Che Palle!*

Okay, so where am I?

I'm at the airport having a rather pointed conversation with the Alitalia desk manager about the upgrade to business class I just paid for my trip to Rome where I may or my not be going for a short film shoot. Although I paid my $950 to gain entry into a lay flat -- I mean seriously, sometimes you

No business class lounge? Che palle!*

need a little luxury on a 12-hour flight -- I was not going to get to check an second piece of luggage or get entry into the business class class lounge. Her reasoning was that I paid for the seat but not the "experience" of being in business class.

Che palle!* I semi-loudly told her. In all of the years I've flown business class, I was never without access to the business lounge to accompany my ticket. Sadly, I relented taking my boarding pass and reminding the desk manager that no good press could ever occur with the access a business class ticket entitles you worldwide.

Funny thing about his exchange was that I knew exactly three expressions in Italian ("Ciao" - hello, "Addio all'amore" - goodbye with love, and "Che palle!" - what balls!) and this one came in handy, although not very effective. Which got me thinking...

I made pizza from scratch...che figata!

What are the handful of Italian expressions that are an essential addition to any vocabulary, especially when you're in Rome, Florence, or Milan? (Note to self: Don't use any of these in Naples or Sicily. Why? Watch the Godfather II.). These are the expressions you’ll hear them all over the streets and if you understand them, it will make you much more fun to speak with.


* - Che palle! (keh PAL-leh). Translated word for word as, “What balls!” it’s the short and sweet equivalent to “What a pain in the ass!” Tack it onto the end of any annoying activity for added emphasis: “We have to climb all those stairs? Che palle!” or mumble it under your breath when someone causes you general agitation: “Put a scarf on or you’ll get pneumonia!” Che palle.

Boxed wine? Mi fa cagare!

Che figata (keh fee-GAH-tah). A journey through Italy will leave you with many opportunities o use and hear, “What a cool thing!” I crushed grapes at a winery today! “Che figata!”  We learned how to make handmade pizza! “Che figata!” “It’s official. I found these Pradas for 20% off!” “Che figata!”

Mi fa cagare! (mee fah cah-GAH-reh). Italians take expressing discontent to a another level with the descriptive “It makes me poop,” leaving us English speakers in the dust with our much less dramatic, “It’s terrible.” “That restaurant? Mi fa cagare!” “His tight pants? Mi fa cagare!” 

Get a room...Che schifo!

Figurati! (Fee-GUH-rah-tee). “Don’t worry about it!” or “It’s nothing!” As you would in English, you can use it when you mean it: “Thank you so much for the great meal!” “Figurati!” Or to be nice when you don’t: “I’m sorry I spilled red wine on your brand new, white Gucci shirt.” “Figurati!”

Magari! (mah-GAHR-ee!). The Italian version of “I wish!” “Let’s hope!” or “Maybe!” When someone asks you if you plan on coming back to Italy or owning a Tuscan villa, you can respond with “Magari!” (because of course you do). “Magari” is also a good play to  for playing it cool before your walk of shame: “Will we ever see each other again?” “Magari!”

Che schifo! (keh SKEE-foh). “How disgusting!” Here are a few cases where you will encounter the need to screech “che schifo” The couple on your boat boat think they’re in their bedroom: “Che schifo!” A pigeon poops on your shirt: “Che schifo!” You see a 69 year-old man boldly hitting on a 19 year-old girl: “Che schifo!”

The Most Racist Commercial Ever

I don't begin to be an authority on race relations or all things racist. After all, I'm a white guy who has a decent amount of education in a white collar job. According to the masses, making it America is right up my alley...

...however, I do have just a little expertise on the the subject of cross-culturalism having grown up in Compton and Inglewood in the early and mid-seventies and later working on Middle Eastern tourism accounts in a post-9/11 America. Talk about stereotypes...I lived inside of them! You could ask for a better sitcom setup than being the only five year-old caucasian kid in all-black Los Angeles neighborhood or the same guy as an adult rolling around downtown Damascus leading journalists on tours of the next great world destination.

