Mazel tARVO
Times are tough for happy hour hype men. Whole lotta bupkes out there right now with the world of work gone virtual. Zoom happy hours just ain’t the same. You can’t talk shit behind your colleague’s backs when they’re stacked on your computer screen Brady Bunch style. Too many kids and dogs yapping in the background. The lighting is way too bright. No bong hits or Fireball shots to loosen up the account team. You’re definitely not getting lucky. And unless you photocopied Brian Shu’s corporate AMEX before the Brits fired you, the drinks at home are definitely not on the house.
But like the indestructible cockroach that it is, ARVO too has evolved. From a middle finger to a thumbs up. From passed out drunk to sober(ish). From insult generator to peacemaker. From HR nightmare to cheery alumni newsletter. From Creepy Uncle to Cool Aunt. She likes to day drink on the deck. Like a good yenta, she has all the good gossip. She starts speaking Yiddish after her third wine spritzer. And she definitely has a thing for charm bracelets and hunky Production heartthrobs.
Luckily for her (and us) you’ve all been getting biz-zay these last few months. So throw a few ice cubes in your chardonnay, grab a little nosh, put on your favorite Josh Groban record and get ready to pinch Tom Li in the tuches.
Beth & Doug got married!
On New Year’s Eve, Beth & Doug got hitched in the most 2020 way possible…via Zoom with their families and officiant from their living room in Brooklyn. Afterwards, Doug live-streamed the KISS farewell concert from Dubai (true) while Beth fell asleep on the couch (also true).
L’chaim, Mr. & Mrs. Sellers!
Ju is pregnant!
Baby Girl Ju is due March 19th. Get ready for the cutest, most giggliest kid you’ll ever see.
Speaking of making babies…
With Kanye out of the picture, Tom Li is most definitely keeping up with the Kardashians. Word has it he and Kim bought a penthouse in TriBeCa big enough for three plotters and a binding machine in the master bedroom.
Lloyd is rocking “Oy of the Tiger”
While the rest of us are packing on the Covid pounds, Lloyd (recently featured in New York magazine) has gone all Rocky Balboa…
Running with the roosters…
Throwing down with the big boys…
Putting on a gun show…
Getting new ink…
Hanging tough, staying hungry…
Heeding the call…
Turning his back on distraction…
Walking the earth like a boss…
Just remember, Lloyd…
If you want to be the beefiest, baddest bo-hunk in town...
You still gotta go through the King.
Out with the old, in with the ARVO
I want my money back from last year’s FutureBrand Index. Roll that shit up to scoop your dog’s poop, am I right? Where exactly were the data points on impending biomedical global catastrophe? Did the strats in London forget to carry the one?
Fear not, fellow quarantiners. ARVO is back to kick 2020 in the nuts and out the door. Despite it all, 2020 had its moments. Moments to celebrate. Moments to remember. Babies were born. Puppies were adopted. Secret lovers stepped into the light. Quae’s Covid hair grew into something both menacing and magnificent.
You know the world’s upside down when ARVO is pulling the positivity card, but here we are: a ray of sunlight in a downcast world, providing hope and kind words of encouragement. So tonight we raise our glasses to the future…
Here’s to better days ahead. Here’s to silver linings and looking on the bright side. Here’s to being grateful for what you have. Here’s to not sweating the small stuff. Here’s to letting bygones be bygones. Here’s to dancing like nobody’s watching.
Nah, fuck all that. This whole thing was just a ruse to creep on your Instagram feeds. And, of course, to see what Tom Li looks like with Yoda ears.
Everyone’s favorite fighter, Baby Will Nettleton, was home and healthy for the holidays.
Enjoy never sleeping again, Catherine!
New Aussie alert! Meet Madeleine Rose Caroline Marr.
And yes, Camilla did attend a premiere at The Met later that night.
The world’s oldest Swiss intern is now the world’s oldest Swiss nanny.
Say Grüezi mitenand to Andi Amstutz and his sons Louis and Miles.
Jillian Gallagher and her 9’ tall husband Ben welcomed their daughter, Elizabeth.
Seriously, does that guy fit in a normal car? Or does he have to stick his head out of the sunroof?
Night nurse Mindy is here to lullaby the bambinos to sleep.
AYE! OH! MY PINK HAIR MIGHT BE LOUD BUT I CAN BE QUIET!
Quae and Jintana got a pandemic puppy.
Also, is Quae being spooned by Snuffleupagus?
Julie and Ruby Peters are all smiles.
NOTE: picture taken after Pitney Bowes. Like way, way after.
Beth and Doug got engaged in a galaxy far, far away.
These are not the sans serif fonts you’re looking for.
Lloyd got ssssseriously buff.
10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1…BYE YOU!
Sven & Curtis became magazine cover models.
Property values in Madison Park just skyrocketed.
Tom Li rose to superstardom playing Baby Yoda in Disney’s “The Mandalorian.”
This is the way…to free conference room cookies.
…and James Cockerille moved to the suburbs!
