Harry get's less hairy

I have another blog that I write for work in which I assess environmentally-focused ads. An ad I found this week caught my attention:

See, Harrison Ford’s chest is like the Amazon. And his hair is like the trees, plants and other species that live there, on that hard, muscular land. So when you rip out those living beings, it hurts. And why would you want to hurt that perfect, manly chest?

It’s a stretch of a metaphor, but it works.

How can Harrison Ford STILL look so hot? I don't know how effective this campaign is overall, but it certainly inspired me to donate to Conservation International. It also inspired to sleep with Harrison Ford, because that will stop global warming. Right? Wasn't that the main message of the ad?

Don't count your chickens before they hatch

Molly and I were playing a fun game all weekend… it’s called Inappropriate Cliché. The way you play is by listening to someone’s whole story, and then responding with a cliché that has nothing to do with what they just said.

“I had such a good time in Alaska; I caught this 15 pound trout that we ate that night. I couldn’t believe it.”

“Yeah well, can’t judge a book by its cover.”

The problem is that, being clichés, many actually work without even meaning to.

“Thanks for having me over for dinner. That barbecue was delicious, Brian’s a great cook.”

“His bark is worse than his bite.”

Then you sit back and watch the person look confused, thinking you’re an idiot. It’s a fun game. And beggars can’t be choosers.

Diary Thursday: Cutie Pie

I haven't diary Thursdayed in a while. And I realize today is Friday, but I'm going to take us back to some ancient journals... 1987. Ah, to be 10 again. Life was so simple.

December 2nd, 1987, 10pm, 10-years-old

Today was a very busy day. When I came home from school, I played Monopoly with Dad and Eliza. I won. Then we had a good dinner with chicken, mashed potatoes, salad and sweet potatoes/yam. That is a very unusual dinner for us.

Also, I think you should know the schedule for Mom's house and Dad's house. I'm with Mom Sunday to Tuesday and Dad Wednesday to Friday. We split Saturdays. (This is where I included a graph depicting this schedule). Eliza is always with me. Eliza is 7. I forgot to tell you, I own a rat named "Cutie-pie."

Oh yeah, and I forgot about telling you about today. Let's see… after we ate dinner, I did homework while I was talking to Annie on the phone. Then I washed the dishes, then I gave Cutie-Pie a bath, then I took a shower, then we played poker. I won.

I like writing in here better than writing somewhere else because no one can say things like "that sentence doesn't make sense" or "that should be a capital letter. Also, I can spell things however I want. I can even say "Fuck you" if I want to. But I don't. Well bye.

Love,
AAK

I'm not sure why this entry cracks me up so much. It's not the use of profanity, because that was just my style back then (still is). Maybe it's that it's just so matter of fact. Or maybe it's that I decided to record the fact that I bathed my pet rat.

V stands for...

My favorite part of being a copywriter is the concepting. That’s when you just sit around and come up with fun ideas. I won’t go into detail about my clients, but I’m currently doing some work for a company that sells vegetables. We’ll call it “Fresh Produce.” So what better message, from a sales perspective, a health perspective and a sustainability perspective than “Eat more vegetables.” But it’s advertising, it can’t be that simple. So we’re moving towards a more Michael Pollan-y strategy: shift your plate (and your lifestyle) so that meat is a side dish and veggies are the main dish, instead of the other way around.

Picture a pie chart cross-section of a plate. What we want people to do is to start making that vegetable V section of the plate bigger than it currently is. This benefits not only my client, but also the planet and the health of the person eating (this is why I love my job!)

So I start throwing out some ideas: we want to make that “V” bigger. And V also stands for vegetable, vibrancy, variety, value… all things we want our consumers to increase. I got a little over excited and ran with the thought… “Up your veggies, up your variety, up your value. UP YOUR V!” I exclaimed at my company brainstorming session.

I was met with stares and incredulous giggles.

“Audrey,” (more giggles) “I don’t think our client is going to go for the slogan: ‘Fresh Produce. Up your V!”

