Where on Google Earth is...?
Posted on
2008-Dec-26
at
09:59
With Google Earth I think a whole new world of advertising awaits. Check out this blog to see what I'm referring to. I really think this stuff is cool as the bee's knees, and we could see some groundbreaking advertising come out of it. And who knows? Google could be onto something even bigger than just new advertising avenues. Perhaps they'll find some way to re-spark that gradeschool love affair I once had with Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego.
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What's the deal?
Posted on
2008-Dec-22
at
10:42
I like looking at ads because I'm an ad geek. Yet lately I've been noticing a lot of ads that seem all cool (and for well-known, well-established products) and whatnot, but then I recognize the concept from ads previously done. For example, take a look at this ad:
It instantly reminded me of this campaign for 42 Below Vodka.
The execution is different, but the concept is the same. What gives? And the other day I saw this ad on the front page of IHAI - and again in the Creativity Online e-mail those kind folks send to me every day:
I thought that since it was being featured via Creativity Online, it was supposed to be cool and new. But I've seen this concept before, just tweaked a little. I couldn't find the ad, but the copied version was in Archive around the fall of last year. It was a night shot of a mountain goat (in a mountain shot much like the one above). There was no product shot, but the ad just showed a stunned mountain goat staring into a set of headlights much like a deer would seconds before being flattened on the highway. I can't remember the vehicle brand, but the point is that this idea got copied to an extent.
I know this industry is deadline-driven, and we can't catch everything. But I have noticed recycled ideas twice in a week's time from two reputable agencies. How do we raise the standard if we recycle old work?
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Shame on you, CP+B
Posted on
2008-Dec-9
at
07:02
There has been quite a bit of ruckus in the ad community concerning CP+B's latest creation for Burger King, Whopper Virgins. I'm one of those who is wagging a finger at the agency. The whole idea is slimy and a mockery. Yes, I know the business I'm in. We sell things. We move products. It's what makes our world go 'round. But how far is too far when trying to sell something? I think this is an example.
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Keep in motion.
Posted on
2008-Dec-1
at
11:14
In our creative thinking class we are required to try something new each week and then write, draw, or do whatever about it in our sketchbooks.
One of my worst new experiences was the time Neil and I ate at Mrs. Winner’s, a restaurant we now believe is known for its kooky employees and the random shouting of, “Loooord Jeeeesus! Help me get through this day!”
At the end of our meals we felt the way I’d assume someone would feel after drinking a quart of motor oil. We left thinking, “Loooord Jeeeesus! Never. Again.” Some new experiences can be done without.
One of my better new experiences was when Melissa and I went people watching in Piedmont Park. It was something we always wanted to do but had never formally done. We decided that to qualify as “formal people watching” one needs a blanket, pad of paper, and something to write with. Extras (but not required) are: markers, scissors, glue, and snacks.
Sitting no more than 5 feet from where people were walking, we made no effort to hide what we were doing. We were the scientists, and the passers-by were the lab rats. We busied ourselves that afternoon by studying every move these people made.
No detail went unnoticed. We jotted down everything. We saw the entire Waldo family tree. I added the “pancake” butt category, while Melissa added the “way too many pancakes” butt category. We even saw one couple pushing a dog in a stroller, which led us to wonder what became of the baby.
What baffled us, though, was the amount of people walking in the park that day. After the addition of the “shim?” category and before the addition of the “camel toe” category was when we realized the multitude was there for a benefit walk.
“Oh,” we thought. “That makes sense.”
Shortly after the realization we became bored and took to imagining what, other than participating in a benefit walk, this large group of people could be doing.
“I got it,” I said. “What if a movie just let out? Granted, it’d have to be a huge movie theater. One that could hold thousands. What movie do you think would draw a crowd this large?”
“High School Musical 3,” Melissa answered without hesitation.
I wrote it down.
As the people next to us finished up their game of Four Square we thought maybe this multitude of people was on some type of exodus, like Moses. Then we decided, no. It was the apocalypse they were running from, and it was headed this way from somewhere to the west of us. While we stayed put to document it all, everyone else ran. Or walked, rather.
“I got it,” Melissa said. “It’s not the actual apocalypse. It’s a post-apocalyptic drill."
Among the least popular of our ideas were refugees, free flu shots, and enroute to get free money. The latter of which we knew wasn’t true because no one was running.
Eventually the event died down, and we got bored and went home.
A few weeks ago Melissa and I got the idea up the ante on our people watching and try a social experiment instead.
It happened around midnight, right before a looming deadline. I still hadn’t made any progress on coming up with a solid concept. Despite all the pages I filled up with ideas, I was producing crap. Pure. Utter. Crap. It didn’t help that I was stressing out over it, either.
I thought a hug would make everything better. Since no one was around to give me a hug, I decided Craigslist was the next best thing. It was simple. I worked the ad out in my mind: “I am stressed and need a hug to calm my nerves. No strings attached. Serious inquiries only.”
Melissa is always a great person to run an idea by, so I texted the hug idea to her. “Oh that’s tame in comparison to some of the things on there,” was her response. Not the support I was looking for.
Then I got another text from her. This time it was her idea for a Craigslist ad. She suggested that she and I post an ad to go on a double blind date with two random people.
“If the date doesn’t go well,” she started. “All we have to do is tell the people we’re with that we are really in a relationship and were trying to see if we could ‘expand our horizons’. But we realized that we’re just not ready to do that yet and would like to stay in a committed relationship with one another. Thanks anyway.”
It was an easy way out that sounded foolproof in theory.
When I studied at Purdue, there was a group of people who would set a table up on campus each Friday. The table was decorated with a poster that said, “Free compliments.” As people would walk by they were offered a “Hey! That’s a really cool bag!” or “Your hair looks nice!”
Each compliment was delivered with the same sincerity as though they were given from a best friend. Most people received the compliments with a smile. Others felt these compliments were nothing more than covert attacks upon their self-esteem. “Yeah, ‘nice bag!’ Whatever! You’re a nice bag!” or “Yeah, my hair looks nice, and you’re an asshole!” Somehow, I think these are the people Melissa and I will find on Craigslist, should we ever get the courage to follow through with our new experience.
We still haven’t posted our ads on Craigslist, but the conversation did get the ideas flowing again, and I met my deadline. Guess that’s the reason for constantly experiencing something new.
