1. I moved from the PR world to the Advertising world. I find it impossible to write about something I do all day.

2. It’s difficult to write with the requisite amount of snark I enjoy when there’s a solid possibility that I’ll end up across a board room table from someone I called a wanker on the internet. Since I started this blog, I have met personally about half a dozen people I have railed against. Some encounters were more pleasant than others.

3. I write about media and PR at my personal blog, http://www.ryananderson.ca, and I manage our corporate blog. I do not have time for three blogs, plus a job, plus a life.

4. You touch yourself at night.

So, here’s my plan. I’m going to keep this site around for posterity’s sake, and I’m going to make some changes to my personal blog so that I still have an outlet for angry ranting against lousy creative, terrible logos and in general, ads that suck.

So, if you’ve enjoyed the site, I hope you’ll join me at my new location - http://www.ryananderson.ca, where I’ll talk about advertising, marketing, new media, the social web and whatever the hell else I please.

I do hope to see you all there. My self-esteem is counting on it.

http://www.wonderfitness.ca/

This kind of advertising makes me physically ill.  Taking a product that is in NO WAY NUTRITIOUS - a processed, bleached and fake version of bread that is the rough equivalent of bland cake and try to make yourself look like a healthy brand.  I have a serious problem with the food industry in North America, especially what we as consumers let them get away with.

You want your kids to be healthier?  Stop feeding them bread made with high-fructose corn syrup and with all the fibre removed during processing.  I’m not a dietician, and I’m not a hippy raw foods yoga nut, either.  But associating this kind of refined flour, might-as-well-down-a-cup-of-sugar product with a healthy lifestyle is reprehensible. 

Don’t get me wrong - I think that fitness is extremely important for kids, but Wonder Bread is not interested in fitness.  They are interesting in confusing customers into thinking that their product is healthy, which it is not.  Its only claim to nutrition is the fact that fibre and nutrients are added after they are removed from the ingredients.  Hardly an ideal thing to base your diet around.  This is just as bad as a cigarette company sponsoring a marathon.

One of these days, more consumers are going to understand the crap they’re putting into their bodies, and start demanding that companies stop poisoning them.  Personally, I don’t care if people eat Wonder Bread - it’s their choice.  But nutrition today is more confusing than it has ever been, and food companies are using our desire to be more healthy to sell us unhealthy products. 

In the not too near future, brands like Wonder Bread are going to be demonized as much as tobacco companies, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they were footing the bill for the nation’s glucose meters.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eaoIsPZAgck

Though, to be honest, if you’re going to work in advertising, I wouldn’t recommend growing up.

Now, I work in interactive, so I’m admittedly a snob when it comes to it, but I can honestly say that I’ve never seen an online video piece that I watched entirely with one side of my face, completely confused at what I was seeing.

Such is the case with Xtra-Pine’s “Cleaning Hunk” site, which features a muscly fellow who introduces himself and adamantly rips off his shirt to reveal a tank top. Then… he flexes and stretches for a bit, and to be honest, I’m not sure what is expected of you. It’s “interactive” to the point that you have to click “close” to make it go away.

Besides the fact that the Cleaning Hunk himself is quite possibly the worst actor on the face of the planet, the question on my mind is who the hell came up with this concept? Was it actually based on research that said that there are a lot of horny midwestern housewives who would be persuaded to buy floor cleaner from someone who appears to be just smart enough to be a model?

Combine that with the TERRIBLE production quality of the video, and I’m completely astounded by the entire campaign. I’d love to have something more clever to say about it, but god… they pretty much did all the work for me.

Air Canada employees are often curt assholes. As an organization, they are unyielding, bureaucratic, and though they’re trying to change this perception, it’s going to be a while before they move the needle of perception.

While they may be assholes, I think it’s an important takeaway from this trip that they are only assholes FOR CANADIANS. I was scheduled to fly out of Newark at 3:55 today. Upon arrival, I was told that the flight was cancelled, due I suppose to the light drizzle that fell on the asshole of the universe, New Jersey. Distraught, I summoned all my zen-like focus and did not erupt into a fountain of rage. I said “and what are we going to do about this?”

“They’ve got you on a flight for tomorrow.”

“But I have to get back today,” I replied, shocked.

“Nothing I can do,” came her nasal, uneducated, white trash Jersey accent-bathed response.

Again, I refrained from screaming. Being the pro-active individual that I am, I proposed options. Fly me to Montreal or Toronto - I can connect there. Nothing.

So, finally, exasperated, I asked “so what exactly am I supposed to do until tomorrow?”