See for yourself on Inside Edition.
Ro-me-ARVO + JU-LEE-et
Joo Chae was a little grumpy.
Boy Joo was a lot creepy.
Dong Joo was only part Joo-ish.
On her good side.
But Ju Lee was 100% pure joy.
Half Korean, half unicorn.
Ju giggled at all of our jokes.
Even Kris Pelletier’s.
Ju galloped around the office.
Gleefully, sketch pad in hand.
Ju ate nothing but candy.
Breakfast, lunch and dinner.
Ju brought peace to our ranks.
Of cynics and doubters.
![photo 1[3].png](https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5e8d52a8d98da82e9f67dd09/1590034416294-UBYDV61X3DW076E9ADJT/photo+1%5B3%5D.png)
And smiles to the grizzled faces.
Of hockey-playing creative directors over 40.
Ju made everyone so happy.
Now, we’re happy to report, it’s her turn to beam.
Ladies and gentlemen…
JU JUST GOT MARRIED!!!
Since we can’t celebrate in person just yet, let’s throw the happy couple a…
Virtual wedding reception!
All the old-timers that built this place will be there.
So let’s charge the whole shindig to Simon’s AMEX. Brian Shu, is that cool?
Jim will wear his best suit.
J-u-u-st a bit tight in the shoulders.
And Brian Meyers will wear his.
Always a bride, never a bridesmaid.
Beth will run hospitality.
“Hi, sorry, this was supposed to be Camilla’s job.”
Malozzi’s calling the shots on refreshments.
One tequila, two tequila, three tequila, floor.
Pat’s in charge of flowers.
His sunny disposition brightens every occasion.
Monica’s bringing the food.
That’s about the right amount for one of our parties.
Darren splurged on the decorations.
He even expensed the helium.
Philine’s writing the vows.
Along with a decision tree, pillars and rationalized brand architecture model, just in case.
Utilization Nation will be taking requests.
Just as long as you get your timesheets in first.
Tom Li’s coming for two reasons.
To eat mounds of dessert…
…and to drive the ladies wild.
Goodbye cheesecake, hello beefcake.
Mark promises he’ll be there.
But he may have to sneak out early.
Lindsey and Alicia will be bridesmaids.
Their outfits designed by Tina.
Mindy wants to be one, too.
“No I don’t! I wanna be a bride! OH! AYE! Where’s my husband!? I don’t need no George Clooney. Just a nice quiet guy I can talk and talk and talk to!”
The backup bridesmaids are not bitter.
Just as long as they get to dance with Brian Meyers.
The Wolfpack will be there.
Wearing their best dad bods and cargo shorts.
Donald Trump Jr. & Steffi have matching outfits ready to go.
Whoops, sorry, that’s Marcus Bartlett.
As will Amanda, Martha, Joanna & Yogeeta.
Meow!
Sven’s going with denim on denim.
Quae’s going with two sweaters in July.
Still cold, Quae added more layers over his sweaters.
While Annie and Amanda G. warm themselves by the fire.
Siamese twins Sam & Beth will wear the same dress.
Literally.
Julie Davis will be responsible for confetti.
And glitterbombing Al Pacino.
Kim & Fran love their seating assignments!
Sandwiched on either side of Mark for a 3-hour sit-down dinner.
Gunnar just loves a good wedding.
But for your safety, steer clear of the Big Fella during the Electric Slide.
Felix hates weddings, man.
“Can’t we just go out on the Lower East Side instead?”
Ana Gannod ain’t got no time for a party.
“Oh wait, it’s for Ju? Her I like. The rest of you idiots I don’t.”
”Warum verhaftet die Polizei unseren Schweizer Praktikanten?”
According to Google Translate, that means: “Why are the police arresting our Swiss intern?”
“Hi Jim! Hi Daniel! It’s Andi! I’m here for Ju’s wedding, but my key doesn’t work!”
“Yes officers, he belongs to us.”
Oh crap, the party’s over.
HR is on to us.
False alarm! It’s just Paulette & Stella.
Get them both a cocktail and let’s get this party started.
Ju, we’re absolutely jumping for joy.
Even Lloyd’s beer gut is excited.
Here’s to your new life overflowing with…
LOVE.
LAUGHTER.
PEACE.
AND PROS-PER-P-DIDDY.
From everyone in your fan club—past, present and FUTURE—we say…
SALUTE!
CHEERS!
SKAL!
AND HAPPY ARVO!
Old MacARVO had a bar
Old MacARVO had a bar…
D-U-K-E-S
And at this bar we got hammered
Three sheets to the wind
With a lunchtime Bud here
And a trashcan punch there
Here a shot
There a shot
Everybody take a shot!
Old MacARVO had a bar
Right across the street.
Old MacARVO had a bar…
WILD-WOOD BAR-B-Q
And at this bar our numbers grew
From 10 to 62
With American Airlines here
And USAA there
Here an Axalta
There a Baxalta
Everywhere a heavy industrial
Old MacARVO had a bar
That smelled like suckling pig.