It’s like a friend once told me, “Keep in motion, and you won’t become stagnant.”
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Diapers and sleep
Posted on
2008-Nov-9
at
02:40
We were discussing something of no importance, when Neil abruptly changed the subject to something equally unimportant. “Wouldn’t it be cool if you could just bypass sleep altogether?”
“Yeah, but there are certain processes that go on during sleep that you can’t get any other way.” Cameron replied.
“But wouldn’t it be cool if there was some way we could mimic that process,” Neil said. “Like if we could just sit under something that radiates the sleep process?”
I pictured something like those hairdryers in a salon. People sit under them, reading a magazine and “sleeping.” But if you had to sit in the same place to “sleep,” wasn’t that kind of similar to sleeping? The point with replacing the sleep was gaining the ability to stay active while “sleeping.”
“What about radio waves,” I suggested. “We could just emit them from cell phone towers, there are plenty around already.”
It seemed plausible. As long as we were in range we could get the refreshment we needed while continuing on with our lives. “Life is short,” we’d say as though the world depended on our productive lives. We’d constantly get a little trickle of sleep as we went about our days. The same concept behind automatic dog feeders, I thought.
We talked about the possibility of a pill, too. But that was just too far-fetched. Seriously, a pill? Radio waves were the perfect solution. With the problem solved, radio waves, we started talking about something else. Halloween, I think.
Last Saturday I was sitting at my desk, cutting out pictures of dinosaurs at 3am. All for the sake of advertising or something like that. As I Googled more images of dinosaurs I started to wonder where I had gone wrong in life. Having no plausible answer, I revisited the concept of radio wave-generated sleep, thinking it could come in handy right about now.
I also thought we should take it a step further and wear diapers, too. If we were going to cut out sleep, we might as well cut out other little life inconveniences. When you start drinking coffee to keep yourself awake, it defeats the purpose when you’re leaving your seat every five minutes because you broke the proverbial seal.
As I taped the tyrannosaurus rex I had just cut out onto a UFO, it made me a little sad to think that should I start wearing a diaper, I’d never finish the book sitting in my bathroom. Such are the trade-offs in life: Have promiscuous sex, but you might get someone pregnant, get an STD, or both. Drive 100mph down the interstate, but you’ll get a ticket. Wear a diaper, but you sacrifice quality reading time.
A few days ago I sat in front of a computer for hours, trying to recreate my face out of different typefaces, a project dubbed “type face.” This was particularly difficult, considering I see the world through Times New Roman. Occasionally I’ll get a little crazy and use Arial. Otherwise, I don’t stray too far into other typeface realms. It’s just too complex for my mind.
In college a professor explained type this way: It’s like finding the right actor for the right role in a movie. This was something that made sense when I tried using Times New Roman to create my chin. The serifs were just too much. It was like trying to cast Andy Dick as the lead role in There Will Be Blood.
I have always heard selecting the proper typeface can be hell. Hours can be wasted just flipping through books and such. “Wanna go grab a beer,” one might ask? “I can’t, Helvetica is being a real bitch right now.”
Then there is the kerning, a word that somehow worked its way into every conversation I had this week. I used it the way a toddler might overuse a new word he learns. For toddlers, this is cute. For adults, people wonder what your deal is. Then they laugh at you.
Usually this responsibility of typography, leading, kerning, etc. falls upon the art director. Or so I hear. And that comes after creating the ad. After completing the type face project, for the first time in my life I was glad I wasn’t artistically talented. I had always been jealous before. Now I feel comfortable in being a word nerd.
For the first quarter at the Circus, art directors have a heavier workload that is notably different than that of the copywriter. Don’t get me wrong, though. It’s no cakewalk for copywriters, either. Especially when you’re up until two or three in the morning, trying to write a headline and body copy to make someone go out and buy oatmeal.
Rob, a wildly talented art director, was telling me about the little shortcuts he takes here and there just to gain a few extra minutes throughout the day. “Which is why I now have a beard,” he said. I nodded in agreement. But truth be told, I am growing out my beard because of partial laziness. And by being lazy, I consequently save money on razors, which are ridiculously expensive.
“How would you feel about wearing a diaper and radio wave-generated sleep?” I wanted to say as I stroked my tiny little beard.
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Weekly Ad Journal - November 6
Posted on
2008-Nov-7
at
01:10
It surprises me how many ads come so close to hitting the mark, yet ultimately they fail. So close but yet so far. A few extra minutes of concepting, and the ad could have made it.
Take for example the ad for Anthro, which at first glance I thought said, “Anti-Ro” – I admit I can be a little dense at times, but maybe they should work on that? When I was flipping through the magazine something in the ad caught my eye. I think it was the odd little visual. “How did the older lady get all the way to the top? I don’t see any traces of a ladder. It’s kind of a jerk move by the two below her, making her stay on top and all.”
So the ad had me. I was intrigued.
After checking out the chick on the bottom table, I scooted down to read the headline. Made sense. I got it. After checking out the chick once again and feeling regret that she had a wedding ring on (we wouldn’t have worked out anyway), I moved to the body copy. But it bottomed out, leaving this ad stuck. Consequently, I didn’t finish reading it.
The ad was already on thin ice to begin with. Had I not actively been looking for an ad of this sort, I probably would have skipped it. It feels cheap. Production value gets points when making ads. Sure there are tiny budgets, but great creatives can get around that. Trust me, I’ve seen some pretty innovative ways here at the Circus – where most of our salaries come from Wells Fargo (with interest!) or places like that – on how to produce something that looks expensive, yet cost no more than $5 to make.
With the body copy, I felt haggled, not important. Make me glad I have read your ad. I don’t need to know every single detail about your product. When I’m interested, I’ll check up on it later. Like Volaire said, “The best way to be boring is to leave nothing out.”
I’m a little torn with the Adidas ad. I like the concept and the copy for the most part, but the execution is a little flat and expected. The runner is about ready to smack into the car the reader is looking through. Avoiding a Frogger-like run for runners is important – for health and for a great run. That’s the story they’re trying to convey, a relevant story for every runner, no doubt. But couldn’t the ad have been executed a little better? They do get kudos for making the ad feel less like an ad, though.
"Whatever you are, be a good one."
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Weekly Ad Journal - October 30
Posted on
2008-Oct-30
at
05:38
Topic: Visual metaphors
Objective: Analyze and evaluate two ads (one that works and one that doesn’t) that have to do with a visual metaphor.
