I’m at the beach pondering life. Some days call for what I call “Metaphorical Empty Chair Mondays.” These are deep days were I watch the sun rise or set above the California coast.

The sound of the sea lets me close my eyes and look for clarity. My soul evolves to feel the light rising. I set the chair out next to me to release the burdens that life injects into my inner core blocking the light of intelligence. My prayers are less spiritual, but more metaphorical. They act like white sage, first creating a fog and then burning away the negativity the blurs the vision. The empty chair creates the strength on the days I’m weak and broken. It’s a place in my head where my thoughts can move and find life. Imagination is restored and roams free in the din of dusk. The empty chair provides the inspiration that connects with the sound. The sounds of meditation – the filter which allows the greatness I expect and demand.

Yeah, yea, pretty new agey. But what do you expect from a Media Guy who was forced to memorize astrological signs and moon and sun relations instead of watching Charlie’s Angels in 1977? Honestly, meditation is a key factor from creative genius. Clear your mind of the B.S. and you can fill it with much better hubris; the kind that drives you to a higher place. That’s what I needed today.

So what got me here? I suppose it was this spot that I wrote back in my misogyny days where sexiness sold:

It took almost four years, but it made it to the airwaves and my long-awaited $1,000 royalty check was finally released. Hallelujah(!) and apologies that my past commercials keep creeping into play. These days, my campaigns are tame and kid-friendly. That being said, the spot has already gained fertile ground in the Land of the Rising Sun and there’s talk of a sequel. Jeez, what took them so long?!

But the euphoria of small-time cash didn’t last long as I fantasized about creating that perfect advertising character and campaign that would put me in the lore of legend. Setting the bar high is not a new thing. I mean, I’ve won Clio Awards, Emmy Awards, Telly Awards and the like, but what’s escaped me is that truly transcendent idea. My mind was clouded. I needed a refresh. That’s where the beach came in. What a revolution it turned out to be.

He is the life of parties that he has never attended…

All of this got me thinking about staying thirty in my career. Of course, if you you’re going to start thinking about staying thirsty my friends, you’re going start thinking about Dos Equis. And, if you’re going to think about Dos Equis, you’re definitely going to think The Most Interesting Man in the World, their iconic spokesperson.

It’s been over a decade since we first heard, “I don’t always drink beer, but when I do I prefer Does Equis.” It was at the beginning of the quirky ad campaign era, leading with an arrogant and unorthodox endorsement of the beer with pedestrian US sales. Unflinching, the phrase was delivered by the Most Interesting Man in the World, a Hemingway-esque bearded man who chronicled his unique adventures in globetrotting.

The campaign led the way to replace young and anonymous characters with a completely approach. Hemingway doppelgänger Jonathan Goldsmith embraced the role, confidently laughing his way through a canon of pithy short spots incredibly written and told through the prism of antiqued video footage. It was met with raised eyebrows and critic bashing. The campaign continued, found a following and the now Heineken-owned brand’s sales rocketed up shot up 22%.

Now, in true Lord of the Flies form, Dos Equis has become the exact thing it didn’t want when it started the campaign. Goldsmith has been replaced by (you guessed it) a younger, millennial-friendly 41-year-old Frenchman, Augustin Legrand. Goldsmith made his final appearance in a commercial that sent his character on a one-way mission to Mars and just as quickly, Legrand took up the campaign’s banner.

Andrew Katz, Dos Equis VP of Marketing explained, “The meaning of ‘interesting’ has evolved over the past decade, and this campaign features a new character and look and feel that opens the door to a world of interesting possibilities for today’s Dos Equis drinker.”

The news release explained it another way, stating it was “reinvigorating and modernizing ‘The Most Interesting Man in the World’ with a fresh face to showcase a character who reflects what is interesting to today’s Dos Equis drinker and to millennial beer drinkers 21 years and older.”

It remains to be seen how the next iteration of this character plays, out but the geniuses from the worldwide marketing firm Euro RSCG have their iconic character that I’ve dreamed of having on my resume. I can only guess that came from many mornings at the beach.

CLAIMS TO FAME


Here’s some of my favorite claims to fame from “The Most Interesting Man in the World,” a decade long compilation of Dos Equis ads:

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Let’s just say that Oscar Week ground me down like never before. And, I’m still a little stung by Jennifer Lawrence’s lateness for the red carpet arrivals. Usually she’s there early showing off a lovely red dress and generally trying to avoid my camera. But this time she showed up nearly ten minutes into the live telecast and stopped only few a minute for a few choice shots (see below).

I was there waiting with my #believe sign when she finally showed. Well worth the wait…Yet, I digress.

