Yippie Ki Yay: Notes and Videos from Tokyo

Just enough time before Christmas to squeeze in a few tidbits from my latest trip in Japan.

So here I am knocking out the next season off Miss Pilot and in the middle of it I was called away to a wireless company prove how fast their data speeds are. How did I do it? I used the old fry shrimps in three seconds advertising metaphor...Impossible?

Take a peek:

All of this was happening while our friends in North Korea revealed their end game bullying Sony Pictures to pull the poorly conceived Interview from theaters in perpetuity. Who will save Sony from themselves? Perhaps Bruce Willis and Rudolph! Take a look at Fly Hard, a Die Hard/Rudolph Parody Trailer Movie Mashup:

My final bit of embarrassing work centers on my new ice cream commercial that began airing this week. (You may remember my previous headshaker from Lotte... However, this is ten times worse, but it pays the bills!:

At least there is Chocolate Eclair coffee at Starbucks here...More from Tokyo in the next column.

The Dress Code

An update on the 2014-15 Awards Season just as soon as I find a pair of slacks and a tie to wear in order to meet Duchess Kate and Prince William...

"Dear...whatever on Earth is Izzy wearing?"

In case you didn't know, the offspring of the world's original reality show [read England's Royal Family] is taking their press junket to the colonies in a few weeks. Imagine my horror surprise to discover that their passive aggressive ways are manifesting themselves in the form of a dress code! Yes, indeed, a dress code. Now like any good Media Guy, I have my share of appointment only clothes taking my advise from the great Bijan of Beverly Hills years ago, but a dress code to ask Duchess Kate about Scottish succession and crumpets seem a bit punitive. The office work from the royals is dripping with aristocratic icing and sounds something like this:

Journalists wishing to cover Royal engagements, whether in the United Kingdom or abroad, should comply with the dress code on formal occasions out of respect for the guests of The Queen, or any other member of the Royal Family.

Smart attire for men includes the wearing of a jacket and tie, and for women a trouser or skirt suit. Those wearing jeans or trainers will not be admitted and casually dressed members of the media will be turned away. This also applies to technicians.

Talk about taxation without representation! Didn’t John Hancock, George Washington and Paul Revere break free from British anarchy because they were tired of being bossed around 24/7? Kate and Billy aren't our respective Duchess and Prince so why do I have to change out of the standard Chic MG look ("smart blazer, Nordstrom black tee, Ferragamos and Armani jeans) just to ask a few fluff questions for the new column. The fearlessness of their requests are matched solely by their boldness!

So be warned: Any American reporter who wishes to be in the presence of their royal highnesses better think twice about showing up all Petite Bourgeoisie and disheveled, because Duchess Kate is anti-denim.

(By the way, I am sure I could Wikipedia this to get a semi-accurate answer, but why is Kate a Duchess and not a Princess? That would be my first and, most likely, last question before getting bounced from the presser...yet I digress...)

AMERICAN MUSIC AWARDS (#AMAs)

So where am I? 

I am, of course, at the American Music Awards right in the shadows of the Staples Center in Downtown Los Angeles.

Fresh manicure to go with a freshly-minted press credential.

Now I know what you're thinking that I should be praising Taylor Swift as accepted the first-ever Dick Clark Award for Excellence as she breathless took the award from the ageless Diana Ross. Swiftie confirmed what many of us already knew: Vinyl is back! She took to the offensive (take note Duchess Kate) with a masterfully crafted anti-streaming-service backhander with this golden nugget:

“What you did by going out and investing in music and albums is you are saying that you believe in the same thing that I believe in: that music is valuable and music should be consumed in albums and albums should be consumed as art and appreciated.”