Visual metaphors can be a great way to draw the reader in and give him an immediate payoff while simultaneously communicating a benefit. However, if executed poorly or the metaphor is stretched too far, it can backfire and add more to the ad clutter we all hate.
Good
The Nissan ad is an excellent example of a visual metaphor, and one that works at that. For starters, I really enjoyed looking it. It was highly intriguing (and time-consuming, I’m sure, for the people who made the ad), rad even. But I get it. It’s a sporty, flashy car with power. The benefits have been communicated quickly and effectively: Nice rides are important when driving and when running. It works because it’s simple (but not too simple), clean, and enjoyable.
Bad
LG dropped the ball with their visual metaphor, trying to make their product into a light bulb. I get it. It’s a bright idea! Woohoo! Wish I thought of that. I remember seeing the Nissan ad and being like, “Wow! That’s cool!” The first time I saw the LG ad, I kept flipping, didn’t even make any attempt to go back and look at it. Cluttered and busy are the words that come to mind when I think of this ad.
So why doesn’t it work? First, it doesn’t look cool. This is just how our world works. Pretty people get the looks before the mediocre-looking (unless you’ve just been hit by a train, hard not to look then). And it’s the reason why I think Mac is cooler than PC, just looks cooler at first glance.
It also looks too busy, or cluttered. Way too much going on. Personally, I’m not a fan of trying to make text into an object – although I’m sure I’ll try to do it at some point in my career. When I look at it, my eye feels overwhelmed.
Those are my quick little thoughts. Let me know what you think.
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Seeing what sticks.
Posted on
2008-Oct-26
at
05:19
By my freshman year of high school I had developed a plump set man boobs my sister was jealous of. During PE one day, Aaron Polston noticed my man boobs. He then made it his personal mission in life to remind me of my man boobage every chance he had. He was like that crazy preacher guy that haunts every college campus, constantly reminding everyone they’re going to hell.
“Hey tits!” he’d say, his message short but penetrating each time. His timing always fell within an earshot of people I would rather not have heard these comments, like teachers and girls I had crushes on.
Girls would huddle together, putting their hands up to their chests and then sticking their index fingers out. “Poindexter,” one person called me.
I imagined teachers scribbling in the word “tits” by name in their attendance books, secretly laughing to themselves every time they called my name.
“Why are you laughing,” I’d ask.
“Oh, nothing,” the teacher would say with a smirk, her eyes fixed upon me. And then I’d sink into my chair, realizing what she was laughing about.
For the first part of our first assignment in our copywriting class we had to watch Cool Hand Luke – something everyone still says was my doing. Some mistake I had made with my assignment, and there we were! Watching the movie, wondering when the hell it was going to end. “To learn about exposition,” we were told. We now roam the halls of the Circus, shouting things like, “Sharpening my pencil, boss!” “Opening my bag, boss!” It’s better than spending a night in the box.
We were also told to write 50 headlines for Wonder Bra, take our 6 favorite headlines and make comps out of them. At first we felt this was a little much, the way a first grader might feel after being told to sit in any one sport for ten minutes. It’s hard to do just 50, though. You get on a roll and just start cranking things out*, even though you usually end up with a bucket full of turds. That’s they way it goes, though – quantity eventually leads to quality.
We had no creative brief. No parameters. Nothing. Just write headlines and make comps. It was an exercise given to accustom us to finding our own creative process/flow and writing a buttload of headlines.
The exercise lent itself to coming up with cheap puns and boob jokes. Things like, “Make mountains out of molehills!” Or, “When life hands you lemons…!” These were headlines we realized no girl was going to read and be like, “Wow! That man really understands my needs as a woman.” Yet we still had to get them out of our system. Even though I had gotten the cheap puns and jokes out of my system, I still managed to become a victim of third grade humor. Standing up in front of the class, I posted my comp on the wall:
I explained my genius, “The actual word would be blinged out like crazy. Diamonds. Gold, even! Throw in a trendy shade of pink, and people would overlook the brashness of the word because it would look like something straight out of a Tiffany’s store. Think about it!” Following the one-worded headline was a tiny line of text that whispered, “Things look better with Wonder Bra.”
Somehow in my caffeine-induced stupor – always a part of my creative process – I thought all dimensions of this concept were stellar. It bypassed all filters and found itself plastered on the wall and being presented to the class. I felt even the paper knew something I didn’t. As I took it out of my bag it hesitantly whispered, “What the hell are you doing? Are you high? Don’t do this!”
My presentation of the idea went horribly. I thought drawing a set of breasts would clarify everything. It didn’t. When falling asleep the night before, this made perfect sense as I pictured myself presenting this golden pencil-worthy idea. Yet, people only wanted to know where I was going with my horrible drawings and odd little ramblings about breasts. Between the guffaws at my self-humiliation, people told me, “If I saw that in a magazine, I would stop to read it. I mean, it’s ‘titties’!” But it wouldn’t make me want to buy it.”
We have been told to enter our classes with open minds. That’s the rule that follows the rule, “Don’t be an asshole.” As our instructor said, “We’re allowed to throw shit on the wall and see if it sticks,” as long as we’re not attacking anyone.
And that’s how it goes. People get up. They take risks. That’s what we’re told to do, even if it makes us look a little silly. Maybe I took that speech to heart a little too much.
I wasn’t sure how he got from point A to point B with his concept, but one guy managed to connect Anne Frank and Wonder Bra. The resulting image was Anne joined by her fellow countrywomen. They all were firing machine guns at the Nazi’s. We understood the concept “Boost your confidence.” but gracefully recommended the Anne Frank route wasn’t the best way to go. Neither was the Rosa Parks reference or the Men’s Battered Shelter (you just had to be there to understand).
We all think of things that “seem like good ideas at the time.” Yet when we get up to present them, they seem to fall flat. But early on, we all seemed to have learned to embrace the awkwardness of it all. It always makes for a good laugh, which keeps the environment light and fun, something that has always been conducive to my learning style. It’s part of the process of learning what sticks and what doesn’t.
Upon hearing this story at the bar the evening after class, one girl made it her mission to remind me of my presentation each time she saw me that night. “Titties!” she would shout. Funny how some nicknames come full circle in life. This time I don’t think it’s going to stick, though.
