Help me pick a press photo.

1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

So, François Rousseau is coming in to take my press photos and I need a little bit of help figuring out what my signature "pose" is going to be. I like number one because it's all, "Grr, I'm coming to get ya! Look Out!". Two looks like he's reclining after a hard day of fancy dancing. Three is one of those photos where they say, "Fold your arms and look to the left and when I say go, whip your head to camera and your hair will do a cool poofy thing." In number four, I'm not sure what happened here. Something seems to be going on to the left of the camera. When I take my photo, I hope there are no distractions. In pose number five, you try to look both bored and pissed off at the same time which is a hard look to nail. And six is the classic, "Hmm, I'm thinking, hmm."

If there is one thing I've learned from studying these photos it's that I'll need to look very serious. So I'll wear a tie but I won't button the top button of my shirt to let people know I'm still cool. So let me know which way to go. 

Keep painting the walnuts by hand.

I’m going to give you the lowdown on the last ten minutes of “When angels come to town” which I caught on the Hallmark Channel. This is all verbatim.

Sally, she’s like 24, is in front of the Beehive Department store talking to a news crew on Christmas Eve.

Sally:

I’m talking about doin what you can, when you can, to make someone feel a little better. What I need for Christmas isn’t something you can buy at the Beehive Department store. A homeless lady taught me how to listen to my heart. I’m looking for my brother, he’s missing. And if you seen him, please help me, cuz I just want to hug him, and tell him I love him. I’m listenin Jimmy... I’m listenin. If you’re out there watching this, please come home. 

And then Mr. Murray, the owner of the Beehive Department store dressed in a Santa costume, stepped up and said:

Sally, that promotion we talked about, it’s done, you’re the new manager of the Beehive.

And then Sally’s boyfriend’s dad showed up. And Sally’s boyfriend said:

Dad, you were right, we have to keep our holiday traditions. We’ll market a less expensive line and I’ll pay for the ones we still want to make by hand.

And they hugged.

And then Sally saw something in the store and it was JIMMY sleeping.

And then Mr. Max, played by Peter Falk, showed up in a tux because he’s an angel. He brought Jimmy to the Beehive so Sally could have a good Christmas. And as it turns out, Sally’s boyfriend’s dad, who is from East Berlin, knew Mr. Max.

The dad said:

It was you, in East Berlin, 40 years ago. You saved my life

And then Max said to the boyfriend:

You keep up the family tradition, you keep painting the walnuts by hand.

And then Mr. Max disappeared. Because he's an angel.

New Hires At Barton F. Graf 9000

We got all excited about hiring people from Google, Wieden and Kennedy, and Coke so we went to the Advertising Age and Creativity office to tell them. The one thing that you need to know about the offices at Advertising Age and Creativity is that they are not just the offices of Advertising Age and Creativity. It's all of Crain's Publications. And Old Man Crain does not appreciate people ringing bells in his office.

You can read about it on Creativity:

http://creativity-online.com/news/bfg-9000-rings-in-its-latest-new-hires/231406

I'll See You At The Copacabana Tonight

I came into work the other day and someone had taken my chair and phone charger, so I immediately accused Matty Smith. I went on a tirade about how this would never have happen at a big agency. After my rant, I found my self kind of missing the big agency life, so to get a little fix I went up to BBDO on 6th and 51st and kind of lingered around until most people were gone and snuck into David Lubars' office.

It was nice sitting in that chair, spinning around to look out over 6th Ave with mounds of award show metal on the sill. I sat behind his desk and pretended to answer important phone calls. "Hello, FedEx, yes thank you, thank you, I agree, that was awesome, I'll see you at the Copacabana tonight."I played David's double-necked Gibson SG for a while and rolled around his polar bearskin rug. A very nice cleaning lady named Marta came in and snapped a picture of me and then showed me where the hidden latch to the secret mini bar was and I ate all of David's cashews. I used his private bathroom too, but was sure to spray plenty of Lysol.

And I got to tell you, surrounded by Eames chairs and gumball dispensers, I didn't want to go back to the temporary space on 28th and the highway where people steal my chair and take my Macbook power chord. But security came and escorted me out and questioned me for a while. I also got a letter from Frankfurt, Kurnit, Klein, and Selz informing me of pending charges. I tried to call David to apologize, but his assistant said he wasn't there. But I know he was. Lying there on that white bearskin rug, eating cashews, playing Stairway To Heaven on his SG.

The Dow closed today at 2639.98

Up 33 points.

Congressional Hearings On Ferris Wheels

Th Walking Dead is the most boring thing on TV. I would rather watch CSPAN congressional hearings on ferris wheels than this boring shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjj

Sorry, I fell asleep writing about the boring zombie show. Stick with the graphic novel by Robert Kirkman.

The Barton F. Graf 9000/Station Party Got A Little Out Of Hand

 The Barton F. Graf 9000/Station Party got a little out of hand. All I can say is that you shouldn't make jokes about how much more you were willing to pay someone when they were negotiating their contract.