Mrs. Lee's husband was some hot-shot...

Soooooooooo, one thing I can spot from a distance is a racism and racist advertising. Even in the 1970s, when no one cared about racist or sexist advertising (well, at least not enough to impact real change) I could spot these ads.

In the seventies, you couldn't turn on the television without seeing a Calgon commercial. The iconic "Take Me Away" ad, created by Ketchum Advertising, endured for decades in various forms. Take Me Away earned a spot in The Advertising Slogan Hall of Fame (yeah that's a thing). But it older advertising sibling, "Ancient Chinese Secret," earned itself a spot in the Media Guy Hall of Shame (no, that's not a thing).

“Ancient Chinese Secret” takes place in a hole-in-the-wall big city laundry run by a Chinese couple. In the '70s, Asian-Americans seemingly couldn't appear on American television unless they were serving up karate chops, walking around in the background as Chinatown gangsters or running laundries at the pleasure of the bourgeois (maybe things haven't changed much actually). The (probably) very caucasian copywriters who dreamed up “Ancient Chinese Secret” had to have lived in a world where Americans only understood Asian Americans (called then "Orientals") as people who were extremely adept at getting stains out of bell bottoms. Without a Commissioner of Logic running around checking approved copy, this beauty hit the airways:

Let's dive into this spot just a bit.

OVERLY CAUCASIAN CUSTOMER:

How do you get your shirts so clean, Mr. Lee?

(The flummoxed, overly caucasian customer can't seem to understand how flirty Mr. Lee can get shirts so clean.)

MR. LEE

Ancient Chinese Secret.

(Cut to Mrs. Lee who probably works her ass off in back in a suggesting that while Mr. Lee can wear a pressed blue Brooks Brothers dress shirt, while Mrs. Lee still longs for the old country in her traditional cultural dress.)

MRS. LEE

My husband, some hot-shot. 

Here's his ancient Chinese secret: Calgon. 

Calgon's two water softeners soften wash waters so detergents clean better. 

In hardest water, Calgon helps detergents get laundry up to 30% cleaner.

(And, since Mrs. Lee couldn't possibly be smart enough to keep said Ancient Chinese Secret a secret, and ultimately keep their small business safe, she appears from the back with an empty box of Calgon.)

MRS. LEE

(yelling at husband and shaking the box in his face) 

We need more Calgon!

OVERLY CAUCASIAN CUSTOMER:

(to Mr. Lee in an sarcastic tone) 

Ancient Chinese Secret, Huh?!

For those of you not aware of the historical significance of the Chinese Laundry, it started with the California Gold Rush of 1849. With the hope of finding gold in "those there mountains," contract laborers from Southern China scrambled to the Golden State in search fortunes in the gold mines and or working on the railroads. Soon the anti-Chinese sentiment was so strong that immigrants were forced to seek other work.

Myths debunked!

A bit of research showed that in 1851,Wah Lee opened the first US-based Chinese hand laundry in San Francisco. The small storefront in San Francisco had a simple sign: “Wash’ng and Iron’ng.” Quickly, the laundry had expanded to dozens of washermen working three daily shifts. With no special skills or venture capital required, a laundry was an ideal business for Chinese immigrants. By the 1870’s, Chinese laundries were operating in all most western cities firmly cementing the laundry guy as a stereotype that would take a century to defuse.

Chinese laundries have been used in many laundry-related product advertisements, typically in a method that exploits this stereotype. A Lavine Soap trade card showed small, cute, pig-tailed Chinese with the product. The Chinese Laundry Scene, an 1895 silent film5, featured the popular slapstick vaudeville act Robetta and Doretto as an Irish police officer and a Chinese laundry worker quarreling. One print ad for a Hoover home washing machine shows several Chinese men, presumably laundrymen, standing around it with a puzzled look. and on and on.