*That and we were told the following week that when given an assignment to write 50 headlines it really means 100. Anything less and you’re just being lazy.
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Weekly Ad Journal - October 23
Posted on
2008-Oct-23
at
05:58
Topic: Fitness
Objective: Find two ads from two different frames of reference, either good or bad.
I have actually used Hydoxycut, back in the day when it was the real deal, laced with ephedra. From what I remember it made me tweak out, like a caffeine high times 10. I stopped taking it the day my heart fluttered. Had this occurred when I was in the path of a girl whose eyes twinkled, I would have passed it off for true love. But I was sitting across a table, talking to my flight instructor, a plump and practical man. Case closed.
From a good/bad ad standpoint, this ad doesn’t do it for me. Yes, it reminds me of the product and my tweaked out days, but it doesn’t move me anywhere. The frame of reference is one of a quick fix, and it might move some people with that mindset to purchase the product. From that standpoint, the ad is a success. But overall, it’s just another ad, caught up in the clutter with the copious copy that leads me nowhere, even though the model in the picture is super dreamy (I mean that in a totally manly way, of course).
The next fitness ad is a little better, but not totally great. It appeals to me because I have been tossing around the idea of getting into a sport that would lend itself to real deal ass kicking. I stopped for a second and look at it. But it didn’t push me over the edge and instill me with the desire to actually go out and give KnuckleUp a whirl. Ultimately, I would say that unless I was actually in the market for this sort of gym, I would pass the ad up. Once again, it looks too adsy to warrant my undivided attention, unless I had that shot of ephedra… hmm.
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Weekly Ad Journal - October 16
Posted on
2008-Oct-16
at
01:44
I have an intro to copywriting class. One of our weekly assignments is to find one good ad and one bad ad. Then we have to write about why one is good and the other, bad. It's an exercise to help use know the difference between good ads and bad ads.
Since I already have to write this stuff out in order to turn it in, it only takes a few more seconds to post it online. Because I love everyone out there, I thought that in addition to my weekly blogs about life at the Creative Circus I would show my "ad journal" to the community. I will try to stay on top of this, but my other entries about life at the Circus will come first, as I feel they're more important.
You may agree. You may disagree. That's okay, I will love you anyway.
Ad Theme: Undies
Good Ad
The “Barely There” ad by Hanes works. It has stopping power and invites the reader in to spend a few seconds on the ad. Once in the ad, the reader doesn’t have to try very hard for the payoff. Normally not working too hard for the payoff can just ad to clutter (because it’s too easy, like those one-liners uncle Greg always spouts off at Thanksgiving… lame), but this simple idea works well. Anything more complex would be counterproductive for the ad and a waste of the reader’s time. It is something that anyone who has ever worn a bra or seen a bra can relate to – any type of underwear line is undesirable.
Bad Ad
I’m assuming that Roberto Cavalli’s underwear are expensive. That seems to be how expensive products seem to roll. "Hot babe plus underwear and look at us!” Yet that’s all I do, look. Even if I were loaded out the wazoo, it wouldn’t make me want to check out this bra for my non-existent girlfriend. The Hanes ad at least tempts me to consider purchasing the bra – even though I’m sure it wouldn’t be a move to get me laid by aforementioned non-existent girlfriend.
So why isn’t this ad effective? It doesn’t make me glad I looked at it. It failed to connect. Sure it has a pretty woman. But if I’m looking for a quick thrill, I can find something a lot better after typing in a few little words into Google’s search engine – Not dissing the model. She’s like, totally hot. But as far as making me glad I looked at the ad, it does nothing. I saw 20 other ads just like this as I was looking through the magazine, and I can’t tell you any of the brand names. Not even for this ad.
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Craig
Posted on
2008-Oct-14
at
09:31
Almost ten minutes early yet I was still late.
“We decided to get started a little early,” said the instructor. He was a skinny guy with short black hair. He worried the attendance roster as he spoke but never lost his air of self confidence. He was dressed as though he intended to go to the beach, merely lacking the white sunscreen on his nose. Not the type of person I would have pegged to be teaching an introductory course to creative thinking.
As I pulled up a chair, I was asked my name, which program I was in, and my favorite food.
“Michael Williams. Copywriting.” And then my mind went blank. I hate those types of questions. I know what I like, but when asked anything slightly straying from a sold fact my mind often goes blank. Thinking quickly, I responded, “Pancakes.”
I found myself dissecting everything this guy said like one might do when studying Early American Literature. There was meaning in each word he spoke, and I was determined to find it.
Thinking there was some galactic meaning behind my response, I wondered, "What did my response of pancakes symbolize? Did it mean I was a hack? Maybe it meant brilliance? Did pancakes hold the same intellectual status like coffee once did? I wanted to know! I needed to know."
Just as I had settled into my chair the instructor said, “Alright, I want everyone to switch seats and find a different row.” The seats represent our form of thinking, I thought. In order to become more creative, we have to think differently. This is just a metaphor actualized in the physical.
Deep, man. Deep. I get it.
“What is creativity?” the instructor asked.
Someone answered. I didn’t catch the response, but I automatically found myself thinking, “Yeah! Right on. Way to be!” in the way one might at a poetry reading at the local artsy coffee shop. Somehow I found more meaning with everything in the last five minutes than I had after having attended church for 20 years.
A few more people volunteered their answers, but the instructor never validated any one response. Instead he asked, “Well, is building a bridge creative?”
We all sat there in silence, pondering the question as though he asked us to prove the existence of God. Finally someone broke the silence.
A few mumbles were heard as we collectively began to answer the question in the sort of tone one uses when not knowing the answer. “Yes?!” we said, trying to sound confident but flexible at the same time.
The instructor responded, “How is building a bridge creative?”
Someone said, “Because it solves a problem.” Genius! I thought.
“I don’t see how that’s creative,” the instructor replied.
Coming to the aid of my fellow classmate, I said, “Well, it depends on the bridge. If it functions, it’s creative.” It was one of the stupider things I had said that day. But I sat back and folded my arms like I had just put him in checkmate, thinking, “My mom would be so proud right now.”
As we all pondered our next moves in this debate, the door abruptly swung open and a man walked in as though he were in a race to get to the front of the room. “How long has he been talking to you?” he asked.
What does it matter? I thought. Who is this guy? Just walking in here and disrupting our discussion about creativity. We were in the moment, and he just messed everything up. Couldn’t he tell that we were little seedlings, carefully sprouting our creativity? The audacity.
