A shanda

I'm going to assume that if you're reading this blog you have some innate interest in the advertising world. The industry that put a roof over my head, fed my family and for a short while, enabled me to  own and drive a Jaguar, albeit their shittiest model which was nothing more than a glorified and fancied Ford Mundano, or some other fakakta name I could not forget fast enough.

Advertising also provided me with a lifesaving escape from the world of Chartered Accountancy (that's what the Brits call it) and begrudgingly following in the footsteps of the many CPAs in the Siegel family, including my father, my uncle and my brother.

Mind you there's nothing wrong with Accountancy, it just wasn't for me. 

A roundabout segue to the issue on the everyone's tongue: the mammoth merger between Omnicom and IPG. An amalgamation that has no one in the ad business buzzing, with the exception of the accountants and the shareholders.

The digital ink hadn't been been given time to dry before the bean counters took their well-honed machetes to the org charts of BBDO, Chiat/Day, Mullen, and so many more. It took them less than 48 hours to announce the termination of 4000 employees!

And they did it 3 weeks before Christmas. 

And less than 2 weeks before Chanukah, the Miracle of Lights when the oil that was only sufficient for two days lasted an entire eight. Now it will take a similar miracle to extend the family savings account.

Remember when Trump said because of the current belt tightening --for everyone else but the oligarchs -- "kids who would normally get 5 dolls would have to get by with 1 or 2." 

For the redundant ex Omnicomers, those numbers have been revised to NONE.

All this from a business that demands unprecedented and unpaid commitment. And expects employees to go the extra mile. Work around the clock, sacrifice vacations, miss birthdays and school plays, and do whatever it takes to get that 78 X 392 banner ad or that incredibly disposable email blast just right.

If that hypocrisy weren't enough, consider this...

I can't begin to tell you how many meetings I've sat through where planners, strategists, creative directors and most importantly, zealous CEO's would lecture clients about the Promise of the Brand. The Power of the Brand. And the Magic of the Brand.

Indeed, the "Brand" was the crowbar used to open the box of money that would support the best efforts of the ad agency, be it JWT, McCann Erikson, Ogilvy, ad infinitum. 

And now with one fell swoop of a Montblanc Pen, all those agencies, which for more than a century claimed to have built their own Brand, have been consigned to dustbin of history. A history that only seems to matter to handful of geezers -- like you and me.

Trumpism, with all its false, loud bravado, apathy and cavalier greed, has staked a shameful claim on Madison Ave.

Quiet Peggy.

Not all dumb people are Trumpsters, but all Trumpsters are dumb people. Indubitably. And it's not by chance. His entire administration is geared that way. In fact, I would argue it's carefully curated that way.

In other words, that's their communications strategy.

On the stump he famously said "he loves the uneducated." And one look at his rallies, his Red Golf Cap collectors. Or even a few episodes of The Daily Show where intrepid Jordan Klepper courageously goes out to interview the uninformed masses, it's not only clear that he loves them, they love him. To the point of embarrassing themselves in ways that defy disbelief.

And therein lies the magic of 77 million _________ (I'm running out of ways to describe them) Americans pulling the lever for him.

Allow me to back up a bit. 

I've been watching Season 3 of The Diplomat. And without giving away too many spoilers, it's a fascinating look at the transition from one presidential administration to the next. It has shades of the West Wing. And the peak behind the gold curtains at the Oval Office is fascinating. 

Particularly how images and communications are handled and overthought to the most minute detail.

I would posit that the folks pulling the strings behind our MFOTUS, Mother Fucker of the United States of America, are doing the same. They are manipulating us and playing upon our greatest weakness: the mass feeblemindedness that is 100 times more pervasive than Covid ever was.

Case in point: yesterday a US Appeals Court found that Trump's appointment of Alina Babba as a US attorney was invalid. This was the second time her appointment, which passed her interim status date, was upheld by courts.

Do Joe Sixpack and Betty Bag O' Groceries know the details of the Alina Babba issue. They do NOT. I'm willing to bet that 99.9% of Garden State residents who turned their back on left leaning hometown hero Bruce Springsteen, have never heard of Ms. Babba. 

What they will hear, from the bully pulpit, is how the Deep State is undermining the Trump Administration -- the 4th Reich -- and thus Trump is able to exploit this humiliating judicial loss in his favor.

"They haven't just ruled against us, they ruled against us", he will sneer.

And the Trump Machine will have once again turned defeat into an uninformed victory. 

It is a pattern that repeats itself over and over again. 

"He didn't say Quiet Piggy, he said Peggy."

"Grocery prices are lower than they've ever been."

"No one has been tougher on Putin than me."

None of it has to hold up to truth because Americans, some, don't care about truth. Hence the Big, Beautiful Wheel of Mendacity™ keeps rolling on.  

It doesn't take a genius. A Mensa. Or even someone who can ace the Montreal Cognitive Test to see what's happening. Clearly, the folks who are still eternally and dimwittingly loyal to this 79 year old bag of rotting flesh are none of the above.

Vista Chino and beyond

I know this is something I probably shouldn't do, but I will anyway. 

I'm pimping the new CV Link, the Coachella Valley Link Bike Path. And I shouldn't do it because it because the last thing I want to see on this amazing new bike path that winds its way through the Valley, is more bicycle riders.

Like my pools, I like my bike paths uncrowded. Quiet. And un-pestered by the new e-bikes which seem to be spawning like rats on steroids. If I see one more of these teenage boys trying to impress/intimidate me with their wheelies and reckless behavior, I'm going to start carrying a jousting pole on my next ride.

Back to being positive.

The newly paved bike path, far from the pothole-laden streets of gritty Palm Springs, is a ribbon of freshly laid concrete that winds its way from PS all the way to Indio. And if I'm reading the posted maps correctly, will eventually stretch further east into lands and soaring temperatures unknown.

It's rare that any of us, particularly these days, get to sing the praises of "out tax dollars at work" but this public project is proof positive government can occasionally do something good for the people. 

I'm all for helping those in need, though sometimes while passing yet another homeless encampment (in LA) and smelling weed, and tip toeing around the filth and feces, some, in need, could use a good swift kick in the ass. Like many, I've thought to myself, "this is why we can't have nice things." 

But the CV Link is proof we can.

It's still a work in progress. And the orange and blue-marked path has some gaps, but yesterday Ms. Muse and I covered 23 miles, working off some considerable tryptophan and pecan-peppered stuffing overload. 

After our mid day adventure, we hightailed it to a local dispensary. Not one of those fancy fern-adorned glass and concrete places that look like it belongs on Rodeo Drive, but a tiny bodega-turned-cannabis shop that felt like it belonged on 42nd street, circa 1979. 

I snapped a pic of one of their Point of Sale Table Toppers that made me giggle.

Did I mention I manage a short term rental in lovely Palme Springs? 

Contact me for details. You'll thank me later.

OK, here are some more carefully-curated photos from the aforementioned CV Link, including yours truly in lycra (my apologies)...

Thank you for attention to this matter.