the movie into the spot. How would the babies see it on a farm? Several ideas were tossed around. One involved showing the movie on the side of the barn. Another had the movie reflected in a puddle in the pigpen (both the client and Pixar reacted angrily to this, misconstruing our creativity for an indictment of the film). Yet a third had a drive-in movie theater next to the farm, but the concern there was that children would have absolutely no idea what a drive-in was. In the end, we eventually decided the babies would sit in front of a large flat-screen TV (the client’s input via a co-branding deal with Sony’s flat-screen division), where they would watch a partial trailer for the movie.
I say, “But what’s the problem? And please don’t say ‘cock’ again.”
Jill says, “In the script you use a cow, a pig, and a rooster.”
I say, “Of course I did. I’m a professional writer.”
Jill says, “Sing the song for me.”
I look at Ian. This is a trap. I say, “I won’t sing. But I’ll talk it.”
Jill says, “Whatever. Just do it.”
I say, “Old MacDonald had a farm. E-I-E-I-O.”
Ian says, “I feel like this is how Christopher Walken sang to his children.”
Jill says, “Shh. Keep going.”
I say, “And on this farm he had a cow. E-I-E-I-O. With a moo-moo here and a moo-moo there, here a moo, there a moo, everywhere a moo-moo.”
Jill says, “Jump ahead to the rooster part.”
I say, “And on this farm he had a rooster. E-I-E-I-O. With a . . . oh, shit.”
Ian says, “With a cock-cock here and a cock-cock there, here a cock, there a cock, everywhere a cock-cock. Where is this farm? I want to live there.”
Jill says, “We need to get on a call.”
Ian says, “So you’re saying this is a huge cock problem.”
I say, “Can’t we just lose the rooster? Cow, pig, chicken.”
Alan says, “There’s a problem with the cow and the pig. They didn’t test well. People were offended by the pig. They thought it was demeaning to heavy-set mothers. They thought we were calling people fat cows and fat pigs. The client’s really upset.”
Somewhere, not far from these offices, surgeons are saving lives, social workers are helping the poor, the clergy are ministering to the forgotten, scientists are on the edge of breakthroughs that will improve the human experience, artists are writing plays, novels, painting masterpieces. I want to know if Miss Deaf Black America looks deaf, and I have a cock problem. Truth be told, this is not an unusual day at Lauderbeck, Kline & Vanderhosen.
IT’S INCREDIBLY STUPID. I LOVE IT.
Fin. How nice.” It’s Martin’s assistant, Emma, whom he brought with him from London. She’s called and asked if I could stop by Martin’s office. He’d like a word.
Martin’s office sits in a corner of the building with spectacular views of Bryant Park. I wait in an anteroom. I hear voices from his office and recognize them as the soda guys, Glen and Barry. They are brothers, twins from Florida. They went to school for advertising, received actual degrees, apparently. I would think advertising would be more of a course than a degree, more like a week’s bartending program or CPR or omelet-making. The twins were recruited to work here, having come from a far superior agency known for its award-winning work. They love advertising. They study the business, read the industry periodicals, know the names of the best copywriters and art directors, the best agencies, which account has moved where. They know the directors. They watch reels of commercials from around the world for hours at a time. They are true believers and they will one day run this place. Or someplace like it. They bear an uncanny resemblance to Elmer Fudd.
They run the fizzy orange drink account. The fizzy orange drink is preferred by the African-American community. The fizzy orange drink is very important to the agency. The agency hopes to parlay our success (as-yet unproved) to the fizzy orange drink’s parent company, based in Atlanta. From the sound of it, Glen and Barry are very excited about their idea.
Glen (or maybe Barry) says, “Youth-oriented. Hip. Street.”
The other one says, “Jay-Z, Young Jeezy, Lil Wayne.”
Which is when they say their idea is a small black doll that talks.
I peek my head in and see that Barry and Glen are each holding a rubber doll about a foot high, presenting it to Martin and a few others.
Babs Moss, management supervisor on the account, says,