The Patron Saint of Barton F. Graf 9000, LLC.

This is Saint Hilarius. He is the new patron saint of Barton F. Graf 9000, LLC. He was pope in 460 AD. Lore and legend state that his real name was Pope Leonard, but he was always doing hilarious stuff like hitting people with his big yellow staff and they just called him Pope Hilarius and the name stuck. How do we know he was hilarious? Because his name is Saint Hilarius, and that in itself, is hilarius.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pope_Hilarius

The New And Improved "The Barton F. Graf 9000, LLC. blog about things".

I was screwing around in settings and the picture got huge but I like it so I left it.

I Have A Friend, Ian.

I have a friend, Ian, and he got a big ECD position and he asked me if I had any advice for him and I said I only have one piece of advice and that is in your first week they're going to set up a photo shoot to get pr pics and when the photographer asks you to jump up in the air like you're crazy, whatever you do, do not jump up in the air.

Tales of Barton F. Graf Pt.2

I came home one day and Barton F. Graf was laughing his ass off while reading the Lexington Minuteman, the local paper. I looked at the headline that was cracking him up and it read: Local woman run down in Lexington center.

Ok. I asked Barton F. Graf what was so funny. He said, "You know how the town passed this new law and put those crosswalks in the center of town where all cars have to stop if a pedestrian is in the crosswalk, like the Walk/Don't Walk signs aren't good enough, now people can just traipse across the street whenever they feel like it and we all have to stop?"

Yeah.

"Well, this lady was crossing." He started to laugh again. "And she got mowed over." More laughing. "And you know who that lady was? It was the town councelwoman who passd the law!" Barton F. Graf is howling now. "And you know, you know, she was standing in that crosswalk, looking at that oncoming car, and she was thinking to herself, that car has to stop because I passed the Crosswalk Law. But you know what? She was wrong."

And he laughed and laughed and laughed until my mother told him to pipe down.

Risky? Check. Decadent? Double check.

Cupcake Wars! The cooking show on Bravo or A&E or maybe Lifetime completely enthralls you in a quest to make a cupcake. Sometimes it’s an Amazing Fudge Chocolate cupcake with mascarpone frosting and a quartered strawberry on top. Sometimes there’s a ganache or fromage blanc frosting. I love how the saucy cupcake chef Sandy Maaz says “ganache” as she lazes on a couch.

There’s a lot of drama in these trained cupcake chef’s quest to make one cupcake.

-Get that in the fridge, now! Less than 45 minutes! Someone yells.

-I should have ground the coffee beans! It almost broke my tooth when I bit into it! Sandy Maaz saucily says.

-1 minute left, we need the jam, we need the jam, where is the jam? (They found the jam.)

But it’s not as simple as making one cupcake, the judges throw you a curveball. This time they had to make one cupcake inspired by a Deck of Cards. So Sandy Maaz starts thinking…well, Las Vegas is risky and decadent right? (I guess, kind of) So she’ll make a Catan, which blends well with Brie. Risky? Check. Decadent? Double check.

Sandy Duke, a card player from the World Series of Poker is a judge, obviously. She says, “I like to hold my cards close to the vest…BUT…not when I’m cooking.” ZING. Sandy was trying to say she wanted to taste the cherries more, they were too close to the vest.

After the judging, host Justin Willman says some of the cupcake chefs “Bet Big” but some got a “Bum Deal” and I realize that could apply to both the cupcake challenge and the Vegas/Deck of card thing going on.

The next challenge is a doozie. The cupcake chefs have to make not one cupcake, but three! Sandy Maaz, professionally trained cupcake chef, says, “We’re going all in with all our chips.” (Sticking with the card theme I’m guessing.) “We’re doing three of a kind! Three different coconut ganache cupcakes!” (She loves saying ganache.)

And then the drama kicks in again. Sandy Maaz’s assistant yells, “These cupcakes need to cool! On a rack! For ten minutes! They gave us 45 minutes so that leaves us…that only leaves us…we have…35 minutes to bake!"  And he was right!

Duck Hunting Or Wading Through Flood Waters

I'm just going on record as saying Duck Boots, when worn at times when you are supposed to wear them, like duck hunting or wading through flood waters, well, at those times, Duck Boots rock. They blow away those fancy shmancy Nike All-Terrain tech things. Now, when you wear them walking to the metro north train station on a rainy day, well,in that case, they suck. Or you suck. One or the other.

Barton F. Graf Gave Me Some Money

Barton F. Graf gave me some spending money when I went to college. All my friends were buying stuff for their dorm rooms so I went out and bought a couch and a rug. Unfortunately, I spent all my spending money for the semester. So I called Barton F. Graf up and asked him for some more money. He asked me what I did with the money he gave me and I said I bought a couch and a rug. He thought about it and said I’m not sending you any more money. I asked him what I was going to do for fun. He told me to sit on my couch and look at my rug.

