To say advertising is a weird business is to make an understatement, inversely proportionate to the kind of overstatements made by Precedent Shitgibbon, to the tune of, "the election was rigged and there's massive, massive fraud."
But stick around, because this post is about advertising and thankfully not about politics.
I haven't written much about advertising lately and for that I do apologize. Perhaps it's because I still don't understand it. Even after 44 years of living and breathing on this earth.
How for instance can one understand a business where, because of faulty award show logistics, attendees felt compelled to rush the stage and grab themselves a Clio. Even one they hadn't actually won.
I was rightfully awarded a Clio a long, long time ago, and now it sits in a box. In my garage. Behind another box. Of sweaters I don't wear anymore.
The industry's confounding nature reared its head again last week, when I was disappointed to learn that my current freelance gig will not be extended into next year. I suspect I know why, but I'm not going to dwell on that, nor as I will explain, do I have to.
Suffice to say I thoroughly enjoyed the gig and got to work with some incredibly talented people who are blessed with patience and persistence. Not to mention a great sense of humor. Moreover, for reasons I will not divulge, the job was a literal lifesaver. And I can't explain how it landed on my desk at just the right time in my life.
Nor can I explain, the other phenomena at play.
Because as soon as the dark news about my doomed freelance extension came across my Zoom screen, another screen lit up. My phone.
As many copywriting and art director freelancers will tell, times are dismal. And the phone hasn't rung since we all started wearing masks to shield us from the arrival of the Democratic Hoax, way back in February.
Moreover, my phone didn't just ring once with one freelance opportunity. It has rung several times. And I got an email from a planner I hadn't worked with since my staff days at Chiat/Day. I'm trying to remember if I was nice to him. I must've been because he reached out to me from way beyond the blue.
A testament to the phrase often spoken in the gig world, "when it rains, it pours."
Indeed, as my fellow blogger and keyboard monkey George Tannenbaum says, I'm up to my hairy ears in work. It's Saturday morning as I write this and I have to type it fast and cut it short, because these manifestos and ad-like objects are not going to write themselves.
No snappy ending or well hewn craftsmanship for you today.
I'm saving that for the paying clients.
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