She can make such speeches as the only artist ever (!) to have three albums sell more than a million copies in a single week,

Bleona, the Madonna of Albania

Yes, yes, I know I should be praising her, but all I could think about was that it's a good thing that Prince Bill and Duchess Kate weren't at L.A. Live trying to look cool for their bi-weekly People Magazine cover. They would have thought the dress code at the Nokia Theatre was most definitely Proletariat. Here's a quick sampling of the violators of the RH Dress Code:

Bleona

At least once an episode, the star of Bravo's Euros of Hollywood lets us know that she is the Madonna of Albania, sellout out her country's stadiums faster than they can sell tickets. I mean, according to her almost one in three Albanians have her poster taped to their bedroom walls (or ceilings). Based on that, she is certainly too big for tiny Albania and now she is ready to take over America. One thing is for sure, Kate would have made Bill take off his cashmere cloak and cover her up last night.

Frankie Grande

I mean why wouldn't Frankie Grande be there with his painted-on, button down t-shirt? At least Kate would

The Flamingo of Candyland Chippendale's.

have appreciated that he wore a pink bow-tie. I give him credit though because most people would have sweat through the Sherman-Williams mess with the Santa Ana winds blowing hot from the north. Not Frankie. He's a cool cat. He's the brother of the most famous Bratz Doll ever. And, he got to stroll down the red carpet in the first wave of D-listers.

Selena Gomez

Nothing breaks my heart more than Selena who just can't quit Bieber. One thing rings true, however. She knows how to dress. From her stunning black number on the red carpet to her beautiful dress on stage singing "The Heart Wants What it Wants" (an obvious ode to Biebs), Ms. Gomez never fails to look incredible.

JLo and Izzy

Well, that was definitely bum rubbing. The ABC executives won’t be too pleased. The rest of the performance consisted of Jennifer Lopez gyrating, arching her back, getting down on all fours and generally presenting her hindquarters. And that
concludes the American Music awards, perhaps in fitting style. It has, after all, been a very booty-centric year.

HOLLYWOOD FILM AWARDS

About a week before the #AMAs, the Hollywood Film Awards had their grand coming out party at Hollywood's dilapidated Palladium. The 18th annual (Eighteenth? Who knew?!) gala finally made it to prime time with its first televised performance in the history of the event. Although dismally-rated (0.5 rating / 2 share - which means less that 2% of all televisions is use were watching - FYI, the Oscars pulled in a 12.9 rating), the show does deliver quirky. Evidently they are carving their spot as the star-equivalent of a sloppy holiday office party. This year, Johnny Depp played the role of the creative director with who gets canned for draining a bottle of Grey Goose and copying his bottom before his speech announcing the complexities of the year-end bonus. This is my long-shelved untitled Don Draper Satire I hopped to get produced one day. Alas, a Media Guy can dream...

Depp was tabbed to present the Hollywood Documentary Award to Mike Myers (yes, Shrek) for his documentary about Hollywood talent manager Shep Gordon, Supermensch: The Legend of Shep Gordon. Apparently, Depp got some advance script pages and jumped right into character. I mean who knew they served copious amounts of booze at this awards show? How do I know? Because Pirate Johnny rolled in like a Lohan trying pick a drunk fight with an innocent microphone and trying in earnest to read the teleprompter. That failed attempt brought the ever-welcomed ad lib, where John went totally off-script with a swear-fest that would make Mel Gibson proud...which begs the question: what's eating Gilbert Grape...The best part is there is video evidence for this one...

Congrats Johnny. Pick up your promotional check backstage. At least the world now has an inking what the Hollywood Film Awards are!

And with all of that alcohol present, it’s no surprise that all of undergarments worn failed to do their job. Because honestly, it's not a messy office party until someone’s privates accidentally pop out of their clothing right, right? 

Professional money maker ($20 annually according to Forbes) and the miserable poster child Kristen Stewart brought home the female Lohan award for sloppy presentation when she flashed America (well at least a million of us) her nipples.

Her  team (aka sources close to Kristen) went into full court press immediately: “She is not worried about it. It’s not a big deal. If people want to see her naked, she’d rather it be from the movies she has done with nudity, but this happened and she has already forgotten about it...it’s certainly not the worst thing cameras have caught from her. Not a big deal at all.”

That quote brought a chuckle because the “worst thing cameras have caught” was getting caught Cheaters letting a married director snack on her in the front seat of his Mini Cooper.

