#think critically my dudes…use that noggin of yours

[sweateroverlord]

having a discussion with my brother about avatar (2009) by James Cameron and like…I did not realize I was so passionate about this movie until now

[crystalinn]

I haven’t posted about this here yet, but boy howdy has my life been A Mess™️ of late.

TW: medical talk, high stress situations, mentions of blood under the cut

This is a very long post, so a mild TL;DR: ma’s sick and this is me for eternity now (loud noises in video): 

Picture it. November 10th (ish. Time is hard.). The motherbeast came down with a case of viral bronchitis. She got a few days off work to recover. 

A couple days pass. She went back to work. Her manager sent her in the cooler for two hours. 

An immediate downturn ft. a fall out of bed that took 45 minutes to fix, heavy panting, confusion, the whole lot. She went to the Express ER. They said “oh hey, your viral bronchitis has become full blown pneumonia. You’re goin’ to the Real Hospital™️ for two days. See if you respond well.” Turns out, she did, at first. 

About a week or two of what seemed like solid improvement all came crashing back down when her return to work arrived. She went back to work... or tried to. She went to step onto the curb and gravity said no. She faceplanted the pavement, and the ambulance was called. A thorough concussion check later, and her manager drove her and her truck home. The next day, she went back to the Express ER, and they said “oh shit, your lung xray is worse than last time. Back to the Hospital for you.” 

That stay was nine days long. She was tested for tuberculosis (which came back negative, thankfully), and had a PICC line installed. During said stay, she did get rather confused and agitated, as it was near the end of the month and the rent needed paid. She called me in the middle of the night, asking me to move her IV... despite me being at home. So that was a thing.

After she came home on the 4th of this month (December), I had to start administering her PICC line antibiotics, every 8 hours. Did y’all know that cefepime (a bigboi antibiotic) smells like someone doing unholy things to eggs? Sulfuric smelling bullshit, that. Had some hiccups there, what with massive air bubbles in the line and getting the infusion orb stuck on the line. We were supposed to be done the 25th. Then she went to her new primary care doctor, and it was extended to the 6th of January, which h.

Anyway, fast forward to the 23rd. Mum was out with a pal, getting some groceries, and some Miralax ‘cause... y’know, and she fell on her ass. At this point, falling down is like a glowing neon red flag. She came home, was a bit wobbly, but was generally okay. Her primary care doctor called after the home health nurses stole some blood to tell her that her potassium levels are critical. A friend/my ‘adopted’ brotherbeast, Frank, brought her a fuckton of bananas that night. 

Now this is where it gets real fuckin’ spicy. The morning of the 24th, after we get done with the 7am orb, I gave her a dose of Miralax. She was fine, until the 3pm orb, when severe gut cramps showed up. Those lasted until about midnight when things... moved along. After that, shit went downhill fast. I put her to bed after orb times at 11 pm, and she kept waking up. As time went on, she got more and more confused. Like, she knew general things, in a kinda slow way, but she could not follow directions. On the morning of the 25th (fucking Christmas.), things had reached its boiling point. She was very confused, unable to focus, slurring words. I rang up a friend, Sandy (who has been a massive help this whole time of Fuckery), to get her to the ER. This triggered a complete meltdown. It took both of us to get her out of her chair, not to mention the sudden burst of confused crying and begging not to go. 

We finally managed to get her there, and the ER’s like “yo this looks like a stroke, so we’re gonna keep her, do an MRI or three, and get back to you.” Turns out she was very dehydrated, currently has a UTI, and is still a bit... shall we say, fucked up. But, the MRI came out clean, but there was some issue with the PICC with like, a blood clot, but they cleaned it out, so they let her go on the 26th. 

But just wait for it... I put her to bed pretty much as soon as she got home, ‘cause she doesn’t sleep in the hospital. Makes sense, right? I went to check on her at about 8, and she was unable to really comply with requests/commands/questions. I’d ask “what’s your name?”, I’d get her name (most of the time), but when I’d ask “when’s your birthday?”, I’d get her name again. Or the fact she lost her PICC line cap, and I’d ask her to hold the newly sterilized port so it wouldn’t touch anything, she’d say okay, take it, and immediately drop it. Repeatedly. 

I broke down whilst on the phone with my dad because everything has been too much of late, and eventually put her back to bed to wait for the 11pm orb. 

11pm rolled around... and well. I couldn’t get her to wake up. She’d react to me poking and prodding her by making noise and moving away, but she would not wake up. Not properly. So, I called the on call home health nurse to see if she could help, and she pretty much told me to just call an ambulance. Not wanting the expense because I live in Hell the US, I called my dad. He helped me try to wake her up over the phone, but she flat refused. I was left with no choice. So, I called the ambulance, and just before they knocked on the door, she sat up like “huh?” but extra confused. She almost didn’t go to the hospital because she said “nah, I don’t want to go” but one of the EMTs was like “nah, you gotta go.”

So, she spent about 8 hours in the ER, and they told me that they can’t keep her since she was mostly lucid, but they did float an Idea (a skilled nursing facility, at least until she got her ducks in a row) to her that was immediately denied, but with some prodding from me, she finally agreed. So they moved her upstairs from the ER to keep her until they can find a facility in the Blue Cross/Blue Shield network that’s reasonably local. The one that came to visit yesterday turned out to not be, and I’m pretty sure the dude kicked it back to the Case Supervisor to see if they can find another. But, after they moved her into her room, she’s cleared up quite a bit. 