Apparently the person who had been talking for the last 15 minutes wasn’t Craig, our instructor. Just a fellow student. I might have been the last one to realize this because I was too busy dissecting the secret meaning behind everything. I was taking this creativity thing a little too seriously.
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Creative Circus - Week 1
Posted on
2008-Oct-13
at
05:27
Provided they don’t bark, poop and/or pee, or go crazy on other dogs during class, dogs are allowed inside the Creative Circus without the prerequisite of being seeing eye dogs – which means you can pet them! I befriended a tiny little Rottweiler just the other day. You can’t be too safe in trying to make friends with ferocious dogs. Prevent an attack by starting early.
One of our instructors, Heddy, has a dog that is no bigger than two loaves of bread perked up on four little twigs. “It was a refused gift,” she explained. As she went into further details, I wrote in my notebook, “Don’t give someone a dog for a gift.”
Izzy was introduced as some type of Australian sheep dog. I missed the particulars but remember hearing she wouldn’t get much bigger. I wondered how a little dog like this was effective in herding sheep. I pictured it trying to do it’s job when WHAM!, crushed by the hooves of mindless sheep.
“Honestly,” the sheep would say. “We didn’t see it!”
Heddy interrupted my daydream by introducing herself. After her self-presentation we sat there in silence, not knowing what to do next. Noting the silence, she smiled and said, “You guys don’t give a fuck who I am, do you? You just want me to teach you.” I guess that was partly true.
“Every other word you will hear out of an ad person’s mouth is, ‘fuck, shit, or hell’,” Heddy explained as though we would be tested on this at a later day. She had barely finished saying hell when the TA interrupted buy saying, “If you don’t like the word ‘fuck,’ you’re in the wrong business. I made a note.
Everything at the Circus seems so interesting, no matter what the subject, partly because tuition is so damn expensive. So we try to get our money’s worth wherever we can. But most of the reasoning has to do with us wanting to be there.
People might feel overwhelmed with the workload, but no one really minds. We’ve all searched for something in our lives that didn’t fit the bill. And finally landing on the steps of the Circus, we feel at home, welcoming whatever they may throw at us.
One guy had been a professional pool player before coming to the Circus. After he mentioned this, I found myself thinking, “I knew it.” He had the type of wit that would be the envy of any comedian and for that I hated him because I was jealous. Heddy asked him, “Are you a copywriter?”
“No, I’m a designer. Why?” was his response.
“Because you act like a writer.” I guess we’re known for talking a lot and saying funny things.
“Yeah, but write like a designer.”
Another guy had traveled through Australia for eight months picking up odd jobs here and there for room and board. He did everything from butchering animals to herding sheep. I wondered if he ran into any sheep dogs like Izzy.
A girl I had been studying because she was exceptionally cute told everyone she used to be a motivational dancer. We were a little let down when she explained it didn’t involve prancing around to spiritual music while twirling a piece of 20-foot ribbon. Motivational dancer isn’t the politically correct term for stripper, either.
As we all listened to each other’s introductions, I thought it no coincidence we all ended up at a place called the Creative Circus.
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What a cool ad.
Posted on
2008-Oct-9
at
01:47
I just came across this ad for the new Wario Land game for Wii. I was actually watching several other ads along this line last week and thought, "While the game looks neat if I were back in junior high (I'm just not a gamer anymore), the ad is a total snooooooze!" So when I started watching this ad, I thought, "Booooooring! Times 5!" But just to be a trooper I stuck it out. I'm glad I did. You will be, too. Invest 45* seconds of your day into viewing this ad: http://www.youtube.com/experiencewii
*plus load time (will vary)
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Una limonada
Posted on
2008-Oct-3
at
05:33
Empowered with the type of ambition that crumples under any type of personal discomfort, I began my day early one Friday morning feeling determined. That my ambition started on a Friday suggested it had already ended. One day of early rising and it was already time for the weekend!
Fueled with the surge of ambition, I was a little more confident with my driving. I drove a little faster. Crept up on intersections a little less and thought, “What the heck. I’ll take a little more faith in this ‘stop at all intersections’ rule.”
Sometimes my thinking is a little too linear and simplistic, which I suppose was the reason why the lady decided to ram the front of her car into the back of my car. My confidence had just become as flaccid as my manhood after sex. And as for my ambition, that’s what I got for trying harder.
My sister and I were in the same Spanish class during high school. It was a beginning Spanish class, the kind where you learn colors and numbers. We had progressed a little further and were now learning how to ask people how they were doing and perhaps if said person had a lemonade to share with us, “Una limonada, por favor?”
This seemed the only thing from class that stuck with my sister. We were sitting in the new Burger King when my sister began demonstrating her Spanish skills to my mom. “Una limonada, por favor.” Except she said it in a way that made her sound more like a drunk Chinese librarian trying to be funny. She had my mom crying because of the laughter. I didn’t get it. My sister chalked up my lack of understanding to being a big dork.
After the lady hit me with her car I pulled onto the side of the street and began contemplating my next move. I had learned all types of cookie cutter scenarios when studying Spanish. “How much does this cost?” “Nice to meet you.” “I like steak.” Yet nothing from these situations applied. It really didn’t matter anyway, because my mind had just gone blank. The only thing I could think of was my sister saying, “Una limonada por favor?”
Maybe the lady wanted some lemonade. Maybe that could smooth the situation over. Because this was one of those instances where time speeds up and rational thought is suspended, this made perfect sense to me. I thought I was on to something. If, after an accidents and wars, people could just talk things out over a nice refreshing glass of fresh lemonade, we could live in a more peaceful world.
“What?” yelled the logical part of my mind. “Are you high? Why the hell would anyone want a lemonade right after a wreck, much less a war?” Seeing how the situation wasn’t progressing in any logical direction on my part, I called my boss, Patricia, and hid in the car until she arrived, thinking, “Maybe if I wait long enough the situation will just go away.”
While waiting for my boss to arrive I thought about the lady parked behind me. As I studied her in the rearview mirror, I saw that she too was on her cell phone. Was she calling her boss, too? Was she calling for some lemonade?
Wondering how Patricia was going to react, I imagined receiving a warm welcome of kisses that meant, “I’m so glad you’re okay! What would I do without you?” But then I’d tweak a few details, and everything would change to a situation involving a dark dungeon, chains, and my parents being interviewed by Matt Lauer on the Today Show. They were just hoping that I was okay and still alive somewhere.
