¿Cómo te Llamas?

I was pleased to find this Flickr set of Bernie Fuchs illustrations. I have learned that Mr. Fuchs was a big deal in the golden era of advertising, when "graphic artist" actually meant "artist." His paintings always evoke the good life that advertising of the 50s and 60s promised, when the swarthy folks were either musicians serenading vacationers or bartenders mixing the classy people another round of drinks.

I don't suppose Bernie was mad at the world because he wasn't being shown in galleries, and was instead on the pages of every magazine in his day. This one was for Gallo Sherry. (Yes, I know, weird. People used to drink sherry.) I have "repurposed" it for my own amusement.

Blow it up

Have a Thrifty Thanksgiving

Why Does Academia Sometimes Get a Bad Rap?

Because people like this esteemed and smug professor like to "study" shit everyone already knows. You call this research?

In my coming Cultural Revolution, not ALL college professors will be sent to re-education camps, but this local genius will be a cobbler's maid, for sure.

Yo, Prof...take a look two posts back. We know, and we've been preying on them for decades. You just now figuring this out? I know you played with Barbies as a kid. C'mon.

дайте спасибо

I've decided to enter the highly lucrative field of Russian Thanksgiving card design. I hear there are huge fortunes to be made. We focus so much on minority markets and pay very little attention to all the new gold-laden, tracksuited, sketchy immigrants among us.

After some cursory study, I have determined that Russians enjoy nudity, food, sports and drinking. They are also into totally surreal, off-the-wall shit.

Isn't it heartwarming how deep down, we're all really the same?

Больш

(Translation: "Give Thanks")

Fatass Model Disgusted... Nay, Repulsed!

Squatting on her bathroom scale in utter horror and disbelief, this obese model is REPULSED. Perhaps she can get paid to lose some of that flab. What a disgusting cow.

Sex it Up with Fragoli

From the people who brought us the image of a naked woman biting a bottle of liquor, comes more in the Super Subtle Style of advertising.

In our first ad, five young ladies are enjoying each other's company in a very innocent, friendly way.

Five out of five brunettes of varying nationalities agree, Fragoli turns your ordinary party into a sapphic lust fest.

And then, apparently the new signature image of Fragoli is this one. Why, it's a nude woman in repose, with giant lips on her back, which I'm guessing invite the viewer to kiss her butt crack and spine. See how the gently parting lips become her butt crack? Isn't that clever?

Kiss my ass. Classy.

So dangerous, aren't they? Something tells me Fragoli might be holding onto a couple more images that they've classified as "Banned!" that they plan to leak later.

But you and I can sit back and mock this poor taste, perhaps favoring a more hinted scenario that would still reveal unmistakable sensuality, but this stuff is apparently working for Fragoli, who can afford two full-page ads in Sunday's New York Times Magazine.

Lizard in a Watering Can

way bigger

11/21/09, 8:45 AM - Wekiva Springs, Florida

Vehicle Graphics

Designed for an as-yet imaginary vehicle to be used in an as-yet imaginary endeavor. But we traffic in imagination.
The emblem on the corner of the trailer is from another imaginary endeavor.

Match the "Celebrity" with their Bio

T-Mobile and their MyTouch, in association with Google, is reaching out to all you boomers who still think these people are funny. To me this only says T-Mobile is desperate.



a. I was an original SNL cast-member, but quit after I imagined the show was all about me. Cocaine will do that to a person. I did a few very forgettable movies and one good one, then disappeared, got fat and lost all my hair. Now my friends at NBC are trying to help me revive my career by putting me in a supporting role on a sit-com that is doomed to fail.

b. I did impersonations on SNL. I also did a thing with Mike Myers that became a couple of movies that made me some cash. When I blew up really big on the show, I ditched it in the hopes of becoming the next Bill Murray. It didn't work out. But I'm rich, so fuck you all.