She’s still a bit slow on the uptake sometimes, a bit unfocused, and can get caught out in the grapes mentally, but she has improved a lot. 

Oh, and another thing she’s been doing is fighting me re: eating since the first go around. Bread’s a texture issue, rice is hard to eat without teeth, and everything else “smells bad” (which, since she’s quit smoking as of that second hospital stay... I understand, but you gotta sometimes push past that.) I did manage bananas though. Thank fuck for those. 

But, back to the plot: today (the 28th) was a decent day. Much clearer, less starts and stops in her speech. A bit more focused. She didn’t manage to sleep last night, so she was kinda tired. Had another MRI, but we won’t know about that until probably tomorrow (the 29th). Maybe. Had some PICC issues, though. The nurse got the cefepime running just fine, then mum had to use the bathroom, and when she came out, the machine started screaming bloody murder. After that, the nurse came back and tried to flush the line, since the cefepime was unable to run, and when she took the syringe off, the saline shot right back out... which ain’t supposed to happen. Hit me, the nurse, mum, the bed... probably got the windows too. So they’re working on that, and hopefully they figure it out.

Had my own woes at the hospital today, too. The sole of my boot fell off, so my ride/friend/adopted sister?, Sandy, went to walmart and got me some Heavy Duty Superglue, which I got it about half way stuck before we had to leave... then when we were pulling into the parking lot at home, the nurse in charge called to ask some questions about the PICC, the antibiotic, how long it’d been there, how long she was supposed to be on it, the pharmacy’s number, all that. So I went to get out of the car, my coke bottle fell out of my pocket, started rolling under the car, and I overextended. Fell right on my knees. They are not happy. Took a hot minute to get my dumb ass off the ground, without hurting Sandy, who is like 5′2″ and v smol. I am 5′6″ and... decidedly not. Plus the bonus rain.

UPDATE 12/29/2019: the diverticulitis has made a reappearance. It’s like everything is just It’s free real estate.

UPDATE 12/31/2019: Around 2 am this morning, she managed to roll out of bed and whack her head pretty good on something. They did a CT scan, and it came out clean. No concussion. However, now she has a sitter/keeper/minder to make sure she doesn’t do it again. It’s a good thing the nurses heard her fall, ‘cause despite being armed, the bed alarm didn’t go off. I know of all of this, ‘cause the hospital called me at 3 this morning, and boy howdy that’s a gut drop, let me tell you. But, better a CT ride and a bump on her noggin vs. the alternative. Sure is one thing after a-fucking-nother, ain’t it though.

UPDATE 1/1/2020: 2019 keep your problems challenge: she's had a major mental shift again, and now she's really groggy, really confused... So the hospital moved her to the ICU and called me for consent on a spinal tap, just to make sure they're not missing anything. Other than that, they've done x-rays and another CT, I think to check her spine, hips, the one leg she's been having issues with. The doctors also think that it may be the cefepime causing this altered mental state, and after doing some digging, boy howdy I sure believe it. Cephalosporins are some nasty fuckers.

So! That’s been my month and a half! I’d like to take a break now, please!

EDIT: Further updates found here.

[fae-fucker]

Zenith: Chapter 27-28

Chapter 27

We’re back with Valen. It’s all dark darkness and vengeance will be his and he’s sad his sister is dead. That’s all his character is, really.

Has a dead sister

Is an Artiste

Dank darkness

Really wants vengeance

Is there anything else? Let me know in the comments! Don’t forget to smash that like button and subscribe to my channel for more tired witticisms. 

Valen hears a sound outside and:

With trembling limbs, Valen reached up and gripped the bars on his cell door, then pulled himself up so he could peer out through them.

So ... you’re telling me that ... the guards also sit in complete darkness? Just to fuck with the prisoners? Because Valen can’t wank on and on about the DAAHKNESS if this whole time there’s been a window in the cell unless the corridors outside are also completely dankly dark. 

Whatever. Valen sees Dex, whom he describes as a “star-covered man” because gotta get that SJM juice somehow and we all know SJM has a hard-on for stars. He then sees Andi, standing in the DAAAHKNESS with her super-duper high tech GLOWING CUFFS PLEASE NOTICE THE GLOWING CUFFS SHINSAY WORKED REALLY HARD ON THIS HARD SCI-FI WORLDBUILDING. 

We get another predator comparison because Shinsay has the collective creativity of an old banana peel, and Valen describes Andi twice within 2 paragraphs, using pretty much the same words, because fuck you.

Andi slices the guard’s arm off with her cool electrical whip, and for a man who hates Andi, Valen sure takes his sweet time describing how cool and badass and dangerous she is. I mean, who cares about character consistency when you have a protag whose ego you have to stroke every five seconds? The reader is never smart enough to think she’s badass based on her actions, you simply MUST describe everything she does as badass!

Androma Racella wasn’t an angel.

She was death incarnate.

Ok.

Chapter 28

There’s an alarm and Shinsay uses the word twice within two sentences because get fucked. 

Valen doesn’t want to get out, because who cares about realism when your character is such a spooky scary space pirate that even torture victims would rather continue get tortured and dying slowly instead of getting saved by her?

It makes too much sense!

Apparently Valen leaves a trail of blood as he crawls backwards. How is he not dead yet?

He was a shadow of the person she’d once known, but he was still a Cortas—a living fragment of Kalee.

I’m pretty sure that’s not how genetics work, Androma. 

She uses this to motivate herself to save Valen, and it makes her feel like a Spectre again.

