It's ADDY time in New Mexico

Awards. Love 'em or hate 'em, they're here to stay.

So last night I went to my first ever ADDY Awards. For those of you around the world who dunno what the ADDY's are, they're the world's biggest ad awards, and there are various chapters around the country. Anyway, last night New Mexico held theirs.

Nice little theme, some decent work, maybe two campaigns that popped out and screamed, "PICK ME, PICK ME!" Lo & behold, both were picked. And the agency I am out here freelancing with picked up Best of Show. Nice work guys (and gals).

I was surprised to see so many people. I didn't realize New Mexico had that many people working in the industry here. Oh well, live and learn I suppose.

I don't have any ADDY's - yet! But I intend to get a few. Some good ones. The shiny ones. Ones that blind other people when they look, and trust me, they look. They stare. They get filled with envy. Resumes start being sent out, salary increases start being requested. Egos become inflated - and some, well, they just whizzzzzz, fizzle out. Ah, awards. Gotta love 'em.

To check out the site, go to www.itsaddytime.com

Albu-where?

Alba-ker-kee!!! It's in New Mexico which is not to say it's any part of old Mexico but rather a state here in these glorious United States.

You've no doubt heard the song. Well, here I am in a city that happens to be located along world-famous Route 66.

Albuquerque. It's not as big as I thought it would be. And they have a mountain to the east, and a river to the west (the Rio Grande). I hope to do some exploring (and snooping) around the city this weekend. Will let you know what I come up with.

It's hot here, damn. And it's not even Joo-ly yet.

*SNAP*

Latex gloves are fun. You can blow them up so that the finger parts wave around like a cockeral's crown. And the thumb? The nose/beak whatever. You can fill them with water and drop them from the 11th floor of a hotel room window and watch them explode on some poor unsuspecting soul (not that I'd do that though).

But when you're in the doctor's office, buck naked, knees on a short stool, bent over that cheap acrylic chair where the paper slides off all the time and you hear *SNAP* as that latex glove goes on his hand, it ain't fun. No.

"I'm putting some lube on my finger now. This might not feel very pleasant. Please put your hands behind you and hold your butt cheeks apart." DAMN!!! And then you feel it, and he ain't gentle. YOW-ZER!

"Your prostate feels fine."

No shit doc, now get your f***en finger outta my butt!

Prostate exams. A necessary evil. I hate full medicals, they suck. And I don't think I have ever changed back into my clothes so quickly in all my life. Now and only now can I fully appreciate what a woman goes through when she goes to the gynae. Not pleasant, and definitely not dignified.

Oeeeef *shudder*

Barnes & Noble, the greatest shop in the world ... well, almost

So I walked into my local Barnes & Noble today which is conveniently just two blocks from where I live. And what do I find? They have a sale on Shakespearean plays. Six of them! They're GREAT!

Takes me back to my good ol' high school English days. I hated the old pompous ass then. I remember asking my English teacher, "Why on Earth does he speak like this? 'Come hither.' Who speaks like that anymore?" Mrs. Chamberlain, bless her, would discreetly hide her disdain for my question and politely reply, "My dear boy, he is one of the world's greatest writers. Prolific. Engaging." Um, okay. But now, given that I have aged, not unlike a fine red wine, my tastes have changed. And I enjoy a good Shakespeare (or even a bad one for that matter). And olives, oh how I love olives. But I digress.

In my new-found euphoric state, I made my way across the store and found an ENORMOUS hard-cover book: The Complete Works of Edgar Allen Poe. Meltdown. Right there. On the floor. Beautifully crafted.

And book-ends. They sell amazing book-ends. All shapes and sizes, all types of materials from puter to wood. And an incredible brushed metal ampersand ornament. Would look great in my unfurnished apartment. Yes, that's what I need: a giant silver ampersand, right next to my kettle!

Magazines. From Luerzer's Archive to Cosmo, Bike Fanatic to The Economist. And CDs, they sell CDs too. Ooh!

Barnes & Noble, we love you!

Sausalito ... saucy it ain't

A better word may be "quaint".

So today, I hopped on a ferry and braved the elements, the smackings from the sea, the gusting winds and the pending sea sickness to make my merry little way across the bay to what must rate as the LEAST saucy city I have ever been to.