An Inuit In Alaska Or George Lucas

In Joseph Campbell’s seminal work “The Hero With A Thousand Faces”, he outlines the Hero’s Journey. His premise is that our collective unconscious produces the same journey, the same story, whether you are an Inuit in Alaska or George Lucas. An important step in the journey is destruction of the self. In Greek mythology, this was accomplished by the actual burning of the hero’s physical body, releasing the spirit from the ashes. This phase can also be accomplished by the destruction of the ego. The hero must humble himself before the gods. Only after complete humiliation and ego destruction can the hero continue on to self fulfillment.

I farted in the Kayak meeting.  

Don't Mess With The Barton F. Graf 9000 Shark.

In honor of Shark Week, Eric and Molly sent us this:


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bBkly92mpRE


Don't mess with the Barton F. Graf 9000 Shark.

Ask Him Where The Other Part Of His Thumb Is.

You have nothing to complain about sitting in a middle seat on a Southwest flight to Denver when the guy next to you is going to Denver to get his thumb sewn back on. That is a tenant of air travel. You cannot complain when you ask him where the other part of his thumb is and he says none of your business and then he tells the flight attendant his thumb is in Denver. You cannot complain that that doesn't make sense. You cannot complain when he keeps adjusting his wig and bumps you in the head with his elbow. And you especially cannot complain when it smells like he took a dump in his pants. Not a fart, but the smell of actual fecal material, because you would shit your pants too if you had to wait an hour and fifty two minutes to get your thumb sewn back on.

You Look Good In Those Lady Clothes

How many times do you think Rupal Parekh from Ad Age has been called RuPaul? I asked her, 12,345 times. She started keeping track in her high school diary. It's not an exact count because when it started people would yell "Hey RuPaul, you look good in those lady clothes!" and Rupal would smile and compliment herself on her nice sense of style. Then her friends explained that they weren't saying "Rupal" they were calling her the name of the cross dressing male celebity. This bumbed her out a bit because she could have been wearing any kind of lady clothes, even if they were really ugly, and the kids would have said the same thing. 

The bulk of the “jokes” came in the late nineties when RuPaul was at the height of his fame. It’s tapered off a bit since, but every once in a while, usually at one of the Ad Age conferences she runs, some associate creative director thinking he’s funny (it’s always a guy too, women acd’s don’t go for this old, obvious joke for some reason), he’ll  say, “Hey RuPaul, you look good in those lady clothes.” Actually, Rupal does look good in lady clothes. It's when she goes with the Carhart painter pants and the NY Jets jersey that I have problems with. But thankfully she doesn’t do that very much.

That's Right, We Won Dish Network!

That's Barney, Eric, and little me with Joe the CEO and our buddy Ira.


http://www.adweek.com/news/advertising-branding/dish-network-selects-barton-f-graf-9000-133707

Don’t Ask The Shirtless Guys At The Front Door About Their Ab Workout.

It is hard to explain the incredibly uncomfortable feeling a 45 year old man gets when he walks into Abercrombie and Fitch to buy a t-shirt. The looks you get are mean, nasty, and reek of Ageism! You feel like a creep when all you want is a 100% cotton t-shirt that doesn’t shrink.

If you do find yourself in this situation here are some tips. Just go in, and go right to the t-shirt department. If you’re going to the one on Broadway and Houston, the t-shirts are on the second floor to the right. Trust me on this, I’ve been there hundreds of times. Don’t stop and hang out in the women’s section where they sell the sweatpants with the A&F on the ass, just walk through a few times like you’re looking for the cashier. Wear sunglasses. Yes you’ll look even creepier, but they hide the crow’s feet around your eyes and no one will see what you’re staring at. Finally, don’t ask the shirtless guys at the front door about their ab workout. Yes, this is a perfectly reasonable question, but it can be taken the wrong way.

A Case Of Logrolling.

I've been asked to review a new marketing book. But I have a bit of a dilemma. In the interest of full disclosure, I have to reveal that I am Facebook friends with the author. I've never met him or talked to him on the phone, but I sent a friend request and he responded in the affirmative. I think he is Australian, but that is just based on his name, haircut, and preference for tight black t-shirts. I could look up his info on Facebook or his blog, but I haven’t yet. I guess that is a way to rate social media friends, have you read their info? We don't hang out at the Norwood club and trade Marshall McLuhan references, but I have trolled through his photos a few times. He hangs out with very attractive men and women. One of his friends, Jane, looks like someone I would like to meet or follow. Whatever it would take to gain access to her photos. She's one of those snooty "Jane only shares her photos with friends" types. I'm still waiting on her response to my friendship request. In any case, this review may or may not be a case of logrolling.

அனைவருக்கும் வந்தனம், நான் நிர்வாணமாக நடனம் இருக்க போகிறேன்.

Our bookkeeper was here today and after all the checks were signed and all the bills were paid I asked her if we still had money in the bank and she said yes. So I'm going to Sri Lanka. அனைவருக்கும் வந்தனம், நான் நிர்வாணமாக நடனம் இருக்க போகிறேன்.

