If You're Lost You Can Look And You Will Find Me.

It has been brought to my attention, by my proof reading team (picked up a few more cheap from News of the World (current events joke, check.)) that this post is apparently sad. That was not my intention. Therefore if you would not like a sad post go back and read a funny one, like the one where the Wiggles touched me, or one that proves that stumble upon does work and got heaps of views over the weekend.


We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.


Have you ever been through a horrible break up?

I have recently, but it was no ordinary break up. No this was no mere girlfriend. This was worse.

I feel as though I’m sitting the kids down at the table to tell them mummy and daddy won’t be living in the same house.

My art-director Hugh and I are *bites fist in an over-dramatic way* seeing other people, creatively.

He is becoming a suit. Hopefully one of the good ones.

And I am holding steadfast to the idea that I am a copywriter and I'll be damned if you try make me do something else.

But not before I do all the best clichéd break-up activities.

I must sit on a couch eating rapidly melting ice cream, whilst listening to Cyndi Lauper's “Time After Time” and watching “He’s Just Not Into You”. Crying throughout, of course, and wailing what might be the lyrics to the aforementioned Cyndi Lauper song, or perhaps the words “He just isn’t that into me”, or even just having a wail for the sake of it because you know, why not, I have nothing else to live for, especially not my dignity.

What am I going to do now then, you ask? Well, I feel as though I’m going to run away for a little while. Visit friends I have all over the country and (if you're willing to donate me some money) the world.

People from my old life will see me walking the streets of some small New Zealand town. I will have on a fake moustache. You’ll have forgotten my name and I’ll have forgotten it too. You’ll call out to me but I will have walked into a toffee shop and by the time you kick through the door I’ll be gone.

Was I really there? You’ll never know.

Later you’ll be by a lake and see my reflection in the water behind you, on for you to turn and find that I'm gone.

Then, later on the bus, I will sit across from you. You’ll look at me, wondering if I truly am the who you think I am, or just another extremely handsome stranger. My fake moustache will come unstuck slightly. No one else will notice, but you did and now you know. It truly is me.

Then, after a very long and difficult conversation, you’ll talk me into coming back for one last ad.

But I swore I was done with that life.

And then there will be some bad sequels that I’ll refuse to act in. I’ll develop a drug habit. Date some porn stars. Start a warlock on World of Warcraft. Finally, Ashton Kutcher’ll replace me.

Either that or in a week I will get bored of being unemployed and go out looking for a job.

Yeah. I think I might do that.

So to everyone that works in the industry, keep your eyes and ears out for me.

P.S Remember to hit those like buttons below, tell your friends and follow me. Remember when I have enough loyal followers we'll buy an island and go live there. 

Adam Martin is a copywriter that lives in Auckland. He has been working in the industry for 6 months and would love to come show you his work. He has no problems relocating especially if it's to New York or London.

Its What I Do.

Much like any other night I woke up last night with random ideas buzzing around my head, some random, some for what I am working on here and work.

However today, after waiting on a briefing for far to long I decided it would be simple enough to slap together in photoshop. 

I may make this a thing. Advertising Thursday but cooler, it really needs some alliteration. Make a logo (as you can see below I have a special skill for logo design.)

So here is an ad I made for you.

Just you, yes YOU!

My main inspiration came when I thought up the name of the car company I would one day own and run. 

Dont you think their catch phrase encapsulates everything it is to be a car  owner or manufacturer.

I know their are a few mistakes in the copy, and Hugh never even looked at it so the art direction is a little off but hey, I've only been doing this a few months now so shhhh.

Disclaimer: I have never worked on any car accounts in a real agency. 

Oh and shut your mouth I know this isn't a real "Car Company" car.

The first day. Again.

So after two weeks of blissful freedom, where hours were mere trivialities to be flittered away, I am working again.

The new job begins, like many on a Monday morning, in a room that looks straight out of a movie.

It has a pool table, a dartboard,  and many photos from the days of yore when men were men, and a photo of moose or an old sea captain and far too many mirrors were what passed for décor. There is also, strangely enough, a skull of a long since dead animal, and less surprisingly a TV with a PS3 and a Nintendo Wii hooked up... I don’t think much work is going to get done in here. Or who knows the sea captain in the photo, whom I shall dub Captain Graham Phillipstein (He is a very proper captain, none of this hippy Jack Sparrow bullshit), may inspire thoughts within me I never thought possible.

Gaze upon His Majesty. May he bring me luck and the ability to grow
a beard such as his. Glorious.

Despite his grim outlook after leaving our last place of work, Hugh, my friend and art director is here, playing pool after being left alone in this room for a grand total of about two and a half minutes.

I want this room in my house.

But anyway, I wrote this the other night to begin my new challenge.

You know those nights where you can't sleep, so you just stay awake singing one word over and over (or a Justin Beiber song)? You throw a tennis ball against the wall repeatedly, wondering if anyone can hear you, and curious to know if you could throw the tennis ball hard enough to go through a wall. You don’t try because, even though I’m pretty sure not even Batman could do it (Superman could obviously but what do you expect from the man of steel, he could throw a pea through a wall. I don’t even know why I’m talking about it because it’s so obvious), if by some miracle you managed to, you; 
A) don’t know how to explain that you threw a tennis ball through a wall just to see if you could and
B) You cannot be arsed trying to be Tim ‘the Tool Man’ Taylor and fix it (unless, of course, you had the assistance of Al ‘the Pointless Reference to a Sit-com’ Borlan). You can't tell me no one else has nights like that.