Back to Mr. Lee. The whole commercial was off from the start. I mean who goes to the dry cleaners simply to get shirts washed? Nobody really did that anymore in the seventies. And the whole "Ancient Chinese Secret" thing? Surely had to be wrong. Right? But month after month, year after year the spot appeared.

I've decided back then that if they could get away with that spot, then surely the ad men were some kind of wizards that had the ability to cast a spell on the nation.

The "Ancient Chinese secret, huh?" copywriter? Some hot-shot he must have been!

I mean just a few years earlier, the ad men were crafting dry punch mix commercials that sold out the supermarket with this copy:

"Let's have some thirsty, tired kids yell, 'Hey, Kool-Aid!' 

Then a huge, walking punch pitcher came crashing through a brick wall. High concept indeed. Today, there would be a public outcry that Kool-Aid was promoting wonton destruction of property. Can you imagine the picket signs, pitchforks and angry mob that would descend on Ketchum Advertising today if Mr. Lee was touting that in 2016?

Explain that one, Mr. Lee.

KELLOGG'S: You Should Have Called The Media Guy!

Surfing around Amazon today and I came across an oldie but a goodie written by yours truly: European and American Paintings and Sculptures 1870-1970, in the Australian National Gallery Hardcover – 1992. Yeah, you can buy the book on Amazon but the $1800 price tag might scare you aware from this out-of-print beauty.

In a related story, there's no truth to the rumor that the book has gold-tipped pages. It's just hard to find these days. Yet, I digress...

Okay, so where am I?

I'm on a bit of a retreat as I search my soul to find a handful of Big Ideas for some upcoming campaigns. It's a lovely property with butler service, 24-hour gourmet room service, sounds of the ocean from my lanai, and a pond with huge lily pads. It's the perfect mix of civilization and nature that inspired the right blend of inspiration and meditation to spark the creative juices.

A good place to start the creative process is to look at what's out there. The more I scrape the bottom of the creative barrel, the older I know I am. I mean, I feel like I'm the only guy that watches television commercials anymore, but based on the soaring budgets for these spots and the cost to do media buys, the more I know it's simply a myth that commercials don't work. They do, and when you get a solid spot with a decent media plan, the word spreads fast.

So there I am flipping through shows and maybe the worst example yet of awful, New Age “femvertising” pops up in the form of a Special K commercial...take a peek:

“Women? We eat. We don’t doubt it. We own it.”

Wait, whaaaaaat? As a reformed misogynist, every time I see a spot like this I feel like I'm reverting to my old Mel Gibson What Women Want ways and needing a good hair dryer zap to fully get me in tune with advertising geared at women.

So there I was watching this commercial saying "who in the holy hell is writing these inane commercials" while looking for a pencil to jab into my eye so I could stop the pain of ingesting these kinds of ads. Any wouldn't you know it, there wasn't a pencil to be found to end the suffering.

If you don't think I'm a man of simple tastes and pleasures ask me what the highlight of my last vacations was...

Waiting...

Still waiting...

A properly-filled scantron was the first step towards an A test!

Give up? Well, I checked into beautiful European hotel and boy they don't skimp on the super neat amenities. In my room, sitting atop the note pads on a Resolute Desk replica were elegant golden pencils. New pencils. Erasers unused with lead at a fine point. My memory drifted back to a noisy fourth grade classroom as I searched for the fresh scent of new pencil shavings as the formed a mini mountain underneath the manual sharpener.

Memories moved to the odd lectures from mostly well-intended teachers urging you to fill the circles completely on your scantron in order to receive proper credit for all of your guesses answers. Remember your teachers reminding you to use your mighty yellow Ticonderoga pencils with the ever-important number two lead? I sure do! Begrudgingly tolerated the of the mechanical pencil.

Try and find a pencil at home or in your office these days. Impossible! What ever happened to the noble pencil?

Most of this monster was started with a pencil...

History romanticizes the quill pen. It begrudgingly tolerated the unnatural abomination of the mechanical pencil. It resigned itself to the mass production of Bic's ballpoint. And all the while, the pencil was there being taken for granted and waiting for nostalgia to sweep it back into relevance.

