You know, it just wouldn't be the holidays without some Walmart tramplings.
Nothing says, "Happy Holidays" quite like a long line of toothless early birds, elbows raised and ready for battle. Nothing ushers in the seasonal spirit like a ceremonial opening of sliding glass doors. Nothing fills the heart like a blood spill on Isle 4.
Nothing warms the cockles of the heart quite like Black Friday, White Monday, Yellow Tuesday or Perrywinkle Thursday.
Nothing creates the feeling of chestnuts roasting on an open fire like 70% off 100% crap.
But what does say Christmas? THIS
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
You know, it just wouldn't be the holidays without some Walmart tramplings.
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
Ah, tis the holiday season.
Once again, I am reminded of a simpler time in my life. A time of discovery and exploration. A time of tomfoolery and shenanigans. A time when the etiquettes of the normal world didn't apply. A time known as Idaho.
For this installment, I would like to offer a disclaimer. The following trip down memory lane resides a tad on the distasteful and slightly nauseating side. Please accept my apologies in advance.
Amidst this particular holiday season, many years ago, I found myself hanging out on a cold and wintry weekend with a couple of my hoodlum friends, who, for the sake of this story, we will refer to as Andy, Alley, and Donnie. We were suffering from a void of entertainment on account of the fact we weren't invited to the big holiday party at Kandice Barn's house. We were denied said invitation because we didn't hold the mantle of being worthy seniors in Jerome High School. You see, this was a "Seniors only" affair, and we were nothing but pagan juniors who would never be allowed to sip wassail set to the tune of Wilson Phillips' Christmas album from the holy courts of this unsupervised celebration.
Our boredom was suddenly interrupted as Alley walked into the room. His face reflected a sinister smirk as he produced a small shoe box. He held it out proudly to the group. My approach was quickly stunted as he lifted the lid revealing one carefullly carved craft of human excrement.
A small billow of steam lightly glazed the lincoln. That's when it hit me.
ME: Dude, that's fresh poo.
ALLEY: I know, I took a crap in this box!
ME: *I searched for a possible response and to this day don't think one exists*
ANDY: Sick dude, get that out of my house now!
Laughing, Alley pranced up the stairs and out the front door into the cold dark night.
Surprisingly, the night returned to normalcy as we delved into various video games and other passers of time. Eventually, the novelty of our entertainment avenues wore thin. We had to get out of the house. We had to do something. We were desperate for amusement. And this, as you'll soon see, proved to not be a good thing.
Before I knew it, we were piled into Andy's small pickup truck, plowing down the country roads of freshly fallen snow.
Destination: Kandice's party
Mission: Mass havoc
Ammunition: Poo in box
Status of poo: Frozen
Delivery vessel: Gift wrapping
Yes, we had a plan. That plan involved disguising Alley's ice-bound bowel movement as an innocent holiday bestowal, placed lovingly on the doorstep by the neighbors. Sadly, I wasn't only going along with this plan, I was its originator.
We approached the target. "Cut the lights!" I commanded. Andy crept the truck slowly around the corner, keeping it out of the line of sight. He brought it to a stop behind a large neighboring bush. Quickly and quietly, we assembled. Gathering around, I drew the game plan in the snow with my finger. Donnie was the fastest of us, earning him the job of delivery. I was on lookout. Andy was on getaway driver duties. Alley, well, he'd already done enough for one night.
We silently whisked through the snow covered bushes and trees, approaching Kandice's house. As we neared, the faint sound of laughter mixed with Trixter tickled our ears. There was no turning back now. We rendezvoused behind a large bush directly in front of the house. Cars lined the street. They all appeared empty. We took a moment to survey the target. The house had a gigantic living room window on the front, allowing us to see everything going on inside. They were all there. Every senior in the school. All enjoying the festive holiday spirit, completely unaware of the terror lurking outside.
It was go time.
I motioned to Donnie, handing him the package. The note read: "Wishing you the very best this holiday season. Love, your neighbors, the Ronsons."
He took the package, nodded, and scurried up the lawn. This was it. We were doing it. Looking around, he approached the front door. He set the package on the doorstep, rang the bell and bolted down the driveway, covering his tracks behind the many parked cars. Meanwhile, I froze. I hadn't planned my escape route. But it was too late. Kandice eagerly opened the door, expecting more party patrons. The sudden increase in music volume caught me off guard. I was trapped. I ducked behind the bush, peeking through just enough to see her curiously examine and retrieve the package. She scanned the yard for a moment and then retired back to the party, closing the door.
The glow of the living room lights reflected in my wide eyes as I watched the following unfold from behind the bush.
Kandice entered the living room waving her arms in excitement, commanding the attention of the party. It appeared as though she wanted the opening of this mysterious gift to be the centerpiece of entertainment for the night. The music was killed as people gathered closely around. My heart sank. She ripped the bow off and began to pry the box open with the wrapping still in place.
Freeze it: Have any of you ever struggled with opening a bag of chips? You pull and pull and pull until suddenly the bag opens. But it's too late, the force of your opposing arms causes the chips to propel through the air and all over the floor.
Suddenly, the wrapping paper gave way. As her arms separated, the climate-petrified turd launched out of the box and, in slow motion, soared overhead, across the living room. Eyes of horror, confusion and disgust watched as the poo took flight, eventually making impact, shattering and shooting shrapnel all across the hardwood floor.
Panic set in. Screams consumed the silent night air. Hands quickly covered mouths. Dry heaving commenced. The party was in shambles. It didn't take long for the meatwhistle football guys of the party to realize they'd been had. As they searched out the window and made their way down to the doorway, I bolted down the block back to the getaway truck. I jumped in the back, and Andy gunned the gas. The drive back was one of satisfaction.