c. My ticket into show-biz was my off-the-wall, ironic name. I did a few films that still pay enough royalties for me to keep an apartment in New York. I'm now on a daily panel of loud-mouthed opinionators who dictate the thoughts and buying habits of a bunch of sad and lonely people who watch us.

d. I had a few skits on SNL that were recurring, mostly that involved me showing my underwear in a sick and pathetic attempt at laughs. I also thought the movies were calling me, and left SNL for the bigtime, but I can't even name a single thing I was in that you would know.

e. I did a pretty good Bill Clinton on SNL. Sometimes they bring me back to do Cheney or Chris Matthews, but Lorne put me out to pasture after McCain lost. I now wear a sad face all the time.

It Usually Starts WIth a Title and an Image

A new project*, coming soon** from Jetpack Productions.


* "Project" is the loose term we give to things that have not been developed in the least, and only exist as a URL and a few vague notions.

** "Soon" is the undefined timeframe we give to things that may be here next week or next decade.

Hug The Mountain - Brand Shatner

Why am always late to the game on these things that have been seen 500,000 times already since May?

To put this clip in its proper setting: William Shatner is doing a promo here for some sort of schlock show like "Entertainment Tonight," shilling an upcoming Star Trek movie, probably in the '80s. And someone has set it to music. Brilliantly.

In this post-Ironic age, when you are your own brand, or an amalgamation of rotating logos, clothing trends, hairstyles, gadgets and apps that define you, look to the Canadian King of Self-Mockery for a little lesson in consistency.

Does he know he's mocking himself? We, his fans, hope so, but we still can't be quite sure, which makes it that much better.

Starry Eyed Dreamer

The Mayans Were Romantics, Right?

Bigtastic

When Today was a Hyphenated Word

This depressing headline is what happens when you let government agencies create the motivational posters. Heads down, the men arrive to their dreary factory jobs in the cold dim of dawn. It's another day.

(Harp SFX as scene goes to black and white. Transition to factory boss rounding up the crew outside the gate for the morning pep talk.)

It's 1937, you jackleg bastards! And a whole lotta boys ain't got work. At least you have jobs, you ungrateful scoundrels, so why don't you buck up, take your measly daily wage and go buy some whiskey? Drown yourself in the only thing that might temporarily erase the shame of not being able to join the Army like the rest of the able-bodied men of this country. In five years, the Army will take the whole sorry lot of you, regardless of your pathetic conditions. And women...THAT'S RIGHT I SAID WOMEN! will take your shitty jobs. For half the pay! In the meantime, you sad excuses for humanity, get in there and start producing.

And make the day safe, you sunsuvbitches. One more severed limb during the day shift will mean mean smaller portions of horsemeat in your lunches!

Image via Vintagraph.

Hey, Don Draper: Who Mows Your Yard?

Those Who Can't, Critique. "Mad Men" - a Newbie's Take.

So I jumped on the "Mad Men" bandwagon only this year, curious to see if it was, as so many say, "The greatest show ever created in the history of creating shows on Earth, or for that matter, the Universe! To include all the shows that will ever be created in the future."

I enjoy the attention to detail in every episode, but my expectations for this show were set falsely high by the unending praise it has received. What I have seen in the last 13 slow-paced episodes of this trying-not-to-be-a-soap-opera Soap Opera is summed up below.


He's eccentric, he loves the Far East, he's a fat old man of unknown orientation who doesn't do any work. His appearance in any scene signals that we're going to hear melancholic yearnings for the old days, when an agency founder could go to Singapore and buy a young boy for an entire week for mere pennies on the dollar. Always in the same suit, he is slightly cantankerous but is also an open-minded type, not quick to judge a man for stealing a dead man's identity. In today's world, he'd be the guy who spouts the phrase, "It's all good!" so often that you'd want to punch him in the Adam's apple.