Yeah, we are still waiting and waiting for that to happen.

It wasn't pens that beggars sold from their tin cups during the Great Depression, it was pencils. The world greatest sketches and poetry arose from lead points. Even the art of pencil sharpening was a way to both take a break during a difficult quiz and simultaneous show off to your classmates as you shaved the wood head with economical strokes that told your world you were a true craftsman.

All of this was during my time when cursive writing wasn't banned in school and pencilmanship was still a grade that counted towards your elementary GPA. It was a time when the US Postal Service bustled with snail speed to deliver the letters we wrote on fine linen stock. I digress yet again.

At the end, I called several of my female friends, imploring them to watch the Special K commercial with me on youtube and the general consensus was that the spot was terrible and they were searching for pencils too.

The moral of the story? The marketing execs at Kellogg's or even the ad men at Leo Burnett (the agency that handles Special K) should have called the Media Guy to write their "We Own It" spot. I guarantee you I would have crushed it, Clio-style or worked for free.

Looking back though, I thank America's apathy for the pencil for saving my left eye as I searched for that Big Idea today!

Grazi...

Epilogue

Check out this fun story about a professional pencil sharpener with Mo Rocca of CBS Sunday Morning:

Finding the Perfect Media Guy House...

LA is a gentle line of homes without a city // 

You see some summers when a row of properties burn like a sacrifice above the desert //

Moreover it's more really the slow sleepy whip of driven-by Starbucks in strip malls //

It's a petro haze // 

A lowrise watercolor forever outshone by its projections // 

Various ghost cinema selves destined to be always banished by the sunshine // 

And you can shoot great in this light but you can never watch it back here // 

But I don't want the meaning exaggerated like that // 

Just my memories of once longer mornings, garden decades, clubhouses and garages // 

Forever permanent childhood Saturdays //

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

Okay, so where am I?

I might be on the search for the perfect home. I need something eclectic, yet futuristic. Something that can host some killer media parties and where return visits are sought. I was looking at something futuristic, yet not ridiculous.

There's a ton of wildly fun homes in the Greater Los Angeles area. If you're waiting for the future, no need. Thus kind of architecture was already dreamed up in the in middle of the twentieth century. As a mater of fact, space age architectural design was essentially invented in L.A. We were given the Theme Building at LAX, Johnie’s Coffee Shop, and whimsical homes that would make the Jetsons proud.

Join me on my tour around SoCal and the genius of the land...all I need now is a realtor like Phil Dunphy.

Chemosphere
Architect: John Lautner

When the 45-degree slope in the Hollywood Hills proved to be too challenging, a new concept was born. Rest an octagonal-shaped wonder on a 30-foot-tall pole. Getting to the front door is not problem. Simply take the funicular to ring the bell. You would think that this would be the safest home around until you discover that the home’s second owner was stabbed to death during a robbery attempt.

Garcia House
Architect: John Lautner

Another Lautner Hollywood Hills creation rests on what looks to be thin legs. The ceiling-to-floor walls makes the views of the city nothing short of spectacular. Movie buffs like me will remind you that Mel Gibson destroys this house in Lethal Weapon 2 after a bunch of South African diplomats kill his new girlfriend.

Futuro House
Architect: Matti Suurone

This masterpiece was conceived as a pre-fabricated portable ski chalet. The house is mostly made of plastic with stairs that fold out from the entry hatch. You know, like the Millennium Falcon. Less than 100 were made in the late 1960s and early 1970s with only 50-60 still remaining. This one sits literally next door to the Chemosphere. Han Solo would be proud to retire here.

Al Struckus House
Architect: Bruce Goff

Situated in the San Fernando Valley's bedroom community of Woodland Hills, this hippie New Age home is built out of repurposed wood. The house is said to have an energy that gives an aura off that makes you feel like you are in a world without atmospheric friction.