I am writing this at 1:07am. I cannot sleep. I have a job interview in the morning and I would like it to go well even though I have a job already lined up (Present me: That’s the one I am at today).

But the main reason I am writing this post is because I haven’t written one for a while. As a result I feel I must, in order to keep the ‘I blog’ thing on my Facebook profile or face being placed in jail for fraud and misrepresentation of myself on Facebook (because no one does that) and it is frowned upon in society. And so help me God, I will not have society shun me.

But more importantly as part of my new job I will be undertaking a 100-day internship (I always say job... it's not. Like my place at Mojo, they could just be using me for my ideas then say there are no full time positions; cries.)So I have decided that without fail I must write a new blog for each of those hundred days. My proofreading department may hate having to take time out of their busy days to do it but I don’t care because it's a physical challenge.

So let my hundred days of nonsense begin. Take the journey with me. Subscribe, click all the buttons that I put at the bottom, despite the fact I am not yet sure what they do. But they have to be good, all the bloggers I look up to have them.

I'm Like The Beatles, Only I'm One Guy. And Only A Blogger.

Me: What should I write about today, Hugh.

Hugh: What you write about everyday, Adam. Trying to take over the world.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I prep for my writing.

Almost everyday Hugh and I have that conversation. It is usually after we have gotten annoyed at each other for not being able to come up with ideas, because let's face it, it's his fault (I can say that with some confidence knowing that he rarely reads this, despite now having a button for my blog on his blog).

So, at that point of the day we call a truce and go write a blog each.

Mine made up of my pointless ramblings, much like you're reading now. His a well-structured deep and meaningful jaunt through his thoughts… nerd.

And I think this defines us as a pair, unit, collaboration, whatever completely heterosexual way you can describe two incredibly good-looking males that hang out a lot. Hugh is the logical-ish one and I am the “fuck advertising let's ride bikes” one (due to this being my blog I have to be the one that sounds more awesome). From that cool shit usually evolves.

So my friends, as the weekend approaches and our spirits are uncharacteristically high because of the amount of praise and adoration we have received over the last few days, I muse (yeah, that's right, I muse. I muse so hard Chuck Norris made a motivational poster about me), about the power of the human mind.

Seriously it is insane. Last week we didn’t have any ideas for any of the briefs we were working on. Today and yesterday we presented them and got pats on the back, literally (to be honest it was weird because the guy giving the pats was old and has a pedo-stache).

UPDATE: Remember the competition, read all about it here. I have an actual prize. The prize is you! And by that I mean that a robot-you.

Hugh and I spent a good few days last week with very little to do but make robots, paper ones, of some of our favorite characters. 

So your prize can be either you or your favourite character in robot form! How badass it that? (Pretty badass, don't deny. You are probably entering the competition multiple times right now, because let's face it, I have awesome prizes).  So get creating me some banners people. (Please and thank you, obviously).
Also check the casual lean and displaying of bling I have going on in this picture. That's all you really need in advertising - a casual pose, a bit of bling and a cardboard Invader Zim.



*Allusions to myself and Hugh being good-looking heterosexuals, mentions of Chuck Norris and the insertion of manners were actually the work of Beka.
*Footnote is also the work of Beka, who didn't want anyone to get the wrong idea about Adam's self-image, sexuality, fondness of Chuck Norris or ability to be polite.

The Day The Magic Died.

A week or so ago I worked at Subway for a morning. Because apparently that’s what you do as a junior copywriter.

The first thing this allowed me to do was fulfil a dream I have had for a long time. Not a Martin Luther King style dream of racial equality, or even a dream of curing the world of some disease, because beyond leaving the bread out and inventing penicillin the field of sandwich artistry has stayed pretty much the same for the last 50 years or so. No, it was a dream of being able to actually get behind the Subway counter and make the sandwich I have always dreamed of.

Oh, you’d be jealous of this sub.

It looked amazing.
Bread cut at the recommended 45-degree angle.

2 meats (say what?).

A pig load of bacon (slow down buckoo!).

At least 2 avocados worth of avocado.

More than the company's recommended 6 tomatoes slices (you fiend).

More than the 42g of lettuce (are you mad?).
Even more than the suggested 12 grams of onion (he did what?!).

Only 3 sauces? Bah, I bend not to your rules!

I, ladies and gentlemen, thought of myself as a sub-shaman.

Like Jesus fed a whole lot of people with bread and fish, I fed myself with bread and chicken and bacon and Subway goodness.

However something went wrong. Firstly, my manager looked at me weird and scolded me a little for my liberal use of everything.

And secondly it tasted like ass. Well, not so much ass as that taste you get in the back of your mouth after you throw up. It had too many sauces, including the weird new sauce that I had never battle-tested. Foolish.

Day one sandwich artistry fail.

But gather round boys and girls, because there is a moral to my tale of misery and woe (I know none of my posts have really had morals before, but this is one lesson I think we can all learn from).

Lesson: You know all of that 'less is more' bullshit people keep telling you, that you only pay attention to because you cant afford to put all of that extra shit in. Listen to it. They be spitting the truth.  *Tips 40oz of Jack Daniels to the curb*

Word.

Also my art director and creative partner Hugh just started a blog. He is a cynical douche but go read it, it has pretty pictures and if enough of you go to his site from here he might design me a header that isn’t average.

EDIT: I also got stuck on a problem at work and as part of my research on said problem I put buttons down the bottom for Digg and Stumble. Click them so even more people can come and enjoy the fun. If you came from one of those sites, welcome! Click the like button... please.