She knocks Valen out with a knock to the noggin so she and Dex can drag him out (obviously Valen’s already critical condition will not be worsened by blunt force trauma, because this is video games and research is hard when you’re a vapid booktuber and a mediocre YA author), while also doing cool combat against six armed guards, because Dex taught her one-handed swordfighting that one time. Insert Skyrim+masturbation reference here. 

I mean yeah. Sure. Whatever. At this point I’m too tired to even say anything. 

I will, however, mention that Valen smells “rotten.” Are we absolutely sure he’s not dead?

She gripped her short-whip tight, imagining it was one of her swords, already seeing the way she’d slice it through tendons like a blade carving through raw meat.

Hey, uh. Not to spoil your fun or anything, but I’m like 99.99% sure that using a whip is uuuuuh completely different from wielding a sword? But what do I know, I’m not a ko0le spays pie rut. 

They sprang, their two bodies moving in one single motion, Valen still between them.

Hey, uh, sorry to interrupt again. Just a quick note: Can you maybe put Valen down to dispatch the guards and then pick him up when you’re done? Since you’re such COOL BADASSES, wouldn’t it be quicker to just kill the guards first and then get Valen, instead of ... carrying the guy between you, severely impairing both of your abilities? 

Then again, I guess neither Dex nor Andi have to suffer any sort of consequences and any handicap just makes them stronger, so hell, pick up the other two guards you killed. Carry three dudes! Fling them around like a flesh-tornado! 

Andi’s whip flashed in a glorious arc [...]

Uh-huh.

Andi does some Cool Flips and then a bit of her hair gets singed, which sends her into a murderous rage, because priorities.

Andi gets stabbed in the shoulder and barely reacts before yanking the knife out (fucking dumbass) and charges blindly at more guards, blinded by more murderous rage (she’s like, on her third layer of murderous rage at this point), leaving Dex and Valen alone and defenseless, apparently. My eyes were rolling over as I read this so I have no idea what happened. 

Dex decides to throw Valen’s unconscious body at the guards. 

...

...

...

Honestly, the fact that I’m still reading this fucking book is an insult to my intelligence. I should be doing better things. I should be writing. I should be enjoying an episode of Aggretsuko. I should draw yet another OC of mine.

Instead, I’m reading about a bounty hunter who just threw his unconscious, heavily bleeding, heavily damaged ward who most likely has a serious concussion down one flight of stairs. 

But hey, at least it’s not twenty flights of stairs, right? No, that’s literally in the fucking book.

The guy was unconscious. No harm done unless he died on the descent—it was only one flight of stairs, not twenty.

Obviously, being unconscious makes people invulnerable. Unless they die. 

I don’t want to insult the authors, but either Lindsay and Sasha are extremely fucking stupid, or they think you are. Pick your poison.

Also I just noticed. Each and every chapter has big letters announcing which POV we’re in at the beginning, but they’re rendered completely useless when we switch POVs mid-chapter anyway, without anything but context clues telling us who we’re following this time.

Top-notch editing, lads.

Anywhoo, they fight through the guards and meet up with Soy. 

Who promptly shoots them both.

I wish she shot them to death, but even if the chapter ends all dramatically and we’re supposed to be shocked, this is just chapter 28, and I remember Soy mentioned she can bring people back to life. 

The end is nowhere in sight, fuckos! 

[knightofameris]

goodmorning dhaksneksjd I LOVE CREATING YOUR OWN AU’s oh god i used to do that with freaking stranger things. PLS. i hate it here. grrr i just love tony stark (‘:

ima admit something fhskdnd i never read the comics so i don’t really have an opinion on these types of things but!! i can say that they definitely could’ve casted someone younger. and the only reason i really prefer peter parker is bc i’ve only seen those movies )): i never had a chance to watch miles’ story or toby mguire (is that how u spell his name—) i would honestly love to if i was given the chance but it’s never been presented to me so ):

this is a very unpopular opinion on marvel but i really liked antman and wasp JDJAJSS idk how to feel about how it fits into the MCU timeline but i liked it as its own movie. i thought it was really cool (‘: i’ll be rambling abt cute chem boy in a different post bc it’s LONG oopsies

—🧸<3

good MORNING BUT REALLY GOOD NIGHT? i finished my project so i am finally letting myself treat myself by REPLYING LMAO i’m sorry AHHH

PLEASE I HAVE SO MANY AU’S,,,,,, I HAVE A HAIKYUU AU WITH MY FRIENDS PLANNED OUT IT’S BASICALLY JUST A SELF-INSERT BUT LIKE. IM THE ONLY WRITER SO IT’S ALL JUST ME WRITING IT. WHICH IS FINE. SOME OF MY FRIENDS FEED ME IDEAS AND I WRITE NOTES DOWN TO MAKE SURE I GET TO IT. my marvel au is with some really old friends and one of them is part of the haikyuu au as well LOL. and basically every fandom i was ever really into, i just, i guarantee you i have an au either written (partially) or somewhere in my noggin (currently trying to come up with something for genshin impact with my friends too lOL)

and pls. i would. i would like tony stark as my dad PLEASE. he’s just neat yk?