Bubble House
Architect: Wallace Neff

Some of the original inexpensive housing were the bubble houses, circa 1940s. They were by inflating a giant balloon and then covering it with spray-on concrete. I'm not kidding here. Overseas, they were grouped together in a cluster as you would imagine a Martian colony would look like. This one resides in Pasadena, California, home to the Rose Bowl.

Bob Hope House
Architect: John Lautner

Bob Hope’s Palm Springs home, aka the “UFO House”, was created in 1973 to be reminiscent of volcano with a circular opening in the courtyard roof. If anything, it looks like something out of Close Encounters of the Third Kind with the mothership touching down on Planet Earth.

The only truly acceptable place for a UFO house is on top of the cinder core of a dead volcano in the middle of the Mojave Desert. Designed by Harold Bissner Jr. for the guy who patented the original skateboard, the 1968 home (near Barstow) is tricked out with a moat and rooftop observation deck. Oh, yeah, and for a number of years, it was owned by Huell Howser—precious Huell Howser—who eventually donated it to Chapman University.

Volcano House
Architect: Harold Bissner Jr.

In 1968, the guy who patented the skateboard decided to built a UFO house on the top of dead volcano in the heart of the Mojave Desert. It even has a moat and rooftop observation deck.

Elrod House
Architect: John Lautner

Designed by John Lautner, the official king of spaceship homes, this Palm Springs treasure was featured in the James Bond classic Diamonds Are Forever. See it in high def below.

See the Houses in Action:

Ink on the Soul: The Psyche of a Copywriter

Okay, so where am I?

I sitting in my hotel room staring at a keyboard that doesn't move and won't move as a wrestle with my inadequacies that only copy can deliver to an imperfect mind. It both frightening and paralyzing. I have four books in print, countless commercials still on air, and a straight from Korean theater to DVD movie I've penned and yet, one client shakes her head at some ad copy and I freeze up.

But why?

Digging around the mind of anyone in this odd cricket-herd we call advertising and marketing is a virtuous way to see some bizarre and dreadful things. So, to poke a manicured finger into the hornet’s nest that is your own professional essence is less the subject of a quirky column and more the act of a dodgy madcap.

Nevertheless, the psychosomatic makeup of the regular Joe copywriter comprises the kind of struggle, hallucination, and outright hysteria that coerces us to peel away the aluminum foil helmet and renders the delirious truth. (I’ll warn you though, this column contains a daring amount of wild generality and no trivial degree of hypocrisy).

In most copywriters there exists an abnormal sense of privilege. Not that we demand a powder blue dressing room filled with green M&Ms, pricey writing instruments, and precisely-chilled Perrier, but more a obligation to be listened to. The very nature of the job is to be, not the loudest voice, but the most gripping – to say something predictable and common in a way that feels extraordinary and compulsory. How often have you seen a copywriter punctured by a message that, within the promotional vortex, whines timidly to be noticed?

We’re also guilty of a festering exasperation, a moral disrespect for those who believe that anyone with fingers, eyes and direct access to ink or Microsoft Word is capable of writing serious prose. And, we see these characters everywhere, even prowling in the shadows of our finest and most fruitful client relationships.

A sentiment that our contribution isn’t quite as valued by some as we know it should be is perhaps the energy fueling another common apprehension: a compulsive, crippling, infuriating conscientiousness. Leave some copywriters alone with a flawlessly erected headline and they will rip it to shreds, splattering the walls with a spray of progressively unsatisfying substitutes. I’ve met many a writer chase down a final draft on its way out of the door, paralyzed by a fear that there may be not enough, or indeed too many, commas.

Your typical, well-fed copywriter is also unsettlingly contented with their own professional schizophrenia. We are personas with endless voices and takes clattering around in our minds, with the aptitude to debate for, and against, any exact point with identical persuasion. And yet, while we’re capable of nurturing all kinds of dissimilar voices, we never truly release our own. Even in that 2200-word manual for a digital camera, our own unique style clicks quietly around the onscreen shutter speed menu.