Whatever her official reaction, one thing is for sure: Duchess Kate would not be pleased with her dress code faux pas.

More from the #AMAs

Before the madness on the Red Carpet

JLo - in one of my best pictures ever

"I've got a blank space and I'll write your name..."

Meghan Trainor delights with her lips purse

Stunning Selena

Izzy and JLo - candy-striped and bootylicious

So, Selena, is that Biebs trying behind the wall...?

Being in a bear suit on the red carpet is in a Coca-Cola bear costume is a whole lotta fun...

The Queen of Shade

A couple of years ago, I wrote about the critical points of being a handler for celebrities on the red carpet. What I didn't tell you about was what to do when your celebrity becomes red carpet hog. Remember the old adage: "Pigs get fed and hogs get slaughtered"...well, that's exactly what happened to Lea Michele.

Okay, so where am I?

AHS co-stars Paulson and Roberts

At the Los Angeles premiere of American Horror Story. The red carpet was buzzing with the normal magpies (aka paparazzi) imploring celebs to look their way and pose a certain way. Usually each quasi-star, celeb or show exec takes their 90-second allotment, preening and twirling so the print folks can get their snaps off and then they move on to the television media for sound bite moments.

So while the likes of Angela Bassett, Sarah Paulson, Evan Peters, Emma Roberts and Gabourey Sidibe humbly (did I just use "humbly" and "red carpet" in the same story?) took their recommended time, Lea Michele decided to drop anchor, lapping up the faux raise of the boys with the cameras.

And just on cue (according to the veteran stalker, er, cameraman next to me) she did what she always does: She nearly fractured her neck, L4 and L5 lumbars like a "Dance Moms" concert audition contestant while on Quaaludes and Uppers. I mean for goodness sakes, she's doesn't even have a sniff from IMDB for this show and she was still posing like Jane Lynch is calling our her praises on her beloved megaphone.

With a bolt of thunder and lightning, like only the Queen of Shade can deliver, Jessica Lange delivered the ultimate red carpet diss.

You should know this fact: if there’s one thing Jessica Lange doesn’t have time for, it’s everything. But if there’s one thing Jessica Lange REALLY doesn’t have time for, it’s some bugglegum faux star trying to cop a little golden shine from her Emmy statue while doing a seven-minute sexy pose marathon on HER red carpet.

So while backing up the red carpet like rush hour on the 405 freeway and posing for her life ala Arnold Schwarzenegger in Pumping Iron, Lea absorbs a glimpse of the real star out of the corner of her eye. Her eyes light up like you and I do when the Pizza Hut guy pulls up after 55 minutes as Queen Jess of Shade power strolls toward her.

Now, quick aside...In Lea’s flashbulb drenched mind, now obviously dulled by seven minutes of eye piercing strobelights, she believe that Jess is going to stop dead in her tracks when she realizes that Princss Lea is there, embrace her Oscars style, drop to her knees and proclaim her love of song and ask her to perform a ravishing acappella ditty. We all knew that Lea would happily sing for Queen Jess and then with the paparazzi's continually urging, the red carpet turns into a Lea Michele Benefit Concert. 

And that's exactly what happened...except just the opposite, Let's go to the tape...(for extra fun, skip past the pose fest to the 1:04 mark to watch the Queen of Shade in action)...

Pull up that anchor bitches, your current Emmy winner is coming through...

INITIAL REACTION: Lea’s Priya Ali bronzer instantly turned pasty white from all that shade Queen Jess threw at her. However, this is more than shade could ever hope to be. This right here at the 1:04 mark is the greatest diss in the history of red carpet.

MEDIA GUY REACTION: Lea Michele needs a someone with some gumption [read: HUEVOS], to give her their own brand of shade on the red carpet, because when the celeb backup begins, the bitchy heat rises like the July sand in Qatar. Really, there's no such thing as bad press (well, there is), but that last hing you want your client being know as the actress who was honored to be snubbed by Jessica Lange.

Red carpet looks: Lange (l) and AHS Alum Angela Bassett (r)

Lea was on the red carpet so long that even Darren Criss photobombed her!

