Feeding Friendsy

Radventure

I went to Disneyland yesterday for the first time in 20 years. That Mickey Mouse hasn't aged a day. Maybe it's the Botox. Or maybe he feeds off of the happiness of small children like a puffy-gloved parasite. I'm going with the latter.
It was a pretty amazing experience, though. Being me, I couldn't help but see the whole trip as a giant social experiment. I have never seen so many strollers in one area. Likewise, I have never seen so many wheel chairs in one place. It was an odd juxtaposition seeing, in the same family, Baby being strolled and Grandma being pushed, both complaining about the heat in their own weird language.
I left Disneyland thankful that I didn't have kids, yet. I also walked away happy that I wasn't fat and sweaty, like so many people were. Big-around-the-Middle America. Punch another hole in the Bible Belt, why don't ya?
But then, this morning, I woke up with another feeling--one I haven't had very often lately. I am so happy that I am where I am. I've been working so hard, that I haven't had time to breath, let alone engage with the world so indulgently. When you're in the trenches, when one day bleeds into another and another imperceptibly, when you can only tell a couple of weeks have passed because you got another pay check, you forget to poke your head above ground and assess your life.
Well, that's what I did. And the status report is promising. I have a job that almost anyone in the industry would chop something off for, I have family and friends who kill it, and I'm neither fat nor sweaty. Of course, there's much more. But you get the picture. I wonder if anyone else left Disneyland feeling the same way I do. If they did, good for them. If they didn't, well, maybe they can sell their kids to Mickey for his youth serum and use the money to buy a Corvette.

My Stride Photo Booth made the One Show Finals list.

This is just an update, for those of you who are curious... and I guess, for those of you who aren't. But of my two projects that were short listed for the One Show this year, the Stride Aging Photo Booth made it to the final round! Which means that I'm in the One Show Annual for sure (it's a merit award) and is in the running to win a One Show Pencil. The big reveal is this Wednesday, so we'll see. Honestly, I'm not holding my breath. If I win a pencil, cool. If not, fine. I'm just flattered.

UPDATE: So, the photo booth didn't win a pencil (cue Price is Right wah wah sound). I did win a merit award though. Which basically means I'm the smartest person alive.

Take it to the next level-- our Nike Euro Football spot

Leading the anti-life.

Well... we're pitching a new client here at 72 and Sunny. Which means that I have no life. I really want to write a good blog post, but the last thing I want to do after 14 hours a day of writing ads is write for fun. Working like this can make me little cranky, so my partner here at work, Jay, offered a remedy. "Just watch this video and you'll instantly be happy again," he said. So I did. And instantly happy I was. Indeed, misery loves company.

How to know when you're busy...

My desktop, during another all night work fest.

A thing I made.

Made this video with my good buddy Jason Pollock. Enjoy.

Hey Mom, guess what!

In case any of yous kids is wondering, two of my projects made the shortlists in their respective categories for the One Show. One is a non-traditional piece for Stride Gum, and the other is the spot I wrote for Nike+ called Big Man. For those of you who don't know, One Show is a pretentious ad award show. They call themselves the Oscars of advertising. And I guess that's right. But whatever. I really shouldn't care about this too much, but unfortunately, awards are currency in the ad industry. Anyway, I guess we'll all know in a couple weeks if I won anything or not. Meh.

Tuna Fish: Good or Gross?

There's something weird about tuna fish. I don't know... maybe it's just me, but doesn't it feel odd to eat shredded fish out of a can? It's like I kind of expect to either be glad I ate one, or barf it back out into the world. I honestly can't think of anything else in my life that I regard with such suspicion, but still willingly partake in. So strange...

And it's not just the act of ingesting that's freaky, every step of preparing a tuna fish sandwich (TFS) is carried out with a certain degree of skepticism.

Step 1. Decide to eat the tuna fish sandwich in the first place.
I don't know what it is, but sometimes I just get a craving for one. Maybe it's my body calling out for Omega-3 fatty acids or something. I have to be careful though, because if I think too hard about the canned tuna and all the mysterious, non-uniformly colored giblets therein, I could lose my appetite all together. I must stay focused.

Step 2. Decide which ingredients I want to accompany the tuna fish in the sandwich.
The choices made during this step are typically based on one thought: if the tuna fish ends up tasting a little "off", which condiments will at least mask the taste enough for me to choke the sandwich down? So, I go with cheddar cheese, dill pickles, sometimes lemon pepper, and then mustard and mayo. The latter three are mixed with the tuna, after it's, GAG, drained... ugh. Good segue...