Old MacARVO had a bar…
VIC & AN-THO-NY’S
And at this bar our bill went up
To Mikey D’s dismay
With a flute of Cristal here
And a round of single malt there
Here a martini
There a bellini
In a place so stinkin’ cheesy.
Old MacARVO had a bar
Sven, where’s your AMEX?
Old MacARVO had a bar…
SHAY-AY-ADES OF GREEN
And at this bar we chugged Guinness
Like it was our job
With a black and tan here
And an Irish car bomb there
Here a bender
There a Blander
Everywhere a tanked designer
Old MacARVO had a bar
Crap, I lost my keys.
Old MacARVO had a bar…
EVERY-WHERE IT SEEMED
And at these bars we got closer
To the waitstaff than our families
With an Old Town here
And a Watering Hole there
Here an Ainsworth
There a Churchill
Everywhere a 2 for 1 special
Old MacARVO had so many bars
Like a Chinese food buffet.
Then Old MacARVO moved uptown…
NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!
The bars were full of finance bros
D-I-C-K-S
With a Hudson Malone here
And a Crimson & Rye there
Here come the Brits
With our pink slips
Everybody hit the bricks!
Now Old MacARVO drinks at home
Because he got laid off.
Shu fly don't ARVO me
Not all of us in this virtual reunion are former FutureBranders. Former, you know, by choice, chance, sobriety or security escort. If Cassie and Eli were to teleport from the year 2013, they’d find their coffee and bagels replaced with tea and crumpets and few familiar faces from the Park Avenue South glory days. With the recent downsizing of Boy Jooh and Henri, our original ranks have been thinned to the following Fab Five:
Veronique Bergeron.
Tanieka Farrington.
Enshalla Anderson.
Jamahl Umar.
Brian Shu.
Yeah, yeah, we know Victoria still works for the company. But that’s way down under in Melbourne. And sure, Kris Pelletier, Emily Hartnett, Amanda G., Tara Gupta and Clare-Louise Smith are still pulling paychecks endorsed by HyperMedia Solutions. But their bloodlines can’t be traced back to the Old Country downtown, so no dice.
This begs the question: if the Brits keep up their Hunger Games style of corporate restructuring, who will be the last OG FBer standing?
Will it be…Veronique?
Not likely. Too much wanderlust. VB can only pull off corporate normal for so long. She’s likely to get that itch again. Scratch, scratch, scratch, pack up the cats and HELLO barefoot llama farm poet outside of Chattanooga. LET’S DO THIS!
How about Tanieka?
Possible, but T is too big a foodie. You know she’s gotta be tired of ordering boiled chicken, blood pudding and mushy peas for the company picnic. She’s gonna want a gig with a little bit more kick to it than that.
What are the odds on Jamahl?
Jamahl will decide when Jamahl’s had enough. One day his phone won’t answer. His picture, if any exist, will be scrubbed from the Internet. Jamahl will be in the wind…leaving no loose ends and not a single fingerprint.
Will Enshalla reign supreme?
Shit, if the Brits couldn’t can Kari, they’ll never have the nads to sack Enshalla. She will destroy, demolish and demoralize them with one raised eyebrow. So sure, she’s the smart Vegas bet. A scrappy street fighter with a Harvard MBA. But we’re going with an even stronger candidate, guaranteed to be victorious.
Our money’s on Brian Shu.
Ever since the boy band blokes from No Direction said cheerio to Tom Li, Brian Shu’s moved to the top of the seniority pile. What’s he been there…13 years? 15 years? 20? Did he start as an intern? Was he grown in an experimental CMG lab? Nobody really knows except for Brian Shu.
That’s because Brian Shu knows everything. And at a company where institutional knowledge and truthiness are in shorter supply than toilet paper these days, Brian Shu ain’t going anywhere. Somebody actually has to know how to drive the bus. And on the right side of the street no less.
Imagine for a second that branding agencies, like pimply-faced teenagers, needed a government-issued license to drive. How exactly would FB 2020 fare on the written test?
Q: What qualifies you to run a North American branding office?
A: Nepotism, mate!
Q: How many Koreans are on your Design team?
A: Zero!
Q: How many designers are on staff?
A: Well none, but we do have two Chief Creative Officers!
Q: Why do you need two Chief Creative Officers?
A: We need one to do all the work, and the other to act like a total arsehole wanker.
Q: How many Germans do you have in Strategy?
A: Not a one!
Q: You don’t employ any Germans? Who does all the brand architecture?
A: Don’t even know what that is!
Q: It says here that you laid off the company’s founder, a man named Tom Li. He’d been getting shit done for 28 years and was universally beloved by all. Is that true?
A: Yes indeed. Some of our dodgiest work, in fact. Can’t have someone more popular than me in the office. My mum said I’m the most charming.
Q: OK, so no Koreans, No Germans and no Tom Li? How exactly are you keeping the lights on?