My Father Owned 3 Oil Fields

I feel part of the problem I've been having with the welcoming committee in Dumbo stems from the fact that I'm from Kansas. They have made all of these judgments about me based on that. I know what they're thinking, I worked on a farm or I raised corn or something. Well I'd just like those people to know that yes, I did grow up in Kansas, but my father owned like 3 oil fields there. We were very well off and went to all the best schools.

An Audience With The "Mayor Of Dumbo".

A big shout out to our fans in Nigeria. One of them asked what Dumbo was. It's a part of New York City where everyone wants to work. Glad you are reading us.

Well, we sent a tribute over to Dumbo, a couple Comic-Con tickets, and we got an audience with the "Mayor of Dumbo". All we had to do was pay our respects and we would be free to look for real estate. Eric said there was no way he was ever going back there, so I went over with my art director Joey. Not a smart move. Right before we left I got an IM from my friend Ben Kay. He's got a nice blog at ben-kay.com. He had heard about my last adventure over the bridge and got me all riled up. He wrote a book called Instinct. And he was yelling at me, "What's your Instinct tell you to do!" I didn't know. So he told me not to take any shit from anyone. I relayed this to Joey, and that was a mistake.

Joey and I get over to Dumbo and finally get in to see Michael Lebowitz. I was being very gracious but I guess Joey was thinking about what Ben said and Michael didn't like the way he was being talked to and to prove who was boss he kicked the living crap out of Joey. Joey's doing alright, but now I have to buy more Comic-Con tickets and a dvd of Zardoz before anyone over their will even talk to me. I guess we'll have to start looking for office space elsewhere.

Taken Down In DUMBO

We're looking for a new space and because Adweek said everyone should move to DUMBO, we sent Eric out to DUMBO because everyone should listen to what Adweek tells you to do. Well, Eric came back a little unsure about DUMBO as you can see. Apparently you don't just decide to move to DUMBO, call a broker, and move in. It seems you need to get "permission". There is a bit of a syndicate out there as we found out. Eric was walking on Jay St. when two guys he described as "kind of nerdy" pulled him into an alley and explained how it worked on their turf. He didn't get a good description, but he did say one of them was handing out "free wi-fi is a right" pamphlets and the other one wore a t-shirt with a "large rocket" on it. That's all I'm saying. He also said they had "space guns" but I think that's the punch to the face talking.

The Intern's Intern

I'd like to announce a promotion at Barton F. Graf 9000 today. I'm very proud to announce that Matt Rogers has been promoted to Intern. His previous position was Intern's Intern. He interned beautifully for the interns and now doesn't have to take their crap anymore. Good job Matt. You can now go home at 10:00pm instead of the requisite Intern's Intern punch out time of 12:30am. Keep it up and someday you may reach the position of Paid Intern.

Gems, Jets, Silhouettes

I don't know if anyone is aware of this, but in Germany "Graf" means "Count" or "Earl". I like to go with "Count". Now that we're all up to speed, I'd like to share some thoughts:


Ladies and gentlemen,

this is the Count speaking
We have arrived

Gems, jets, silhouettes, champagne in the sky,
fine premieres and fireworks every single night,

Gold, diamonds, caviar
Life is but a dream when every day
you're living in is featured on TV.

Hair done, jewelry on
Mirror on the wall
Who's the fairest in the land
I guess it's not his call
Beauty class and elegance
lies within the soul.
Money, power and romance
are waiting for us all.

Chic c'est la vie, c'est bon, c'est bon

Thank you.

Spring Rolls And A Few Tsingtaos

Sorry we missed yesterday’s post. We were all at the going away party for Prescott Anderson, our former social arbitrager. The event was at the Pho Viet Huong restaurant across the street and pretty much consisted of some spring rolls and a few Tsingtaos.  

Prescott’s leaving to start his own agency. A lot of people believe that is just a cover story. Rumors are that Prescott got fired and he’s just saying he’s opening an agency to save face. Well, I know the truth, and actually Prescott kind of stormed right in and said he wanted nothing to do with us any more. He was a bit of a dick about it, but he’s given us all hours of fun so we forgive him. Everyone but Vladimir. Vladimir wanted to kick his ass but we gave him more beer and Vlad shut up. 

Blinding That Newman Guy

When lucid dreaming you realize you are dreaming and take control of the dream. But you can't do it with any kind of dream. You need a mission type dream like space travel or a bank robbery otherwise you’ll lose focus and lose control of the dream and sometimes you slip into a nightmare.
So you have to think about your mission throughout the day in order to help yourself remember it when you are dreaming. I have been trying to turn into the spitting dinosaur from Jurassic Park that blinds that Newman guy. I just can’t seem to get it. I’m considering eating less sour cream. And finding more places where I can spit.