Step 3. Open the can of tuna fish.
I HATE this step. Hate it. It's like opening a cooler from the last camping trip you went on. You're like, "Uh oh. Who knows what could be in here... hot dogs?" So far, I've never opened a can and found anything other than tuna and what they say is water. I don't know why they say that, though. It's not like any water I've ever seen. I don't typically turn on the faucet and fill my glass up with opaque, smelly liquid with fish shards in it. Why don't they just say it's tuna in tuna juice? That's what it is, right?

Step 4. Assemble the sandwich.
After mixing the tuna with the mayo and mustard, you gotta put it on the bread along with the pickles and the cheese. You gotta fork out that nebulous blob of fish and flatten it out across your sandwich. This might be the easiest part of the process. It's almost fun to see just how evenly distributed you can get the tuna across the bread. Yay!

Step 5. Eat and cringe/enjoy... Crinjoy.
Here it comes. The big test. You've spent the last five minutes talking yourself into thinking this sandwich was a good idea, and now it's time to roll the dice. Odds are that it's totally fine. But what if? What if that super hi-tech canning process didn't kill off all the bacteria and you're unknowingly about to take a bite of an ebola death sandwich? How ironic that your last meal be something you might have guessed would likely kill you, and it really did. This final step is the main reason why people have dogs--as quality monitors to see if food will kill when ingested.

Well, nothing left to do except eat it up. Eat that tuna fish sandwich, fatty. If for no other reason, than to prove to yourself, yet again, that tuna isn't as bad as it seems, after all. At least, until the next time...

And now, David Lee Roth

I can't get enough of this video. It's David Lee Roth recording his vocal track for Running With the Devil during his Van Halen days. If you listen closely, you can hear the music track in his headphones when he leans toward the microphone. I saw Mr. Roth at the Lane County Fair like three years ago and he was still a fucking rock star, jump kicks and all. So dope. Thanks to Jason for introducing me and this vid awhile back.

Facebook, stop being an a-hole.

The picture above is, as you may or may not know, the first page you see when you log onto Facebook. This is where the online community aggregates the goings on of your friends in what they call a news feed. They call it news because "gossip fodder" creeped people out in the focus groups.

Ok, moving along. Another feature on this page is new and stupid. Well, it might not be new (I don't have proof of this) but it certainly is stupid, in my opinion. Or mildly annoying. Both. SO this feature, blown up in the picture below, is named "People You May Know", which is grammatically incorrect*, but that's beside the point. This feature finds people who are friends with your friends on Facebook. For example, if five of my friends are friends with a person, this feature assumes that I MIGHT know said person and displays his or her profile in the little box, suggesting that I befriend them as well.

You know what Facebook? Stop choosing my friends for me. In 28 years, I haven't had any trouble picking friends and I certainly don't need your help now. The world, and my peer group, was just fine before you started playing matchmaker so keep your busy little fingers out of my friendship circle. I don't like your new (I think), clever little feature and, frankly, I'm starting to wonder if you have my best interests in mind. Maybe this isn't working out anymore... What do you mean, you've met someone else?

So, yeah, this feature sucks. Or maybe I'm just mad because it can't be turned off... and maybe I wish I could turn it off because every time I log on it suggests I "may" know my ex-girlfriend (see below), who I've been successfully not talking to for the last three months. That is, until this feature started whittling away at my resolve. I have neither written her a birthday email the other day nor called her because I was drunk last night. I haven't. God damn it... screw you Facebook.

*I understand that may and might are interchangeable in most cases. However, may implies a stronger possibility while might implies a lesser possibility. In this case, it is presumptuous of Facebook to assume I may know some of these people when I might not. It's a matter of taste, I suppose. Stop judging.

Interesting, bold, honest, simple, charming.

Words to create ads by. Woke up this morning with those ringing through my head like some dumb mantra. Thought I'd share.

Cool new people?

You've all seen this on the front page of Myspace. It's featured profiles of people who have just now signed up... I'm gonna go ahead and say it: If these people are under 35 and just now joining Myspace, they can't be that cool. I think a more appropriate headline would be something like "Just came out of a decade-long coma" or "Finally removed head from own butthole". Doesn't every person in the world have a Myspace account already? Even my friend's pets have myspace profiles.
There's no way in hell that they just now found out about Myspace. Unless they've been enjoying a total departure from reality... hmm... I can see the scene now:

JAMES (pictured above): You're such a neat friend, Tyrone! Let's pretend to be lions in the jungle! RARRRR! And then we'll play Boggle!
TYRONE: Have you seen my new Myspace layout?
(Pause)
JAMES: .....what the fuck is Myspace?