AND OMG NO DON’T WORRY. i didn't even read comics until 2018? and i was into marvel since 2012 soooooooo DON’T WORRY. even then, i just read the hawkeye comics cus kate bishop is the only one i care about (maybe clint i guess) now. i love her. so so so much. AND NO I GET IT TOO. I STILL LOVE TOM HOLLAND’S PETER PARKER. it’s totally possible to criticize a media you love, and even then you can be aware of the flaws but you don’t have to point it out to people who are like “you know the >>media<< you like is flawed right?” you can just enjoy it to enjoy it! again, marvel, i will always have t h o u g h t s SO IF YOU. IF YOU BRING IT UP I WILL RAMBLE I’M SORRY  LMAOOO 

and dude i-i grew up with toby’s spiderman and still always fucking up his last name. maguire? i think??? im not googling it for the sake of it either be an actual fuck up or actually being right LMAO i liked andrew garfield’s spider-man tbh! he had lots of potential i think lul 

NO I ALSO LOVED ANTMAN AND THE WASP, IDK WHY PEOPLE DON T LIKE IT. ALSO i really love evangeline lilly and just, hope in general? like hope is so wonderful i love her so much. i love the ant man movies cus they’re just fun. im tired of dark and gritty just let me laugh at something stupid lmao 

[sarcasticabibliophobic]

How to passive-aggressively write a final reflection essay

Do you hate your professor for being a jerk? Did you die inside when they told you about the final reflection essay you had to write on the class you hated? Never fear my frustrated dude, for I have some tips that will make the experience a little more deliciously vengeful.

Rubric for these essays is generally pretty lax and you can get away with a lot more than you can in a scholarly paper. I think I got an A on my most spiteful, venomous one ever, and that professor was notorious for being very very strict on essay-grading. Some won’t even grade the writing, they just give you an A if you submit it. So chug your espresso at 2 AM and get ready to use all that devious knowledge from your freshman psychology class, and mind-fuck impress your mortal enemy professor...

- admit to your professor in your intro that you are going to be honest in the paper, because you respect them too much to lie about your experience in their class (read: haha yea right look I know they’re garbage too but you can’t just SAY that you heathen). This works so well as an intro I can’t even.

- you know those word-problems where they include two words that that are exactly the same in a row:) and you have to find them? Do that. Do it with words like “and” “or” “but” “the”- you get the picture. I like to go one or two per page, find the most innocuous places to put them, that strategy works best.

- for some of your complaints, pretend its YOUR fault that it is a complaint (I mean it probably isn’t, or maybe you will find something that was genuinely your fault who knows, but don’t worry about your pride. Remember, you are bamboozling this professor, this is your masterpiece. Pretend you’re helpless, then destroy them. Be more like Black Widow). For example, “I guess there’s a reason why I’m not a science major because XYZ was very tricky,” or “I was unprepared for the essay style you prefer, up until now I have only used APA,” etc. Damsel in distress.

- rant about topics you covered in class that made you angry, but frame them as an intellectual discussion with your professor or something. You know how doing that turns you into a genius with all the facts and arguments? Do that. Rant about the sexist author or the bias on XYZ topic. Subtly point out the professor’s bias as a “constructive criticism” if you feel really brazen.

- do extra research about a topic you learned in class (you didn’t even have to like it at the time, just pick something that the professor didn’t do as good a job of covering or something and blow them away with your bullshit brilliance and initiative), and talk about how you liked that and that you wished there was more on that topic etc, so the poor sap that comes after you next semester will have a more interesting time. Tell them that you did the extra reading too, they always fall for that.

- use all the fancy tricks in the book to hit that word count/page limit. My favorite is switching “also” to “in addition to this” or something similar. You’re welcome.

I have more tips running around in my noggin, but these were the ones that were filed under “Most Useful Shit.jpg”. Do whatever else you can to schmooze that demon with a PhD in Assholery. Now go my apprentices, and pour all of your anger, malice, rage, and spite into the most glorious five-page reflection paper that ever there was MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Also make sure you change the fonts of all your punctuation marks from 12 to 14, just because, you evil son of a gun ^-^

[chaj]

via medium.com

credits: Alex Gray

There are plenty of articles swirling around the web offering very practical processes, frameworks or new perspectives aimed at building the future of brand strategy and account planning.

This is not one of them.

See, planners love to talk process. Rarely do we discuss practice.

I’m talking about those small, simple, surprisingly enriching habits we can do to help us operate better as creative people. Routines we can return to and repeat, over time, in order to compound our creativity. Interests and skills that can prevent us from devolving into lifeless robots.

The reality is, we can ramble on about Porter’s 5 Forces till we’re blue in the face — it won’t necessarily make us more inspired, more creatively fulfilled or more imaginative in the way we approach the craft of brand planning.

So instead of penning another post with some elaborate consumer mindset matrix that you can copy-and-paste into your next strategy presentation, I figured I’d instead offer up 20 ways to help you become a better strategist. A mindset, rather than a skillset.

It may seem trivial. It may seem impractical. But even if there’s just one thing in here that you start using, I’ll consider it a roaring success. And of course, it’s not an exhaustive list, so I’m interested to know what works for you.

……………………………………………………………………………………….

Archive your media consumption

Books, podcasts, news stories, documentaries, interesting YouTube clips. Diversify. Record all the media you consume, on paper. If you want, distill it into one sentence once you’re done, or write down the one thing you found most remarkable about it. It may sound obsessive. And it is. But if you subscribe to the idea that creativity is merely connecting the dots, you need to start by collecting more dots. Either you’ll quickly find holes in your media diet, or you’ll begin to see more patterns in the world around you. Win, win.

