caskets and crumpets

I've always found that the best part about working on a new ad campaign is the information I discover along the way. On rare occasion, I find a golden insight buried in my research that may actually make for a fair campaign. But more often than not, I find (seemingly) useless crap.

And I can't get enough of it.

At the moment, I am working on three campaigns, so, for the last two days, I've been living at Barnes and Noble under a pile of books - conspicuously taking detailed notes about how to run a funeral home and host a garden party.

Here are some neat facts I would like to share:


3 out of 4 Americans die without a will

A good trick to remember someone's name is to repeat it upon introduction.

Attila the Hun died of a nosebleed on his wedding night

To create good conversation flow, always seat introverted people next to extroverted.

General John Sedwick's dying words: "They couldn't even hit an elephant at this dis - "

Always introduce a woman before a man and the youngest before the eldest.

Walt Whitman's last word: "Shit."

Serve from the left. Clear from the right. (I should have already known this.)

The Golden Gate bridge is nicknamed the 'bridge of sighs' due to the high rate of suicide jumps.

As a guest, be sure to mention any food allergies to the host before an event.

Tennessee Williams choked to death on a cap to a bottle of nasal spray.


And my new favorite quote of the week:

"Once you've seen Britney Spears emerge from a limo without even her usual tiny slingshot of a panty to cover what's left of her dignity, you realize one important thing: Death is the only real taboo left in this country." - Cynthia Celain

one for the dream box

About a week ago, I had a dream. And it went a little something like this:

(I wish I had a peach colored background to indicate dream sequence)

I woke up in an ambulance.

I had some recollection of being an intern or assistant at the 'American Red Cross
Emergency Heart and Cardiovascular Care'. I was sitting upright in a doctor's chair, facing a nurse who seemed to not notice me. There was beeping in the background from a medical machine. My body felt a little weird - like the cramping feeling you get in your arm when you donate blood - except all over. I looked down at my legs and noticed a large lump beneath the calf of my right pant leg. I pulled up my pant to discover a large pumping device strapped around my leg. I panicked and struggled in vain to pull it off, but the nurse continued to ignore me.

After accepting that the situation was beyond my control, I took a closer look at the pump and realized that I was sharing it with someone else, sitting directly behind me. By the looks of it, the pump was taking the strangers blood and using a filtering device to
pump my fresh blood back into their body. I wondered whether or not I would ever be able to donate blood again. Then the beeping stopped.

Complete silence.

After a few seconds, from behind me, an authoritative voice declares: "There is a risk of contamination and a likelihood that the donor has contracted the Pennsylvania Virus - which will most likely lead to death".

My heart sinks. Panicked again, I looked to the nurse who had ignored me before. Noticing my glance, she finally looks at me and asks: "Well, did you have something to eat today?" Not remembering what I had for breakfast, I thought back to the large dinner I had before I went to bed that night and replied "yes". Looking down again, the nurse sighs, raises her eyebrows and gives me a look as if to say 'Well, that may help...but we can only hope for the best now'.

I wondered to myself - if I had contracted this mysterious virus - whether my death would be short and fast, or long and painful.

Then I really woke up.


Now, I'm not a big believer in dream interpretation (I think dreams have different meanings depending on whom dreamt them. For instance, mine probably means I'm going to die), but I do believe that there are certain things you can do to intensify your dreams.

Like going out to an early Thanksgiving dinner with your roommates family - which is exactly what I did before I went to bed the night I had that dream.

This reminds me of one of my favorite comic strips called 'Dream of the Rarebit Fiend' (1904). For reference, welsh rarebit (or 'rabbit') was a sort of cheese stew popular at the turn of the century and it was common folklore at the time, that anyone who ate too much rarebit for dinner would have intense, often frightening dreams - which is exactly what Windsor McCay capitalized on.

Here are a few examples:



Ah yes, the classic 'I really need to get somewhere but seem to be running in place' dream...



I'm surprised Nike didn't get sued for copyright infringement for this one. Although I suppose it has been almost 100 years...



And at the end, the 'rarebit fiend' always wakes up to realize he/she was dreaming. This is actually how I imagine I looked when I jolted myself awake at 6:00am to jot down my dream - minus the hair ribbons and ruffled nightgown.

And by 'rarebits' of course I am referring to shrimp cocktail, lampchop, new york strip, prime-rib, crab stuffed portabella, tiramisu, apple tart, raspberry cheesecake and two glasses of pinot noir.

In conclusion:

best dinner ever = worst dream ever

the solution to over-population ahead

I had this thought tonight as I was making dinner: What if humans were hatched from eggs? Like chickens? And parents had to sit on them to warm them and make sure to not crush them? I think this might be a nice way to ensure that irresponsible people don't reproduce. I suppose this is probably the point of that science class experiment where you have to babysit an egg for a week, but that is neither here nor there. Actually, it is, but I digress.

Anyway, I already know, for a fact, that I would be an unfit parent. When I was five years old, I had the opportunity to test my theory when I found a robins egg below its nest on my walk to the bus stop. After little deliberation, I decided to put it in my pocket and bring it to school for show and tell. Not only would I win the admiration of my peers, but after a few months, we would have a new class pet, respectively named Robin.

Well, lets just say that by the time I got to school, the only thing I had to show was a soggy pocket. And instead of telling, it was more crying.

To this day, I can still remember the feeling of the egg as I held it in my pocket to keep it warm.

And I still don't know what the fuck happened.

Lesson learned.

riddle me this...

Does anyone know how many people have viewed my blog? I want to know how unpopular I am.

Thanks.

The Smells of Shockoe Espresso

This morning I was getting my daily cup o' shit at Shockoe Espresso when I overheard the most cliched interview question of all time:

"so, tell me a little about yourself..."

Automatically I thought about what bullshit job that poor chump must have been interviewing for. Then I realized that the interviewee was probably applying for a job at Shockoe Espresso. I left before the stink of burning coffee could seep into my clothing, but I imagine the rest of the conversation probably went a little something like this:

Interviewer:

"So, tell me a little about yourself..."

Interviewee:

"Well, to start, I was raised by a family of great apes in the mountains of Nepal. I have no formal education, per say, but I was taught from an early age on to hate humans, as poachers were affluent in the area I was raised. I moved to the states at the age of 8 - after my parents abandoned me - and found a new home with a group of nomadic born-again Christians from New Jersey. I've been working at the DMV for the last 10 years and would still be working there if I hadn't been laid off for constantly screaming orders at my co-workers from across the room. I don't particularly care for coffee, don't understand how to establish a wireless connection, have no concept of 'room for cream' and have no prior barista/cashier/cook experience. However, what I lack in common sense and common courtesy, I make up for in my uncommon love for 80's love ballads, bad poetry and the smell of burning."

Interviewer: (in the voice of a 1920s newspaper editor who just caught wind of a hot scoop from the press intern)

"You're hired!"