We are, I suppose, beasts of inspiration trussed inescapably to authenticity. We define success by artistic genius, knowing ultimately it is only properly defined by commercial performance. And amongst all this, we bungee jump in and out of an offbeat state of absorption – spellbound by a brief about insect repellant, or chewing gum, or coffee drinks all the time knowing that none of it really exists. Writing, like advertising, is the art of sculpting fog.

That’s just a few of the phobias and idiosyncrasies I can identify in myself and other writers with whom I’ve interacted. There are some of us who share these, just as there are some with no recognition at all, for this somewhat lumbering picture of our vocation. There are some, I’m quite sure, with an even more complex relationship with the job.

Whether it’s the foundation of abnormality that the job that sends our way, or whether it’s our inherent foibles that direct us to this weird working life, I’m unsure.

Ink on the page, ink on our hands and, without doubt, ink on the soul.

AD OF THE WEEK/MONTH/WHATEVER
The Olivetti girl

Advertising legend George Lois crafted the "Olivetti girl" ad for electric Olivetti typewriter in the mid 1960s. But just who is the Olivetti girl? (From the George Lois website:)

WE HAD TO MAKE THE OLIVETTI TYPEWRITER FAMOUS FOR SECRETARIES TO ACCEPT IT.

Olivetti, the great ltalian typewriter, had been advertised in America with a primary emphasis on the beauty of its design. Among industrial design cognoscenti, Olivetti was always synonymous with beauty, but most people wouldn’t recognize good design if they tripped over it. Sales of Olivetti’s splendid line of electric typewriters had gone stagnant while mighty IBM had the market locked up. IBM was so dominant that purchasing agents of large corporations would rarely even consider buying another brand. We had to breakthrough the IBM barrier. To plot our strategy, Jim Callaway interviewed many key buyers and found that while they regarded Olivetti as a top-notch typewriter, their hands were tied. Secretaries, they explained to Jim, felt that IBM gave them status. So we conceived the Olivetti Girl, who would out-status everyone. We told secretaries that Olivetti was the typewriter to type on. And we were putting across a message that was being seen by her boss, her girl friends, and all those reluctant purchasing agents. We produced six ads and nine TV spots that showed the Olivetti Girl as the star performer in her office, as the secretary who typed faster, neater, sharper, as the girl most I likely to succeed. (One of our headlines summed it up: “When you want to do something right, give it to the Olivetti Girl!”) In a few weeks, brand awareness of Olivetti leaped, and sales of Olivetti typewriters went through the roof.

THE NATIONAL ORGANIZATION FOR WOMEN VS. BROADWAY JOE NAMATH

Believe it or not, these ads were the genesis of the first #TimesUp movement.  The Olivetti campaign burst on the scene in 1972, just as the National Organization for Women was flexing its muscles. NOW attacked the campaign for stereotyping women as underlings (they were furious that only men were shown as bosses while only women were shown as secretaries), and they called me a male chauvinist pig.

They picketed the Olivetti building on Park Avenue and sent hecklers up to my office to un-n-n-nerve me. Something had to be done. Who can fight a woman’s fury? I capitulated. I would do an ad and a TV spot, with a woman executive giving orders to a male secretary. I cast an actual woman exec (not an actress) as the boss. I cast Jets great Joe Namath as the secretary (because he could type).

Lois invited the women of NOW to view the spot, but when they saw the boss ask her secretary for a date at the conclusion of the spot, they were aghast. (You do very good work, Joseph. By the way, what are you doing for dinner tonight?) “It’s an old story,” I said. “The boss always tries to make the secretary.” They cursed Lois, walked out, and never bothered that male chauvinist pig again.

From “Rebel Secretaries,” Time magazine, March 20, 1972:

“This infuriated a group of New York City secretaries, backed by members of the National Organization of Women, a feminist organization, which picketed Olivetti’s headquarters. The 2,000,000 U.S. secretaries —nearly all women, many underutilized and underpaid—would seem to be ideal recruits for Women’s Liberation. Yet few so far have joined the cause. Nevertheless, with new pages being turned almost everywhere else, some are being flipped over in shorthand notebooks too.