"But why Sausalito?" I hear you whine. Well, truth be told, my cousin (let's call her "D"), used to work as a waitress at the Bridgeway Cafe in the pic. Okay, so that was like 15 years ago, but in her own words (not mine), she "was their worst waitress but their best paid". Now how's that for a reference?!

So, family ties being what they are, I headed over and sat in this small cafe, imagining my tall, blonde cousin running around, taking orders. Well, once again, truth be told, knowing D, it was more a case of her sitting with the customers, having a chat, and shouting orders to the kitchen from where she was seated. Oh D! You're one of a kind.

Anyway, for those of you who haven't been to Sausalito, go! The little shops, the blossoming trees (I wonder if the residents do that just to attract tourists), and amazing views of San Francisco from across the bay are worth the arduous trek across the bouncing waves and squawking gulls.

D, this one is for you cuzzie.

Blisters & Sunburn

I crossed it (or walked across it, however you want to look at it) yesterday. Yup, Suicide Bridge - also known as the Golden Gate Bridge - an expansive 4,200 foot long suspended bridge that connects San Francisco to Marin County. And thinking I am immune to such things as, oh I don't know, blisters and sunburn, I undertook the arduous trek in ... wait for it, flip flops. 45 minutes each way across the bridge and my lilly-white feet were blistered and my skinny little calves were screaming.

But it was worth it.

Half way across the Bridge, I came across this sign. My initial thought was, "no shit!", until I did some research about it. Did you know that since the Bridge opened in 1937 (until 1995 when the last count stopped), there have been 1,000 suicides from the Bridge? That's horrific. I looked over the edge and this little thing called Vertigo set in. Really, you need balls of steel to even THINK about hopping over. But apparently not everyone felt the same way because since 2003, there has been an average of one jump every two weeks. Balls of steel mate, balls of steel. The 220 foot (67 m) fall from the bridge takes four seconds and jumpers hit the water at 75 miles per hour (120 km/h). Back to those balls. Damn!

But fortunately, as a suicide prevention initiative, signs (much like the ones in the pic above) promote a special telephone available on the Bridge that connects to a crisis hotline. Yes, that's going to help. You're going to make your way to the Bridge, get yourself psyched because of whatever turmoil you're going through, and out of the corner of your eye you'll see this sign. A ray of hope, of light. You'll call the crisi line and all will be solved. Or so we'd like to hope. Me, I crossed the Bridge during the day so as to avoid the 'suicide watch cameras'. And in so doing, managed to get a less-than-lovely pinky red sunburn.

THIS. IS. BORING!

So the other night, I scraped up $10 in quarters, hopped on one of the famed San Francisco cable cars, hopped off at California Street, bounced down the road toward Van Ness Street and walked into the AMC Theaters, fully intent on feasting on the media blitz that is "300". Odd title for a movie that has little to do with the number - unless of course you count the number of soldiers they had fight the ... who did they fight again, oh yes, the Spartans vs. the Persians.

Anyway, me loving all things Persian, I sat secretly rooting for the Persian okes. But I was less than thrilled. Hardly moved. Here we have a movie that was put together with the simple idea of putting steroid-abusing, mud-clad men onto a set no bigger than a high school stage, arming them with shields and saying, "Right, I wanna see some heads roll." FAKE. FAKE. FAKE. And what's with the running comentary. Cheesier than a McDonald's burger. Cheesier than my last line! Stay away, at all costs. This is a movie that fails to deliver - unless of course you're into movies that are all CGI.

Odd recruitment ads

Okay, so the job search is on. Full force. I have been filling the inbox of every Creative Director in town. Any responses? Mmmm, perhaps just one. Why on earth did I choose to come to THIS one-horse town?

So I hopped onto craigslist (as seems to be the norm in the U.S. if you want to purchase anything from used cars to underwear for cross-dressers) and started a job search there. I happened to come across an agency that was advertising for a copywriter. But no ordinary copywriter, mind you. This one had to be "minimally talented". I rubbed my eyes in disbelief. But there is was, in 10-point Times Roman, "Copywriter -- Minimally Talented. We're not asking for much--a familiarity with English; some concept of grammar and punctuation, however primitive. Rudimentary understanding of human relationships a plus. As proof of the above, we would like to see a portfolio full of great ideas.

