'ONLINE, NO ONE CAN HEAR YOU SCREAM"

Welcome to the age of Anti-Social Media.
Exchanging alcoholism for sex-addiction the controversial
writer of underground classic DIARY OF AN OXYGEN THIEF
retools his advertising skills to seduce women online. It’s a pursuit
that quickly becomes an obsession often requiring even more creativity
than his award-winning ad campaigns, but don’t worry there are plenty
of breaks. For commercials. Dazzling, daunting and darkly hilarious,
CHAMELEON ON A KALEIDOSCOPE is a spectacular indictment
of modern media and our increasing reliance on it.

Presenting to the Beast

Aaron was in shock because it had gone
really well. Not only had I survived the
beast I’d seemingly made a new friend.
All I had to do now was sit on a plane be
delivered unto Dublin. The presentation
couldn’t have gone much better, we might get
something out of this Shane Pond fiasco after all.
By the time we emerged one of the bags I'd left at
reception had already caused commotion with the
BMV staff. My black backpack had some
choice graphics on it; a dog screwing a man’s leg;
the same dog licking his own balls; in another he
was farting a single music note. This being boring
BMV in boring New Jersey the suited security guard
couldn’t let it go without comment.
“That’s quite a conversation piece” he said
"No it isn't" I said trying to end the conversation.
‘We don’t have any sense of humor around here “
“That’s not what I heard"
Thankfully a Limo, well, not quite a Limo, with a chauffeur
waited outside to take me to JFK but before disappearing
into the matt black hole that opened in the side of the glossy
black town car, a sneaky junior client who must have been
behind me the whole time, bid me farewell.
“Good job” he said
Yes I thought, it is isn't it?

I had some changes to make to a storyboard
which basically meant going back brief the
studio manager yet again. Admittedly there
had been quite a few changes already but
that was the client's fault not mine. To soften
the fact that I‘d been back there three times
already I approached the guy sheepishly
saying ‘you’re not going to believe this’ but
as soon as he realised I was making more
changes he started to get all pissy with me.
Sighing and rolling his eyes. I couldn’t believe
a guy in a comp studio was giving me lip about
changes. This would never have happened in
London. Say what you like about the Brits but
they respected rank. At Saatchi's if a studio manager
was pissed about something he might, after fifteen
years tell his boss before promptly killing himself.
This however, was America where every fucker and
had to heard. An ordinary yes or no answer would
routinely turn into a full scale board meeting.
An idiot-magnet like Aaron only had to stand
mute in my office and within seconds he’d
attract four or five fellow fuckups from the
throng in the corridor.

Coffee after Con Call

I was not in the mood for this shit.
Maybe some coffee and some air would help.
After pounding the pavement to the nearest
coffee shop I summoned the last of my patience
for a guy who wanted to turn my coffee order
into a relationship. I sat down and cooled down.
If I hadn’t walked out like that I don’t know
what I would have done. I knew I would have
regretted resigning. When I came back after
taking a walk I was expecting Aaron to
try and coax me gently into going to LA.
But no one did. Katie went instead.

Killallon Con Call

‘I want an answer now.’
Carmel Quortito the 32 year old Head
of Product Placement from WMW Films had one of
those ball-contracting New York accents that sounded
particularly terrifying when filtered through a speakerphone.
I was one of five gently cynical overpaid adfolk staring at
the con call consul like it was a grenade on the desk.
Ted, the only millionaire in the room leaned forward.
‘I’d like to hear Jude’s view on this.When he gets off the floor. Jude?’
What Jude wanted to do was walk silently to the door, close
it behind him, descend in the elevator, cab it to the airport,
fly to London, join this call from there and hang up.
But instead he swallowed his pride for the thousandth time that
day and managed to diffuse the situation by modifying an existing
script and changing the structure to allow for a few more seconds
on the Shane Pond title. It felt like the sun had come out and the
room brightened. Within seconds she started on about sending
someone to LA to watch the pre-release cut of the movie.
I would have liked very much to see the pre-release cut in WMW
studios if it wasn’t for all the flights that would entail. Minneapolis
to Newark (half the full width of the US) then Newark to Ireland console
my mother for the loss of my father and then fly from Ireland to LA
( the wiidth of the Atlantic Ocean plus the width of the US”
A thirteen hour flight with a break for a piss in JFK.
No thank you
‘I want Jude. It should be a creative’
Timmy slid a yellow note across the polished wood surface
maybe fly from Newark to LA?
I turned it over denying him any facial cue that I had read it.
This was an ambush Surprising myself I seemed to be standing up.
I waved goodbye to Ted, and walked out.

Flying St LaCroix to Newark

On my left a rather knock-kneed and
unattractive young lady was saying there might
be empty seats up front. On my right a toddler
imitated the sounds of someone being brutally killed.
Behind me, unseen knees pressed urgently into the
small of my back. Meanwhile, Aaron Feldman, the
account man, sat silently ensconced in first class.
He looked like he knew things. Important things.
I considered him dangerous only because his blank
personality encouraged me to project my paranoia
onto him. And on that day I was carrying quite a
few reels.

FORT FUCK UP/ St La Croix / MONDAY

I met Nate earlier this morning and I explained
that I had just bought a mug which I had to explain
was a large cup and a pair of runners which I had to
explain were sneakers.
‘What does your mug say?” asked Nate.
I looked at him impressed by how quickly he had
taken the word into his vocabulary and by his evidently
American expectation that a mug should always
have something written on it.
“Nothing,” I said “it’s a moot mug”
Nate smiled now as if a droplet of some drug not
yet wrung dry of it’s use has just percolated somewhere
inside him. He was looking far too happy.
‘Right on” he said and turned way from
me to go catch his bus.
I was about to point out that where I come from
we’d say go and catch the bus.
But what was I the fucking Ambassador for Europe?