Last week, responding to complaints from employees, the U.S. State Department ordered its executives to stop treating secretaries as “char help,” to show a little more diplomacy toward them and to encourage independent secretarial decision making.”

SUMMER LEARNING: Bras Can Solve Road Rage

Okay, so where am I?

I just pulled off an impressive haul at the 38th Telly Awards. I'm stuck in traffic on the 101 Freeway near Hollywood, watching the world swirl around me in a rage (more on that later). One good thing about traffic is that you get a lot of chance to think.

Who wore it better...yeah, Adele did...

I've been to 38 states and spent considerable amount of time in 18 different countries. I've lived on the west coast and the east coast. I've spent upwards of 1,000 days in the Middle East. Having seen the world through different eyes, this expanded living has immensely helped me in my career as an ad man.

"Why is that?" you ask...

...simply you have to live to understand.

Understand the people.

Understand the micro-cultures that exists in pockets of the globe.

You have to get stuck in a traffic jam there. Eat there. Deal with the weather there. You have to deal with a crisis. You have to build a rapport with the people there. Understanding is the key to great advertising, marketing and public relations.

Through all of these experiences you begin to see the differences beyond the stereotypes and the superficial reporting of the media. You see how united we are and how divided we are. But the power of culture is an overwhelming attribute that many mid-level media types miss when researching a new project or campaign.

Yet I digress in traffic as people yell at one another, salute with their middle finger, and slam their cars into each other while texting.

Can we calm America’s road rage? Seriously we all need to take a deep breath. Road rage is frightening. Sometimes it’s deadly. It's where flaring tempers mix with two-ton machines and continues to be a problem on America’s highways, leading to accidents, assaults and occasionally even murder.

It’s a perplexing problem in part because it can happen at anytime and anywhere that roads and vehicles are involved, yet specific statistics on its frequency are hard to come by.

All that aside, though, there are solutions that can at least reduce the number of road-rage incidents. People who are easily angered by slower drivers, detours and other traffic disruptions can be taught to be more aware of their responses and modify them to reduce accident risks, according to research published by the Society for Risk Analysis.

That let’s-calm-down approach is applauded by Scott Morofsky, author of the books “The Daily Breath: Transform Your Life One Breath at a Time” and “Wellativity: In-Powering Wellness Through Communication."

“Sometimes there’s this tendency to throw on the brakes when someone is tailgating us, or use an obscene gesture at an aggressive driver,” says Morofsky, who developed the concept of Wellativity, which helps people address any behavior that inhibits wellness.

“But when you encounter an aggressive driver, you don’t want to engage them or do anything to further agitate them.”

What are some of our behaviors that can aggravate other drivers? The No. 1 culprit is drivers who are texting, according to the Expedia Road Rage Report. Those texting drivers upset 26 per cent of us. Other offenders, in descending order, are tailgaters, left-lane hogs, slow drivers and drivers multi-tasking.

Of course, those examples represent situations that can raise your ire after you are behind the wheel. Often, the foundation for fury on the highway was laid before you got into the car. Maybe you had an argument with someone earlier. Maybe you are stressed because you are running late for an appointment.

“Probably all of us at some time have been angry and someone wisely told us to take a deep breath,” Morofsky says. “That’s actually good advice because breathing and taking in oxygen plays an important role in every area of our health and well-being.”

He offers these tips for heading off your own road rage or avoiding the rage of others:

• Don’t turn that ignition. If you are feeling stressed and anxious before you even start your trip, then the time to calm down is now, not after you are on the highway. Get a grip before you start the car, Morofsky says. Take that deep breath you always heard would work. You might even try counting from one to 10, inhaling on one, exhaling on two, up to 10 and back to one again. “You want to be relaxed before you head out,” he says.
• Stop right there. If you are already driving, and you feel your anger is starting to impact your judgment, pull over for a few moments. “Breathe and ask yourself, is my problem important enough to risk lives?” he says. “Taking a few conscious breaths could prevent a catastrophe.”
• Don’t react or retaliate. You can’t control those other drivers, but you can control how you react to them. If someone is tailgating you, flipped you off or is just infuriating you with bad driving habits, ignore them, Morofsky says. Engaging in some sort of road-rage argument will just further raise your blood pressure, and could prove dangerous in some circumstances. This is just one more opportunity to take that deep breath, he says.