Speaking of not doing any work, this silver-haired, silver-tongued devil is king of fucking off. He is a cheating, lying, back-stabbing bastard who thinks the world is a set designed for him to stroll onto. When he's not around, he imagines that those parts of the world he just visited cease to exist until he steps back into them. He drinks from dawn 'til dawn, and then gets on the phone and talks smooth to all of his women. He's an old-fashioned bastard, and he knows he's a bastard, and he's easily the most compelling character on the show.

Never has the term "mousy" been better applied than to this young lady. Trying to find her way in a big mean industry in a big mean city, the secretary turned copywriter summons more lip-biting, shoulders-back resolve per episode than Mary Tyler Moore fit into an entire career of playing similar "dames." Expect her to be at the forefront of the Womens' Movement in future seasons, only in an I'm-not-sure-about-this way.

Sniveling, blue-blood, baby-faced punkass bitch of an account man, the actor portraying this guy is playing it as if it were meant for the stage. Everything is over-acted. I think he's channeling Dave Foley from "News Radio" and "Kids in the Hall." His pathetic existence is enabled by his wife, who dotes on him like the Mommy he needs. He wore a black turtleneck in the wake of the Kennedy assassination and will likely be listening to the Beatles or trying to join the Black Panthers in future seasons. Personally, I would like to see him try marijuana, and then go all Reefer Madness and jump in front of a train.

The 1960s ideal of sexy, she's the voluptuous, big-hipped lady not afraid to shake it in that Ginger from "Gilligan's Island" way. Married to a dick who is about to die in Vietnam, (foreshadowing on this show is about as clumsy as a Will Ferrell movie) she has a smooth way with men and a cat-like instinct with the women, none of whom have the hips to challenge her dominance. She will have multiple men in her life, none of whom will satisfy her the way the extra-large, chrome "electric toy" she got in "the Village" does.

"Mad Men" wants to be on the edge of societal issues, so they threw in this dude so they could address bigotry or tolerance or whatever. (Nevermind the Black people in the elevator.) Played like some sort of sashaying stereotype, sympathy for this guy is not easy to find. He's the closeted gay, and the world of 1963 is full of aggressive guys who recognize his leanings and they're all ready to take his pants off and have their way with him. By next season, he will be considering a "pioneering surgery" that will "free him to be who he was born to be." All of the other characters will understand this decision and encourage him.

A fixture in every agency, he's the guy struggling to be the hippest dude who ever lived. He's into Black Jazz, weed, cool clothes, facial hair and progressive politics. He will be jamming at Open Mic nights soon, probably playing the bongos. Trouble is he has no talent, sucks as a writer and is always getting shown up by better people in lower positions. He's annoying, has no apparent love life and thinks he's better than everyone. I predict a major nervous breakdown followed by electro-shock therapy, returning to the agency as a janitor.

Every ensemble cast, from the war movie to the campus comedy, needs a chubby kid with glasses. Enter this guy, a character so undeveloped and nondescript that you wonder why he is even around. I'm not even sure what he does, other than make sure commercials get played on the TeeVee. He will be the guy that the neighbors talk about to the news reporters in phrases like, "He was a quiet man," and "I never expected he could do something this awful."

She never smiles, despises her own children, drinks, smokes and pops pills, and hates that her marriage to the flim-flam man robbed her of her rightful place as the debutante with a scepter and a crown. She's about to carry on an affair with a weasel politico that can only end in disaster; i.e. she gets pregnant as they break up and becomes that lady with lots of children with varying last names. Age will not be kind to her and a botched face-lift will doom her to a life in the country, where the local boys won't honor her with the title MILF, but instead refer to her as "the former Cougar with the stretched eyes."

His father, who appears to him in night visions to berate him, said, "Look at your hands! They're soft as a woman's! What do you make? You grow bullshit." That sums up the business quite nicely. Now that his sins are catching up to him, perhaps our lead character can finally grow a set, maybe go to the Keys and start Cap'n Dick's Fishing Charter, maybe settle down to a life of drinking and smoking that doesn't involve ruining every life he comes in contact with. I think we're supposed to be sympathetic toward this guy, the insecure man behind a mask of security, but his wandering and pondering are starting to grate.

