Everyone's a Creative

During a recent and sudden storm that blew through the neighborhood in a matter of minutes, a trash can was blown over on the side of the house. It fell in just the perfect way that it sheared off an outdoor spigot at the wall, so water was gushing all over the place. I shut off the main and went about searching for a plumber. Now sure, I probably could've fixed this myself. Eventually. I'm not above a little home repair and enjoy learning new things, but when you don't have water and you can't flush toilets or take a shower and it's 95 degrees outside, time is sort of against you if you're going to make a few runs to Home Depot in between checking forums and boards on how to fix this thing you've never tried to fix before. My trusty iPhone was fairly useless in finding a plumber but I'd long ago trashed all my Yellow Pages, certain they were bulky relics of another era, like encyclopedias. iPhone's first recommendation was very near to me, but they were new construction plumbers exclusively and wondered how I'd even found them. They recommended someone else. I called that recommendation who long ago got out of the plumbing business but recommended someone else. Turned out third time's the charm and they could fix this thing. "So the hose bib broke off?" asked the dispatcher. Uncertain of what a "hose bib" was, I pretended to know and said, "Yes."

Soon after, a large man with flowing white hair and a huge, matching beard appeared in a white van. Sort of a Santa Claus plumber, and I'm sure he gets some part-time gigs around the Holidays. He was the rare type of contractor who doesn't mind the homeowner looking over his shoulder as he explains what he does. Usually that will piss a guy off, but Santa was in a jolly mood. He said he could fix this thing with ease and he rummaged through his van for a long time. It wasn't long before I was starting to think, "This dick is trying to milk this job, taking way longer than he needs to for a simple 'hose bib.'"

He eventually explained, "I could've put a simple hose bib on there down where it broke off, but then you'd be thinking, 'That guy charged me for an hour and he hardly did anything.'" He went about connecting pieces and adding fittings, clamping this and cutting that as he continued, "See, if I just did the minimum, then you don't even get to see my talent." He said that word with pride. "Might as well give you your full hour's worth." He fashioned a nice little bunch of right angles that went up the wall above where the old spigot sat and locked it all down with anchors and brass, assuring me no silly, errant trash can would ever fuck with this bad-ass spigot again. As he was leaving, he said he does it that way so that when it comes time to replumb this old house (and that time is coming) I might think of the guy who took the time to do the job right rather than just what was needed to get it done. He can rest assured that I will. They call that Customer Service. It's a dying art.

It made me think of all the out-of-work creatives looking for work in a steadily dying industry. Or the struggling agency or consultancy wondering where the new business is. Maybe when we eventually take work outside of our chosen profession, we will still approach things with creativity, not resentment, finding the joy, and dare I say it, "art," in something as simple as stacking the clean dishes or sweeping a floor, finding the satisfaction in doing a job right. You don't have to make pretty, eye-catching designs or write compelling, witty copy to be considered "creative." And come to think of it, no one is going to edit this plumber's work. There will be no re-dos.

Guy's name was John. He was a creative.

Previously in Everyone's a Creative:

Production By Committee

Tree Trimmer Artists

Presenting: "Where's My Jetpack?" The Song and The Video

Or: Unemployment Will Make a Man do Weird Things, Part III.

I've put together a song - and a video to go along with it, and I really like how they both turned out. (You're free not to.) It's called, not surprisingly, "Where's My Jetpack?" I went ahead and created a jetpack of sorts for this video. Don't try this at home. Or do. It was a load of fun.

Much thanks go to the phenomenally talented Professor Fred Leo, musician extraordinaire, for his expert advice during the creation of the audio track.


Enjoy...or don't.

Where's My Jetpack? from Radio Free Babylon on Vimeo.

Using the Facebook Vimeo embed here since the sound quality of YouTube leaves much to be desired.

Also, any perceived homage to ancient rockers from Boston is entirely intentional. Best to turn it up loud.  

Make it "Pop"

Why is it that when AEs are talking to graphic designers and art directors about an upcoming print ad, they usually ask for something that "pops"? It's their favorite art word - and yet it doesn't mean anything. Then they turn to the copywriter and reiterate how important it is that we "include a strong call to action." I think I'm going to write a call to action that says, "We call you to action!"

Hurry act now don't wait supplies are limited call now don't wait run don't walk log on to click on don't wait another day

And before some snide weasel comes along to tell me that advertising is not about art, it's about sales - thanks, I know.

Open Mic Night: Typeface Edition

After the events of last week’s open mic night edition, I found myself in Florida, looking for work as a writer while I made some quick living cash as a member of a landscaping crew. It was a small operation, and we basically just maintained the really nice yards of really nice homes. We'd do about 20 yards a day. It was easily the most satisfying job I’ve ever held.

I fell in love with riding a mower like this, and likened it to a sport. You’re standing on this one-wheeled platform cruising through the St. Augustine grass and running around with a weed eater, an edger and a blower making lawns look beautiful. If the lawn had hills and sharp turns, all the better, as it felt like some sort of offroad race track. It's a great workout too. What added to the satisfaction of the job was this weird sense of accomplishment when a yard was done. It was production by committee, but much different from how it works in an agency or a studio. No one is going to say, “No, I think you should mow it this way,” or “Can we get a sharper edge on that curb?” When a job was done, it was done, and everyone knew it. Then off we’d truck to the next nice home in one more identical suburb.

Of course, mowing lawns doesn’t pay well, and eventually I found a “real” job, but not before I observed some things during the summer of '02 as a ‘scaper, which worked themselves into a song recorded at home. It's merely a demo and doesn't need any production critique. I'm fully aware of the many areas in which it sucks. Guitar was straight into the computer. Drums are canned. It’s called "Time’s New Romans" and is found in the top of the sidebar until next week's edition replaces it. Lyrics are here.

I’ve got plans to make this the title track of my fourth CD, which is sort of getting way ahead of myself, as albums 1 through 3 aren’t even produced yet. See the companion website here.

Archived Open Mic Night Music is found here.

Open Mic Night - Numero Dos

As I promised back on my one year anniversary as one more ad blogger in a sea of ad blogs, I'm going to start putting up songs in the top of the sidebar for you to mock and despise. The song up there now is called "André Cliché (Talk to Me)."

There is no genre for this music as far as I know, so I've dubbed it NeoFolkFunk. This recording is still in production. It was done at a cool studio in Dallas that holds as its claim to fame "the place where Vanilla Ice recorded Ice Ice Baby." (Erykah Badu has also recorded there.) The drummer, a former colleague, had only heard the tune the night before and did his part in one take. (He also hadn't drummed in a few years) My vocals have yet to be done correctly and we also need something else on there, just what I don't know yet. Maybe a trumpet. Doesn't matter though, as money for production dried up and the tapes now sit languishing in Dallas. So it's sort of raw still. If you can't make out the lyrics, they're here.

It's a story-song about the kind of guy everyone knows and no one likes.

Archived Open Mic Night music will be housed here.