Wednesday, July 27, 2005

kick out the jams: adventures in sadvertising part II

Ah so where were we. I was distracted by a mountain of copydecks -- 20 page documents full of headlines so stupid, even yo mama would understand them.

Back to the jams. The bejam jam jams, the jamboree, the jam on toast. There have been frequent jam sessions in my office of late. Desperation breeds a certain type of creativity -- the hyper! oh! my! god! we! are! so! conceptual! type of creativity. The type that makes everyone stay really late, hashing out ideas into the wee hours of the morning - sighing and eye-rolling about the long hours put in, but secretly getting off on being away from their significant others and families, out late on a "schoolnight".

And the bestest part about jam sessions? They're such a, like, much needed break from all the boring meetings we creeeeative kids have to sit through. Yes, you got it - the status meetings, the meetings with our account people -- otherwise known as the dreaded Suits. No, they don't wear polyester three-pieces. They don't even rock the tie or blazer. The poor fuckers are given this nickname because they're apparently stuffier than we are (because they aint creative, see!), and have to deal with client all the time, and so, they are worthy of the name "The Suits". Anyhow, we sit through meetings with the suits, we put up with their charts, neatly typed up schedules, earnestly written strategies. But we, of course, think we're superior (because we're creative, see!). And oh, how we would rather be jamming.

But let's face it -- late night thinking, early morning status meetings -- it's all the same. Turns out pushing the envelope isn't so far off pushing paper. They're made of the same shit after all.


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