Their only excuse would be that they literally are "new people"... to the world. Like, they were just today created as computer savvy, socially active 25-year-olds. Then the headline would make perfect sense. Sadly, that's impossible. The reality is that these people are jumping on a sinking ship. Today, as I was sitting at work, I heard a coworker suggest that we not use Myspace as one of the examples for a digital communications strategy because it was "stupid". I felt dumb because I still have an account... that I check... almost every day. Shoot...

By the way, I'm gonna start a new online community called Mespace.com... it's gonna be for cavemen. (if you get that joke, I love you.)

Jesus Christ was the first zombie, according to me.

Think about it. Jesus dies on the cross, is buried in a cave, then rises from the dead and walks the earth. By definition, Jesus is a zombie. That's my theory.

Happy Birthday, Dad!

May your mullet flow proudly and your mouth never run empty of pig knuckle.
Love,
Your kid

Kenny G(angsta)

This is honestly one of my favorite songs of all time.

*UPDATE- Kenny G has asked me to tell you that your haircut is too small. Reference his for tips.

www.dontbullymykids.com

I don't have kids. But if I did, you can bet your ass I'd buy this DVD, sit little Rodney down, and make him watch. No kid of mine is gonna have some red-headed asshole shake a pasty, white fist in his face. No way.

The crazy thing about this DVD is that if it gets in the wrong hands (ie. A real life bully) it could totally backfire. Here's how:
Let's pretend that a red-headed kid, Donny, who has yet to develop into a full-blown bully, is hanging out at your house for the afternoon with your son, Jeffrey. As the two children are playing GI Joes in your living room, our little ginger protagonist (soon to be antagonist) spots this DVD sitting atop your TV. For reasons his little 8-year-old brain can't comprehend, he becomes fixated on the image. He walks over to the DVD, stands over it, and as he stares at the cover, he feels an unfamiliar, yet very comforting sensation--the welling up of some primal urge. It's as if some dormant alter-ego has been awoken inside him. He continues to stare at the picture... staring... staring... becoming lost in it's depths. The face of the red-headed child morphs into his own pink freckled face. He begins to see the scene differently now, as something beautiful. To Donny, this picture is becoming a snapshot of the way things should be. The natural order of the world.

And then, it happens. Like a rubber band that gives way, snapping, Donny has reached a new level of consciousness. He no longer sees things as a normal child, he only sees weakness and domination. And now, it's almost as if the DVD cover is whispering to him, "Donny, you're alive now. Assume your rightful place on top of the social pecking order." Donny is dully shaking his head, as if in a trance. "Look at Jeffrey," the cover continues, "Look how pitiful and weak he is. He's not even playing GI Joes correctly. He's pretending all of them are friends! Good guys and bad guys, together on the couch fortress. What a fool! Go over to him. Teach him a lesson about power! Make him cower underneath the bullying fist of oppression! Make him give you something... his favorite GI Joe. Yes, that's it! Make it YOUR GI Joe. If he refuses, raise your hand to him. Threaten something horrible, like a knuckle sandwich and then pull his hair until he relents! Do not waiver... go, do it now! It is your destiny!" Donny turns to face your poor unsuspecting son as his milky complexion turns a light shade of crimson--the color of anger. His eyes narrow, his lips purse into a snarl. Donny will never be the same. And because you carelessly left out your "Don't Bully My Kid" DVD, Jeffrey's life,too, has been altered. It's too late, Donny's fingers clench into a fist as he walks toward Jeffrey...

I think we know how this ends up. The moral of the story, never leave your DVDs laying around. Because if you do, your kid will hate you.

Fuck you, Meter Man.

If you live in LA, you budget a certain percentage of your monthly income for parking tickets. I'm convinced that parking meter technology is far more advanced than we could possibly know. They say that internet advancements were made because of the porn industry. Well, aerospace satellite technology must have been developed by the parking police. They must have super powerful satellite telescopes that can zoom in on meters, see if that fucking thing is blinking, and then send a sneaky little message to the local Meter Maid who then breaks every traffic rule in the book to zoom over and put a ticket on your car before you walk out of the coffee shop.