A: I may be thick as a brick, but I’m not a total tosser. See mate, it’s my job to make bonkers decisions. And it’s Brian Shu’s job to count the quid and fix my fuckups. Without that chap, we would have been tits up two months after my arrival.
Fellow pilgrims, on this the 499th day of April, raise a glass to one of FutureBrand’s finest, past and present, Brian Shu. Points off for being an annoying Mets’ fan, but otherwise a solid, decent, upstanding dude who saved many an ARVO with his corporate AMEX and Monday morning math. Where so much in the world seems up in the air, Brian Shu’s tenure at FutureBrand is written in stone. In fact, even if he wanted to, they can’t let him leave! Because not only does Brian Shu know where the bodies are buried, he approved the purchase of the shovel.
Eggplant parmesARVO…Big Man style
Jim enjoyed all the perks bestowed upon him as the North American president of a British-run, holding company-controlled strategic brand and design consultancy…
His mornings began outfitted in luxury.
After easing into a pair of his finest relaxed-fit, dad-bod Dockers and extra arch support New Balance sneakers, Jim squeezed into his waiting chariot…a NJ Transit bus with unreliable A/C and seats built for commuters the size of Quae.
On rare occasions, the journey from the North Bergen Park ‘N Ride through the Lincoln Tunnel zipped by in under ten minutes. But most trips—especially on the hottest, stickiest, make Malozzi’s back and Beth’s pits the sweatiest day in mid August—Jim would be stuck in there for over an hour and a half. Not to worry. The kind folks in London saw to it that his breakfast buffet of shit sandwiches, served fresh daily by Patrick Smith, did not go cold.
Afternoons were spent basking in kudos and compliments.
An endless conga line of grateful FutureBranders queued outside Jim’s door. What’s that? Oh sorry, there’s a small typo in that headline. Swap “kudos and compliments” for “bitching and moaning.”
In between he wined and dined.
Jim loved nothing more than playing footsy and making googly eyes at every Midwestern-based heavy industrial manufacturer of acronyms and chemical derivatives. And sitting in on pipeline meetings with Mindy.
At night, he’d kick his feet up and relax.
Full of vim and vigor from another uplifting day at the office, Jim would shoehorn back into the sardine can on wheels and head straight for his night jobs: suburban dad, husband, lacrosse coach and chief executive pooper scooper to his two big boxer pups.
Ah, but for one glorious hour each work day, he was set free, phone off and off leash.
The Australians call it going on walkabout…
Native Americans call it a vision quest…
Horny Amish teenagers call it rumspringa…
Gentlemen of leisure like Kris Pelletier call it taking a constitutional…
Mark Thwaites calls it being on the stroll…
Jim Lowell called it 60 minutes of pure paradise.
It was a time to reflect…
A time to clear his head…
A time to stretch his legs...
A time to explore endless ideas on diner napkins…
A time to wander the streets of midtown unencumbered…
And most importantly, a time for the Big Man to continue his quest in search of the ultimate culinary masterpiece…
The perfect eggplant parmesan. Jim’s white whale.
Now to the unsophisticated ear, Long Island and North Jersey accents are one in the same. Carmela Soprano…Mary Jo Buttafuoco…to-MAY-to, to-MAH-to, right? Local connoisseurs can spot the subtle nuances between “caw-fee,” “chaw-clate” and “maw-all.” But after 25 years of living across the Hudson, Jim, a proud son of Massepequa, sounds more like Bruce Springsteen than Billy Joel. Only two words, and two words only, remain linguistically Long Island bulletproof in Jim’s vocabulary.
“Holmfridur.”
And “parmesan.”
One day, an excited Jim returned from walkabout—marinara on his Colombo trench lapel, big smile across his gleeful face, Long Island accent locked and loaded.
“Guys, I just found the perfect eggplant pah-meh-jhan-an-an-an-an-an-an…”
Eddie Van Halen, Hendrix and Stevie Ray Vaughan working in shifts couldn’t keep up with the vibrato at the end of that sentence. You could get up, go to the bathroom, stop by the kitchen, make fun of Tom Li’s shirt, sit in on an American Airlines’ status call, come back to your desk and Jim was STILL wailing on that “jhan-an-an-an-an-an…” He was like Darren boring clients at an implementation kickoff. Joanna wearing animal print pencil skirts. And Kari devouring the souls of junior female strategists. Once Jim got that South Shore accent started, he just couldn’t stop.
“Jim, that’s not the best eggplant parmesan in the city. It’s not even the best eggplant parmesan on this block.”
“What do you know about Italian food, Malozzi?
“First of all, I’m Italian. And second, a place called Paddy O’Reilley’s shouldn’t be serving eggplant parmesan. It’s sacrilege.”
And then suddenly, a cold breeze blew in from the north. Ms. Hardardottir had Jim in her crosshairs. The prison doors shut hard behind the Big Man. He was trapped. His fun for the day, over.
“Home-freeeeeeee-duh-uh-uh-uh!!!”