Oh Jane...jeans AND no megaphone?!

Spending $4 Million+ at ComicCon in 9 Easy Purchases

Do yourself a favor if you jump into the media world: Stay away from the bourgeoisie state of mentality. Shoot for the lowest common denominator. This is whats sells product...the masses.

Get in touch with your inner 19th century French side and think of it this way:

• The Bourgeoisie are those who own the land, the factories, the resources, the materials, and who employ the proletariat. However, they are disconnected from the production process while gaining from the output of the proletariat. 
• The Petite Bourgeoisie are the people who may employ the labor of others, but are also working themselves. They may be shopkeepers or professionals. They may have resources, but do not profit exclusively from the labor of others.
• The Proletariat is the working class, people who sell their labor. 

So where am I? Tonight I'll be at the Baltimore Orioles-Kansas City Royals American League Championship Opener for one of the Big Four networks dining on some delectable crab cakes in the press box (**** - See Andrew Zimmerman's recipe at the bottom for some homemade treats). Yes, good copy editors are hard to find and sometime I get a plum assignment or two. Yet, I digress.

Press Box Crab Cakes - Yum!

This morning I am at ComicCon in the land were a Twitter tweet can stop a union run commercial shoot, New York City. Yes, the Big Apple knows how to cater the Bourgeoisie and the common nerd. Regulars to the Media Struggles know my appreciation of Comics--to the Batman Media Conglomerate, to getting a College Degree to International Read A Comic in Public Day--this under appreciated artform is the backbone of American entertainment. I caught up with Bryan Menegus, a noted expert and writer in the field and he said, "While comics may have started as disposable entertainment, it's no secret that many books can fetch a hefty sum based on their rarity, CGC grade*, illustrator, and/or characters that may have first appeared in them."

The Proletariat has become The Bourgeoisie it seems. So without further delay, here are some of the most expensive items and what made them so pricy:

$17,000

Original Palitoy Star Wars figures, complete set  

All twelve original Star Wars figures from Palitoy.

Jordan Hembrough, Hollywood Heroes:

"They’re the first 12 [figures] that came out back in the 1970s and these were done by Palitoy Corp. which was over in England. They weren’t available in the United States and the Palitoy Cards — the packaging from Palitoy — is extremely valuable right now."

$20,000

Gobbledygook #1 and Gobbledygook #2

The comics that gave is the Ninja Turtles

Brian Tatge, Motor City Comics:

"Gobbledygook is very sought-after because it's the book that Kevin Eastman and Peter Laird put together to get the funding so they could produce Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles #1. So they did 50 of them... and distributed [them] within the Massachusetts area, where the guys were from. Once they were gone, they were gone. Up until the Internet, they were super hard to find. Some people classify it as the first appearance of the Turtles, so it sort of depends on your feeling on that."

$35,000

Pep Comics #22 [Restored**, CGC Grade 8.0]

Yes, that's a swastika - 1941 was a strange time for comics.

Dan Gallo, Overstreet advisor and ebay store owner: 

"What makes this book popular is that it’s the first Archie. Most people don’t realize that Archie has been around for a very long time. Not only is this the first Archie, but it’s extremely rare. There’s only 10 restored copies and 10 unrestored copies ever graded by the CGC, so that’s 20. I'm sure there’s more than 20 people on planet Earth that would like to have the first appearance of Archie."

$45,000

Strange Tales #110 [CGC Grade 9.4]

Have you heard of Dr. Strange? If not you soon will...

Robert Storms, High Grade Comics: 

"It’s the first appearance of Doctor Strange and Marvel is doing a new movie, so that’s increased the price. Doctor Strange basically doubled in price in the last year since the movie announcement."

$65,000

Robert Crumb complete four-page story

Too rich for your blood? Keep on truckin'...

 Scott Eder, gallery owner: 

"Robert Crumb is probably the greatest living illustrator, internationally. He’s in museum holdings like the Museum of Modern Art, he’s represented by the world’s most important gallerist, David Zwirner. He’s an underground comics legend and godfather. One of the most important American artists."