Where's the Glass and Stainless Steel?

Huge image (click for the large) of a graphic design business in Rosslyn, Virginia in 1926, from Shorpy.

Witness your roots, Creatives. Note that there are no fire poles, no canoes, no Eames chairs, no Macs, so Starbucks, no cupcakes, no social media strategists, no glass desks, no cubicles full of ironic juxtapositions, no emo glasses, no tattoos and no fauxhawks. All of the trappings of the modern design/advertising/marketing agency are missing. Probably because the concept of the "EVP of Global Creative" was still decades away.

It's just a bunch of people in smocks getting dirty doing manual labor. They had no delusions that they were making art, and they weren't making fake ads to submit to awards shows. If "Mad Men" was based in this era, it'd be a blue-collar dark comedy.

Let's Talk About the Weather

Mine's better than yours.

Rock Lyrics as Spoken Word

Another random, throwaway creation made possible by the fun diversion known as Xtranormal. I heard this on the way to work and decided it would sound good as a poem. It doesn't really. Rarely do rock lyrics translate well when spoken aloud, but this little Lego man puts in a nice effort in what Xtranormal calls the "Australian English Male" voice, one of a few accent options. We'll pretend he's standing in the middle of a street in Adelaide.

Final stanza of "Hump de Bump."



See the real video (directed by Chris Rock) associated with these lyrics here.

Note for the audiophiles: On the original song, after the drum break when the trumpets get going, (which is where this stanza occurs) adjust the balance fully to the left speaker and enjoy the very cool fills that get lost in the regular mix. Rick Rubin, you should've listened to me.

The Arrogance of His Heirness

Michael Jordan's son, Marcus, plays basketball for local school the University of Central Florida. That alone tells you Marcus did not inherit his father's skills, as UCF is a perennial "hopeful" in most sports. Nonetheless, the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree, and Marcus, demonstrating that he did inherit his dad's ego, decided he would not wear Adidas shoes, even though UCF was in the last year of a contract with Adidas. The young Jordan said he will wear only his father's Nike Air Jordan shoes because "they hold special meaning to my family." The university relented, still giddy to have the drawing power of a Jordan on the team.

Adidas was fine with Jordan's and the school's decision on a regional level, but corporate nixed the deal, canceling the UCF contract, costing the school $3 million. Good on you, Adidas.

"We are disappointed to learn that Adidas has chosen to discontinue its relationship with UCF Athletics," the school said in a statement released by spokesman Joe Hornstein. Yeah, Joel, I'll bet you are.

Now, here's an opportunity for Nike to jump in and take that contract, or here's a chance for Marcus to dip into his huge trust fund and pay the school back.

Super Saturated Street Scenes - Volume II, No. 2

Renda l'immagine più grande!

Still in Italy on the European leg of our Google Street Views Tour, we find ourselves on Via Valassina, just south of Bellagio, on the shores of Lago di Como, where a cyclist is about to be passed by a Porsche. The Porsche has been following the Google car for miles. I might have to string a bunch of stills of this together and create a Porsche spec spot.

Previously on the Tour.

Vacationing in a Connected Age

Trust Your Future to a Man in a Feather Suit Who Rips Hearts Out

What is it about the Mayans that has everyone so fascinated? I'll grant that the new movie "2012" looks like some fun Armageddon footage that must be seen on the big screen to be appreciated, but I don't know why we hold up this primitive bunch who practiced human sacrifice to appease the sky gods as some sort of wise society. I guess we always need some sort of doom hanging over us to make us feel alive in some twisted way. That's why everyone loves the hack poet and drug-addled dickbrain Nostradamus. (I got your Nostradamus right here.)

Just 'cause the Mayans didn't plan ahead and ran out of room on their stupid circular calendar doesn't mean they knew shit about shit. Didn't see the Spaniards coming, now did they? I for one am getting ready for 2013 with these t-shirts.