* * * * *
Fellow pilgrims, a cabin fever toast heard ‘round the world for Jim Lowell. Everybody loves the Big Man. He’s one big bear hug of decency and amicability. But we’re happy to report there’s a lot less of him to love! Jim’s been working out and laying off the eggplant parms during quarantine. To date he’s lost almost 50 pounds. 5-0! While it was always assumed that George Clooney would play Sven in “FutureBrand: The Movie,” look out, he’s got some competition now. As long as ole George like his Bud Light cold, his bosoms bodacious and his chicken wings extra, extra crispy.
Here comes Kari Cottontail, hoppin' down the ARVO trail
Years later, like the aftershocks of an almighty earthquake, the mere mention of HER name sends shell-shocked FutureBranders straight to the funny farm. Make it stop! Make it stop! Make HER stop!
HER resume reads like Mike Tyson’s punishing prescription for employee pain…
Exelon…UPPER CUT!!
Adient…BODY BLOW!!
ViaSat…KIDNEY PUNCH!!
American Airlines…KICK TO THE NUTS!! KICK TO THE NUTS!! KICK TO THE NUTS!!
Pitney Bowes…CRUSH THEIR SOULS AND EXTINGUISH THEIR SPIRIT!!
In corners of the earth near and far, like war torn veterans adjusting to civilian life, each survivor copes with Kari PTSD in their own fragile way…
Daniels screams out in the night…Sie ist eine Teufelsfrau!
“Knock, knock. Nice to meet you, Daniel. I’m just a shy, demure strategist here to say you won’t have any trouble from me. The last thing I’d ever do is question your leadership.”
Julie Peters and Amanda K. drink. They drink a lot.
“Hey ladies, change this slide, this slide, this slide, that slide, this slide and that slide. Go ahead and cancel your weekend plans. Break up with your boyfriends. And say goodbye to your families.”
Doug smash! Doug smash!
“Here’s my notes on how to make your design work more strategic.”
Lindsey, Tracey and Anuschka shiver together in the corner.
“How many check-ins do we have on the calendar…only seven per day?? That’s not nearly enough. We need at least three every hour. Go ahead and ask Holmfridur for more bodies, err, I mean resources.”
Sven changes his catchphrase.
“Helloooo.”
“Sven, I need to cry in your office while complaining about Marcus, Lloyd, Doug and Darren.”
“Goodbyyyyeeee.”
Jim slumps back into his chair.
“Hey Big Man, I know it’s 4:59 on a summer Friday and you’re probably headed to your shore house for the weekend, but I need to bend your ear on all the ways I’ve been wronged.”
The sommelier at the Four Season in Dallas does his physical therapy, hoping to one day gain feeling back in his carpal tunnel ravaged wrist.
“Hello room service, I’m going to need another midnight delivery of chardonnay.”
Beth yells. But that might be unrelated.
The rest of us walking wounded have flashbacks while watching “Tiger King” on Netflix.
The resemblance is remarkable. Carole Baskin is Kari Blanchard. Kari Blanchard is Carole Baskin. But while Kari never killed her husband and fed him to the tigers, she has been known to feed fellow FutureBranders to the meat grinder.
Then one day new British management arrived.
“Don’t worry, mates, we’re not here to fire you (not true) or fundamentally fuck up all that you’ve built (also not true). It’ll be like we’re not even here (if only that were true). Our door is always open, come on in, except when cricket is on the telly. Is there anything we can fix to make your lives and our profitability better?”
“Kari.”
“Kari.”
“Kari.”
“Kari.”
“Kari.”
“Kari.”
“Kari.”
“Kari.”
“Kari.”
“Kari.”
“Kari.”
“Kari.”
“Kari.”
“Kari.”
“Kari.”
“Bloody bollocks, what if we just promised you better snacks?”
“We love snacks, but we love our sanity more.”
“What if we regaled her with charming tales from our prep school days?”
“She’ll eat you alive.”
“What if we sacked everyone else but kept her, would that solve the problem?”
“That’ll only make it worse.”
“What if we banished her to the West Coast, that should do the trick, right?”
“Ask Amanda G. how that’s working out.”
“What if we told you we were going to take care of it, but never actually do anything?”
“That’s called speaking out of both sides of your mouth.”
“Bangers and mash, that’s our preferred leadership style!”
“Listen mates, we’ll level with you. She’s not going anywhere. She has pictures of Patrick Smith. Cheeky, cheeky pictures of the man.”
“Can’t you report that to IPG?”
“Who do you think sold her the pictures!? We were running a penny arcade in East London last year. Now look at us, we’re the President of North America! If you thought she was bad, just wait for what we have in store.”
ARVO: The Next Generation
The ARVO baby boom continues.
Somewhere outside of Zurich, the world’s oldest Swiss intern Andi and his wife Esther Amstutz just wilkommed their second son (Hey Andi, what’s the kid’s name!?). Meanwhile in Westchester County, at the Nettleton residence to be exact, “Welcome Home, Big Guy!” balloons burst with anticipation. That’s right, fan-fucking-tastic news to share…Baby Will has been released from the hospital!
