So the office party came and went with nary a whiff of scandal. Finance fannies remained covered - if vigorously shaken. The mailroom didn't start a rousing Viking Skol chorus of 'minge, minge, minge, minge" and not a single creative was caught red handed or genital'd.
All rather adult - perhaps because we all live such debauched lives the rest of the time that a party is a chance to relax without the pressure of 'the crazy ad folk" moniker.
And it is pressure. As the concert violinist / diplomat we had in yesterday said whilst playing the opening of a violent death piece - "pressure, panic, more pressure, death" - it's how a fugue works, it's how most business works.
I woke up this morning tired. And not because I had a curry and a beer with the Lord's Whimsy and Willy last night - but because since I've been back at the agency (5 days now) I've not started work after 8am, not finished work before 8pm, have been to 23 "meetings", a party, have been asked to change jobs, to get on planes, to fix things left undone and - of course - to work the weekend.
Well bollocks to that.
And on that decisive if petty note I shall bid you adieu and call a man I know in Brazil about the differences between retail there and here.
2 comments:
I hated that twat with a violin when I saw him. He was a terrible hack: scraping away at his instrument (a beautiful Guarneri - the finest violin-maker ever save for Strad - excrutiating to see it abused and debased by this clown), displaying zero knowledge of Bach, and a talent for spouting the kind of pseudo-wise management bullshit that people in advertising think is, like, really amazingly insightful.
well, like, hark at you.
did I suggest that I thought his playing was great?
or that his management comments were "like really amazingly insightful'
what I did enjoy was his conviction, his verve, his attack and the fact that his having a decent Guarneri seems to have gotten up your uptight ass
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