$75,000

Original art from Spider-Man #32  

VRRROOOM! Steve Ditko's hand touched that piece of paper - I may never wash again!

Mike Burkey, Romitaman Original Art:  

"The main thing is because Steve Ditko drew it. Steve Ditko is the first person that drew Spider-Man. Pages with Spider-Man on it by Steve Ditko just go for incredible amounts of money. Like at auction, a page from #29 with no Scorpion on it, just Spider-Man swinging, went for $125,000 like three years ago. It’s just supply and demand for this stuff."

$250,000

Cover of Spider-Man #300

The content and number of an issue can be as important as the artist who drew it.

Barry Sandoval, Heritage Auctions: 

"Well it’s Spider-Man #300, which is one of the most famous comic issues of the modern era. It’s from Todd McFarlane’s tenth year on Spider-Man, which was a huge fan favorite and a huge top-seller. We sold a different McFarlane cover for around $650,000 a couple years ago. There’s really intense interest in his art. CEOs of companies, doctors, lawyers, people in the financial field, a lot of people in the entertainment industry. Movie directors and such, you know, collect comics."

$550,000

Detective Comics #27 [Restored, CGC Grade 9.4]

Holy lifetime of debt, Batman!

Will Mason, Dave & Adam's:

"This is Detective Comics #27, the highest-graded copy in existence. It’s worth this much because this is the origin and first appearance of Batman. It debuted in 1939 and it’s also the first appearance of Commissioner Gordon. Just to give you a little bit of a background, the first Batman — which is Detective #27 — and the first Superman — which is Action Comics #1 — are considered holy grails of comic books. The reason this is only $550,000 is that it is a restored copy. That’s the reason why it’s got a purple label on it. But it is the highest graded copy in existence."

$3,200,000+

Action Comics #1 [CGC Grade 9.0]

Proud (and dapper) owner of the most expensive comic book in the world

Vincent Zurzolo, Metropolis/Comicconnect:

"Action Comics #1 is so valuable because it is the first appearance of Superman, and Superman is the first superhero. So without Superman there’d be no Batman, there’d be no Spider-Man, X-Men, Fantastic Four, Flash, Green Lantern — none of them. Superman is the character that started it all. He is the archetype from which all other superheroes are derived. There are less than a hundred copies known to exist in the world, and very few of them in unrestored condition. This copy happens to be the highest-graded copy — in 9.0 condition — with white pages. We just purchased it for $3.2 million and we’re extremely excited about it. We feel this book has a lot of upside potential... we will be selling this and making a profit. I can guarantee that. We’re not in a position where we desperately need to sell it. If we were we would not have bought it. But it’d go for north of $3.2 million, obviously.”

-------------------------------------------

****Baltimore-Style Crab Cakes

CONTRIBUTED BY ANDREW ZIMMERN
ACTIVE: 25 MIN
TOTAL TIME: 1 HR 25 MIN
SERVINGS: 4

This is the best crab cake recipe you will ever find. If you don’t overmix, and don’t pack your mounds too tightly, you will experience pure, unadulterated crab cake heaven. Seriously, they are that good. Follow the steps to the letter and you will be making these cakes every opportunity you have. For years I searched for a great crab cake recipe. I wanted one that didn’t have a lot of filler, had no minced red pepper, no parsley—none of the usual crap that chefs typically ruin a good crab cake with. There is, in fact, a right and a wrong way to cook some foods, and putting a lot of junk in a crab cake is one of the biggest transgressions I find in American cookery. Anyway, one night about 20 years ago, my best friend’s wife (who is from Baltimore) shared her mother’s secret "country club" recipe for crab cakes. This is it, verbatim. I make these in double batches and put the leftovers in the fridge. If you haven’t eaten a cold crab cake on toast with sliced tomato and Russian dressing, then you are really missing out.

I also make these as a master batch: Instead of just eight, I make 24 to 26 mini donut-hole-size crab cakes for parties.

Team these with homemade slaw, a warm potato salad and some fruit salad, and watch your family go to it like a swarm of locusts. Guaranteed.