Soon we found ourselves back where it all started in Andy's basement. We reveled in our recent doings. We were pleased. That will teach them for excluding us juniors. Perhaps in the future this will serve as a reminder to not stoop to such segregation. Just then Alley walked into the room. He presented a glass jar. A similar sinister smirk appeared across his face.
ALLEY: Hey guys, I just peed in this jar!
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
I would never be classified as a violent person, but if the lady from the Census Bureau calls me one more time, there's no telling what I might do. Bless her black and blue heart, but somehow we were chosen as participants for her quarterly survey. She calls every four months to ask us the same series of four million questions. Either my life isn't as exciting and ever-changing as most, or she needs to not call so frequently.
CENSUS LADY: Okay, this will only take about 20 minutes...
*1.5 hours later*
CENSUS LADY: Okay, and do you have any more children in your household, sir?
ME: You mean, more since the last time we did this four months ago?
CENSUS LADY: Yes, sir.
ME: Isn't that biologically impossible?
CENSUS LADY: Let me ask my supervisor.
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
Advertising Show and Tell.
I was going through some files on the ol' powerbook this morning when I stumbled across some campaigns I produced from a land that time forgot. I thought I'd share a smackerel of my findings with you via this interweb portal blog highway. Now, I understand the majority of the world hates advertising. I'm hoping you can at least stomach some of mine.
PRINT CAMPAIGN | US SKI TEAM
This is a campaign I produced about five years ago while working for a large agency in town known as DSW Partners. Since then, the giant conglomerate has gone the way of the hypercolor t-shirt.
PRINT AD ONE
PRINT AD TWO
PRINT AD THREE
PRINT AD FOUR
OUTDOOR CAMPAIGN | KNIGHT RIDDER
This is another campaign I produced while working at DSW Partners. The client needed an outdoor campaign to promote their many online city resources. What they didn't ask for, however, was a lot of immature potty humor. I figured it would be an added bonus. Surprise!
PRINT CAMPAIGN | MCQUEEN CRANES
This is a print campaign I produced last year for a small client of W's called McQueen Cranes. I learned, upon presenting, that the campaign tagline, "Reach Higher" was absolutely perfect, as the term "Reach" is used in the industry to differentiate cranes. Yup, I got lucky. But they don't know that.
PRINT AD ONE
PRINT AD TWO
PRINT AD THREE
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
Surely, my parents had high hopes for me.
Sadly, I ended up in advertising. But since I'm here, I thought I'd share with you a campaign I recently produced for a local lingerie shop. While working on said campaign, I found it incredibly enjoyable to say the word lingerie. It is such a magical word, that if used properly, could probably put an end to world hunger, war, and suffering. Go ahead, say it. Lingerie.
Monday, November 07, 2005
Seldom are the times in life when something literally takes your breath away.
Behold, one of those times: GüNTHER
Check out this miracle and join me for post-amazement discussion in the comments section.
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
There are certain things in this world that qualify as common knowledge.
These are things that, regardless of exterior influences, are unanimously understood and agreed upon by the greater whole. Examples would include, the sky is blue; water is tasteless; Neil Diamond sports coveted sideburns, fire is hot, and of course, I have no sense of style.
It all started a few days ago when my wife's friend, Jamie, called to let her in on a little secret. It turns out, she knows some guys, who know some guys, who know some guys, if you know what I mean? And if you know those guys, then you know. You know?
Allegedly, a small group of businessmen and tailors were scheduled to be in our area to fit and sell high profile knock off suits to the fashionably minded. I, not being in said category, was quickly encouraged to investigate by the Mrs. I reluctantly agreed to look into it.
No sooner than I agreed, I found myself wandering into a suburbian Residence Inn looking for room 134.
Now, traditionally, operating a business out of a motel suite would suggest a lack of legitimacy. But with the chance of me coming out of the experience not looking like I've slept in my clothes for a week, Hailey was more than willing to subject me.
As I walked down the hall, I neared room 134. The door was propped open by the bolt lock, allowing me to see a sliver of activity. I sheepishly poked my head through the door to witness a scene quite common in most caper/drug dealer movies. Fabric samples were spread throughout the suite. Designer ties covered the queen-sized bed. Catalogs showcasing quasi-hetero male models in pin stripes and long-toed dress shoes caked the coffee and end tables. Groups of people secretively huddled together quitely discussing color and pattern swatches, all the while keeping a close eye on their surroundings.
I was quickly confronted by the largest set of teeth, I'd ever seen. Topped by a grey mustache and a tan that would befuddle science itself, the man eagerly approached.
TEETH: Welcome! Welcome! Come in. My name is Andy Chud.
TEETH: Here is a price list. Do you know what you want?
ME: My wife sent me here to get a nice suit.
TEETH: Ohhhh kay then. Here are some fabric samples and some catalogs. Take a moment and find what you want and one of these geniuses will take your measurements.
Two hours later, one of said geniuses had his measuring tape dangerously close to my figs and berries. He scribbled down a rough sketch based on our loose (and language barrier ridden) conversation. He then carbon copied my credit card, promised that an Armani suit, tailored specifically for me, would arrive via Fedex in no more than six weeks, and I was on my way.
What just happened? Who did I just give my vital credit card information to? The lines in the road started to blur. I was confused. Lost. Scared. Finally, I arrived home.
HAILEY: So did you get a suit?
ME: I think so.
HAILEY: Do you like it?
ME: Not sure, I only saw pictures.
HAILEY: Well, what did it look like?
ME: I don't feel so hot. I think I'm going to lie down.
HAILEY: A new suit! I can't wait!
HAILEY: Oh, by the way, that's your Christmas present.