Love Wes Anderson, Love This

Someone sent me this today (as a link, not the actual work - I wish!!).



Just one piece would be lovely wouldn't it? But Alex Cornell has produced a plethora of Anderson related gorgeousness. Check it all out. A university project by the looks of it. Wowsers.

(Hope he doesn't mind me sharing it).

Heaven Is A Busy Bar

This weekend, whilst pondering the existence of man and the many philosophies we live by, I came across a notion which disturbs me greatly. Even though I doth be an atheist.

The world is overcrowded.

There are more dead people than there are people living.

Heaven must be like an overcrowded bar.

The thing with overcrowded bars, and presumably heaven, is that you can see everything your heart/stomach desires, but you can't get anyway near the bloody stuff because of all the other people who are just as thirsty/forgiven as you getting in your way.

Sounds like hell.

Creative Director Competition Result

It actually appears that they have gone for option a

Appoint a CD who inspires, fights and leads!

Early doors yet, but signs are good.

Three Amazing Headlines...

...that I've seen today:

Freckle-handed Paedophile Jailed

Man Says Wombat Rape Led To Accent Change

Mutant Squirrels Invade UK

Talk To Strangers

STRANGER DANGER!

Ha, no need to worry about that little catch anymore. Thanks to the power of the interweb, you can now talk to complete strangers without fear of them showing you their puppies, or hypnotizing you with a bag of sweets.

http://omegle.com/

This strange little website has led to the wonderful game of trying to see how quickly you can piss of the stranger that you connect with. I have transcribed my first attempt:

You: sex
Stranger: oletko suomest+
Stranger: ?
You: sex
Stranger: älä vaan taas sano että se oot sinä sex
Stranger: sex
You: cool
Stranger: from?
You: UK
Stranger: ok
Stranger: ok
You: what's your favourite sex
Stranger: I dont is harrastanut anything sex
You: harrastanut is that like doggy style?
Stranger: I dont hobby anything sex
Stranger: no
You: hmm. are you like Morrisey?
Stranger: no
You: so you do like sex, you just haven't had any
Stranger: ok
Your conversational partner has disconnected

Awesome

A word kidnapped by cheesy Americana, but that should have just been used for things like this:



Click to biggerize for full effect. Love the sun looking down over the chaos.

And also quite awesome, the blog I just found that I nicked it from some lovely stuff there from this designy type fellow.

118 24 7 Ad

There is no real reason I should like this, but it's brilliant. I think it's just the song. Love it.

Summer Drinkers

Through your premature sunglasses you see me approaching. Put on your cool face. Vent some smoke in my general direction. Laugh or smile, it's your choice, at the thing your friend just said.

How I hate thee.

Where were you in the winter? Autumn even?

No place for you then to be sat outside, amidst the wind and the rain and the sleet and the other stuff that falls from the sky that isn't sunbeams.

What's wrong with inside the pub eh? The creak of a chair. The crackle of a fire. A raft of winter coats slouching upon not enough coat hangers.

Get back. Back to whence you dwell in the winter months. Hibernating under cocktail umbrellas like little moths, waiting to dust yourself down once more for the summer months.

I swat thee.

Creative Director Competition

The place where I work will be getting a new CD this week.

I, like most of the creatives in the agency, see it as an opportunity. Although the bloke who is leaving is a great guy, we need the bloke coming in to be a great CD.

I need it for my career. The agency needs it because we don't get anywhere near enough good work out the door.

So, here is a priceless opportunity for the agency, will they:

(a) Grasp the nettle and appoint a CD who inspires, leads, fights suits

(b) Appoint a CD who is merely a Yes Man, showing face but merely seeing out the latter days of his career

(c) Appoint a suit who is just pretending to be a CD

(d) Other

The answer will be published in about a week.

Mother Duck It

Brilliant story in the Metro today:

A rare breed of duck faces extinction after the last two males in Britain fell in love with each other. Blue ducks, Ben and Jerry, flirt all the time shunning potential mate Cherry. "Ben and Jerry make a lovely couple," said the warden.

Now, I'm no expert, but I'm guessing ducks aren't predisposed to gayness? Surely the warden can find ways to encourage the some duck-loving rather than sell the story to the Metro and chuckle at how funny the ducks are.

Maybe dress up ladyduck in some sexy lingerie.