Sad Pandas

Can someone send me proof that there is such a thing as the World Wildlife Fund or WWF? I'm almost positive that the WWF is a shell corporation created by the ad community so we can do huge posters and double page spreads and win metal in the PSA categories. I have never seen an ad for the WWF out in the real world. You'd think there would be a 2 minute infomercial with a Sarah McLachlan song and pictures of sad pandas or something, but there is not. All I've ever seen are visual puns at the Andy's, Cannes, and One Show. I went to WWF.com and it is not a site that helps endangered animals, it is a place holder for something called the Wrestler Tour. Now that is a client! Wrestlers on tour. Let's see more ads for those guys.

Please welcome Vladimír Clementis to the Barton F. Graf 9000 blog.

Announcing our new head of Social Arbitrage, Vladimír Clementis. "Clemmy" was born in Brno, Czechoslovakia to a middle-class family. He studied literature and aesthetics at the Faculty of Arts at Charles University in Prague. Eric and I met him at a showing of Transformers 3 at the Loews 84th St. Cinema. 

Mouth Birthed

Did you see the pride in Christina Aguilera's face when Beverly McClellan chose to sing "Beautiful" on The Voice? Ms. Aguilera was beaming when she said, "I am honored that Beverly has chosen to sing my own song." Yes Christina, "Beautiful" is your own song. You gave it life when it came out of your mouth. Your voice box is a song uterus.
The one thing that put a damper on the show was the sour face Linda Perry had. Who does this woman think she is? Christina even introduced her, not by name, no, but as "The writer of my own song." Ms. Perry acted like it was her song, not Christina's. All Linda Perry did was write and produce it. What's her problem? I think they should reissue the song as "Christina Aguilera's Beautiful Written By Someone Else But Mouth Birthed By Christina." And it should be $1.49 on iTunes, not .99¢.

Going With Gianni Versace’s Stubble.

Rich Silverstein’s mustache contacted me a few days ago. He’s been freelancing for a few years and is looking for some full time work. He and Rich were partners for over twenty years when suddenly Rich decided to go it alone back in 2005. It's been rough ever since. I really respect Rich Silverstein’s mustache. As advertising icons go, Rich Silverstein’s mustache is up there with Lee Clow’s beard. I told Rich Silverstein’s mustache that I was sorry, I don’t need a mustache right now. I’m going with Gianni Versace’s stubble. But if Barton F. Graf 9000 is ever in need of a mustache, I’d call Rich Silverstein’s mustache first. I told Rich Silverstein’s mustache to stay in touch and I’ll keep my ears open for anyone looking for a really good mustache. I wished Rich Silverstein’s mustache good luck. 

God Himself Was Whispering

While sitting down to dissect the McDonald's 1989 classic "Menu Song" I thought I was in for a study of all that is right with the craft of film making. It was only after a 22-year hiatus from the spot (used to de-mesmirize my brain) that I could finally find a flaw. Sure it all begins with the portrayal of a daily truth, us Americans ordering one of our three daily meals from a McDonald's. And then, amazingly and unexpectedly, the patron at the front of the line orders the entire menu in a stunningly beautiful torrent of song that SHOTS magazine once described to be "as if God himself was whispering in your ear'.

After such a disruptive zig during what should have been an obvious zag moment, it's easy for the final twenty four seconds of film to be one giant swirl of love and emotion in your mind. But nothing is perfect, as I found on my 658th viewing last night. At :06 into the film the McDonald's employees turn from their duties to join the rest of the patrons, in awe of the breakthrough moment. But later, at :14 the same McDonald's employees turn around again! As if they weren't already turned around! Like they never turned around the first time! Its a stunning error that has ramifications far beyond the ad world. It could come back to haunt the goals and dreams of an entire television influenced generation. Even as I type this I wonder if I should post it. Maybe I shouldn't. OK, I will. But please don't share it with friends you think it could affect:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yfH3yf-vf3A

Award Show Awards

The award for best award show award goes to the D&AD pencil. So good, the One Show ripped it off. So the One Show pencil is disqualified along with the Andy Award because it's pretty much just the head of the Oscar but really big. The Cannes Lion gets the silver. Short listed were the Art Director's Club cube and the Effie. The Clios missed the deadline.

Goodbye Cannes

As per tradition, we all got together in Michael Lebowitz’s suite at the Carlton hotel to change into our tuxedos, do our hair, take pictures, and gab before the Titanium/Film awards. Michael was playing some Whitesnake. As “Here I Go Again” blasted in the background, Bob Scarpelli helped Jeff Goodby with his ponytail. 

Tiffany Rolfe and Colleen Decourcy crashed. Tiffany changed in the other room but Colleen said she could “give a shit”. Andrew Robertson tried to get in but we got the chain on the door just in time. Jeff Benjamin forgot his cummerbund (just like last year). I got a little annoyed with Iain Tate because he kept sticking me as he tried to pin on my corsage.

As we made our way to the Palais, we all held hands. Michael in the middle of course. Goodby looked at me and said “I hope I win and you don’t”, and we all ran up the red carpeted steps laughing like school kids.