INGREDIENTS

1/2 cup mayonnaise
1 large egg, beaten
1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
1/2 teaspoon hot sauce
1 pound jumbo lump crab meat, picked over
20 saltine crackers, finely crushed
1/4 cup canola oil
Lemon wedges, for serving

PREP

1. In a small bowl, whisk the mayonnaise with the egg, mustard, Worcestershire sauce and hot sauce until smooth.

2. In a medium bowl, lightly toss the crabmeat with the cracker crumbs. Gently fold in the mayonnaise mixture. Cover and refrigerate for at least 1 hour.

3. Scoop the crab mixture into eight 1/3-cup mounds; lightly pack into 8 patties, about 1 1/2 inches thick. In a large skillet, heat the oil until shimmering. Add the crab cakes and cook over moderately high heat until deeply golden and heated through, about 3 minutes per side. Transfer the crab cakes to plates and serve with lemon wedges.

-------------------------------------------

By the way, here are some interesting pictures from Camden Yards at Oriole Park:

On the field, prepping for game one of the ALCS...

Eutaw Street marker of Rafael Palmeiro's 413' homer in 1998.

Press box - replete with bad phones!

The Babe Ruth statue is just short of breathtaking.

This Column's Fine Print

*CGC, or Comics Guaranty, is in independent grading service that launched in 2000 whose purpose is to determine how well preserved a book is. The scores are given out of 10, and the color of the label implies its state: blues are unadulterated books, purples are restored, greens have a significant defect and yellows are books that have been signed in the presence of a CGC employee. 

**Restoration can be accomplished in a number of ways including conservation (removal of dirt, debris, or stains) leaf casting (which fills in missing paper that may have rotted away) and color touch (recoloring worn pages). The process can be quite expensive, and restored comics are usually worth less than a blue labelled version of the same book.  

**ComicCon picture credits: Bryan Menegus 

Vision Dreams of Passion

Okay, so where am I? 

I'm in the middle of Hollywood with some interns (no, not Lewinsky-types, actual interns interviewing me for a Pepperdine University thesis they are writing for their masters degrees.)

We were at a Starbucks because I was still reeling from losing $100 in the office pool. I bet all my M&Ms money that George Clooney was going to get up, put on his best black Oscars night leftover suit, start sweating profusely, text “ABORT! ABORT!” to an unlisted number, and wait for a helicopter flown by Leo DiCaprio and a dozen 25-year-old models to rescue him and fly to Bang-A-Ho Island where he can be single forever. But he didn’t do that, and now someone from accounting is happily skipping to the 7-11 to buy $100 worth of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos and day-one pizza slices. THANKS ALOT GEORGE!

I haven't been interviewed in a long time. The last time was that Italian Business Week-esque debacle that still has the Eastern Mediterranean villagers sharpening their pitchforks and lighting their makeshift torches. Yet I digress...

So, "This fame thing?" I tell them, "Really f**ked me up for a really long time. I didn’t know how to do it; I didn’t know how to engage with it; it stressed me out. And people would say, ‘You just have to be yourself,’ and I was like, ‘But I don’t know who that is yet!’ New York. If you can make it there, you can make it anywhere. I need to get back there. Once upon a time I was famous in New York. The ad exec knew I would bring them the best commercials and juice stories.

The bottom line remains for those jumping into advertising: Don't do it!

Advertising is the industry that people who were not lucky enough to get actual "creative" jobs end up in. These people—creative people whose artistic or literary dreams did not work out, often due to economic forces far beyond their control—find themselves in a position in which they are obliged to use their creative talents for purely commercial ends. Selling soap, so to speak. This causes quite a bit of cognitive dissonance. These people therefore expend quite a bit of time and effort justifying the position they find themselves in, in life. (As do we all!) Having justified their position to themselves, they seek to bolster their justification by attracting others like themselves into their same field. The more creative artists who do advertising for a living, the more of a real, justifiable, creative career it must be. They therefore use their considerable creative talents to sell the field of advertising itself, to their peers.