Do a photoshoot with ladyduck in saucy poses, perhaps with monthly centrefolds flashing a bit of cleavage to get the lads interested.

Or perhaps just kill one of the lads and when the other one needs a shoulder (do ducks have shoulders?) to cry on he'll go to ladyduck.

Job done.

Hi Geoff...

"Where are we going today?"
"To see a dead man."
Nicholas watched Geoff's face waiting for confirmation of the joke. It didn't arrive.

"Now? We going now then?"

Geoff set off down the street. Closely followed by his ghost, pawing at his shoulders. They needled through the early morning pedestrians. Clockwork people with plans to make and schedules to keep. They barely noticed the two boys amongst them.

"Is it far?"
"Not far."
"Why..." Nicholas broke off from his next question before he could complete it. He didn't really want to know the answer.
"Why what?"
"I dunno. I was gonna ask why it's there, you know. How come nobody knows about it?"
"I know about it." Geoff smirked at his companion, looking him in the face for the first time that day.
"How much do you weigh Nic?"
"8 stone."
"Right."

The boys had passed through the morning commuters now, leaving the real world behind them. Most people with a purpose in this town tend to head in one direction. Geoff turned to look back at where they had come from. Sure enough, all the specks were getting smaller, not larger.

"There's an empty building down there," Geoff pointed down an alley and looked at Nicholas for the second time, "you should go in on your own while I keep a lookout."

Nicholas looked down the alley. It was populated by commercial bins oozing with waste. Puddles laid traps among the wet cobbles and lights flickered trying hopelessly to remember the night before.
"That one?"
Geoff nodded.

Nicholas tip-toed down the alley, looking back occasionally to see Geoff waving him on. Reaching the building at the end of the alley, Nicholas found a red door - shut. He moved side to side, windows were broken. Lifting himself up onto one of the slothful bins he peered in through cracked glass.

Redundant machinery waited patiently amongst mpty boxes that defied their age, holding their shape proudly. Cloth crawled limply across the floor and rope stretched down from exposed joists, nothing quite within its reach. Up above, water crept in at every opportunity through holes and cracks, whilst shards of light shot down through the broken ceiling looking for a corner in which to hide.

Hooking his arm inside the window, Nicholas jerked free the rusty old lock and pulled the window open. One final glance to Geoff sent him onwards through the window.

Inside was quiet save for the droplets of water whistling down, hitting the floor like little bombs. Each step that Nicholas took was a guilty pleasure which sent his heart beating against his chest. The building was made up mainly of one vast room, with two small rooms boxed off to the left - the clockwork types would have worked in there once.

Overcoming his fear, Nicholas made it over to the two small rooms. Half expecting to find the stiff lifeless body of an old employee, he kicked open the door. A window fell, shattering on the floor. Who knows for how long it had been clinging on to the rotting wood of the door frame.

A snap of noise richocheted around the room, darting out of the now open door and finally up, out of the lifeless building. "Oi, ssshh." A whisper came from the window where Nicholas had made his entrance. It was Geoff.

"Where is it?"

Geoff made his way in side, gesturing again to go onwards. Inside the little room, Nicholas stood bemused, waiting again for some confirmation from his friend.

"Climb up on that table Nic."
Nicholas did as he was told.
"Turn your back to me."
Nicholas did as he was told.
"Can you reach that beam?"
Nicholas stretched out over his head and touched an old wooden beam.
"I want you to grab onto it and hang there for 10 seconds."

Though he wasn't sure why, Nicholas again followed the instructions. The only thing he knew was that if he did this he was gonna see a dead man. He began to count out loud.

"1..2..3"

As he did so, he heard shuffling behind him. Movement. The legs of a table dragging across the floor. Geoff revealing the body.

"4..5..6"

His heart was hammering upon his chest now, sending a pulsating thump through to his ears.

"7..8..9 I'm gonna drop now right Geoff?"

No answer came. Nicholas hung there for a few seconds more, awaiting a response. He gently lowered himself back towards the table below, searching it out with his toes. But the surface of the table didn't seem to arrive when it should.

"Geoff!" Panicking, Nicholas flung his legs in search of a surface. He dropped. Crashing through the broken old table he'd been looking for. The laugh he expected didn't arrive.

The only sound remained the drops of water hurling themselves from above, searching out a home among the black puddles below.

Nicholas turned, looking up, and found Geoff looking him in the face for the third time that day.