Just now... just minutes ago, I got a parking ticket. Here's the story:

I had purchased about an hour on the meter this morning. I figured, "I'm not sure how long I'm gonna stay, I'll come back out in a little bit if I need to." I kinda got into some work, and ended up staying for awhile. So, I walked out to buy some more time. I stepped out of the door, and there he was. Fat and smug, he looked like a cross between Rush Limbaugh and a mean 3rd grader. We made eye contact just as that asshole was lowering my windshield wiper onto the ticket. He stayed his hand, just for a moment, then let the wiper snap down on my shiny, new citation with a resounding "fuck you, I AM the law".

Before I could even utter a word, he spun around to climb back into his glorified Big Wheel and squealed, "Don't even bother arguing, it's already in the computer. You should have paid more attention." The middle finger I flipped him at that moment did nothing to satiate the helpless anger that welled up inside me. I hated him, a lot. But here's the weird part: For some reason, I could tell he hated me, too. Not because I flipped him off, nor because my car had lingered a little past it's welcome. No, his hatred was coming from some black place deep inside him. The place that craves Cheetos more than getting laid. The place that can't stop thinking about grade school and all the kids who picked on him. The place that remembers every fat joke, every sobbing masturbation bonanza, every disappointed look from dad. He wanted me to feel that humiliation, that powerless vulnerability.

Well, asshole, you win. I'm mad. I'm gonna hate writing the 35 dollar check to your boss. And I'm gonna hate knowing that some percentage of that amount is going to you so you can buy another 120 ounce Mountain Dew. This is the place where I say something like, "Thanks for nothing. I hope you're happy, fatty." But this is just one of those instances where making other people miserable might make him laugh, but nothing could make him truly happy.

I'm back!

My absence was a consequence of a stark reality--I'm poor. Yes, it's possible, and likely, that you too will be poor after graduating from college. It costs money to have a typepad blog. And for a couple months, eating and paying pertinent bills took precedence over entertaining the eight people who read this stupid thing.

But, in light of recent events (I got a raise!), I've decided to revive Feeding Friendsy--all it took was an adrenaline shot (50 bucks) to it's heart and it perked right up. Blog, I missed you. I really did. Let's kiss. Oh, and thanks to Jay for encouraging me to start writing again. He is right, and as much as I hate to admit it, I'm a writer now. It's what I do, and I like it... sorta. So fuck it.

Things on Feeding Friendsy are gonna be a little different this time around. I started this blog as a place to chronicle my rise to advertising mediocrity back when I was in school. I tried to adhere to that strategy, minus a few missteps. But really, no one cares about advertising, which means that even fewer people (like fewer than zero) want to read a blog on the topic. So I'm opening it up. I'ma write about whatever the hell I want. I spend my working life trying to make brands more transparent and honest--it makes them more interesting. So, why shouldn't my blog follow suit? I guess we'll see how that ends up.

But for now, welcome back all. Hopefully, you'll find something here. Even more hopefully, I'm leaving something for you to find.

What's happening to me?

What is it that happens when something just clicks? Not the kind of click that happens when you meet a girl you like, but the click that happens when you finally understand a concept you've been struggling with. It's the click that occurs after you "sleep on" something. It's the moment of enlightenment--the "now I get it" moment.

When I first started working in June, I was having a difficult time understanding the complicated language of advertising. I wasn't processing feedback correctly, my ideas seemed off target. It was like living in a dream where you try to run, but can barely move your legs while everyone else around you seems unaffected. As a result, I was trying too hard to push ideas and my work ended up feeling contrived and uninspired. I was beginning to wonder if I hadn't made a huge mistake by going into advertising. But recently, I've been having moments where things have begun to click. I've been revisiting work that I did when I first arrived at 72 and can now identify how and why it could be better. Though the process is slow, I'm beginning to feel that click. My writing instincts are becoming sharper, and I'm starting to feel more confident in my ideas.

So here's the point: We grow brain cells even during adulthood. Rewiring our brains to think differently takes time, but it's possible. So if it's taking awhile for things to click, try not to get impatient. You're not slow, your brain just hasn't caught up with your expectations. All you can do is relax and enjoy the process.

My Trident commercials

While I was at JWT I wrote a spot for Trident. These are the commercials that came out of that idea. If you watch MTV, Comedy Central, or VH1 you may have already seen these. Of note, they're directed by Aaron Ruell who you may know better as Kip from Napoleon Dynamite. Also, the actor on the right is the guy who Uncle Rico asked to tear the plastic bowl in the same movie.

Embedded youtube videos are taking a stupid long time to work. Here's the direct link, in case you can't get the videos to play on this page: http://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=trident+minty+sweet&search=Search