Last Monday my boss and I had a Come-To-Jesus chat regarding my complete lack of enthusiasm for my current position. While I informed him my lack of passion did not hinder me from going through the motions (just ask my ex-girlfriend She Who Will Not Be Named), I did acknowledge that I was completely burnt out. Many factors led to my burnout; frequent late paychecks, a complete lack of any tangible project process (i.e. massive undertakings were given one line explanations like “Client Center back-end development: 36 hours”), lack of established deadlines and milestones (other than early 2008 or late 2008), non-payment of contractors/vendors and a general malaise regarding client/vendor relationships. I was issued an ultimatum to decide by that Friday whether or not I wanted to stay with the company. When Friday rolled around, I quit, packed up all my shit and went over to DJ’s house to get drunk and play poker (in a rare Ex-Data Slaughterhouse Employees Game victory, I took home $60). After a tumultuous career path over the past three years, I am finally growing some balls and committing full-time to Broz Design. I have already nabbed two and a half retainer clients (the other half happening once I get off my ass and draw up a contract) that will pay me more all while working less and living the pants-free dream. My pregnant wife is thankfully awesome and supportive of my pursuits and deserves a new Lexus once I start rolling in the dough. It is either that or we will be selling our unborn child on the Mexican black market to make ends meet. Wish me luck either way.
While on a conference call with a client who spent the majority of the time figuring out an easy content management system who dropped the following phrase numerous times, “Okay. Hold on just a second …5 minutes of silence… Ohhhhhhhhhhh. That is easy!” I was left with time to ponder important Art Director decisions. Decisions like who the hottest bitches of 2008 are. According to Maxim, it is Sports Illustrated Swimsuit cover model Marissa Miller. Well played, Maxim. I do, however, have to take exception with your placement of Britney at 19. Seriously? 19? FHM gave the hot chick medal of honor to Megan Fox. Even though Jake has no love for her, she is slutty delicious and I look forward to seeing her rack in more overly-hyped, big budgeted, acting-anemic Michael Bay joints. Then there are the lesbians. Apparently they are all about Tina Fey. Look, I get it. She is smart, cute, has that trashy librarian vibe and is funny on 30 Rock. But number 1? You disappoint me, lesbians. Her face scar alone should drop her out of the top ten (strictly from a comparison standpoint). Lastly, I take extreme exception with Gwen Stefani not being mentioned on any of these lists (and I know from personal experience that the lesbians love Gwen Stefani). Please review this Maxim, FHM and lesbians. That is all.
Web Designer: God. That site looks like clown puke.
Me: Totally. And not the good kind of clown puke.
Web Designer: There is a good kind of clown puke?
Me: Sure. Like when you punch a clown in the stomach so hard that it makes him vomit? That is the good kind. It is even better when you get some blood mixed in there.
Web Designer: I am happy that you are my boss.
Is 32 old? Hardly. But to the whippersnappers I work with who are fresh out of college, I am a year or two away from being put in a home. I find myself having to explain the pop culture references that dot my vernacular in great detail and ramble on about the days before “the MySpace” and “the texting.” Yesterday my web designer (who is well-rounded musically) nearly killed me by asking, “Who is NWA?” This morning, our project manager came strolling in with a new haircut and sporting a Tam O’Shanter so I quipped, “Look at you all on the Mary Tyler Moore tip. Are you going to throw your hat up in the air and twirl around for us?” I had to find The Mary Tyler Moore opening credits on YouTube just to illustrate how clever I was. I am sleepy. It is either time for bed or the early bird at the Sizzler.
I have been hard pressed to find time to post to the MB recently as work has me busier than a Wall Street coke dealer in 1988. While working for a small company is a better place for me to exist professionally, socially and creatively, it also has its drawbacks. Like accountability and less free time to surf the internet for a directory of bare celebrity crotch shots. Last week’s addition of a young, fire-balling web designer to the team should alleviate the current production logjam resulting in me getting home at a reasonable hour to conjure up a semi-witty post.
The rain falls softly on the metal roof. OJ is currently in jail for a B and E. I inhaled eight tacos and a bowl of green chili with Team Hofkamp during the Broncos game yesterday. Two homeless guys just walked by our office window with four shopping carts full of cans that were covered with assorted tarps and bungee cords yet neither were wearing a rain slicker or a poncho. I get free Brothers BBQ for lunch today. We just learned that one of our freelance designers is a con-artist and wanted for fraud. Pumpkin pie sounds delicious.
- Until the Intern becomes a full-time employee he shall be called a different female name every time he is addressed or is brought up in conversation.
- When the Intern comes strolling into the office all cocky with Starbucks in hand, he will be directed back out the door to fetch the Art Director a pumpkin spiced latte.
- When eating sandwiches in the conference room and the real employees want to talk about something important, the Intern will be directed to the vending machines in the building across the parking lot to fetch the CEO a Mountain Dew.
- When being instructed to “tighten” up a design and the Intern sarcastically quips, “How tight do you want it?” The following exchange will take place:
“Tighter than a 13-year old Romanian gymnasts ass.”
“That is tight.”
“Fucking A right it is, Susie.”
In case you have not noticed by the recent minimal posting, these past few months have been a blur of work and liquor. I have been pulling some long hours in order to catch our production schedule up to an acceptable level as well as drinking at a frat boy pace during an autumn social (a charity golf tournament this past Saturday had me knocking back Bloody Mary’s at seven in the morning). Tonight our office park held an “official” open house rife with free hooch, gourmet grilled cheese sandwiches and pulled pork fajitas. We got the chance to chat up our neighbors who are mostly architects, photographers, creative types, tech junkies and one drug addict painter contracted to complete odd jobs until the end of the year. As I post this I am draining a glass of scotch and researching how to create a typing text effect in Flash. Welcome to my OCPD.
- Getting sent three emails for the same subject. The first email contains instructions that always refer to a missing attachment, the second email contains the attachment they forgot to attach in the first email and the third email contains another “final” attachment and instructions to disregard all previous emails.
- Being invited to an all day WebEx meeting so I can “be observed” while I complete the site design. There is still twelve hours of work left to do.
- Being told that a terrible stock image of two black people, an exotic looking female and a douchebag boy-band looking white guy was not “diverse enough.”
- Getting berated for development delays even though the client did not return emails or phone calls for three months.
- Being told that “You are the artist. Surprise me!” immediately after being told, “I don’t like surprises.”
One downfall of the new office location is the lack of decent eateries. Despite the area being redeveloped into the fancy new architecture/design district, we are still surrounded by industrial warehouses and old cement factories that closed during the Carter Administration. Our immediate food options include two McDonalds gas station annexes, a Quiznos and a strip mall Mexican joint that does not deserve to be named. These past few days we have been venturing into nearby Five Points as it provides places to eat that specialize in food rather than Coors. For those unfamiliar, Five Points is one of the oldest neighborhoods in Denver that is renowned for its jazz history, its rich black heritage and its high crime rates (or perception thereof). Today, upon Jake’s recommendation, we rolled up on Tom’s Home Cookin’ for some soul food. I ordered the fried chicken, mashed potatoes, collard greens and corn bread and am still wallowing in its delicious glory. My boss was rendered speechless by the peach cobbler and proclaimed upon regaining his facilities that our future intern would soon be making afternoon cobbler runs. The best part of the dining experience came after the meal when we walked back to the car and caught the chef sharpening his butcher knife on a curb in the parking lot.