Her answer, I SHIT YOU NOT, was “You gotta book?”

Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, there are no words to describe my rage at that moment. There I was, stranded in the stinking feces-covered hell pile that is Newark, with no place to stay, and this slack-jawed bumpkin was cracking wise to me. Normally, I get my way in situations like this, but it has never been more painfully obvious in my life that the person on the other side of the counter did not care one iota about my situation, and that my mere presence was an inconvenience to her.

After five minutes or so of her not helping, I called my travel agent (who, despite my last post, will remain so) and asked her to help me fix it. She did what she could, but I was on my own. Stuck on a non-refundable ticket (”you ain’t gonna get a refund.”) I asked every Continental employee that I could find what I could do, where I would sleep - anything. All of it was met with “I’m too busy to deal with you.”

I am not the type of person that lets that go lightly. But I was so exasperated, I was powerless. My anger had lapped itself, and I was back at the bottom of the scale. Finally, I met one single employee who gave a damn, explained my situation to her and she helped me. This should NOT be a breakthrough moment in customer service.

In the end, she had the refund authorized, and I was put on an Air Canada flight (for about $500 more). It was last minute, and I had to get my boarding pass from the lady while on the phone with my travel agent. She too said “I can’t do this. I have a lineup of people.”

By this time, I had the presence of mind to reply “I’m not going away, so you either talk to this person, or you do it through me and it takes three times as long. Your choice.”

Finally, after rushing through customs, getting patted down AGAIN (do I look like a terrorist?) I boarded my flight to Montreal. And I was happy. It was delayed considerably, but I didn’t care. Air Canada, compared to Continental Airlines (to whom I will hereafter cleverly refer to as CUNTinental Airlines) was like a warm hug. They’re bureaucratic jerks employed by an ancient communist airline, but they’re Canadian. The woman who sat next to me went on a tirade about how Air Canada was “finished.” I told her my story, and she seemed to change her tune.

I have never been so happy to be in Canada - even though it is Quebec - and I have never, ever, had a stronger appreciation for this country or for Canadians in general.

Instead, I’m going to talk about how utterly miserable my trip here was.

First of all, let me say that I do not travel to the U.S. very often. Second of all, let me say “thank Christ.” After declaring nothing but my genius at the ticket desk, I moved on to the customs rape station, where Chris, my CATSA rapist for the day proceeded to poke and prod me, looking for God knows what in my armpits.

“Let me know if you find a lump,” I said.

Chris chuckled as he continued to molest my person.

After finishing this ordeal, and resisting the temptation to lean in and whisper “I have a boner,” to the unwitting security employee, I moved on to the ‘merican side where I was interviewed by a fellow who bore a striking resemblance to Jack Bauer. He asked me where I was going, what kind of conference I was going to and if I was now, or had ever been a member of the communist party. I answered his questions honestly, but for some reason, my normally cool demeanor was replaced by that of someone who was clearly guilty of something. I was close to turning myself in, and I hadn’t done anything wrong.

I would be an awful member of an Al Queda sleeper cell.

Finally, after answering a pantsload of emails while waiting for my plane and listening to David Allen’s “Getting Things Done” on my iPod, I boarded the smallest plane I’ve ever been on - one that constantly felt as if it was falling out of the sky.

Note to self: do not watch an episode of that Negotiator show where an air traffic controller distraught over killing a plane full of people takes an air traffic tower hostage the night before flying. Bad, bad idea.

So, I arrive in Newark. I find out that I can either wait for an hour for the next shuttle, or I can pay out the ass for a car to my hotel. I opt for the latter.

We drove through New Jersey (whose state bird is the fart) and I managed to get through it only dry heaving at the smell three times. Finally, I arrived at my hotel, and the driver couldn’t give me a receipt. How am I supposed to expense this, I asked. He had no answer.

So, I arrive, tired and annoyed and check into my hotel, only to find out that my travel agent (who is not my travel agent anymore, by the way) had messed up the reservations, and had not, as she had told me, paid in advance for the room. This was a problem, since I had paid for an extremely expensive conference on my credit card, and had only ensured that enough for expenses was available before leaving.

After the hassle of getting my receptionist to fax in a copy of our corporate card (where it should have gone), I made my way up to my $310 a night room. Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever walked into a room, and immediately thought to yourself “yep, there was definitely a hooker killed here in the 40s,” but I can now honestly say that I have. Maybe I’m spoiled, but I usually assume that very expensive hotel rooms will not have holes in the covers, duct tape on the faucet, and an odd looking stain that mildly resembles Groucho Marx on the curtains.