A few, uh, spa days were in order far, far from Hollywood. My feet still sore from running around three towns of red carpets and my ears still ringing from photographers imploring movie stars to look into their cameras, something struck me: when did we get so lazy?

Everyone wants a short cut now. Technology might be the culprit. It’s always there allowing the slacker who doesn’t want to put in the time a fraudulent avenue to appear more talented. It used to be that talent was organic. It was yours and you created it. You owned it. You studied film or music or art or past ad campaigns. Now, there’s a app for that…and it’s trademarked.

Can’t sing? No worries, there’s Auto-Tune.

Too lazy to study film? Not a problem. There’s a video recorder in everyone’s pocket now with editing by numbers.

Right in the style of Hemingway, paint a field of flowers just like Monet…all you need is a computer and some gall.

Journalism degree? What for? Ambush a drunk celebrity, take a picture, sell it to TMZ and BAM!…You’re a journalist!

She’s on the cover of Adweek!

America has become a place where fraudulent talent and faux celebrity is home. Today, you get famous if you’re clever on Vine or stupid enough on YouTube. The very fact that we have elevated an entire clan of Kardashians to superstar status verifies this explicitly.

You know who I feel sorry for?: Photographers.

No line of work has been more devalued. The smartphone has turned everyone into a photographer. It wasn’t long ago that a trained photographer took the time to select the right type of film, the right type of lens, exposure and lighting and then develop their own pictures in a darkroom. Once upon a time if there was a calamity, the newspaper would dispatch an entire team of reporters and photographers to cover the scene. Now, by the time the photographer gets there, he can’t get close enough to shot a decent picture because of the teeming horde of people clicking away on their iPhone cameras.

Relationships? People don’t event earn those nowadays with all of the shortcuts available. It used to be you’d have to haunt bars, wedding or funerals, honing your charming pickup lines to woo someone the old fashioned way. Now you get on Tinder or Grindr and your date appears as if she were delivered via UPS.

From photography to relationships, we need to get back to basics, like showing up on time for the red carpet.

Jen’s wild ride through the red carpet…

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First, the big news…

It only took three years, but my movie “Black Hand” is set to premiere in South Korea. The thriller I penned (and was later translated by the great Byeon Hye-joo) has a wonderful cast including Han Go-eun who goes a bit haywire after her new hand she had surgically attached provides some eerie drama. Not for the weak of heart. Maybe a Grand Bell Award (aka Daejong Film Award) is in my future.

Okay, so where am I?

There is no truth to the rumor I am in South Korea attending the premiere of Black Hand. AND, I may or may not be in working on my next pieces of advertising so that my next Emmy submissions are top notch.

What I can tell you is that I may have detoured through Pamplona, Spain for the running of the bulls, aka  the Las Fiestas de San Fermin. There’s something you feel in the soul when you hear the rustling of the crowd eager to soak in the testosterone cloud emitted from the raging bulls. You feel an aura around you, as if you were part of the herd. A day in Pamplona does nothing but help you on your journey towards inner chi.

Those that know me will know that I’ve long said to my best buddy Charles that we are simply on a vision quest…just trying to find a place in the circle. The running is definitely part of the grand quest. It’s also one of the world’s most dangerous spectacles (and also one of the true parties left on this planet). To succeed you must avoid being gored. You must also be three things: Cautious. Sober. Fast.

That being said, you cannot be afraid of the bulls. I refuse to be. After all, there are scarier clients in the boardroom after a bad advertising campaign that cost millions. When I find myself in the herd’s center, I feel a sublime safety. “How is that possible?”, you ask… When you are are part of the herd, the bulls are somehow united with your being. They sense you are part of the herd, running with them every step of the way. I despise those “daredevils” that need to put their hands on them, pushing, hitting or grabbing them. That went they get defensive. That’s when the fire burns deep inside these magnificent creature. True runners know this truth: Never touch the bulls.

THE VIRGIN RUN

I remember my first run. I was shut out the previous time I went because I was in advertising executive mode — at the hotel awaiting my continental breakfast and a private sedan ride to the run. That was definitely not a recipe for success. I couldn’t even get close enough to take a picture of the bulls let alone run with them. The next time was different. I decided to stay up all night and be in prime position near the arena. I nodded off in a restaurant doorway only to be shoo’ed away by the local police and general treated like a vagabond. I mean do they know who I am?

I jokingly thought I was a kinda of big deal, ala Ron Burgundy. I learned pretty quick that the bulls are the only big deal in Pamplona. In my 3am haze, I staggered to the Hemingway statue.

Hemingway Aside #1: This is definitely one off the oddest statues I have ever seen. The full-bearded depiction of the literary giant shows him in his stoic glory, the bust meticulously finished and polished. Then, they took this beautiful bust and dumped it onto a mess of a concrete block as if the money for the project ran out. Strange indeed.