A Modern Biblical Tale

"No thanks" said Jesus.

Magnolia In The Lounge & Rape In The Bedroom

On my way to work this morning I saw a decorators van. The company name was Touch-Ups. Their slogan:

"I've been touched up today"

Made me smile. Won't be ringing them though.

Submissions

Not many thus far...


I have found it to be arthritis inducing crippledom to perform most agency names though, so I can understand.

Either that or no fucker is reading the blog. Which I can't really tell 'cos blogger seems a bit cack. Might export...anyhow...here's a couple:



BJL - maybe that little finger coulda come down a bit further for the J




LOVE - the V needed to be slightly more prominent

Can you beat them?

Make An Agency Hand Sign Challenge

'Stacking'...'Throwing Up'

At some point in your life you've probably done it. Probably badly if you're a middle-class honky from a northern town in England. I'm talking about gang signs...





Yes, that does say blood. . . Aint nuffin cooler than dat shit rite der.


Here's a blog version. . .

Well shoot me with a 9mm if throwing a gang sign doesn't perfectly lend itself to the weird world of ad agencies and their intialized company names.

So here's a challenge: try to make a hand sign for your agency. Get one of your dawgs to snap that shit and send it to me at hairingtons@yahoo.co.uk

The best agency hand sign will win a special prize that is yet undetermined, but could be something cool like a crack pipe or yellow bandana.

Deadline: 28th February 2009 (Agencies with normal names can improvise and enter too)

And don't worry, if you don't wanna get caught my the Five-O or the erm HR department, you don't have to identify yourself to me or on the blog if you don't want to, though I'll treat you all with discretion.

Get stacking.

Philosophy

Never run for a bus or a woman, there's always another one round the corner.

More Evidence To Suggest Nothing Is Original

I always knew she took her look from somewhere. Now the quesion is, where did Burt take it from? And so on...

Is It Brilliant?

Yes it is.

North vs South

A recent chart on Scamp got me a bit angry. The age-old South is better than North debate was struck up by means of the Top 50 agencies list, which Scamp then converted to also show the creative output of said agencies.

Not much argument with the list. But you've got to ask the question why many of the Northern agencies don't have the creative output their Southern counterparts?

It's not down to lack of creative people. That's for sure.

Is it a difference in client base?

Is it a difference in spending power?

Is it a difference in the quality of the suits?

I don't know the answer, I wish I did. My gut tells me that it's a lack of good leadership and lack of people willing to actually serve their clients properly. Too many people are happy to sell in any idea, instead of selling in the best idea.

In recent weeks I have seen these ads on TV which have directly scuppered my own plans for ideas I had in my top draw.

Audi - http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=N7ZsNieEUSY Not a particularly great ad, but I had that song attached to an idea of my own for a car ad. Scuppered.

Tmobile - http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=VQ3d3KigPQM Some people love it, some people hate it. I wish they hadn't done it in a train station. But it is a good ad. Unfortunately for me, I had a 'flashmob' ad sold to a client and it was certainly a bigger and better event than this one, if I do say so myself. Scuppered.

I guess what I'm saying from my point of view is that there are creatives in the North who are banging out some really good ideas, but for whatever reason they aren't always seeing the light of day.

In a grass is greener kind of way, I always had this thought that difference between North & South was who had the power: suits or creative? I thought creative had more rights in London and so they get their work through.

It always seems kind of paradoxical that we have a load of creative people making ads and then suits or non-creatives are the ones with the final decision on what idea goes forward. I know agencies nowadays are supposed to have creative tea-ladies and creative receptionists and that ideas can come from anywhere - but we're kidding ourselves if we think that's true.

There's another problem inherent: the more suits and planners we employ, aren't we just chipping away at the creative teams' need to do their own thinking?

So, anyway, you end up with people who actually don't understand ideas, but look pretty, making decisions on the agencies final output. Nuts.

Engaging & Disengaging

Everyone has experienced that moment when you are walking along, happily minding your own business, then you notice some fucker coming towards you who is in your flight path!

Shit.

Is he gonna move?

Do you move?

How long should you wait til you move?

You edge one foot ever so slightly in a different direction, causing your body to shift and start upon a new trajectory.

Oh shit.

He's done the same. How awkward.

What the fuck do you do now?

Ding ding ding ding. I have the answer: You no longer need to suffer this humiliating scenario, you quite simply disengage.