AD OF THE WEEK/MONTH/WHATEVER
"How to Put on a Bra"

There's been a lot of talk recently about hacking, spy work and the like. I remember back in the day working on an intimate line of clothing and trying to push the envelope on the commercials I wanted to make. Alas, could not get my cutting edge ideas to air. I stumbled on this clip recently and whenever the road idiots get in my way, I imagine them being one of these keystone cop types against this brilliant atomic blonde.

Cutting Corners, and Lackthereof

Everything starts with denial.

"I don't need my glasses."
"I’m not gaining weight."
"I’m not slowing down."
"I’m not out of shape."

But I was.

All of it!

The 1920s penny scale in the entry way and the notches on my belt didn't lie. Those bastards have crystal balls. So about a year ago, I decided to face facts and make some changes.

The ad game is a lonely expedition.

Now I’m lighter and back into jeans that aren't rapper baggy. I’m downward dogging through yoga classes. And I’ve got energy to spare. I feel pretty good about this, but I keep remembering how much I disliked it all and how long it's taking An entire year of my life to get within shouting distance of getting back in shape.

You see, I’m the kind of (media) guy who wants results immediately. I mean, who doesn’t? Well, there are some people who don’t, but they’re about as intelligent as a bag of bricks and I don’t like folks like that. I'm all about getting things done.

But over the years, I’ve grown to understand that speed is not always practical or possible. As a purveyor of all things marketing, I adjust my expectations when I start advertising campaigns because I know every campaign isn't an award winner or designed to make the phone ring off the hook. Sometime, it’s a longer process. So instead of expecting things to go through the roof, I’m satisfied with brand extension -- campaigns designed to maintaining the good work and gaining good feedback. These is the work that builds the foundation and eventually leads to campaign greatness.

My desire to create genius ads like this...

Every now and then, you hear about an ad (wo)man who graduated from college and six months later rose up to director status at one of those big agencies landing account after account. Well, that person is the exception, not the rule. The majority of us serve in the trenches for years before they catch that big break.

There’s no instant gratification in the ad game.

The key here, for both Media Guy and client, is to recognize that results take time. You can’t have one without the other. If you don’t agree, you’re a walking contradiction, and that path leads to failure.

One of my issues with the powerhouse companies that get featured in Adweek and AdAge week after week is that most of them don’t know how to develop campaigns. Those ad guy sign clients and from day one, they use their big budgets to overwhelm consumers with commercial after commercial, massive social media pushes, and favored induced earned media. That’s called swinging for the fences, and it’s a bad idea because the competition is fierce and the odds are stacked against you. Sure, the clients are excited by those opportunities because they feel like they’re cutting the line, but after a year of flat sales, the powerhouse agency will probably create an internal conflict and leverage it into landing a competitor, leaving them with little to show except a stack of inane commercial spots that may or may not have resonated with new customers.

Wouldn’t it make more sense to take your time—creating guerrilla and micro campaigns that that lead to bigger ones, carefully building your circle of engagement, working toward a successful annual strategy built on a foundation of hard-earned wins?

...led to creation of this masterpiece. PERSEVERANCE!

There’s no cutting the line in this industry. Not to get all Tony Robbins on you, but I genuinely believe you must fall in love with the process. That means embracing the bumps in the road.

It’s knowing that every campaign that doesn't send metrics completely through the roof is giving you valuable experience.

It's the perseverance to lead a diversified campaign and not put all your eggs in one basket.

It’s realizing that resting on yesterday's success won't give you the resources you need to book your business class seats for that Italian vacation.

Embrace the journey, not just the end of the road.