With all the Netflix and chillin’ going on during quarantine, should we expect a second wave of second generation FutureBranders in about, oh say, nine months or so? And no, “self” chillin’ doesn’t count.
Back in the day, only Jim, Holmfridur and Mike Williams had kids. Sure Tom Li had a few great great grandchildren working the plotter out in Queens, but the rest of us…uh uh, no way, no how, no thanks. We were drunk and dependent free. Then the dam burst open. Maybe it was all the free [yellow tail] flowing in the office. Or maybe the Country Brand Index really was a steamy romp through data that got the strats all hot and bothered behind their buttoned-up PowerPoints.
First there was Daniel. Then Jo. Then Sam. Then Monica. Then Sam again. Victoria got in on the action. Annie, twice. Tanieka, once. John and Ann had Jack. Kim…Kim! Kim has a kid! So does James, Camilla, Naz, Jenn Sizzle-Kelly, Stella, Amanda G., Tara and Catherine. Gunnar’s got like 30 kids out in Denver. Kris Pelletier and Veronique adopted 17 kittens apiece. Word has it even Marcus procreated. Bet that’s one helluva fabulous diaper bag.
But while folks without kids are busy knocking boots, the rest of us parents shell-shocked by the last two weeks of homeschooling have sworn off sex forever. When did third grade math get THIS hard!? Is “because I said so” a valid response to student questions? Are teachers allowed to start drinking during second period?
So while there might be a huge spike in babies born around Christmas, expect the curve to flatten, oh, about five seconds later. Let’s take a stroll through the nursery to meet these new bundles of joy…
Oh look, Quae Jr. is about to say his first words…
Quae, Jr.: Wait? What?
Quae, Sr.: Wait, what did you just say?
Quae, Jr.: Wait? What?
Quae, Sr.: That’s what I’m asking you.
Quae, Jr.: Wait? What?
Quae, Sr.: Did you just say something?
Quae, Jr.: Wait? What?
Quae, Sr.: Alright, now I’m confused.
Say hello to Lloyd Jr., born after 10 hours of natural childbirth…
Lloyd, Jr.: Ewwwww. Ewwwwww. Ewwwwwwwwwwwww. Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwww. Oy vey, that’s the first and last time you’ll ever find me in a vagina! Sssseriously.
Ann Smith let John name their second son. Welcome to the world….
Grandmaster Francesco Flash Antonio Giovanni Gambino Balboa Messier Malozzi!
Look out! Here comes Beth and Doug’s daughter, stampeding her way into the first day of kindergarten…
Baby Beth: Hi sorry, Baby Beth here. Yes, that’s my dad drumming on the swing set. Listen, I’m going to need my own key to the bathroom because I pee like every 30 seconds. And also, I’m going to need stronger crayons. The ones you gave me fall apart when I POUND! POUND! POUND! them against Creepy Uncle Darren’s forehead. God, I hate everybody. E-v-e-r-y-b-o-d-y. Where’s Aunt Sam? SAM!
OH! AYE! It’s the Immaculate Conception! Or maybe Murray Ball’s boys take their time swimming upstream. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Mindy’s daughter, Lil Mindelina!
Mindelina: I’ve been in there ALRIGHT, inside my mother’s HOO HAW for EIGHT MONTHS now. I’ve been in there by MYSELF, on LOCKDOWN, under HOUSE ARREST, no one to TALK WITH!!!! Finally I pressed the button. I pressed the button and said OH! MR. BUS DRIVER! LET ME OUT RIGHT HERE!!! I’LL WALK THE REST OF THE WAY. WALK AND TALK!!!. I couldn’t get cell reception in there! I need to talk to the BIG MAN! Where’s the BIG MAN!?!? OH! Now that you’re skinny I can’t find you. JIM! JIM!! JIM!!!!!! I just need 17,000 hours of your UNDIVIDED ATTENTION!
Oh joy, a bunch of British kids just moved into the neighborhood! I sure hope they like to share their toys…
Simon, Simon, Simon & Simon: Jolly good to meet you fine chaps. We’ve heard you run the most successful, most profitable, most creative, most fun to work at playground in the whole world. Congrats, mates. Brilliant work. Sorry to be a bother, but do you mind terribly if we SHIT ALL OVER YOUR sandbox?
Fellow pilgrims, another crazy week in the books. While homeschooling might be the ultimate form of birth control, our kids do bring us great joy. Just ask Catherine. Or Andi. Or Mr. and Mrs. Hardardottir. That’s right, raise a glass and let “til hamingju með afmælið” roll off your tongue, for today is Holmfridur’s birthday!
Oh Catherine! Our Catherine! An ARVO salute to you, dawg
You think you know Catherine. You think you’ve got her all figured out, but you have no idea.
The mystery starts with her name: Catherine Nettleton. Or is it Catherine Ellinwood?