Do not fall for it, kids. Don't go into advertising.

Advertising is a far more stable career than art, or music, or writing books, or journalism—the fields that many of the people in advertising wanted to go into, originally. Those creative and artistic fields are extremely competitive. They are harder to break into. They tend to be less lucrative. Forging a successful career in any of them through one's own creativity alone is a dream that will come true only for a relatively low number of people. Lots of people want to be famous musicians. Only few will achieve that. For the rest, the advertising industry awaits, ready to use those same creative talents to sell things. Advertising is a field that is not going away. It will take you just as readily as the cold, uncaring whims of public attention will spit you out. It is a profession in which you can build a stable career. It is a good living. And Mad Men. Mad Men. So glamorous.

Don't go into advertising.

Advertising offers the creative person a bargain: You can use your creativity. Just not for yourself. In fact, you must use your creative skills in the service of something diametrically opposed to the ideals that creative people generally espouse. You will sell your creativity, for a tidy sum, to the world's faceless corporations. You, the artist, will paint their faces. You, the musician, will give these corporations their voice. You, the writer, will help these corporations speak poetically. Your creativity is pooled and used to give character to something that has no character: a corporation, a machine that makes money. Your talents are used to give that machine a soothing, attractive halo. This, at the end of your advertising career, will be the sum total of your creative output. This will be your artistic legacy. This will be what all of your poetry has accomplished. A pretty face on the machine. You, yourself, and your own soul are not part of this equation. Your own creativity does not serve those things any more.

Don't go into advertising.

Your creativity, as trite as it sounds, is worth more than that corporation will ever pay you. We all need jobs. There is nothing wrong with doing something that is not your dream job, out of necessity. But it doesn't have to be advertising. If you are young, you have time to try a lot of things. Try to be a writer. Try to make it with your band. Try to be a working artist. If it doesn't work out financially, at least you gave it a shot. And you never have to stop making art, regardless of your circumstances. Unless you agree to sell your creativity to that machine.

The advertising industry wants you. They need you. Without you, and your creativity, all the corporations lose their faces. They're not pretty any more. They need you, and your creativity, the same way that a vampire needs blood. They'll pay you handsomely. But it will never, ever be worth it.

Don't do it!

OMG! A Sold-Out Burning Man

The real story for August is Burning Man. How many of you know Burning Man? You know, the annual festival devoted to radical self-reliance and self-expression...?

Okay, so where am I?

Well...

I decided to make the pilgrimage to better understand a world I had immersed myself in, downtown Las Vegas, where Zappos CEO Tony Hsieh is investing a portion of his personal fortune into what he hopes will become a sustainable entrepreneurial ecosystem. There are streaks of Burning Man everywhere (e.g., a 40 ft.-praying mantis spews out fire every night near the new Zappos campus), and I wanted to see the inspiration for myself.

But getting to my destination proved to be more expensive and challenging than I ever anticipated. Tickets are $380, and factoring in transportation, camp dues, and basic survival gear, it cost around $2,000 just to get through the gate—the bare minimum by most standards. For many of the 70,000 revelers, expenses skyrocket well past that amount. Black Rock City still operates as a sharing (or “gifting”) economy, but commercialization lies just beyond the festival’s borders.

You’ll only need 200-something items…

I found an at-value ticket in mid-August, which was lucky, because the last-minute “OMG” tickets were already sold out. To claim my ticket, I met my seller at a luxury apartment building in downtown Las Vegas, where I was greeted by two 20-somethings who presented the golden ticket while playing guitar and wearing rabbit ears. Along with it, they handed me an official Burning Man Survival Guide outlining the festival’s 10 principles.

“You have to prepare for everything,” a longtime burner warned me. “The weather can be extreme and highly unpredictable.” In Black Rock City, temperatures often reach over 100ºF during the day and can dip below freezing once the sun sets. Windstorms are a normal occurrence, and in whiteout conditions, winds can reach around 70mph. “Survival first,” she stressed. “Costumes last.” Having moved to Las Vegas with just two suitcases only a few weeks prior, I barely had enough everyday clothing on hand, nevertheless survival gear or costumes.