Ten minutes later Patricia showed up. She looked at the damage of the other lady’s car and then at her own car. She isn’t one to take sides, but she quickly recognized it was the other lady’s fault. “A perfect t-bone collision,” she concluded. Yet the lady who hit me insisted that it was clearly my fault. According to her, I was driving at an undeterminable speed and had practically hunted her down after a long and exhausting chase. Was this lady high?
As we stood there deciding what we were going to do next, another car just about rammed into a truck. Patricia took this not as a sign but as a duty to lecture the other lady on the finer points of driving. “See, people just don’t look.” She started. “You have to look when turning onto this street. That’s what the speed bump is there for, to remind you to look and slow down. And to look.” The lady endured the lecture only because she was startled and at a loss for words.
I was thinking the same thing, but was unable to express my ideas. The lady gave no more importance to the speed bump than one does a loaf of bread sitting in a pantry on a Saturday night. How, I wondered, could this lady not see the obvious warning signs to at least give a glance in my general direction to ensure she wasn’t going to run into someone or be run over. It was a t-intersection she was turning onto, where the traffic didn’t stop.
An hour later the lady’s husband showed up and agreed that, yes, it was her fault, yet she held her ground and insisted I was at fault. What kind of crack was this lady smoking? And where could I get it? I wanted to be delusional to the entire situation, too.
Two hours later, the lady’s insurance agent showed up to assess the situation. His car suggested that in order to become an insurance agent one had to endure every possible car accident scenario, just to get an understanding of life on the job. With dents and cracks on every panel, the back sagging until it almost touched the ground, I was surprised the car ran at all.
He was a plump jovial fellow, the insurance agent, and had a permanent smile attached to his face that suggested confusion. After the formalities of introductions, he glanced at our cars. But the glance had been nothing more than the type of glance one gives to the ceiling when quickly trying to subtract 13 from 32 in his head. And with that, the report was official. I had indeed struck the other car. I had practically driven my car sideways into the lady’s front bumper, like a crab running down the beach.
“If we were in Mexico City,” Patricia began. “And the police saw this accident, they’d be over here trying to get us to pay them money. That’s how corrupt they are there. We would have to go to the other side of the street and discuss the matter privately, pretending like we were just friends talking, unaware of the mangled cars on the other side of the street.”
We were in a smaller town, and things didn’t work that way. Unless suffering from extreme boredom, the police simply didn’t get involved in minor traffic matters such as this. Yet today, we wanted them involved.
Patricia was angry at the insurance agent’s lack of competence, and so was I. She told me to stay with the car for a few minutes because she had to go to talk to some people. With that, she left with purse dangling in hand behind her and the same sort of stare normally reserved for the faces of suicide bombers moments before they died.
Meanwhile, I was left alone to speak with the friend of the lady’s husband. He was a nice man whose air of intimidation left once he smiled, revealing a mouth full of braces. For some reason unknown to me, people always look childlike and less intimidating with a mouth full of hardware.
With his arms folded across his chest, focusing on something far off in the distance he asked and squinting as though in pain, “So where you from?”
Hoping that taking an interest in this man’s attempt at conversation would play in our favor I said, “I live 5 hours south of Chicago.”
“Oh, Chicago! Big place, huh?” I’m not really sure what it is about the word Chicago, but anything following Chicago never seems to be heard. I’ve only actually been in Chicago a handful of times, and never for enough time to actually experience the city. So when people begin asking me questions, I have to play along like I know what I’m talking about.
“Yeah, it’s a big city.” Not knowing if what I’m about to say is true or not, I go along with the conversation and add, “Yeah, they say if you tried to walk around the entire city, it would take you two months or some such! Can you believe that? Two months!”
Either he was already bored with my conversation or had called my bluff, but he quickly changed the conversation and began speaking to me in what little English he knew, “So how is my English?”
I like to think that people in the States are different, but we all do this, too. We take a few basic language classes, and we feel it is our God-given right to practice with every foreigner we have a traffic accident with. Maybe that, not music, it’s our international connection.
Thirty minutes later, Patricia showed up with a friend, Vicente. “It’s just not appropriate for a lady to be walking around here without a man to accompany here in a situation like this. So I called Vicente to accompany me to speak with the insurance company.” A few minutes later the police showed up and began explaining the rules of the road to the lady and the insurance agent. And with a sigh of relief, we were freed from having to replace the lady’s bumper.
Lemonade would have been easier.
---
"Whatever you are, be a good one."
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Orientation at the Creative Circus
Posted on
2008-Oct-2
at
08:49
Today was orientation for the fall quarter at the Creative Circus. We were introduced to everyone who works there and were pumped up to start classes on Monday. There was a wealth of information shared with us, but only a few really resonate in my mind as I write this.
1. Don't be a dick (or if you have virgin ears, "be nice"). Be nice because reputations are built rather quickly. And despite popular belief, the advertising world is a small one.
2. Don't compete. This was my biggest concern entering the school. I'm not a competitive person. I just like to do what I like to do and strive to be stellar at it because it's what I like to do. Logical, right? But Dan gave a nugget of advice I hadn't thought of before.
Here's how he broke it down. If you don't compete but contribute ideas and try to help your classmates out it makes the entire class as a whole look better. And when the class is good as a whole, it gives agencies a larger pool of talent to draw from.
This makes sense in a real deal agency, too. Who would want to hire the wierdy who thinks everyone is out to steal his ideas because they're ideas of pure gold that are sure to win a pencil, cure cancer, and get a Nobel Peace Prize all in the same day?
Plus, not being a competitive jerk helps you increase your chances of not being a dick by up to 100%
3. Expect to suck the first quarter. This was hard to swallow. I'm sure I wasn't the only one who didn't want to accept this little ditty of info, either. But that's just the human condition. We all (secretly) want to think that we are the anomaly Doogie Howser of (insert whatever, here). Okay, maybe it's just me who has that little daydream - by the way, I can fly in that daydream, too.
It's when we relax and embrace the process of getting better that we're going to be killer. It's all about embracing the processes of things we do in life. Which is better? The orgasm? Or everything leading up to the orgasm? (Quickies don't count.)