About us: we're an decade-old agency in Boise, Idaho, one of the most liveable, fastest-growing cities in America. We work in print, broadcast and interactive media for local, regional and national clients. We do a good job.

So please send along your resume and some electronic samples, or reply for more information. We're not that hard to please. At least, not yet."

Never, ever in my life have I ever seen something like this. Is it for real? One way to find out.

I'm going to apply!

Cheers, cheers, thanks a lot

So, on Thursday, I was fired. Given the 'pink slip'. Told to get lost. It happens to the best (and the worst) of us. Apparently I upset some people at work who felt upset enough that they wrote letters of complaint to the HR department. Odd considering that people I worked with would use the 'f' word like a comma. Oh well, shit happens I guess. Time to move on. But what a damned inconvenience. Now how must I pay my rent? I'm not about to go selling my skinny ass at the Castro. Well, not just yet. I still have 2 weeks to come up with my rent. But on the 28th? Mmmm, you just might see that skinny ass trawling the streets. Hey, a guy's gotta do what a guy's gotta do, right?

Has America become TOO PC?

I live in San Francisco. A city best known for its dope-smoking, gay-liberating, be-kind-to-animals atmosphere. A place where it's illegal to smoke pot but people do it anyway. Where gay couples hold hands in the streets and no-one batters an eyelid. Where people can bring their dogs to work.

But as free as it appears to be, has it become too politically correct?

Back in the day, people fought for people's freedoms. The freedom to say what you want, when you want. It's called 'Freedom of Speech'. BUT (and there's ALWAYS a but) you cannot run someone down or something nasty lest you hauled off to the nearest court for slander. It's reached a point where now you have to watch what you say.

A woman gets her hair cut. Are you allowed to compliment her without fear of a sexual harrassment lawsuit?

There's a law in San Francisco - albeit an outdated law - that even states that "It is illegal to wash your car with used underwear". I mean, huh???? Not that anyone would want to wash their car with used underwear (that's just nasty!), but it's a law! How would that hurt anyone? It wouldn't, but the law exists to this day. Odd.

Someone at work went running to HR the other day after I told an "inappropriate" joke. Um, question: Why not come and speak to me if it offended you? Everyone else laughed (one guy almost pissed his pants), but apprently it pissed off some poor Laura Ashley-wearing woman who found it offensive. Boo-f***ing-hoo.

We have a reached a time where the Freedom of Speech now allows you to basically do everything, but speak.

Great link? Absolut-ely!

Check this out. I found it on the absolut.com site (do I get paid for featuring this??) I even ended up downloading the screensaver to my desktop. I am such a consumeristic brand whore! Shoot me now before I churn out more of this insane drivel.

And it ended like this

Need I say more?

12-hour days require a little extra assistance. Caffeine. Nicotine. Prozac. Whatever gets you through the day, brother. There's this little cafe place up the road. They make some pretty watery coffee but like to pride themselves on their overpriced lattes and 'special drinks'. I mean, seriously $3.40 for a latte when Starbucks up the road charges $2.60. I suppose it's all about convenience (and 5% of the coffee beans Starbucks uses is FairTrade, yeah right whatever) . Anyway, so this place makes bagels (there's a typo on their leaflet - "First baked. Then boil" - hardly sounds appetizing, and what's with the past tense/present tense thing? Confusing.

They do make a pretty viscious bagel dog though. Quite tasty, somewhat crunchy, but pretty much always good. Try one. But don't count on the coffee to wake you up. No matter how many cups you have.

How I drag my carcass through each day

They say a picture is worth a thousand words. Look at this picture and I've kinda written my piece already. Well, sorta, right? Or is this just being lazy? Eek! Too many questions for so early in the day.

Did someone say Prozac?

Okay, despite the title of this post, I'm not on Prozac - well, not that I know of and not that there's anything wrong with (besides the fact that it can knock you right out of your mother-f****ing mind!!). I've had friends who have been on it, and even had a friend who tried to wipe out her family on it! Talk about meds not doing what they're supposed to. That said, Prozac is believed to turn a frown upside down. Yeah, I know, corny/cheesy/I should be shot for using such a horrid line, but there was NO brief, so what do you expect? You're lucky you got it at all.

Mmm, I'm not crazy, I've just been in a very bad mood for 32 years.

Perhaps it's time for Prozac?!