Oh, suddenly I saw the connotation. My second idea, “Make your V bigger,” didn’t sound too much better.

If anyone reading this doesn’t get the reference, let’s just say the idea was quickly followed by a suggestion of “The Vegetable Monologues” in which stalks of asparagus discuss coming of age and carrots talk about when they first began to sprout.

Graduation Dance

Eliza thinks it's mean, but I think this video of Katie's graduation last week is too funny not to post. Again, Katie is NOT in this video. But the girl whose halter top keeps falling down is. Check it out:

’08 rules!

As a follow up to Friday’s post about my sister’s graduation, I figured I should tell you about the event. It was one of the funnier things I’d ever seen. Totally brought me back to the ridiculousness of high school, and Berkeley High in particular.

Twenty different student speeches, two teacher addresses, words from the principal, two live vocal performances and a choreographed dance performance. All of this before they called out names to walk the stage and receive their diplomas.

And through all these speeches, songs, dances, and spoken word, there was a common theme… was it the diversity? No. The voice of the next generation breaking through this confusing world of messaging? No. The encouragement of blossoming minds to go forth and solve the planet’s problems? No. It was the one unifying belief between the black students and the white students, the Asian/Pacific Islanders, and the Latino population… that class of 2008 rules!

Yes, I’m sure the class of 2008 was a wonderful class. And I’m sure the halls of Berkeley High won’t be the same without them, as put forth in one girl’s speech. But I wished I was in possession of a giant sign to hold up from where I sat on the grass of Berkeley’s Greek Theater saying: “None of this will matter in two years.” I mean, I know I wake up every morning in my adult life thinking, “The planet’s falling apart, the economy is tanking, it’s foggy outside again, BUT… class of ’95 is awesome! Yeeeeah!”

I hope I’m not offending you, if you’re reading this, Katie. I think you’d agree with me. Really, the whole thing was adorable. Though I’d have to say the highlight was when one girl’s tube top kept falling down during the dance to reveal her shiny silver bra. I actually caught it on video and will upload as soon as possible. I’m such a good big sister, I hope you treasure this post forever, Katie. (Katie was not in this dance number)

They grow up so fast

It must be so weird for parents to see their kids grow up. I remember the day my sister, Katie, was born. Today, she’s graduating from high school.

I’m actually excited to attend a Berkeley High School graduation, even if it means sweating buckets in the Greek Theater for two hours. I didn’t attend my own (I graduated a semester early and ran off to Europe). My other sister didn’t go to high school. And my brother, well, we’ll see what choices he makes in the next few years.

But, wow, Katie… done with high school. It wouldn’t be so weird if I didn’t still think of her as being this big.


Who’s going to change her diaper when she goes off to college?

Actually, I’m sure she can take care of herself. She’s a smart girl.

Congratulations Katie, I’m proud of you!

Party like Barack Star

My lifestyle makes no sense to me sometimes. Yesterday after work, I headed to one of my favorite yoga classes, where I sweat for an hour and a half, bending my body into strange knots. I then went home to cook up and enjoy a delicious organic kale and quinoa dinner. Next, I headed off to Ruby Skye and drank a number of glasses of vodka. So why bother with the healthy stuff if I’m just going to then poison my body?

I’ll tell you why, the vodkas were for a good cause. Ruby Skye was hosting a Barack Obama celebration/rally. Kamala Harris, San Francisco’s DA, spoke and there were all kinds of Barack pins and T-shirts for sale (from which I stole the oh so clever headline. No, I can’t take credit for that one.)

But the best thing about the evening was the crowd. Young, old, really old, Black, White, Asian, Latino, gay, straight, really straight… it was the most diverse group of folks I’ve ever danced to Bob Marley with.

Just imagine for a second if you will that this diversity, this joy, this amount of hope and harmony that I saw at the club last night could be the future of our country. It’s hard to envision after eight years of George. But last night, I actually caught a brief glimpse of hope for America, though it might have just been the vodka.