I then met up with a friend of mine who recently moved to NY, and we went to a nearby Chinese restaurant, in which the waiter apparently hated us, and didn’t offer me chop sticks. That aside, the meal was pleasant, as was the company.

I woke up the next morning at 6am to some hip hop station on the radio, and proceeded to get up to have a shower. After waiting 15 minutes for the water to get to tepid, I cleaned myself, and went downstairs to leave for the conference.

Now, where I’m from, we have this system where you call a number, talk to a person, and someone in a car shows up to drive you around. Apparently, they’re just getting that here, because when I asked the fellow at the front desk to call me a cab, he told me that he’d been trying to get through for an hour, and it would be faster for me to hail one myself.

I walked outside in the rain to the appropriate side of the street, unaware that hailing a cab in NY was a competitive sport. After I politely didn’t kick the shit out of the guy who walked out in front of me and hailed the only cab I’d seen in 10 minutes, I tried for another 10 and finally went back inside and got step by step instructions on how to get to Times Square via the Subway.

After being shoved against a pole with 600 other smelly people, I got off at my stop, and walked 15 minutes in the rain to my conference. Thankfully, I’d stopped at a pharmacy and bought an umbrella (paying $5 more for the one that did NOT say “I love NY” on it), so when I arrived, only my left arm and ass was completely soaking wet.

After a day of schmoozing and glad-handing, I had a sandwich for dinner and went back to my hotel room, which is why I’m in New York City for one day, and I’m blogging instead of watching Spamalot. I have two meetings tomorrow, and then I repeat the airport unpleasantness before I return home, where we spell “cheque” correctly, and it’s slightly more rare to see someone have an extended, heated exchange with a bus shelter ad.

If you’re looking for someone who knows online marketing, you need to hire him.

So, for your reference, I present you with the following treatise on what is viral and what is not.  Please print this out and use it as a visual reference.  This will be on the final exam.

Viral is:
- something that is infectuous, and makes people want to talk about it, write about it, send it to their friends

Viral is not:
- a TV commercial converted to a banner with a "send to a friend" on it.
- anything you decide to put on YouTube
- online advertising in general
- whatever you arbitrarily call ‘viral’

Please update your bookmarks and adjust your lexicon appropriately.  For your bonus lesson, please also note that it is illogical to call something ‘viral’ before you even launch it.

It’s an interesting view into an agency for the uninitiated, but a sad little ego trip for anyone in the industry, as far as I’m concerned. 

One YouTube viewer’s comments (via Marketing Begins at Home):

What a bunch of smug, ego-inflated, pretentious, adolescent clownboats. When you see something like this, you wonder “how do these assholes get new clients, much less keep the ones they have?” Smacks of razorfish-style hubris: all puffed up posing and pretense with no substance.

I’d bet a six-inch turkey breast sub on whole wheat that they don’t get the work.  If I were Subway, I think I’d be pretty pissed, frankly… broadcasting unsolicited market research, trademark infringement.  I like a social media as much as the next guy, but regardless of how good they may be, Agency.com just ends up looking like inexperienced hipster wannabes.

On the other hand - I’d hire these guys in an instant.

Clearly, these writers don’t remember their own childhood. Seems to me, the only think they ever advertised on Saturday morning cartoons was sugary cereals and candy. Every time a new study comes out, journalists tend to forget everything that has happened in history up to this point, and pontificate on the problem that one report announces as the new thing wrong with society. Marketing sugary treats to children is nothing new, and if you think it is, you’re stupid.

The problem, it seems, is that advergaming is EFFECTIVE. Kids like it - hey, so do adults. To me, just because one medium is more effective than another at getting a message across to children (lucky charms = fun) doesn’t somehow make it more nefarious.

Childhood obesity is a problem partially because of the environment we’ve created for ourselves, where there’s more chemical foodstuffs than actual food in the world, but let’s keep something very important in mind:

Children do not buy cereal. Parents do.

Am I suggesting that advertising cannot influence children? Hells no - they’re more susceptible to it than anyone - but it’s the parents who make the buying decision, and THEY are the ones who have the critical faculties (theoretically at least) to make a healthy decision about what little Joanie or Chachi will eat for breakfast.

Kids would eat candy all day if it were up to them - the job of a parent is to force-feed them brussels sprouts by telling them it will put hair on their chest. Don’t get me wrong - there is a case to be made about the ethics of advertising to children, but there’s a much stronger case for doing your fucking job as a parent. But then… nobody likes to be criticized about their parenting, do they? To be fair, it’s much easier to blame a cartoon leprechaun.