The trick is to not get caught in the other walker's eyeline. I know you want to, but do not make eye contact. Never look at their feet. Just look away. Disengage. Only for a few seconds. By the time you return your head to normal position, the other walker will have removed themselves from your trajectory.

And if you want their attention, you do the opposite.

Originality

(click to biggerize)

A lovely postery type thing I found on ffffound.com , makes a good point about the age-old argument of originality.

Reminds me of that quote from that person I can't remember: All art is imitation.

Although I'm not exactly in agreement with the steal from anywhere sentiment. Borrow perhaps.

Durex Ad

Fun. And a line so obvious and simple that you make the 'duurr' noise to yourself whilst belming and wishing you'd put it to this product. Gotta like this.

The Greatest Spam Subject Lines I've Never Deleted - Part 2

Yes some of them are just weird fucked up shit, a string of keywords designed to get a hit. But that's the beauty of them really.

I like to think there's some crazed little spam monkey sat endlessly at his computer trying to fuse words together. And basically, that's what a good copywriter should do.

Barely a wasted word in these headlines.

Mysterious Assailant Stabs Luke Perry

A Small Penis Is Not Normal

Hit A Home Run In Her Mouth

Old Cock or New One?

Pills For Boys To Make Girls Happy

Nice Girl? Hard Boner

Be The Man With The Bang

The Breasts Of Lindsay Lohan

Killer Dogs Tear Intruder Apart

Britneys Vagina To Attend AA On Its Own

Godzilla Will Be Jealous

Bearded Ladyboarding Oregon Scientific Viral

Make Your Pants Dragon Huge And Rock Hard

This Will Be Your Song After S.E.X: We Are The Champions My Friend

Girls With Big Tits Like Big Peckers


And how true some of them are.

The Greatest Spam Subject Lines I've Never Deleted - Part 1

Some months ago I began saving my spam.

Not because I actually wanted a dinosaur sized penis that could pleasure a woman until her eyes popped out, all from the power of a $1 wonderpill. No. Because some of them are obviously perpetrated by brilliant copywriters, that's why.

So, sit back and take lesson in copywriting from the greatest spam subject lines you've never deleted. All genuine spam.

The Loin King

Stop Being A Fucking Loser

John McCain: “I Promise To Invade Your Vagina”

Brave Suicide Bomber Survives Blast

Upgrade Your Man Dignity

I Hope To Meet A Man Who Is As Lonely As Me To Create A Family With Him

Strong Private Parts To Bang Women

Lohan Sentenced To Swabbing Morgue Corpses

Boobs As Big As Balloons

Paris Hilton Ripe For Scientology Detox

Upsize Your Jackhammer

Ginger Lynn Is Torn

You Are In Mafia Blacklist

Britney Spears Pregnant With Antichrist

Dog Makes Love To Cat

Get Proud Being Humongous Ok


Another load of beauties coming your way tomorrow.

The Best Job In The World

(real life place not made up)



No not you, you dirty little ad wretch.

Apparently the best job in the world is open for applications, as reported in the Daily Mail. I don't frequent the Daily Mail online, by the way, it just caught my eye when my female was reading it, honest.

What could possibly be better than having my ideas inhaled by a finger-pointing, scrotum-shaving, boss-bumming bastard of an accounts man, who will promptly shit them all back out, I hear you scream?

How about being the caretaker of Hamilton Island off the Queensland Coast?

The salary equates to almost a grand an hour and your main responsibilties will include feeding turtles and counting how many farts you can perpetrate on any given day.

Yep, don't worry about the request for voluntary redundancy going round the office or the latest kick in the balls news story of a client going down the pan; there's still some fucking great jobs out there*.

In all seriousness, I bet my left nipple that some Big Brother winner's little sister who knows someone on X-factor wannabe celebrity ends up with the job - aka, a good looking bastard with shite for brains.

*This is the only one, you're doomed.

I'm Not French

I live and work somewhere in the UK.

I wasted far too much time trying to think of a name for a blog, so instead just plonked this phrase in, as it was stuck in my mind from a book I've just read called Little Brother by Cory Doctrow.

This is my new, fairly anonymous blog. The other was closed down by the Feds*.

I write about advertising.

I write about writing.

I write about random shit.

And I'll probably moan a bit, as everyone needs an outlet.

So, when something gets my goat, the first proper post will be coming soon.


*could have been HR