Camo

I just got some more pics of the rainy camping trip from Summer. After a few morning beers, I had the brilliant idea of putting on Mike’s giant camouflage jumpsuit and hiding in the trees. It was four sizes to big, but it sure did keep me warm. Here’s one of the best shots.



Can you find me? I’ll give you a hint: look for the sneakers.

New Releases

I may not be your average fashion-focused woman, but I enjoy the occasional girlie bonding activity. So I was happy to accept an invitation last week to see “Sex and the City” with 20 other girls. We decided to get dressed up and meet before the film for cocktails at the bar in the theater. (Yes, they have bars in move theaters now). Oh, what a novel idea – cosmopolitans before seeing “Sex and the City.” I put on my nicest jeans and showed up at the theater to find 200 other girls with the same cosmo-based idea.

Aside from the 20 girls that were actually there with me (only 4 of whom I knew), there were 20 other giant groups of girls at the theater bar. All in their fancy clothes. All trying to order cosmos and discussing which of the four SATC women they most resembled. (According to a test I took on Facebook, I’m Carrie).

So, before the movie even started, I was a little over-girled. I can’t say I didn’t enjoy the film. It was cute and entertaining, and I shocked myself by shedding a tear over one particularly moving scene about a designer handbag.

However, I have to admit that I enjoyed myself far more later that week, when I got to see the latest Indiana Jones film up at Lucas Ranch. I can’t decide which was cooler – watching Harrison Ford get up to his old antics, or getting to see the spot where Lucas’ team mixed all the sound for, like, every movie ever.

Ever since I saw Raiders of the Lost Ark at a sleepover when I was five, I’ve had the biggest crush on Indiana. As soon as that familiar music swelled, I was hooked. And I don’t care if the plot didn’t really make a hell of a lot of sense. I loved every minute of that film.

Though I adore my ladies, my loyalties lie with you Indie. I would chose fighting killer ants to save Mayan ruins over shopping on 5th Avenue any day.

Keeping things in perspective

“Audrey, do you ever wonder what the point of everything is?”
“Yes.”
“You know, work, boyfriends, going out, what not...”
“Yeah, endless cycle, I hear you. But I’m happy Obama won!”
“Sometimes I'm just like, 'what am I doing with my life?’"
“Are you PMSing? Because that's the line of thought I always go down when I'm PMSing. I think, ‘God, there's no point, there's no reason or purpose...’ and then I get my period.”
“No, I’m just wondering what the purpose of my life is, that's all.”
“Well, I'll tell you one things that's helped me - getting a job that I feel like is making a difference.”
“That's good.”
“I mean, day-to-day I don't really think about it. But once in a while, I realize that if my company accomplishes what we say we're going to, we could actually save the world. Which would be cool.”
“Wow.”
“And, more importantly, there are cute boys here.”
“More importantly indeed!”

Life's a musical

Because of my mom’s love for musicals, I grew up watching them. I soon developed my own obsession for the colorful song-soaked spectacles. I used to fantasize about living in a magical, musical world. One where people break into song on a moment’s notice. A place where everyone knows not only the words, but four-part harmony and a fully choreographed dance. Imagine what a place that would be, where people had harmonized songs instead of boring business transactions. Dance-offs instead of knife fights.



That’s why this project, by Improv Everywhere, appeals to me so much. You’ve probably seen it before (Cate sent it to me last year) but I was just reminded today of how much I love it. I’m going to try and get my company to put on a musical.



If you’re not familiar with Improv Everywhere, check out their site. They’ve put on some pretty cool stunts around the country.

Ballot ballet

“Shall the City prohibit San Francisco Employees’ Retirement System members who are convicted of a crime involving moral turpitude from receiving retirement benefits?” And this is supposed to be accessible for the whole population of San Francisco to vote on? I’m a writer and I hardly know what “Turpitude” means.

It is really a chore to research every measure on the ballot. But I do it, because I’m a responsible citizen. (Really I’m just excited about getting to wear my special election shirt tomorrow — the one with the hole near the nipple. Hooray for those “I voted” stickers.)