Poo-Tinted Goggles

Pizza Bagels & Why I Love Advertising

Sat, 05 Feb 2011 13:17:54 -0500

I’m an ad nerd. It started off simple. I said: “No” to advertising. As a kid, I watched my father record jingles into a relic of a tape recorder that my children will never understand the likes of (they will have the ability to record sound with their finger pads by then), and thought, well that’s strange, and most certainly not a job. He would use a razor blade to cut type to lay out on a proof with images ordered from a stock agency and send work directly to his clients. He was new business, he was strategy, he was creative, he was account. He was a one man show, and ran Dick Mendelsohn Inc. well enough that I was able to go to private school—but no country house & no show ponies.

Fast forward to a tiny, 5 foot, college graduate, who gets Mononucleosis the week after graduation, quite possibly from some ill thought out senior week dalliances. Result: 2 months stuck at home in bed, nearly immobile, most certainly bored. Living at home was a drag, and I needed to do something fast. The prospect of job hunting seemed stupid. The only real job I had had was measuring ladies at Victorias Secret for bras and talking about the virtues of one panty cut over another, all under the guise of an adorable sales lady in a borrowed pantssuit, just a touch too large.

I remember my group interview for VS. It was easy. My confidence, though I knew nothing of sales, little of bras, and at that point, if it covered the necessary parts, I didn’t care what color or look my underwear had, was through the roof. They put us through mock customer scenarios and “difficult” sales situations—little of which would prepare me for the real amazing stories that I would later collect to tell. I mean come on people, this was underwear.

So, when it came time to get my first job, this daunting idea of “career” started to become a reality. This was no longer an $8/hr job that I would quit at the end of the summer to continue an A+ college education at one of the nation’s finest institutions: nope, this was the real deal.

Then scour Monster.com, I did. Apparently, despite my already great pedigree with educational institutions and my parents intelligence and network of friends, there was not a string to be pulled, so I looked into anything even remotely related to what I knew I loved.

As far as I can remember, I’ve always loved story telling—perhaps too much, and I often get carried away with my own, but more than that I’m fascinated by media and pop culture consumption. I loved watching TV so much. I would bring a little scrap of paper to play-dates when I was a kid, with a time-table of shows, scribbled down from the TV guide we got every week, just in case we got bored of games and outdoor activities and were wondering what was on.

(to be continued…)

Generation: Yer Mom!

Sat, 30 Oct 2010 16:50:56 -0400

I’ve been hearing a lot about millenials lately. Apparently I am considered one by many so-called experts, but I am so close to the outer limits of Gen X and Millenial that lately I’ve been having a generational identity crisis. Millenials like to be babied. I don’t like being babied. Gen Xers say things about “The Man.” I totally talk about this man all the time too. See? Now you are as confused as I. These two things would tell you that perhaps I’m a Gen-Xer and not in fact a Millenial. Gen X-ers are represented by the following movies: Reality Bites, Swingers, Clerks and Wayne’s World. THESE ARE MY JAMS! Millenials: The Devil Wears Prada, The Sex & the City Movie, Juno, Slumdog Millionaire. Even if I will actually admit that I’ve seen any of these, all of them are stupid movies with horrible messages and themes, let’s not even talk about the protagonists (or lack thereof). They are unintelligent and most importantly whiney. You hear that, my supposed categorical generation: you’re whiney. So I guess this is why I’m resentful of being a millenial. The music sucks too. Gen X music? Way better. But then there’s thing about Gen X, like being the “lost child” generation, versus mine, which is the “precious child” generation. That one I get. I am most definitely precious. So really, in summary, and what you could have gathered simply by reading the title: Generational generalizations are lame, and that’s that. Thank you.

An elegant, modern, well-designed Fuck You.

Tue, 12 Oct 2010 23:09:53 -0400

I spend a lot of time thinking about the “Brown-bag Lunch” series at MoMA. Who goes to them? Where are they getting their lunch from? Do they think it’s special that someone has basically told them to provide their own lunch because they sure as hell ain’t gonna? I can talk to myself at home with a sandwich I made, for myself. Why would I bring that shame to a museum? A storied hall of culture, history and art? Years of collaboration and creativity. Of minds being blown, of assholes chortling at their own staggeringly witty yet entirely banal comments?! And why call it, BROWN BAG. Isn’t that just adding insult to injury? Why don’t you just say: “Intelligent lecture, food permitted.” That way, I can bring a Twix, and not feel bad that it’s not a sandwich with some kind of Tapenade on it. What if the delicatessen was OUT of Limonata, so I had to resort to my go-to, Diet Dr. Pepper. There’s no dignity in a Twix and Diet Dr. Pepper brown bag lunch when we’re talking about Gaughin and Rosseau. Munch might, well, fuck it, he might just SCREAM if he found out what kind of mind games you’re playing, M o M A! How dare you make me look undignified betwixt your hallowed halls with your “Brown Bag” series, and in front of the Warhols. Shame on you MoMA.

(a work in progress)

Big Bada Boom/Hailstorm

Mon, 11 Oct 2010 23:14:11 -0400

If you’ve ever felt once, even just once, that you heard that eerie sound from the Fifth Element, but it was like totally for real, then you might have a glimpse into what it’s like to be me.

Aziz! Light!

This seems a fitting inaugural post. This video is beyond weird....

Sat, 09 Oct 2010 18:36:09 -0400

This seems a fitting inaugural post. This video is beyond weird. But beyond it being weird, is that it was filmed entirely around the block I grew up on. There are so many things I love in this video (down to Simon’s legs, which I wish I had) but my absolute favorite part starts at 2:14 with the ice cream, the woman voraciously attacking hers next to Carly, and the slo-mo hair shaking sequence that follows.