A Big Fat Waste of Time

Wait. Where have I seen this idea before?

I found these wild postings in my neighborhood a few weeks ago. Well after my post in July .

¡Feliz dia de independencia, y'all!

On this day in 1810, Father Miguel Hidalgo y Costilla's grito de Dolores ("cry of Dolores") at the village of Dolores, near Guanajuato, called for the end of Spanish rule in Mexico. On September 16, 1825, the Republic of Mexico officially declared September 16 its national Independence Day.

So, hug a Mexican. Drink a margarita and ¡Dale un grito!

A Day Without A Mexican-the movie

Download LACHARREADA

It's so cute when they assimilate.

I just spoke to my old roommate, also a bed bug refugee . I thought I was in over my head with the hipsters in the East Village. She’s migrated to Williamsburg, and was telling me about her new friends. “They sit around and say stuff like, ‘I’m so excited about Fashion Week. Which shows are you going to?’ She says they can’t believe she’s not on Friendster anymore and wonder how she meets people. “At work,” she tells them. I ask her what they do for a living. “Well, one of them is a photographer for Spin... Which is pretty cool.... And he’s pretty cute, actually......I’m going to try and hook up with him."

Williamsburg. It's a slippery slope.

Bloodshed on the mounting room floor

Okay, as was reported here way, way before any of the so-called advertising blogs, the AAAA ’s (for you non-advertising insiders, that’s pronounced “The Four A’s” and stands for the American Association of Advertising Agencies) are holding their first annual Advertising Week here in New York City September 20-24. Advertising being the cold-titted witch who feeds me, I found this news mildly interesting, if only to speculate how much of a non-event it would turn out to be. Well, it seems the actual advertising press has woken out of their summer Friday haze to discuss it. The crazy, ponytail-wearing creatives of "Talent Zoo" (crazy name, just crazy) are rising up against the what-a-drag, suit-clad account guys of the AAAA's in the way that Apple tries to be a hippie with poor grammar in its "Think Different" campaign as if it, too, isn't a money swilling mega-corp from the evil empire. But anyways, I'm getting excited because the Sharks and the Jets are getting agitated and there will be blood on the mounting room floor tonight. Or there was, like, last month. (I can't keep up with this shit, I had bed bugs ).

Adrants and Adrag both report that on August 10th one "Danny G." (Ali G.'s less talented copywriter brother?) who has a column called "View from the Cheap Seats" on a creative headhunting site called "Talent Zoo" (who have spammed me many times, no thank you) went on record to say that the Four A’s are…how can I put this without getting myself banned from Ad Week, as well?…a bunch of old fuddy duddies, so out of touch with the realities of the ad industry that they may as well be called the Four Guys on Mt. Rushmore. Those are not Danny G.’s words. They are mine. But he gets to the same gist here . Only in words that are far more eloquent and worthy of payment, apparently.

Not to be outdone, and in an impressive, publicity generating maneuver, (hey--they were shilling snake oil before you were a gleam in your daddy's eye, G.) the four AAAA's uninvited the "Talent Zoo" from the event. Just banned 'em. Didn't even think twice. You have to give props to the AAAA's for standing their ground. Even if that ground is littered with the soiled diapers of underaged, third world, sweat shop, Nike "employees".

Talent Zoo’s response here, blah, blah, blah .

AAAA’s own blog—what???

I'm here. I'm not queer, but can I stay anyway?

As I mentioned in my earlier post, Tales of a Bed Bug Refugee , I recently got the unexpected opportunity to move to the East Village. In particular Alphabet City where, strangely, I've always wanted to live. Not being in any way cool or hip, I feel a little like Tobias Schneebaum , the American painter turned writer who, in the 1950's, moved to the Amazon rainforest and lived with cannibals for a year of his life and, yes, he eventually did eat with them.

I am now afforded with the opportunity to observe the New York hipster in his natural habitat. I shop for groceries next to him. I do laundry next to him. I even throw my very ordinary, uncool trash next to his empty containers of macrobiotic take out and burned up spoons. It's disconcerting to say the least. I didn't think the hip and cool engaged in such mundanities as laundry. I thought they styled most of their outfits by sleeping in them night after night. I was wrong. The hip do laundry. They shop at the Key Foods on Avenue A. And some of them, I was shocked to discover from my apartment broker, actually work in midtown at jobs that don't entail sticking it to the man. Could it be that we are not so different from each other after all? Will I eventually eat with the cannibals, I mean hipsters? Only time will tell, and of course, I will keep you posted.

Not to be irreverent, but

Did anyone see the old jewish couple yesterday at the World Trade Towers memorial service who were reading names from the list of vicitims and the man kept messing up and skipping names and his wife kept yelling at him each time he did it (which was every time he read) on live, national television? It was like George Costanza's parents were up there. I could imagine their dearly departed son looking down from heaven and laughing his ass off. It made me laugh which was nice because besides that, I was pretty much crying.