Write your own textbook

Before I landed my first job as a strategist, I had zero experience in the field. Zilch. But what I did have was a surplus of post-graduation angst, way too much time on my hands, and a handful of empty notebooks. So I read blogs, consumed industry articles and scribbled down a bunch of bad ideas that now make me laugh. I filled notebook after notebook with random quotes, stats, useful insights from studies on psychology or human behavior, diagrams of business frameworks, lists of branding principles, even slides from noteworthy Skillshares. It’s still a habit I hold today, and it’s probably been the most beneficial contributor to my own work. Become an obsessive archiver. Create your own course syllabus. Write your own textbook.

Go to a bar by yourself

Or coffee shop. Book store. Park. Doesn’t matter. Some place where people mingle. Free yourself from corporate captivity and head out into the wild. For some odd reason, it seems as though strategists and account planners today don’t get out into the real world very often (even stranger, we’ve begun to celebrate them whenever they do). Which is why the smallest, simplest thing I’d challenge you to do is to go interface with complete strangers somewhere. Observe the way people interact. Ask them questions. Listen. Don’t be a creep. It may feel awkward at first, but you’ll come away with something special. And the truth is that the more awkward, terrifying, or contrived this may feel to you, the more you probably need to actually go do it.

Meditate

It’s as simple as this: if you work in a creative industry and don’t meditate, you’re leaving potential on the table. So start with this: 10 minutes a day for 10 days. It’s that easy. If you don’t notice any difference in your mental state, then feel free to discredit everything else I say from this point forward. I genuinely believe in it. And some of the smartest, most creative people I’ve worked with are believers, too. You know that uncomfortable, anxious feeling you experience when you have 30 open tabs on your browser? Same thing happens inside your noggin, day-in and day-out. You may not even realize it. But it clouds and corrodes your mental machinery. Use meditation as your mental disinfectant.

Set yourself back 40 years

“You have to understand the past to understand the present.” Those are the words of famed astrophysicist Carl Sagan, but it’s pertinent advice for marketing strategists, too. In an industry so obsessed with timeliness, it helps to recognize and appreciate timelessness. Because as much as we like to nerd out on Snapchat’s latest ad offering, or Mary Meeker’s mobile adoption charts, or some clever campaign execution that just sprouted up on every industry trade website, the reality is that you can learn a lot about the future by better understanding the past. By understanding the things that haven’t changed or will never change. By recognizing behaviors, attitudes or ideas that withstand the test of time. You can check out The Anatomy of Humbug or The Book of Gossage or 100 Ways to Create a Great Ad or A Master Class in Brand Planning or even check out John Griffith’s Out of the Box Thinking. Anything that provides a peek behind the curtain of Nowness.

Make writing a practice

A common first mistake is thinking you’re not a writer. That it’s a domain reserved solely for people with ‘creative’ in their title. Nonsense. If your job depends on articulating ideas, you need to write. Not to mention, you need to write with clarity, with simplicity and, at times, unfettered imagination. Fortunately, there are a lot of good books out there to help anyone, in any position, get a better handle on how to write. Annie Lamott’s Bird by Bird. Stephen King’s On Writing. Steven Pinker’s The Sense of Style. Kurt Vonnegut’s rules for writing. There’s a bunch. Bonus: George Saunder’s “What Writers Really Do When They Write.” Or just stop reading bad books from bad writers. Life’s too short for that.

Study shareholder reports

For better or for worse, Wall Street runs this world. And since shareholders determine so much of the business world today, both directly and indirectly, these publicly available artifacts are invaluable. They give you a better sense of how corporations actually create value in the world, how they communicate that value and how they intend to build on that growth moving forward. Learn the basics. Know what to look for in a balance sheet. Understand a company’s levers for growth. Look at the language they use. Better yet, invest a few hundred bucks in a company. Monitor its ebbs and flows for a few months. It’ll teach you more about business than any advertising award show case study.

Debunk your own opinions

Strategy requires decisiveness. Problem is, decisiveness sometimes breeds certitude, self-assurance, maybe even cockiness. Be suspicious of certainty, everywhere you see it. One of the great qualities that make strategists so valuable in the creative process is their innate sense of contrarianism. Their recognition of biases and blindspots. The ability to put thoughts through the scientific method. So to build up this elasticity of mind, I say, spend more time exploring contrasts. Refresh your critical thinking skills. Study the dichotomy of debate. Watch FoxNews and MSNBC in the same sitting (but stop before it makes you depressed about the world). Covet thy contrasts. Ultimately, it’s about listening more, not less, to the opinions of those you disagree with. Because having answers is great. But having perspective is, too.

Follow creative visionaries like you follow sports teams, Beyonce or Game of Thrones

I‘m always fascinated to hear how other creative people talk about their work. Creative people beyond the world of advertising or marketing. I’m especially partial to architects and industrial designers — the way they share inspiration, the way they describe their creative process, the words they use to articulate experiences, and the manner in which they frame the challenges they overcame. It’s inspiring to hear them talk, and it’s a kick-in-the-ass reminder that you don’t need a bunch of slides in a Keynote deck to sell an idea. Go find inspiration external of your industry. It’s everywhere. Simple stuff, like James Victore’s YouTube videos, Netflix’s Abstract series, or a podcast on the craft of songwriting. For God’s sake, let’s broaden our creative aperture beyond just marketing.

Go for a walk

The benefits of walking on creativity are really starting to stack up. Personally, I’ve been amazed at how quickly it can jumpstart thinking. My advice: make it a daily ritual. Even if it’s just 5 minutes or quick spin around the block. Take a colleague. Talk things through. Bond. It’s a useful way to really get to the heart of something. Not only can this more casual setting help bullshit-proof your talking points and weed-out all the wicked jargon, it may be one of the handiest ways to get outside of your own head a bit. As Søren Kierkegaard once said, “I walked myself into my best thoughts.” And suffice it to say that dude had some pretty profound thoughts.