4. Don't piss Jenny off. I was too scared to ask for further details. Just going to try and take Jenny's word for it.
5. Be wild and have fun! We were encouraged to not just present the "home run!" ideas. Instead, take a chance and embrace those ideas we feel insecure about sharing with others, the ones that make us feel like we did when having those dreams about going to school naked. I'm not the only one who has had that dream, right?
6. Never stop concepting, no matter who the eff you are. Designer? Keep concepting. Art director? Keep concepting! Copywriter? Keep concepting. Photographer? Keep concepting (shooting more photos). It reminds me of this blog. She has a point, that blog lady named Jennifer.
7. We're all weird. Enough said about that one.
There was more advice we were given, but each time I try to recall it all I can hear is someone saying, "Don't be a dick." Don't be a dick indeed. I could be wrong, but I think "Don't be a dick." translates into the Golden Rule.
"Whatever you are, be a good one. Unless it's a dick."
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A system of recommendations
Posted on
2008-Sep-13
at
02:48
I was living alone in a cabin in the middle of the country when I first got to Mexico. On a good day with a tailwind I could walk to town in 45 minutes. Arriving with a diagonal strip across my chest from my bag, I would look like an anti-drug campaign from the 80’s.
When I was feeling lazy I would splurge and pay the fifty cents to ride the bus that made its rounds through the country, thereby saving 25 minutes. At night I was never able to catch the last bus back to the cabin. Having no desire to walk back under the cover of night, my boss, Patricia, would drive me home.
A few weeks later she informed me, “It’s just not safe for a lady to be driving alone in country at that hour of night. Besides, Richard doesn’t want me driving out there at that hour anyway.” While not directly stated, her actions suggested I pick up the keys and drive myself from now on.
Richard is her boyfriend, and I could understand his concern to protect her. But I thought, “What about me? Just because I can pee standing up, I’m invincible to whatever evil may come my way?” Then again, maybe I was underestimating myself.
Upon questioning the legal issues of driving without a Mexican driver’s license, I was told it was okay and was reminded of the town’s unspoken rule, stop at every intersection. Seeing how there were no stop signs anywhere, this made sense to me. I nodded in agreement, took the keys, and set off with my newfound freedom.
Despite all the spoken and unspoken driving rules, I have never fully caught on to the driving system here. As far as I can tell, the rules appear to be mere recommendations. They’re nothing more than a proud grandpa saying to his 6 year old grandson, “Eh, what the heck! Go ahead and do whatever makes you happy!”
Lanes of traffic flow in the direction where painted traffic arrows point at you, rather than with you. Passing other cars on a crowded highway isn’t a matter of safety. It’s a matter of confidence the other guy will get the hell out of the way in the event you can’t make it. Who cares if you’re passing on a curve? That’s the other guy’s problem, not yours. And if the coast is clear, what’s keeping you from plowing through a red light?
Most cars seem to be propelled through intersections by forces outside of their control, like that one kid who just doesn’t get it when driving the bumper cars. Motorcycles seem immune to any traffic law, taking to the sidewalks when the roads become too crowded and weaving between cars and pedestrians alike.
I’m no saint when it comes to driving. I like to push the speed limits and sail through a yellow light, too. But driving here is a whole other animal that scares the bejesus out of me. I drive like I’m in a parade and approach every intersection like a kid peeking around a corner during a game of hide-and-go-seek.
I’ve often used the word “crazy” to describe traffic here. But when looked at from a distance, it resembles a highly orchestrated, romantic and saucy dance. I have grown to appreciate those who can gracefully weave through an ocean of traffic without incident and in under five minutes. And while the roads in the States might be a little better, I’ve learned we’re ultimately all the same when behind the wheel.
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Just another American
Posted on
2008-Aug-27
at
11:31
It’s strange to see other Americans walking the streets of Zacatlán. It’s just not a tourist town. When I see another American walking the streets my eyes light up, and I am proud to see living proof that people of my kind still exist. They’re not just mythical figures I type to in e-mails – for all I know everyone back home could have been replaced by robots.
Usually I want to talk to these other Americans and get to know them. Because there is something comforting in hearing your native tongue come from someone other than yourself. Normally if I were in the States, I wouldn’t give a passing thought about talking to these people. I have my life. They have theirs. No one is going to interrupt the other person’s life.
But I don’t want to draw attention to my desperation to hear the English language, so I just pass these people by without saying a word. Yet my curiosity overtakes me and I steal one last glimpse as they fade away into the crowd. With this last glimpse I realize why some people stare at me as though I have an umbrella growing out of my head.
Minus the extremely tiny bodies, large eyes, and even larger skulls, the extreme pastiness makes them look like they’re from another planet (bolillos I think they call us, a type of bread). It’s difficult to not judge when one of these pasty white people pass you by – even though you’re one of their kind. With their funny looking shorts and even funnier looking hats fitted snuggly upon their heads in order to prevent sunburn, the thought passes through my head, “I think that person really does have an umbrella growing out of her head!”
Often times they look lost and misguided, pointing in the direction of the cemetery, as if to say, “Yeah! Let’s eat there!” Even though they have no clue what they’re really pointing at. But it makes them feel good about themselves, like they really know what they’re doing. Yet they fool no one around them.
This scene reminds me of my first days here. I looked like one of these people. But really, I didn’t want to. Amongst all the stares, I simply wanted to blend in. As I learn more Spanish, developed brown arms and an even browner neck, I think I finally give off the vibe that I’m more than just a tourist. I’m here for the duration.
One night I was returning home from a party at one in the morning. I was carrying a Beta fish, one of those gifts everyone gets when you go to a wedding or a birthday party. I rounded the corner of a disco and encountered two bouncers. I gave them the standard greeting of the night in my accented Spanish and continued on my way. They looked at me oddly as if to say, “What this hell is this?” Like I had just become living proof of a joke they had just been sharing with one another moments earlier, “So an American is walking down the street in Mexico at one in the morning, carrying a fish…”
Try as I may, I’m still just another American in Mexico.
"Whatever you are, be a good one."
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How to be an asshole without trying.
Posted on
2008-Aug-23
at
12:01
Unless you’re one of those gifted people I envy (and secretly hate at the same time), moving to another country is the best way to learn another language. You have to jump in, make an idiot of yourself, and be willing to just roll with the punches.
