As progressive and techno-savvy a middle-aged guy like me tries to be, I must say, this has been a pretty exciting day. My web site is now up and open to the world. How the site came to be is part of this new wwworld.
It was designed by Margarida Girao (www.margaridagirao.com.) in Portugal. I found her on one of the better web portfolio sites. We emailed back and forth about what we like. And once we negotiated the price and figured how to pay in Euros, it was easy.
Despite differences in language and the silly emails they caused, it went very smoothly. Like any good designer, she was able to offer suggestions that helped me clarify how to convey my brand of advertising. It was a micro example of what our macro world has become. Talent is only as far away as your mouse (or should I say iPhone or Blackberry).
I don't know if the world is flat as the futurists say. But I do know its easier to contact more people, learn more things, and find more intriguing talents than ever before. For me, this past month has been a living example of how it makes advertising and communication more exciting. Heck, not just advertising...life.
Showing posts with label Advertising. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Advertising. Show all posts
Friday, July 6, 2007
Friday, June 29, 2007
A Tribute To Ray
I was planning on my first post being about creating my own website and reentering the freelance world but something more important has come up.
I didn’t cry when John Lennon died. I was more of a Stones fan. But when I found out that Ray Welch had cancer a few weeks ago and that he died just yesterday, the tears appeared. Ray was a friend. But before that, he was an icon. He was the advertising writer I most wanted to work for. The guy I always wanted to impress.
I will never forget the day I met him. After putting together my first portfolio and revising it endlessly (I still am revising it, in fact), I finally got up the courage to show it to this legendary raspy-voiced copywriter and storyteller. I called his office and asked the receptionist how a new writer could see Mr. Welch. “He really doesn’t meet with people when reviewing portfolios. But if you are in the area at 4:30, on occasional Wednesdays, he sometimes finds ten minutes.” The next day, I called back, “I can be at your office in 5 minutes if today is one of those days Mr. Welch is reviewing portfolios.”
Five minutes later, I am brought into his office. He had one of those big old wooden desks that you just don’t see in a cubicled world. At least I think it was wood because it was covered with empty beer cans. Ray offered me a beer and went through my book. Not for 10 or 15 minutes but for an hour. He even went through one of my ads (I think it was for floppy discs) word by word. “I like that word. “ “That’s a good word” “Why did you write SO, it’s lazy.” His insights and attitude and charm were overwhelming.
He took the time to help some shmoe from off the street understand what it took to be good in this business. He did it in a way that met the highest possible standards for advertising, but even more importantly, for humanity.
Though I never did get to work for him, I was lucky. Somehow, probably from giving him some voiceover work, I got to be one of his many, many, many friends. He would always introduce me to people as “one of the good guys” which I always took for high praise.
The last time I saw him, we played golf. I brought my friend Todd who was smitten with his spirit, too. He brought Geoff. And throughout the round, I got a glimpse of how much fun Ray was and how deep his friendship was with Geoff and what a damn good short game he had once he got going.
When Ray emailed me how sick he was just a few weeks ago, I wrote back how happy I would be to visit him if he just wanted some company or some chicken soup. He said he would look forward to both.
Not nearly as much as I, Ray. Not nearly as much.
I didn’t cry when John Lennon died. I was more of a Stones fan. But when I found out that Ray Welch had cancer a few weeks ago and that he died just yesterday, the tears appeared. Ray was a friend. But before that, he was an icon. He was the advertising writer I most wanted to work for. The guy I always wanted to impress.
I will never forget the day I met him. After putting together my first portfolio and revising it endlessly (I still am revising it, in fact), I finally got up the courage to show it to this legendary raspy-voiced copywriter and storyteller. I called his office and asked the receptionist how a new writer could see Mr. Welch. “He really doesn’t meet with people when reviewing portfolios. But if you are in the area at 4:30, on occasional Wednesdays, he sometimes finds ten minutes.” The next day, I called back, “I can be at your office in 5 minutes if today is one of those days Mr. Welch is reviewing portfolios.”
Five minutes later, I am brought into his office. He had one of those big old wooden desks that you just don’t see in a cubicled world. At least I think it was wood because it was covered with empty beer cans. Ray offered me a beer and went through my book. Not for 10 or 15 minutes but for an hour. He even went through one of my ads (I think it was for floppy discs) word by word. “I like that word. “ “That’s a good word” “Why did you write SO, it’s lazy.” His insights and attitude and charm were overwhelming.
He took the time to help some shmoe from off the street understand what it took to be good in this business. He did it in a way that met the highest possible standards for advertising, but even more importantly, for humanity.
Though I never did get to work for him, I was lucky. Somehow, probably from giving him some voiceover work, I got to be one of his many, many, many friends. He would always introduce me to people as “one of the good guys” which I always took for high praise.
The last time I saw him, we played golf. I brought my friend Todd who was smitten with his spirit, too. He brought Geoff. And throughout the round, I got a glimpse of how much fun Ray was and how deep his friendship was with Geoff and what a damn good short game he had once he got going.
When Ray emailed me how sick he was just a few weeks ago, I wrote back how happy I would be to visit him if he just wanted some company or some chicken soup. He said he would look forward to both.
Not nearly as much as I, Ray. Not nearly as much.
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