An acquaintance shared with me a Google doc with her 200-some item list of supplies, saying that she ordered everything off Amazon, but it was too late for that. Instead, I made the rounds between Target, Home Depot, and Walmart to cover a host of items, including goggles (night vision and regular), LED lights, cold-weather gear and boots (to protect against the alkaline dust).

“Will this bike work?” asked my friend Ian, who looked oversized sitting on a small pink child’s bike underneath the florescent lights at Target near the outskirts of the city. At around $100, it was the cheapest option to take to Black Rock City, so I went with it, trying to be practical—though it didn’t last long on the playa. When I finally reached the cash register, my card declined three times; a US Bank representative told me that racking up such a high bill at a Las Vegas Target qualified as unusual activity.

Walking through the store aisles, I was simultaneously on the phone with the person who might be subleasing my Encino apartment for the year. Worried that the cost of Burning Man might make my bank account go negative, I asked her, “Is there any way you could wire the security deposit this week?”

Thankfully she did.

Planes, trains and automobiles

I was determined make it to Black Rock City, and there was no turning back.


I contemplated flying to Reno and renting a car alone (which easily would have doubled my budget), and even asked an acquaintance if I could helicopter in with him and a friend, but they didn’t have room. I finally sent a mass email out to some downtown Las Vegas residents, but no one responded. To no avail, I joined a Las Vegas Burning Man Group on Facebook, and landed a ride with two strangers nearly hours before they were leaving. I quickly went to the nearest Bank of America to wire them transportation costs and secure my place. It felt like the equivalent of modern-day hitchhiking.

If finding a ride was a feat in itself, so was finding a camp. Earlier that summer a Silicon Valley entrepreneur alluded to finding one for me, but in the final days before the event, all of his friends’ camps were full. Through a Burning Man meet-up event at the GoldSpike, I met the owner of a Las Vegas entertainment company, who graciously invited me to join his group. Dues to join the camp were only around $150 plus two bottles of hard alcohol—quite reasonable by most standards—and the base volunteer requirement was taking on shifts pouring drinks for revelers to attract them to the camp’s 24/7 sound stage. Several of my camp mates worked on the Last Vegas Strip as DJs, burlesque dancers and promoters, and Burning Man was just an extension of their daily lives.

So much for showers

Soon after arriving, I discovered that three things I usually take for granted would become luxuries on the playa: bathing, sleeping, and eating regular food. The shower at my camp — a makeshift pulley system built on a wooden structure and encapsulated in blue tarp—broke early on, so I gave up on traditional showers for the rest of the week. Because our camp was located just off the Esplanade, the road closest to the center of all activity, music from the art cars waxed and waned throughout the night, making it difficult to fall asleep at any hour. During the day, I learned, it was simply too hot to sleep inside a tent under the desert sun (I also noted that next time I’d bring a battery-powered fan).

Longtime burners had told me that “you can find anything you need” on the playa, and while in some respects that’s truer in Black Rock City than anywhere else, some things were elusive. There was one occasion where I decided to search for fresh fruit, only to look up and see a young man carrying a crate of oranges, but that was the exception. Mostly I lived off of Cliff bars and water, and when I received a dinner invitation to another camp one evening, I gladly accepted.

With the camp’s address written on my arm (there is no Internet or cell phone service on most of the playa), I walked into a space that was cordoned off by air-conditioned luxury RVs. A woman with a clipboard stood at the entrance of the dining tent, checking off names for the chef-prepared meals, and stopped me before I could go any further. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Your name isn’t on the list.” Instead, a friend brought out a bag of Cheeze-Its and a soda from the refreshment table, and we stood outside until dinner was over.
Earlier that day, I had ventured to the edge of the deep playa.

Surrounded by miles of white dust and looking over the hazy horizon, an eerie silence filled the air, with the temporary city far off in the distance. That’s a place I’d like to visit again, but unfortunately not this summer— it’s too expensive.

Here's some awesome photos from the festival: