last day at Saatchi
Jen and Annie, my drop dead georgous partners for our class at Grey London. Grey seemed to think our ideas were pretty decent too. YAY for the occassional confidence boost.
words or visuals? words or visuals? and the debate cirlces.
Annie, Dayna, and Jen, begining to turn their brains off after ten weeks of wicked hard work.
Oh, Jenne, my goddess in the back corner. Bring me my Winnebago campaigns of burning gold. Giddy up.
Dayna and Jen
Grant, the dream-machine. I don't know what that means really. Just seemed appropriate. Buffalos eat Huskers for lunch.
Adam, King of Beer. What are you workin' on there, Bud?
The window. The ad's that didn't quite make the cut. Big suprise. Funny how this window faces the street, ground level.
And the debate continues. Round and round they go.
It's our last day at Saatchi. Raf and Graham (our teachers from Grey) stopped by to go over our books, tell us to take out every campaign that they didn't help us with, and remind us that words are lazy. I think there's a time and place for words, and even if you can think up a wicked visual, guys, you can also do something nice with words. Words are nice. The right ones can be powerful, and funny. FUNNY. There is nothing wrong with making someone laugh, especially if there's a cool idea behind it. People do read. I see them read every bloody day on the tube. I even saw Matias completely absorbed in some rotten long-copy while he waited for the northern line to show up at Old Street. I'm not saying I want to write rotten long-copy. I'm just saying, don't hate my words before you even read them. I guess you can tell the ambience was a little tense, even though our minds had already started to sink into the traditional end-of-quarter-friday-coma.
posted by cindy at 8:25 AM
2 Comments:
what are you writing, cindy? sorry, all those words just confused me. i think it would have been much better to have a drawing with a funny end line.
anyway, enough sarcasm. i was inspired to post the following lyrics by the inimitable tom lehrer after your mention of pigeon poo.
Spring is here, a-suh-puh-ring is here.
Life is skittles and life is beer.
I think the loveliest time of the year is the spring.
I do, don't you? 'Course you do.
But there's one thing that makes spring complete for me,
And makes every Sunday a treat for me.
All the world seems in tune
On a spring afternoon,
When we're poisoning pigeons in the park.
Every Sunday you'll see
My sweetheart and me,
As we poison the pigeons in the park.
When they see us coming, the birdies all try an' hide,
But they still go for peanuts when coated with cyanide.
The sun's shining bright,
Everything seems all right,
When we're poisoning pigeons in the park.
We've gained notoriety,
And caused much anxiety
In the Audubon Society
With our games.
They call it impiety
And lack of propriety,
And quite a variety
Of unpleasant names.
But it's not against any religion
To want to dispose of a pigeon.
So if Sunday you're free,
Why don't you come with me,
And we'll poison the pigeons in the park.
And maybe we'll do
In a squirrel* or two,
While we're poisoning pigeons in the park.
We'll murder them all amid laughter and merriment,
Except for the few we take home to experiment.
My pulse will be quickenin'
With each drop of strych'nine
We feed to a pigeon.
(It just takes a smidgin!)
To poison a pigeon in the park.
haha. there's nothing like a few less rabid pigions, falling from the sky.
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