Start an observation journal

In his book Choose Yourself, James Altucher recommends writing down 10 new ideas each day as a way to develop your “idea muscle.” The thought is, most of these ideas will probably suck, but it’s the regimen the matters most. Instead of ideas, you may find it beneficial to create a shortlist of observations or insights you have throughout the day. It can include seemingly minor realizations, like the way people act in elevators, or the way runners acknowledge each other on the streets or your own quirky theory around how people’s fashion choices correlate to their usage of certain slang. I don’t know. Get weird. Something might stick. And whenever the duty to “uncover an insight” for a project finally comes along, it won’t feel so daunting. And who knows, maybe it’ll all eventually culminate into something brilliant like this or this or this.

Get tactile

The screen is your enemy. At least at first. So before you even begin to design a presentation or outline a narrative or self-edit your thoughts, it helps to get out of your own head and put things down on paper. Not Powerpoint. Not Google Docs. Paper. Use sharpies, stickies, index cards. Pull out a blank page and free-write for five minutes. Draw your own version of an input canvas. Make lists, sketch diagrams, give yourself a nasty paper cut. It helps. A strategist’s own self-induced demand for irreducible simplicity often makes this type of playfulness seem verboten. But it gets the brain to fire in different ways. And there’s a bit of magic in making a mess. Plus, it often results in interesting creative stimulus that can help inspire others, or even make them feel a bit more like an active participant in your own process.

Master the interview

Say what you want about Howard Stern, but the man extracts answers out of people that no one else can. I’m amazed at how great interviewers can do this. They strip away people’s protective layers like old coats of asbestos-laden paint. TV legends like James Lipton, Barbara Walters, Larry King. But there’s also a new wave of noteworthy people today on YouTube and podcasts. People like Sam Jones, Brian Rose, Krista Tippett, just to name a few. Watch their body language. Listen to their line of questioning. Notice how they navigate the subtexts in between spoken sentences. The point is, we stand to gain a lot from speaking less and listening more. And being able to ask the right question, the right way, at the right moment, is some sort of alchemy.

Write poetry

Hold on, hear me out. This one’s more important than you think. Writing poetry trains you to choose your words wisely. Admittedly, it’s hard. Really hard. And it can be incredibly uncomfortable at first. But reduction is an art-form. And simplicity is key, right? You’ll quickly notice how many of the words we use on a day-to-day basis are (at best) entirely unnecessary and (at worst) downright confusing to those around us. Start writing. Obsess over details. Revise, refine, rework. With a little bit of patience and a commitment to practice, you may be astounded at how drastically it changes both the way you express yourself and how you communicate ideas. Plus, poetry almost serves as a sort of creative liposuction for buzzwords, cliches and other egregiously overused language.

Channel your inner comic

Comics are critical conduits of cultures and society. Sounds overstated, right? It’s not. The role of the comedian — among many — is to observe people’s behaviors, the words they use, their assumptions and habits and idiosyncrasies that all too often go unnoticed. For comics, truth is currency. Jokes make us laugh because they make us think. And that’s why stand-up comedy is incredibly relevant to any aspiring creative individual (aside from also being utterly enjoyable). Have a go at writing some of your own comedy bits. Revisit the beautiful world of satire writing. Sign-up for an improv comedy course. Not only will it get you to think, it will get you to think fast. It’ll teach you about universal truths. It’ll teach you about delivery. It’ll teach you how to rediscover your own sense of playfulness. And it’ll teach you the importance of not taking things so devastatingly seriously. We‘d all stand to benefit from taking things a bit less seriously.

Analyze the anatomy of stories

People who work in advertising are all storytellers in the same way that people who live in Los Angeles are all actors. Hogwash. Instead of trying to become the next Rumi, maybe start by simply unpacking the methods that other master storytellers use to hook you. Virtually any story — a news article, a TED talk, a documentary — can be dissected into distinct elements. What’s the main thesis? How do they support or prove this thesis? What’s the narrative arc? What are the chapters of their story? You can usually identify the sequences of stories with a little extra effort and attention (case in point, most business books have one core idea behind them — no matter how ‘big’ they claim their idea to be — even a cursory glance at the table of contents can give you a better sense as to how the author chooses to present their story, offer evidence, explain its implications and, ultimately, persuade you).

Maintain logs

Logs are just daily recordings. You can use them to monitor your personal finances, track fitness goals or tally up your basic to-do lists. Anything, really. But logs are important because they operationalize two things that all strategists continually need: perspective and progress. Logs remind us that making shit happen takes time. It also takes dedication, an eye for effectiveness and a step-by-step plan for actually getting there. Don’t overthink it. Start small. Ideally, something in your personal life you want to achieve or get better at. Set goals. Figure out the ways to best get it done. Make adjustments as you go. It’ll add rigor to your personal life. And it’ll bleed over into your work eventually.

Bourdain yourself

Yes, I just turned celebrity chef and television personality, Anthony Bourdain, into a verb. But it’s a helpful one. I’ve long admired the way Bourdain (and really any travel writer) looks beyond their own understandings of the world in order to gain a new perspective of the people around them. It’s a good way to live your life. Certainly more interesting. Truth is, I’ve never stepped foot inside of a mosque. I’ve never attended a polo match. I’ve never competed in an organized dance competition nor have I ever traveled to Southeast Asia. Yet each one of these experiences have their own unique subcultures, traditions, vernacular, symbols and social norms that make them remarkably distinct and special. It gives you a slightly better sense as to why people act the way they do. Why they believe what they believe. You get to see the underbelly of what matters to people. Keep notes. Take pictures. Absorb.

