cheers from 1956

One thing you won't find on Ebay's "unwanted Christmas present" list is the 1956 Art Director's Awards annual I was lucky enough to receive this year. The 35th Annual cites awards in eight categories, including separate categories for Color Ads and Station Break Art Cards and Record Album Covers. (Hoagy Carmichael's won big that year.) This photo was honored in the Advertising Art category and was shown in the annual as most visuals were, without corresponding copy that mucked it up when it ran. The The photographer was Irving Penn. The art director was a guy named Hershel Bramson. Manuel Grossberg is acknowledged, perplexingly, as "Designer of Complete Unit." Stylist, you think? Anyway, here's to you and the breaking year.

in 1953, this day was a wild one

Marlon Brando and black biker jackets became cultural icons after The Wild One was released 54 years ago today. Columbia Pictures kept quiet the fact that Brando and Lee Marvin, both born in 1924, were almost thirty when they played juvenile delinquents in this film considered so scandalous, it was banned from playing in Britain for 14 years.

why people hate us

At a party recently, I met a woman who introduced herself as a Collections Manager for an art gallery. What does a Collections Manager do? I asked. She got a faraway look and began to elucidate: she puts her considerable art education to use by explaining the gallery's works to a collector, elaborating on a painting's influences, its origins, on what makes it remarkable, so that often the collector wants to take it home for himself. Like, buy it? I asked. Turns out she works on commission, and it took supreme self control for me not to remark on the similarity of our occupations. I knew that to do so would be an insult to her.

But why? Why is advertising one of the world's most reviled professions, one that in surveys, rates below even car dealers? We provide entertainment--often more entertainment than the content into which our stuff is embedded. We can't lie anymore, thanks to a labyrinth of consumer-protecting rules to which copy must comply. (Now, deceptive ads result in expensive lawsuits by entire cities.) And, in best case scenarios, what we do actually constitutes public education. (See Dove.)

But then, I'm knocked off my high horse by something like this. The Wall Street Journal discloses that Wacoal is introducing a girdle for men. The man-girdle is being advertised first in Japan (as if salarymen aren't already under enough pressure) not as a vanity product, but health-promoting. A statement from a doctor claims the underwear helps reduce body fat. It comes (of course) with a promotional DVD jam-packed with product benefits like how the girdle makes you take longer strides, helping you expend calories.

Between this and a scoop from Tangerine Toad alerting me to a SkyMall magazine ad hawking Gravity Defyer Shoes, I see there's still plenty to begrudge about advertising. No wonder I am reticent to disclose my profession in public, as when traveling abroad I sometimes lie about my country of origin (um, I'm from Canada) so as not to elicit in strangers feelings of undue contempt.

how to get a cab on new year's eve

You've got three days to practice. Hey, don't mention it.

thank you, lorraine melvin

Thanks to the impressive performance of US Air ticket agent Lorraine Melvin, I'm sitting at my dining room table writing to you instead of on a bus wending its slow way to New York. Let me explain. My earlier post proved, alas, prescient. (If only I'd listened to Tangerine Toad.) All began well at the airport this morning--not one of our party of four were marked for "special" security screening, our boarding passes were Zone 1 which meant first choice of luggage compartments, the plane even took off on time. But two hours later, as we descended through cloud banks, approaching La Guardia, turbulence hit, sending us back into clouds. The bad news was: we couldn't land, due to weather. (Really? It was raining, not snowing, and lightly at that.) As the plane arced defiantly away from the runway, the pilot announced we were heading to Philadelphia. To refuel, he said. And here's what surprised me: there was no reaction. No collective groaning, no outraged passengers making their way up the aisle, not a single outcry, in fact. All of us rerouted against our will sat quiet and upright with our seatbelts fastened, our only protest a silent rolling of eyes. I guess Toad is right: "People have just gotten to the point where they expect air travel to be a completely horrible experience, filled with long delays, lost luggage, interminable lines and surly staffers."

When we got to Philadelphia (hello Liberty Bell) instead of gassing us up and getting us off the ground, as we'd been led to believe they would do, US Air deplaned us and sent us to baggage claim to retrieve what we'd checked. They'd be taking us up to New York... via bus. That's when we broke finally and during the bedlam created by a US Air spokeswoman being rushed, I edged over to a ticket counter to see if there were any LGA flights available. "Nope," snapped Window #1. "All flights today are already booked." Undaunted (our business instills a few useful life skills), I slid down to Window #6 and posed the question again. "Our flights are all overbooked," said a young woman, having the kindness to look disappointed on my behalf. "But let me try something..." After a half hour of key-pecking and placing phone calls, Lorraine Melvin (said her nametag) presented us triumphantly with not one free ticket but four on the next flight to LGA despite the fact that it had been oversold. If CEO W. Douglas Parker could figure that what made her care enough to want to satisfy a disgruntled customer, what made her act differently than her colleague, what infused her with more energy and initiative than any US Air employee I'd encountered that day, well, he might rescue his company from desperate straits. Lorraine Melvin! Lorraine Melvin! I'll write a snail mail letter on her behalf, but first I mean to give her name google juice. Lorraine Melvin!

fear of flying

Thanks, Bill Green (aka Make the logo bigger) for a delightful visit to Square America where cat-eye glasses, wicker baby buggies and vintage Christmas cards abound:
If I were one of these dandy, well-wishing Boyds, I'd be flying home today in a private plane instead of vacuum-packed on US Airways (recently declared to be the worst performing big airline in the country) hoarding rations of ¼ can of soda and mini-bag of pretzel nubs. Wish me luck. And the miracle of same-day arrival of luggage.

happy boxing day

In keeping with the Commonwealth theme, I'm observing Boxing Day by presenting you with what I believe is the best spot for boxer shorts ever made. Those crazy Czechs.