Hemingway Aside #2: His work was the fodder of inspiration. Do you remember the books we were assigned to read? The Count of Monte Cristo, the Three Musketeers and the like? Yawnsville. Hemingway’s work was relatable and adventurous: old fishermen and soldiers and street fighters. You wanted to write like him. And you did, until you found your own style. He once wrote, “There is nothing better than to be shot at and missed.” What could sum up a grand adventure better than that?!

Yet I digress…

At the foot statue of the statue sits a lovely makeshift bed in the form of a rounded brick slope. I rested there until the dawn’s sun served as my alarm clock. Workers had already secured the barricades about 100 feet away and so I wandered to Telefonica; that’s the area where the street widens and it becomes impossible to keep the herd of bulls grouped together. I must say that the locals are nothing short of stunning—both sexes. As a younger Media Guy, my flirt scale was still on 9,000 RPMs and thus I tried my best non-gawking Spanglish on the any young lady who stopped long enough. Some made eyes, some whispered “gringo”, but most just giggled at my one hundred poorly-constructed words of Spanish. Then, panic set in.

The police line came from nowhere, reminiscent of a swarm of locust striking some unsuspecting farmer’s crops. The line closed in and pushed everyone up the street and through the first barricade on the first intersection on Estafeta. Everyone scattered from down side streets, through alleys and around building. I was already tired and I hadn’t seen a bull yet. My chest ached and then I heard the beacon of hope: the loudspeakers blaring something in multiple languages. I followed the voice like those hypnotized Eloi as they moved towards the Morlock’s underground horror pit in The Time Machine.

All at once I was trapped in a sea of humanity. The body-to-body pressure was crushing and it ebbed and flowed in unison with our collective breathing. Dawn had turned into 7:45a and the loudspeaker finally started screaming in English, which turned out to be more startling than the suffocating crowd:

“Bull runners are in danger of great bodily harm—if you fall down, stay down.”

This only charged the crowd as the murmur turned into a roar of great proportions. It took a few moments until the police line broke free and we unraveled up the street. I moved to to La Curva, aka the curve, aka Dead Man’s Corner, aka Hamburger Wall. This was THE SPOT. This is where the herd crashes every morning. The media and photographers hang here, protected from the police with the media badges. My international press card came in handy here as I flashed it liberally to avoid being moved yet again.

A rocket screamed into the sky and was quickly followed by a second. The crowd in the balconies and behind the remaining barricades surged with energy and wild noise. The runners were now in full motion, flowing around the corner and past me creating a breeze. Their expressions ran the full gambit of emotions: Cavalier. Scared. Excited.

The ground began to quake as a the galloping murmur of hooves grew to rumble. The mass of runners poured around the curve dressed in white with red scarves. It was dense and carries a certain stench of sweat and fear. This group was united in terror and each second seemed like hours. Time was grinding to halt and then, it simply froze.

Cartoons like to show the bull staring across at the matador with menacing red eyes. I often laughed at that as a child, but as the massive brown bull streaked around the curve I locked into his eyes. If I were older, my heart surely would have stopped as his red eyes literally put me squarely in his own bullseye. The unforgiving cobblestones could not absorb me or shield me from death. But then a foolish angel intervened. A runner crossed in front of me and took the full force of the lead bull’s forehead. As if in slow-motion, the man hovered on a blanket of air above the bull’s head as his arms flailed higher above as five other bulls thundered past. The man crashed to the side of me and he scurried towards safety, somehow gaining his feet. A giant white steer basically said “not so fast” as he barreled towards the man plowed through him, its hooves gobbling him up. The high-pitched grown that squeezed from his chest still haunts me today. Somehow he limped away without serious damage.

Two lives saved.
One grand story.
Viva los toros!

AD OF THE WEEK/MONTH/WHATEVER

M&M’s Tainted Love Spot

“Our latest commercial shows how irresistible M&M’s really are in a way that’s part comedy, and part soap opera,” says BBDO VP of Marketing Berta de Pablos-Barbier. “We think viewers will have fun with all the twists and turns, and see how it’s even more fun to share M&M’S Chocolate Candies versus keeping them all for yourself.”

Fittingly, the 80’s classic “Tainted Love” by Soft Cell closes out the spot.

WAXY FUN

I couldn’t resist sharing this from London’s Madame Toussauds – Helen Mirren checking herself out at this week’s press conference. Classic!

RIP Roddy Piper

He ruled the squared circle as one of its greatest non-champions. He didn’t need a belt to prove his worth. We was the king of the interview and knew how to hit people over the head with a coconut. He taught me how to think on my feet and pour out words in great volume while captivating a room. He is the king of the soliloquy. Long live the king…you will be missed.

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