Report From Room 409 Pt. 3

I was coming back to my room kind of late and there was a room service tray outside 407 and I spied an entire basket of bread - two whole grain rolls and a baguette, untouched. So I grabbed them, and just as I was leaving, the door opened and it's Mark Waites from Mother. And I don't know if you know this about Mark, but he talks just like Paul McCartney, I think Mark is from Liverpool too. So he was like, "Hold on there mate, what do you think you're doin' with me rollie rolls? You can't come plip ploppin over here on your tiddliewinks and go away all sneakie sneakie now."
I said sorry and put the rolls back and for some reason Mark pulled the cart back into his room.

Catching Up With Sir Martin Sorrell

Sir Martin Sorrell, head of WPP, was nice enough to sit down for a chat.





Gerry: Hello, Sir.
Sir Martin: You're screwed, you realize this?
G: Excuse me?
SM: With your little jokes and your little bits, I don't put up with that shit.
G: Just saying hi.
SM: Get on with it then.
G: With what?
SM: The money joke. "Give me some money." The crap you pulled with Wren.
G: You guys talk?
SM: Talk? We're all sharing a boat.
G: You and Wren?
SM: Me, Wren, Levy...who's the guy from MDC?
G: Miles Nadal?
SM: Yeah, that guy, he's there. David Jones from Havas.
G: You should call him Davey Jones.
SM: Why?
G: Cuz you're on a boat.
SM:: You and your stupid jokes. Shut the fuck up.
G: What's the name of the boat?
SM The Ha-Cha-Cha
G: Ok.
SM: Say it, Ha-Cha-Cha, like Jimmy Durante.
G: Ha-Cha-Cha.
SM: No. Ha-Cha-Cha
G: Ha-Cha-Cha

SM: We got a Browning .50 caliber machine gun mounted on the back. We blast Halibut right out of the sea. These little Algerian guys jump in and collect all the dead fish for us. You should come out, it's fun.
G: Really?
SM: No. Get the fuck out of here.

SWEET!

I finally ran into David Droga and he was nice enough (he's always nice, btw) to pose for a quick pic and we got to catch up. I asked him about his cool yellow and blue shirt and he told me that it was one of a pair, Ted Royer has the other one, but Ted couldn't make Cannes this year, too busy back in NY. Ted's shirt was also yellow and blue but had the letters "ET!" on it so when David and Ted stood together it would read "SWEET!". And Ted and David are SWEET! so it would have worked. I don't think it was supposed to mean that they were nice and kind, not that type of sweet  (though they are). I think what it was supposed to mean was like when you see something cool like an old Ford Mustang and you yell "SWEET!", I think that was the type of sweet they were going for. And it would have worked, you know, seeing David and Ted together would have been "SWEET!", but like I said, Ted couldn't make it, but David kept up his part of the bargain and wore his shirt.

Report From Room 409 Pt. 2

4:22 am
Hotel Martinez, Cannes

BANG, BANG on my hotel door.
I don't answer.
BANG, BANG
Someone whispers, "I know you're in there Gerry."
BANG, BANG
"I know you can heeeeaaarrr me."
BANG, BANG
"I'm not leaving."
BANG, BANG

I hide under my covers and the banging and whispering goes on for a while. I can't make out the voice but I know it's one of two people: Tom Carroll or Rich Silverstein. Probably Silverstein.

Who's The Boss?

Eric always called me "Boss". Even when he went to Weiden and I went to Saatchi, he'd say "Hey boss, good to see you." when we bumped into each other, real nice and down homey like. And when he joined Barton F. Graf, he was like, "Morning, Boss."

So last night he wins the cyber grand prix. And today he's walking down the Croisette. He's walking toward me with Bob Greenberg and he's either wearing Bob's beret or he purchased his own and he says, "Hey Graffy do you know Bob?" Yes "Kallmanny", I know Bob. Thank You. Enjoy your chocolate chip cookie while it lasts.

Catching Up With John Wren

The Carlton Hotel seems to be the place to meet up with people. This morning, I ran into Omnicom CEO John Wren and we had a nice conversation.

Gerry: Hi

John: Hello.

G: Can I have some money?

J: No.

G: Ok.

J:

G: Bye.

J: Bye.

Report from room 409

The Gutter Bar is right next to the Martinez Hotel. And if you're staying in a room in the front of the hotel there's this sound proof curtain you pull down to block the screaming and yelling that goes on until six in the morning. I would like to lodge a formal complaint against the Pierre Frey Rideaux Co. Your sound proof curtains do not work!

I don't know if you know David Lubars, but if you did, you'd make your curtains thicker. We all love and enjoy the Neil Diamond classic "Sweet Caroline", but Jesus Christ.

Catching up with Jean-Marie Dru

I bumped into my old boss and good friend Jean-Marie Dru, former Worldwide CEO of TBWA at the Carlton Hotel terrace and got a chance to catch up.

Gerry: It’s good to see you again.

Jean-Marie: Very nice seeing you. How is Saatchi?

G: I’m not there anymore.

JM: Oh. I thought that’s where you went.

G: I did, but I quit a year ago. I started my own agency.