When I moved to Mexico, I had to make ends meet somehow, so I began teaching English. Many people ask me, “That’s pretty easy, right?” No. It’s not. If you don’t believe me, try explaining the difference between “to make” and “to do” when your current vocab level is no higher than a kindergartener’s.
One of the first classes I taught was a basic level conversation class. The theme was dating. In one exercise students pretended they were matchmakers, going through personal ads that sounded as though they were written by second graders and pairing the people up on dates. “Mary likes to play the piano. She also likes to read,” read one ad. Another followed, “Philip likes music. He also likes to write.”
It was obvious Philip and Mary were destined to be together.
Based off of their simplistic personal ads I imagined how Philip and Mary’s first date must have gone. First they would exchange names and ages. Then they’d move on to other details only a second grader could appreciate.
“I like blue. And you?” Philip would start.
“I like red.” Mary would reply.
“How are you?”
“I am fine. And you?”
The conversation wouldn’t advance much past this, and they’d eventually leave hungry because they hadn’t learned how to ask for food yet or even read a menu for that matter. Despite my imagination, the conversations had to be basic. After all it was a basic conversation class. It wasn’t really the appropriate level of conversation class to discuss, oh say, quantum physics or to have a heated debate over evolution. Still, I let my mind wander about Philip and Mary’s date.
I was interrupted from my daydream with a student asking me what the term matchmaker meant. After stumbling over my tongue a few times, I finally managed say what I thought sounded like, “A matchmaker is someone who makes romance happen. Or love, even.”
The reaction I got was what would resemble one of those o-faced bug-eyed emoticons you can leave on internet forums to suggest surprise at another’s comment. Thinking back to how I explained matchmaker, I realized I had just said something equivalent to, “Orgy, anyone?”
My students understood that I really wasn’t suggesting an all-out orgy and quickly laughed it off. It was just an instance where the translation was bad. But sometimes things do get lost in translation.
One Sunday morning, I woke up and saw my boss standing outside of the kitchen talking to her daughter. It looked like one of the conversations you’d observe at a wake from a distance. Sad and uncomfortable.
By the time I made it to the kitchen, the boss’s daughter was in the other room, and my boss was just standing there with a thousand-yard stare. I asked, “What’s wrong?”
What I understood was that she lit the stove. In my mind this was a good thing and things were in order for us to start cooking. But I really couldn’t understand why she would be crying over this. Sure, she admitted she was an emotional woman, but this was excessive. Thinking that maybe she just had a whiff of onions and was joking with me I asked, “Is that a bad thing?”
She gave me a look as though I had just called her mother a whore. Now I had become an asshole.
The word she had used to describe what happened to the stove can mean to start something, like a car. But it can also mean, “to go up in flames.” Roughly. It wasn’t until after she had explained the stove had flames shooting out of it that I understood the second meaning.
I later apologized for appearing insensitive, as I didn’t understand what she said. I was thinking of cars starting and she was thinking of the Hindenburg crashing.
But at least I wasn’t making those amateur mistakes anymore and asking people to have orgies.
“Orgies!” I scoff to myself as I walk down the street in the afternoon sun. “Pfff! So elementary of a mistake.” And then I greet the next passerby with a beaming “Good morning!”
"Whatever you are, be a good one." ...unless it's an asshole.
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A little change
Posted on
2008-Aug-18
at
10:19
I have to admit. Sometimes I have tunnel vision. Or as my mom frequently reminded me when I was little, a one-track mind. And it causes me to forget what I have on my plate at the moment.
I was reminded of this the other day when I read something that Chris Staples wrote, "If you truly want fresh inspiration, pick up a magazine on gardening. Or rent an obscure DVD. Or, most important of all, take a holiday. Someplace where they don't speak English, if possible."
I like advertising. It's my passion in life just as much as physics is for a lead physicist in his field. And I'm excited about the journey. However, I'm still living in Mexico at the moment. And while I've been trying like mad to keep up with the advertising industry while I'm down here, I think I've been out of focus a little.
Right now I should be taking advantage of every moment I have to absorb another culture and enrich my life. Like Gerry Graf said in a recent interview, it's about being in the moment.
So from here on out, until I actually step foot in Atlanta and start the Circus, my ad blogs will be about my experiences of trying to learn another language. A little shift of focus, I know. But it's for the better.
"Whatever you are, be a good one."
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Filling the gap of time
Posted on
2008-Aug-9
at
11:23
In October, I will start the Creative Circus in Atlanta. I couldn’t be more pumped – well, I could. Here’s how:
Phone rings.
“Hello?” I answer.
“Hi Michael. This is Chuck Porter,” says Chuck Porter.
A little surprised I reply, “Uh. Hi? Chuck?”
“You sound a little surprised.”
“Yeah, I am. Is this really Chuck Porter? Or Ashton Kutcher?”
Calmly, “Yes. This is really Chuck Porter.”
“Okay. So. I’m a little confused. Why are you calling me?”
“Well, I have to be honest. We want you to join our team here at CP+B. We’ve been watching you the past year, and we have to say that we’re quite impressed with your potential. We want to snatch you up before anyone else does.”
“But how did you get my number? I mean. I’m in Mexico for chrissake. Even I don’t know my number down here. And by watching me, what do you…”
“Listen. Don’t worry about that. None of that is important. So do you want to do this or not?”
“Well, yeah!!!”
“Oh, one more thing. I hope you don’t mind, but we already took the liberty of building you a condo. It’s yours, for keeps. We just want to know what color you want us to paint it…”
Of course the odds of that happening are the same as me being able to have a baby. Instead, I have to wait until October comes. So what am I doing to fill the gap of time between now and then? The Gap? Starbucks? Parents’ basement?
Before I flipped the switches to head to the Creative Circus, I had already committed myself to moving to Mexico for a period of time after graduation. Logical, I know. In order to save a boring backstory, let’s just say I’m fulfilling a personal goal before I start the ad scene 24/7. And no, my personal goal doesn’t involve the smuggling of drugs or animals… or people. Nothing illegal.
In order to make ends meet in Mexico, I’m teaching English. But that really has nothing to do with advertising. So in the weeks to come I’ll be writing about some of the things I have done in the past in hopes of trying to secure a job in advertising.
Some of the things I did were good. Some bad. Bad, not as in illegal. But bad as in, “What the eff was I thinking?!” For example, lentils. You’ll see. Oh how naive I was.
"Whatever you are, be a good one."
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