With the holidays fast approaching, we once again face those challenging seasonal questions. What do I get for the ad person in my life--what can I give them that they'll want to start using even before the wrapping paper hits the floor? 

Is there something perfect for that persnickety art director? Something that will make your manic-depressive copywriter smile? How about that ever-so-demanding account person?

Most of all, how about the Holding Company scion who already owns most-everything in the world? What can you get him or him that will make him as happy as bonusing himself after a 20% reduction in force?

At Ad Aged, we've scoured the world to bring you the best things you can give to some of the worst people. 

The Bloody hell Arm Wrap.

Your project manager is looming. The latest client presentation is only 109-pages and it's going in front of the client at 10AM. Your job--the PM tells you--is to write 29 mobile ads and six or twelve social campaigns post-haste.

Fortunately, some loved one gave you, the "I-can't-write-your- social-campaign,-I'm-bleeding-to-death" arm-covering™. Not only will you get out of yet another meaningless assignment of churning out deck-fodder, you'll just possibly be able to go home a bit early--like by 11:15 PM. 

Just $79.99 at the Ad Aged gift shop. Continental US only. Ask about our special pre-merger "I'll be unemployed soon" discounts for WPP employees.

*****

You're on a roll.

Another all-caps email from a petty functionary working in a Holding Company sweat-shop somewhere on the sub-continent. You know the sort. THIS IS YOUR FINAL WARNING!!! YOUR TIMESHEET IS FOUR MINUTES OVERDUE!!! COMPLY IMMEDIATELY OR YOU WILL BE LOCKED OUT OF THE SYSTEM AND RECIRCUMCSIZED--WHETHER YOU'RE MALE OR FEMALE. CHEERS!!!

Fortunately, someone's given you your own two-ply ultra-cushiony roll of timesheet toilet paper. Next time you're off to the loo, you know just what to do! In just minutes you can fill in all those fake hours. With more paper per roll and with each time-sheet perforated for your convenience, now it's easy to "spill and fill." No, thank you!!!

Package of four rolls, just $19.99 at the Ad Aged gift shop or wherever fine toilet paper and employee harassment are sold.

*****

The sands of time.

It's a dilemma--no, a crisis the entire industry is dealing with. With the Sands of Time 6-second glass, your problems are over.

Sure you've been relegated to creating six-second spots in the basement production studio for less than the price of a pastrami sandwich at Katz's (Dr. Brown's cream soda not included). Sure you're spending nights and weekends working on "creative" no one will ever see and that will have absolutely no salutary effect on a brand, but thanks to that certain someone who's gifted you with the Sands of Time 6-second timer, your spots will come in not a frame over. Frame over? Game over!!!

Just $39.99 at the Ad Aged gift shop. Additional seconds available at just $12.99/second. Not recommended for pharma commercials. 

*****

Hark, it's the 80's. The perfect gift for that creative in your life, a genuine Awards Annual from the 80s. (Year of Awards Annual may vary.)

It's over 300-pages of great brand-building ads for brands like Apple, Absolute vodka, BMW automobiles, Federal Express and more. Many of these ads contain actual ideas, full sentences in the English language, persuasion and more. 

Imagine Mark Read's face when he sees you harkening back to a bygone era when clients bought and agencies ran effective work in paid media!!! You'll be on the unemployment line just in time for New Years!

Just $49.99 at the Ad Aged gift shop. Ability to read required. Not responsible for terminations, furloughing or career obsolescence. Professional creative, closed-course.

*****

Tell me a story. You've heard it and heard it and heard it. We're all story-tellers now. The pressure is almost unbearable. You can no longer talk about how plastic wrap keeps food fresher, longer. No. You need to tell a story about it. Something Homeric and moving that reaffirms exactly what it means to be Post-Human™ in the Post-Human world we live in.

Fortunately, you've got the story maker. Pre-heat your cranium to 80-degrees Fahrenheit and get "story-ing." 

Find yourself suddenly typing: "We open on a young girl at the breakfast table. We notice she has just one leg and is blind in one eye. 

"Cut to her plate of eggs. We see her pushing the scramble aimlessly on her plate. She obviously doesn't want to eat. Her father, stern and seemingly inattentive enters the scene.

"What's the matter little one-legged half-blind daughter?"

We see a single tear roll down her face. Cut to dad, a single tear rolls down his.

"I'm not hungry," she answers plaintively. "These aren't Eggland's best eggs farm-fresh monthly from a free-range chicken's ass."

A smile dances on dad's lips.

"We can wrap them up," he says.

Cut to CU of Saran Wrap package and tag.

"Save it f'later."

Stories like this are easy with the Story-teller-teller kit. Complete with buzzwords, jargon and meaningless phrases, inhuman and clunky dialogue that mentions the product in the first seven-seconds and more. 

This Christmas, get your hack back. 

Just $14.99 at the Ad Aged gift shop. Bad creative direction and additional copy for two-minute behind-the-scenes web video not included. Client feedback at additional cost.

*****

Meet the Meeting Master. He drones on and on. Oblivious to his own banality. Reveling like a nymph in the cool crisp waters of his own flowing cliches. 

He's just used the word "journey." And "scalable." And now he's talking about a "robust, scalable journey to a customer-centric nexus." It's 11PM, you've been stuck in this unventilated conference room for a 45-minute stand-up since 5PM. 

Fortunately, you've got the Meeting Master. Soft, plush, breathable and cushioning, the Meeting Master covers both your eyes and both your ears. In just moments you'll be drifting away to your own thoughts and dreams. 

The Meeting Master's sophisticated PPCT™--powerpoint canceling technology--filters out up to 97% of all advertising pomposity. That six-hour meeting that starts at 6PM? With the Meeting Master, you'll be out of there by 11:15. Taxi!

Just $89.99 at the Ad Aged gift shop. Subscription to Meeting Master's "The best of the worst," recorded meetings available for a small monthly fee.

*****

The Classic. Revisted. You know and love "Ogilvy on Advertising." Now it's been revised, revamped and re-moved by people who know nothing about either Ogilvy or Advertising. Think of it as your single most valuable guide to the Ad Industry's Vulture Capitalist era.

In its 168-pages you'll learn top secrets on how to see revenue plummet by 40% and still revel in your own promotions and...self-promotions. You'll find out how a single agency can have six-to-eight CEOs and former CEOs all getting eight-figure salaries all on the payroll--decades after they've stopped working. You'll discover the ins-and-outs of alienating clients. 

There's more. Find out why Martin Sorrell--the ousted CEO who still owns 2% of WPP is still being paid over half-a-million dollars a year. See who's getting bonuses and pay raises though salaries have been "frozen." Meet the high-ranking employees  who have risen to the top without ever having built a single brand or created a single ad!

Learn the master's tips for decimating the workforce, killing morale and going 39-months without being invited into a single significant new business opportunity.

This is a rip-snorting of a book that the entire industry is reading. Especially the biggest reader of them all, Mark.

Just $189.99 at the Ad Aged gift shop. Public school English accent, client alienation, employee attrition and lack of a viable future not included.