One’s her maiden name, the other her married, that much we know. But which one’s which? Ellinwood and Nettleton? Nettleton and Ellinwood? Besides sounding like competing country clubs in Chappaqua or the WASPY alternative to injury attorneys Cellino & Barnes, they’re pretty much the same exact name, you know?
Like if Malozzi changed his to John Kardasheroni.
Miss Crane (now Mrs. Marr) changed hers to Camilla Rainbows Happy Smiles and Sunshine.
And Tom Li legally (and rightfully) became Tom Free Conference Room Cookies.
Then there’s Catherine’s style: straight up J. Crew with a Burberry check chaser. And just a dash of hip-hop behind the pearls.
Need a perky Anne Hathaway type to play the main character’s preppy best friend? Call Catherine.
Shooting a Nantucket Tourism ad featuring white chicks walking Golden Retrievers down the beach? Catherine. Definitely, Catherine.
Casting a Catholic schoolgirl coming of age road trip? Catherine’s at the ready with her burgundy Saab, pleated skirts and bottle of Chivas lifted from her parent’s liquor cabinet. But just when you expect Dave Matthews and Coldplay to stink up the soundtrack, Catherine switches up her Ray Ban aviators for Roc-A-Wear wraparounds and the sorority rock for old school Tupac and Biggie. Don’t even think about flipping the dial over to Vanilla Ice, Matt Huss. Feel me, player?
Catherine’s diet’s the next head scratcher.
You look at Catherine and you think, she’s one of those make your own salad types. Chop’t…Toss’d…Sweetgreens…Whole Foods…you know, healthy joints that smell like beets where Holmfridur, P. Diddy and Sam got their rabbit pellets.
Instead she eats like a truck driver. The more diner food the better. While Beth and Doug were playing footsie at the back table of Lenny’s on Second Ave, Catherine was at the counter ordering The Big Daddy – grilled steak, avocado, melted mozzarella, grilled onions, roasted red peppers, vinegar and oil on a hoagie roll. Jim would’ve gained 20 pounds just looking at her sandwich.
Think Catherine’s a pushover, right? The account director you can dodge on deadline day?
Catherine didn’t care if it was 7pm on a summer Friday night. If she found a typo on page 184, get comfortable, because your ass wasn’t going to ARVO.
You’d think someone who specialized in acronyms – USAA, CFA, AXALTA, CECP – and traveling to exotic client destinations like Charlottesville, San Antonio and Wilmington, DE would lose her shit on the regular.
The closest you ever saw Catherine come to spiraling was when Soul Cycle canceled her morning spin class.
“I mean, like, seriously, WTF!? For realz.”
White girl with flavor. Girl next door. Girl from page 14 of the Vineyard Vines catalogue. Wannabe b-girl. Girl with the iron gut. Nice girl who took zero shit with a smile. Girl who put sucka MCs down in their place.
Everybody at FutureBrand loved Catherine. And Catherine loved everybody. Well, some days maybe Darren not so much.
Whether you grew up with Catherine, went to school with Catherine, or like us, had the pleasure of working with Catherine, you looked at her and thought, I want that life. Forecast calls for blue skies and lawn darts. Turn up the Tupac and pour a fresh pitcher of Mint Juleps. Sure looks like smooth sailing on the USS Catherine from here.
You’re hearing a lot about resilience in this new world of ours. You will need it more than toilet paper and Netflix to survive, both the minute-to-minute meltdowns and the big picture seismic shifts ahead. But it’s a learned skill. A skill you lean on because you have no other option. The best way to learn it is by emulating someone who’s gone through it before—and transformed themselves along the journey.
The best person to learn it from, hands down, is Catherine.
Yes, from a Facebook distance, Catherine appears to have it all. Great family. Great house in Westchester. Great collection of tartan scarves and Sasha Fierce dance breaks. But in the last few years, the woman has gone through—and continues to battle—a raging river of shit with her head held high and her pair of floral Tory Burch loafers paddling forward. All with class, dignity, humanity, grace and gratitude.
When I finally turned the corner on my own swim upstream, it was by following Catherine’s lead. By emulating her actions. By telling myself over and over, be more like Catherine. Calling Catherine an inspiration isn’t enough. That’s why I call her a hero.
So fellow pilgrims, let’s whoop it up quarantine style. Put on your preppiest sweater, stand up on your desks Dead Poets Society style and raise a glass to the incomparable, irrefutable, undeniable, Notorious CAT(herine).
Just double-checked. Catherine’s last name is indeed Nettleton. Or is it Nettlewood?
The ARVO bells are ringing
Grandpappy Pat, tell us another story about the ARVO.
Ahh boys and girls, those were the days. Those were the days of [yellow tail] and Rosentreter.
It was a time before the employee suicide rate mysteriously skyrocketed during the American, Pitney Bowes, Adient and ViaSat projects. Way back before the posh British schoolboy mafia changed our all-American “Z’s” to Her Majesty’s “S’s”…and our employment status from “current” to “former” FutureBranders.
The Budweiser flowed freely from the taps of Duke’s and Watering Hole. We sucked each one of ‘em dry, all on the company’s dime no less.