Teach others

Inside of you is a set of experiences, ideas and opinions unique to you. Cherish it. There are a ton of eager students, junior strategists or otherwise aspiring professionals who could gain a lot from learning from you. Pay it forward. Even if you have no altruistic bone in your body, consider this: teaching is hard, and chances are, it’ll actually make you better at what you do. Because one of two things will most likely happen. One, you’ll realize how much you still need to learn. Amazing, damn that ego. Two, you’ll quickly find that explaining basic concepts — like, say, how to write a creative brief or how to find insights or how to ask provocative questions—all help to solidify and simplify your own process and approach. It filters out superfluity. It refocuses you on the foundations. And, let’s not forget, it serves to help out others that could really benefit from face-time with a devilishly brilliant strategist like you.

Check-Out

There’s a great quote from, of all places, Winnie the Pooh: “Don’t underestimate the value of Doing Nothing, of just going along, listening to all the things you can’t hear, and not bothering.” It’s an important parting sentiment. Because sometimes it actually helps to stop being a strategist. To stop experiencing life through the lens of what can this teach me about brands or marketing or the current state of media? To stop defining yourself by your day job. To stop over-thinking, over-exerting, over-internalizing every passing idea that swims through your head during the course of the day. Close your laptop. Get out of the office. Spend time with people who don’t work in advertising and marketing. People who have never heard of Cannes Lions. People who don’t care which agencies you’ve worked at in the past. People who never utter words like “value proposition” or who sling around slang like “authentic brand connections” or who refer to their friends and families and other people they pass throughout the course of their day as “consumers”. Go have fun. Indulge. Enjoy something mindless. Take care of yourself. Temper the flames. Don’t be your job.

[bnrobertson1]

Chin Up, Algorithms

Greta Van Fleet is known for three things: (1) Shamelessly sounding like Led Zeppelin, (2) Getting critically shat on for shamelessly sounding like LZ and (3) being the cause of people attacking the music press for, you know, just not getting it, man.* I haven’t had the privilege or desire to meet the band of Detroit teenagers, but I don’t like the thought of these up-and-comers, who so clearly have the world by the tail, being down about the cruel nature of living in the public eye. So, I decided to encourage them the only way I know how: by giving them Pump Up Speech they’ve essentially begged me for **.

*Sample quote: “It’s like an awesome new version of Led Zeppelin and refreshing for people who (like myself) are overloaded with electro-pop and generic rap that is dominating the airwaves and Spotify streams.”

** in my mind

[SETTING: BACKSTAGE @ University of Phoenix Stadium. Although the stadium walls shake with blandly enthusiastic anticipation, the band is depressed after some especially rough reviews. The label has flown me in to get them in a better headspace before they go “shred” with Imagine Dragons in front 100,000 people in the desert. They await my arrival in their green room.]

BONGO DRUMMER (I’m guessing his name is Derrrbb) [flustered]: Well, the label said they’d…

SMASH. Before anyone even realizes the door has been kicked open, Derrrbb’s head gets hit with an unidentified object and caves in like whatever politician you don’t like being questioned by whatever politician you do like.  

All are silent. There is a vacuum in the air that all present notice and appreciate, a calm before the storm heavy with some serious truth debris.

I stand motionlessly, a cricket bat (name: BAM BAM) dangles in my hand like a windchime. Finally, I animate. The next five minutes consist of me smashing any and everything that needs smashing. Vanity mirrors. SMASH. Two Man Harps. SMASH. Curling irons. SMASH SMASH SMASH. To add to the effect, my face is bleached with flour meant to resemble narcotics. Red dye, surprisingly sweet, is also on my face for even further dramatic effect, although it is mixing with the flour, making a fairly delicious combination that is difficult not to lick. I then remember I left all that fake drug crap back in my van, so we’re on the real deal, baby. My eyes start twitching as my pupils dilate. Fucking Great Van Fleet. I was saving all that for Frasier night at mom’s house. Oh well, might as well get this over with. Taking a slightly manic British affectation, I speak.

“Listen. Up. You. FUCKS!!!”

I find the closest “Eastern” instrument and spend close to half an hour tirelessly destroying it with BAM BAM into pieces so infinitesimal that it would be nearly impossible to prove that it ever actually existed. An Imagine Dragons’, let’s say, oboist(?) cries in the background, I tirelessly smash the Sitar out of its misery. Noticing I’m distracted with obliterating instruments, Greta Van Fleet’s lead singer slowly starts to gain some courage, finally speaking “Hey man! Th….”

“SHUTTTTTT ITTTTT,” I politely interrupt, picking up the lead singer, let’s call him Gene, by his VERY COOL  “Indian” apparel, discus throwing him into the sun. I finally take a deep breath. Then another. Then I seethe for fifteen minutes before speaking.

“Perhaps, I should start from scratch. I’m here because your record label paid me enough a volcano-choking amount of dough to fly here and give you boys a pick-me-up because you’ve been down in the dumps with all this negative pWess. You know, a little pep pep. Maybe a pat on the noggin, a drink at me teet. And yep, boys, it’s been brutal. Look what it says here [picking up a stray computer]: ‘derivative,’ [I throw the computer at the regular drummer like a throwing star, it sticking in his head, killing him instantly] “vampiric,” [I just punch some dude for having a pube stache], “totally passionless” [I consider how many pounds of pasta a crazy busy Olive Garden goes through the day].