JM: Really? I didn’t know.

G: It was in all the trades.

JM: I read most of them, I didn’t see.

G: You must have missed that issue.

JM: In Adweek?

G: Yes

JM: Hmm. Adage?

G: Yes.

JM Shots?

G: Yes, a lot, most of them.

JM: I don’t recall seeing anything about you or an agency.

G: That’s funny.

JM: Why is it funny? It’s a little sad, no?

G: No.

JM: What is your agency called?

G: Barton F. Graf 9000.

JM: I’m sorry, what?

G: Barton F. Graf 9000

JM: That’s really the name?

G: Yes.

JM: Really?

G: Yes.

JM: Barton what?

G: Barton F. Graf 9000.

JM: Oh well.

Jose's Chocolate On My Lips

This is the French I know:

-Je voudrais une croissant

-Je suis enchante

-Ou est le bibliotheque

-Voila mon passport


-Ah, Gerard Depardieu

I’m practicing my French on the Delta flight, the good one that goes direct to Nice. I’m sitting in seat 27B, not even Economy Plus. But that’s what you get when you spend your own money. I can see through the curtain to Business Plus and Bob Greenberg is munching on his chocolate chip cookie and licking his lips and his fingers. Screw you RG! And your chocolaty fingers. Now he’s talking to the guy next to him, can’t see his face but by the swarthy slicked back hair I’m guessing it’s Jose Molla, and Bob is saying something. No! Jose, don’t give him your cookie, NO! Aww, Jose gave Bob his cookie. Bob’s got the biggest smile on his face eating Jose’s cookie. The rep sitting next to me just asked if I could stop leaning across his seat. AND YES, I SEE YOU READING MY BLOG POST AND I’M WRITING ABOUT YOU. Anyway. Bob knew I was back here. He could have given me Jose’s cookie. He’s got chocolate on his lips. Jose’s Chocolate is on Bob’s lips. I wish Jose’s chocolate was on my lips.

-Gerry

The Dude At TNT Knows.

You know who should get an Emmy for Lifetime Achievement In The Category Of Television Programming? The guy who picks out the TNT movie. That one movie that TNT buys and then runs everyday, four times a day, for the next two years. He’s a genius.

It started a long time ago with The Shawshank Redemption. That movie went basically unnoticed in theaters. It came out the same year as Pulp Fiction and Forrest Gump. But guess what happens when you put it on TV twice a day for two years? The dude at TNT knows. You realize that it’s way better than stupid Forrest Gump and even a little better then Pulp Fiction! And we’re talking about a movie that, on TV with commercials, is four hours long.

After we all watched Shawshank a billion times and TNT made a trillion bucks you know they asked the same guy to pick another movie. So then the dude decided it was time to show off and picked An American President. Seriously, An American President! And guess what happens the 1^st, 14^th and 37^th time you flip to it? Somehow you watch it and enjoy it! I’m convinced young people aged 18 to 25 only know Richard Dreyfuss as ‘My name is Bob Rumson and I’m running for President!’

Anyways, this dude has a legacy of buying and constantly airing OK movies that become crazy good in our minds like A Time to Kill and The General’s Daughter. Yes, The General's Daughter. He should be honored. Seriously, someone look him up and we should make some type of plaque for him with wood and brass and engravings. Because trust me, one weekend this fall when the weather turns or you get a cold you’re going to sit on your couch and turn on The DaVinci Code or GI Jane ten minutes in. Then, three commercial-ridden hours later, you’re going to be like ‘that was really good’. Will you be right? It doesn’t even matter, because that guy at TNT was.

Balboa Beach Wraps Need Room To Billow

I was using Google analytics and I did some trend analysis on Scott Vitrone with surprising results. At first look, there was very little info to analyze, and knowing Scott and his wonderful work, this surprised me. Of course, I forgot that I live in this delusional bubble called advertising where we think just because someone made us laugh about multi-colored sugar candy that the entire world should not only bow down to him but his chief creative officer too. There are more important things to care about. But one of those things is definitely not people who run fashion shows in restaurants in the strip malls of Newport Beach. That is not more important and we should care about these people less than we care about advertising people. A strip mall restaurant is no place to highlight a breathtaking new line of causal beachwear. There simply is no strutting room. And the flowing pastels of a Balboa beach wrap need room to billow. That is fashion 101. It is an absurd over promise from a strip mall restaurateur and a blatant grasp for the limelight to try to convince a hardworking fashion designer that a front dining room would work and I have already given too many words about it.

