Tuesday, December 04, 2007

Comes around

My son has a very succinct Christmas List: Jason Witten jersey, a Mystic Ranger Red Power Ranger Sword, a General Grievous, and a Boba Fett.

How is my never-seen-a-Star-Wars-movie son so engrossed in the same thing I was engrossed in thirty years ago?

You can blame his Nana (who faithfully saved tens of probably-lead-tainted Star Wars figures from my youth. Eh. I turned out okay, right? RIGHT?) And I suppose you can blame his best friends' parents, who let his friend watch Jedis cut Siths into tiny pieces with laser sabers and hate.

Thanks to a couple books written for fourth graders, my 4 year old can spell "Darth Vader", tell you that Palpatine is secretly Darth Sidious, tell the difference between Boba and Jengo Fett, and tell you what color light saber Mace Windu wields as he prepares to undo the evil-doers.

My son is a sponge.
And he's been soaking up the Star Wars trivia.

He has embraced, for instance, the adage that "the bad guys look cooler than the good guys, but the good guys always win." Which gets ever more complicated when we also know that my wife's friend is in the throes of an ugly divorce from a local cop.

He knows that storm troopers are clones. And that clones come from one daddy. And that they are all the same. And that they can't think for themselves. But they have really cool guns. So he'd like to be a clone, maybe.

Aw shit.

Fortunately he likes Yoda. Yoda is as good as it gets right? He's a fucking MUPPET for cripes sake. What's good-er than a muppet? Men can fail. Cops get corrupted. Jedis can turn to the dark side. But Jim Henson? He's like the patron saint of positivity.

If Aimee Mann was a man...

She'd be Chuck Prophet.

Sounds like Tom Petty without the smile on his face.

Photo (?) Tuesday


Is it film? Is it photography? Is it art?
View the slideshow for more.

Great Expectations

As I eluded to in an earlier post, Slingshot has a new ECD.

When I was just a pup in the biz (actually, before I was technically in the biz) I went on a field trip to NYC. U of D arranged these frequently to expose us to the stuff you don't see in Newark, Delaware (or Philly, for that matter): Art, design, food, traffic, energy, etc. And they'd schedule visits to Kirshenbaum or Cliff Freeman or DDB: places where we had graduates creating great work for actual clients.

One of these visits was to Ogilvy, to hear Peter Wood speak.

It was the single most memorable presentation I've ever seen. He burst into the room, dressed head to toe in black, and began abruptly. He spoke a mile a minute in a peculiar British accent, tacking up examples, ringing the room as he talked. An assistant followed behind him, taking them down to clear the way for the next wave. He spoke and tacked like this for approximately ten minutes.

It was thrilling. And terrifying. When he was finished, he stopped and asked us if we had a questions. We stood there, mouths agape, struggling for oxygen, much less an intelligent question. What the hell had just happened?

My question might have been: Will you do that AGAIN?

Now he's here. In Dallas. Sitting right here with me in one of the most forward-structured creative departments in the country. Because he thinks this is where it's happening.

Cool, huh?