I continue. “And so what? Did you really get into rock n’ roll to impress critics. CRITICS!?! Some 45-year old cumrag making in a year what you do you do in a day selling your ‘Indigenous Peoples’ Greta Van Fleet Start Pack?’ Do you think for one segment of a second that one of those keyboard warriors wouldn’t change places with you? They’d floss with the bones of their young just to have one person applaud them out loud, much less a 100,000 at one time.

Full name: Indigenous Peoples’ Greta Van Fleet Start Pack* with individually numbered Bansuri

So what do they do? They talk shit on the internet like the true desperados they are. Real John fucking Waynes, this lot. ‘Oh, they’re just some product made by record industry focus group testing?’ Oh really? Well guess what else is- EVERYTHING. But there’s hope: all the stuff you get in return does not know the difference. Let me assure you, gentlemen, breasts and narcotics…” [and this point I disappear for 45 minutes. I return very, very excited to continue our chat].

“YEEEEEAAAAAHHHHHHH. Where was I?!?! Buildings! No. Oh Greta Van Fleet. So yeah like I was saying, your record label didn’t think they were signing the new Lou Reed or the new Daft Punk or fuck even the new Seven Mary fucking Three when they got you to sign on the dotted line. They just have enough data to know people like Led Zeppelin’s sound and to know that you fill that bill quite nicely. Sure, those Steve McQueen-esque critics may call you “derivative” as they take a break from their marathon love-making, but guess what- so is everybody who has ever used the word ‘the.’ Plus, derivative or not, none of you are in your sixties going on about Satanism and asking for stupid amounts of money, so the powers picked you. Plus you didn’t seem to have any pre-existing medical conditions.  But don’t fool yourself: each and every one of you cash registers are just glorified human-shaped SONOS machines. Play these songs, get your paycheck, and then exhaust all of your senses- especially which ever one tells you to ever speak. I LOVE THE LIGHTS!

Anyway, boys, think about this: Your songs have been played billions of times. BILLIONS. Add that all up and that’s more time than the entirety of Mr. “I have a Graduate Degree Yet Make Less than $35,000” Journalist McFuckFace has been on this planet, or any other. Don’t let him sting you with limp-dicked insults, boys. You have won. Look at this [picks up $10,000 guitar]. And this [picks up a huge pile of vaporizers with both hands]. ALL THE VAPES IN THE WORLD! AND THIS! [I open the treasure chest full of jewels that is in the room for some reason. I take a few of the jewels out and starts rubbing them all over my body for, let’s say, 20 minutes.]

[I continue.] Critics get to be “smart,” you get to be “rich and famous,” which is another way of saying you get to be anything you want, except smart, which is overrated. Just ask the chess master who lives in the park next to my 9,600 sq. penthouse suite. He asks for the cheese on the wax paper of my morning bagel I’m usually far too hungover to eat. That’s the type who “know about music.” When you’re thinking about what type of ice sculpture Wedding 9 should have, he’ll be teaching a Community College Class about the “Evils of Capitalism,” and mates, he’ll know that truth as soundly as you won’t remember one fucking fact about him.  

My point, my little gold mines, [I take the bassist’s face in my hands] my beautiful little gold mines [that’s not the bassist. I don’t care]  is that none of this shit matters. We’re just here for a blip, so make it a boom. Who cares if “the right people” respect you? Or if that cute girl with the thick-brimmed glasses who keeps uncracked Pynchon nearby admires your mind? I’ve got bad news for you all: none of you are Thom Yorke. I also have great news: NONE OF YOU ARE THOM YORKE. You’re not doomed to spend your days thinking about the feelings of a vacuum cleaner replacement part or some shit. Embrace your inner hedonism- that is the true spirit of LZ. Not some stolen blues riffs and shark fucking (google it). Let your creativity run wild with how you put things in and out of your bodies. AND BECOME A GOD FOR IT.  

So sorry, people will not be studying your album notes decades from now looking for clues into your genius or how the structure of some ballad is meant to mirror some fucking world ill. And that shouldn’t bother you one bit- worrying about how the future will consider you is for academics and people who think because their current life blows that it will somehow be championed in the future because they didn’t have the gall to do anything in the present. If they’re lucky they’ll get a paper towel made in their honor. If we’re lucky, that paper towel will be produced using child-labor and earth-destroying products. Nothing wipes the shit grin off their “sophisticated” faces quite like hypercriticism, and buddy, we’ll assure you there’ll be plenty of that.  

So people are calling you just a rip-off of Led Zeppelin? Congrats, you’ve hit the gold mine. Now all that’s left to do is shine. Oh, you’re welcome. Now fuck off.”

As I start to leave, one of the band member’s asks a question about “authenticity” and whether I wondered whether aping the musicians who aped other musicians “problematic.” My brain- whose resting speed is somewhere in between a figuring out how to fly and a full blown aneurysm- weaponizes, liquifying all remaining members who are in the room. I take the liquid and make ceremonial “Energy Pendants,” where I put a drop or two in a vaguely “spiritual” rock (I call them ‘crystals’), selling them for $3,500 a piece. I become a millionaire and marry Kate Upton on the moon. Oh, and because I’m so well liked and wealthy, the actual Led Zeppelin plays the reception. They play a 14- minute version of “Kashmir.” It slays.  

THE END