The Ex

Tiring, tiring week. Tiring good. Almost.

Most of the week was spent planning and shooting a documentary with Dodobird. High expectations on this one. Mainly because the man we're doing this for is a demigod. Nearing historic proportions. Built a city is all. But poof went anxiety. The shots were great. The interviews brilliant. But the feet hurt like hell.

Was hoping to get out of this marketing meeting yesterday because unless they're teaching us hypnosis or granting us funding (for hypnosis classes) then there's really a rare chance that I'll learn anything new from all the big talk. Come on. Target market, situational analysis, anyone?

But the dreaded thing was moved to today. So no excuse. And guess what? It was advertising 101.

For babies.

In a coma.

(Sorry. But I do love babies. But I don't want one of my own. And brain-deadness should never be wished upon on anyone. Because it already occurs often enough at Cable Car)

Same textbook scribbling from way back in 1995 at the DAP when Mabi, Felice and I --- out of ass numbing boredom --- wrote "The Ubiquitous Cup" across a styrofoam cup and rotated it around the room, from table to chair to another table, until it reached the back of the room.

Advertising is like the ex-boyfriend that rings and puts the receiver down with a bang when you answer. The bad sex you'll keep comparing other bad fucks to. The big idea that never was.

Don't get me wrong. I actually loved the work, the brainstorming, the AE bashing, the wordplay. But I hated, HATED the posturing. The JOs. The Jar-Jar Gon. And this time the Ubiquitous Cup wasn't around to save us.