So I should not have been surprised when the Google trend graph was blank when I attempted to analyze Vitrone. Except this huge spike in May of 2010. What? Where did that come from? Further research on what can hardly be called a blip, or even a spike, but a seismic upsurge in the graph, further research indicated all the trend info was coming from Milan, Italy. Huh? Did Vitrone fly to Milan in May of last year and strut down Via Vitruvio with that second shirt button naughtily undone? Is that what caused the graphic spire? Did someone stop him and say, you signore should design your own line of shirts. A line of men’s tops, Via Vitrone (pronounced Vi-troh-nay) Pour Homme, shirts designed with casual elegance where you don’t have to be insecure about undoing the second button because THERE ISN’T A SECOND BUTTON. The top button is the third button. Genius Scott. Genius. You should own that spike as well as the city that created it. But please, please listen to me. I know you want to showcase your talents somewhere. But please take great caution when approached by strip mall restaurant owners from Newport Beach. They will promise you the world, but THEY ARE PHONIES.

Vagabond Condensation and Spanish Galleons

I was raised in California. In the winters it sometimes dips into the high 50s, the summers are wildly pleasant and there is no such thing as humidity. So you could imagine my shock moving to New York City, where the summer heat and humidity evaporate and condensate the vagabond’s urine right at nose level and the winters are what the less experienced to such things might call the demonic storms of a frozen hell.

Throwing myself into such new meteorological experiences got me thinking about East Coasters, why they are where they are, and what I learned in school. Apparently, hundreds of years ago groups of Europeans risked their lives to sail west, cramped on small boats for months, in hopes of making it to a new land mass that they had heard might be there, maybe. And it just might be better then where they were coming from. Have you ever been to Madrid? Or Barcelona? These are fabulous places but, apparently, not fabulous enough. These picky people were taking a big risk and making a really bold move.

So, what did they do when they finally made it to a wide-open new land and experienced the suffocating humidity and frozen death storms? Instead of continuing west, the same people who sat in place on a boat for three months and ate their uncle’s poop (because he ate the biggest meal before they left) decided they had made it. ‘We’re here!’ they said, lying to themselves. They basically quit and in doing so, they quit on America.

But as school also taught me, some continued heading west. It wasn’t easy, but at least Thanksgiving had happened and the Indians gave them turkeys for their journey. These were the types of people who fell asleep asking themselves ‘Did I just risk my life spending three months in the hull of a tiny boat suckling on Uncle Steve’s poop for this kind of weather?’ And they woke up and yelled ‘No way!’ And their confused wives said ‘What are you yelling at?’ And they said ‘Just get in the car.’

But then another curious thing happened. A good number of these even-more-adventurous people who made it across an entire ocean and then began moving across an entire continent just decided to stop, right in the middle, and lied to themselves saying ‘We made it!’ And a guy said “No we haven’t!” and they killed him. There were no geographical indicators that they had made it anywhere. So the dead guy was right. Have you seen the Midwest? It’s just flat, in all directions, and there’s nothing. In fact, if you flip to a movie and see a car driving through such an area, or even an old western and see a wagon going across the plains, you know that movie has just started or, at best, is right in the middle and you want to see where the characters in the cars and wagons eventually end up because they certainly aren’t stopping where they are. It’s an entire region that is impossible to serve as the geographical conclusion to anything. And Vitrone, I don’t want to hear your Wizard of Oz argument.

My best hypothesis for this second wave of quitters was not learned in school, but rather from the rotating headlines on Yahoo.com which seems to do a story twice a week about morbidly obesity in America, and it turns out most of these people live in the Midwest. Now it’s one thing to sail across the sucky ocean and just flat out quit, but its quite another to continue moving west, get super fat from the Indians and their never ending supply of celebratory turkeys and just get lazy. A few months ago all these guys had were a couple of ounces of Uncle poop in their bellies, now they have stoked Indians shoving a never-ending supply of rotisserie turkeys in their face. I mean you can’t really blame them. But we will anyway.

Then there are the Californians. The few that made it all the way across the ocean, through the crappy East Coast weather and past all of the turkey and meat products to a place that probably looked as beautiful as that Avatar planet (the Avatar planet before the war with the humans, when that giant tree was still up). The type of people who weren’t about to settle for snowstorms or humidity, and probably just didn’t like turkey. One would assume these people, my people, would be the winners. But another trip to Yahoo.com’s rotating headlines proves one wrong.

Yesterday Yahoo reported that the median cost of a home in my hometown of Palo Alto has gone from 1 million to 1.6 million dollars since 2008, even as the rest of the country has tanked. Meaning that to enjoy the beautiful Avatar tree of California one must spend all the money that multiple jobs could ever muster up just to rent a single Avatar leaf to sleep on. Hardly a goal the poop-eating risk takers had in mind a few hundred years back.

So, unfortunately, my people lose. And the winners aren’t the East Coasters either. They’d laugh at the Californians, but their rent is almost the same plus laughing at anything is hard when there’s 90% humidity and your lungs are half-full of evaporated hobo pee.

It turns out the Midwesterners come out on top. Their strong personal motivation coupled with their love of turkey meat has left them at the perfect quitting point. In sprawling eight bedroom homes on three acre lots with eight hundred dollar monthly mortgages and all the left over cash they need to go crazy on the dollar menus. So notch another hole in your 52-inch belt middle America, your love of slightly decent weather and rotisserie-styled anything has gotten you to a much better place than Barcelona.

-Eric Kallman