Drink up, jabronis!, we cheered.
Prost!
Salute!
Geonbae!
¡Salud!
Skál!
But while we were drunk on rum and whiskey, some of us, like Beth and Doug, were drunk on love.
The year was 2012.
We were all just babies back then. Well, babies in their 20s, 30s and 40s—and if you count Tom Li, babies in their 150s. A small rebel upstart, FutureBrand was turning heads in the branding world. Not for our work, award winning as it was. And not for our loud and loose, pre Icelandic process police ways. In those days, women walked beneath the windows of Park Avenue South to waft in precision clouds of testosterone and Axe body spray.
Somehow, someway, Sven has assembled the highest number of straight macho designers the industry had ever seen. Even Marcus was on the team, minus the machismo.
Equal opportunity statues in New York dictate that every branding agency must employ at least one straight designer. Most skirt the law by hiring someone manly for their Production departments. But we’re talking Jamahl MANLY, not Kris Pelletier “manly.”
The men of FutureBrand peacocked through the office…
There was Malozzi, double-fisting handfuls of chocolate from Ty Blue’s candy dish.
There was Felix, flexing in a muscle shirt stitched from catnip.
There was Mike Williams, a young Tom Selleck in his Hawaiian shirts.
There was Scott Williams, a young Hugh Hefner sipping martinis in his smoking jacket.
There was Mark, going full commando under his Lucky jeans.
There was Quae, scoring supermodels and prom queens left and right.
Even Lloyd tried to switch teams with his gut-tight white T’s and plumber’s crack.
Successful swashbucklers as they were, none of these fine specimens could penetrate the ultimate office dish, Beth Mallow, who shut down their advances with an iron fist and salty mouth.
“How YOU doin?”
“Stop looking at my tits, Malozzi!”
“Hallooooo!”
“Goodbye, Sven!”
“Hi Beth, your plots are ready early, neatly packaged and placed at your desk.”
“Drop dead, Tom Li!”
“What time is our meeting, Beth?”
“Go check your fucking calendar, asshole! Want me to change your diaper, too!?
“Hey.”
Beth froze mid stomp in her high-heeled, piano black Manolos.
“Hey.”
Hearts started pouring out from beneath Beth’s stainless steel exterior.
“Beth,” said Jim, “I’d like you to meet our new Executive Creative Director, Doug Sellers.”
“Hey.”
“Hummina, hummina, hummina, hummina,” Beth stammered.
“Alright, you kids have fun,” said Jim.
The rest of us were too drunk at the time to realize Cupid’s arrow had just pierced Beth’s armor. Doug’s mere presence brought out her softer side.
“FUCK! I just spilled fucking coffee on my fucking dress! SAM! SAM-AM-AM-AM-AM!!!! Meet me in the Ladies room NOW!!!!!
“Cool, bye,” said Doug.
Their love bloomed in the shadows. Moonlight strolls hand in hand through the downtown streets of Detroit. Which is just like a moonlight stroll through Paris, only with junkies, burning cars and rats the size of Cadillacs.
“Skip that status call with James to go play hockey and I will fucking murder you!” she cooed in Doug’s ear. We’d never seen Beth be so outwardly affectionate, so vulnerable.
Now normally, you’d think a love like theirs was too delicate to survive in this cold, harsh world. But current and former FutureBranders (let’s be honest, mostly former), we’re here to provide you with a ray of hope in these otherwise Doomsday times…
Beth and Doug are engaged!
That’s right, Doug proposed. Actually, Beth put an Outlook invite on Doug’s calendar called “Propose to Beth,” which Doug, out of habit, initially declined. But after a punch or two to the face from Ms. Mallow, he pulled the trigger. Just like in the movies.
OH!!!! AYE!!! OH!!! AYE!!! Mindy here, alright, alright, alright. OH!!! Are you telling me that Beth Mallow, alright, Beth Mallow has a husband now and I don’t!? I want a husband. Why can’t I have a husband!? Where’s Murray Balls when you need him!? Maybe it’s because I’m in lockdown, OH!, lockdown, ok? I’m over here in Italy, stuck over here in Italy with the Rigatoni virus. We don’t do personal space over here in Italy! But don’t you worry about me, alright, alright, alright. I’m a scrapper. I’m scrappy! OH! AYE! When this whole thing blows over ok, I’m coming back, I’m coming back home, alright? I’m coming for you SVEN SEGER!!!! I’m coming for you HOLMFRIDUR!!!! She has a husband, why can’t I have a husband? Maybe I’m too much woman for you Americans. How about it, how about it, Johnny Malozzi!?!? Pizza boy!!! OH!!! AYE!!! You want a slice of this, Pizza Boy!? OH!!! Where’s Jim??” Where’s the Big Man?????? I heard he’s getting skinny!!!! Call me, Big Man!!!!! Call me back, BIG MAN! OH!!
Fellow refugees of a once great nation, wherever you are, whatever your quarantine status may be (Millennials! Millennials! Get inside! Get inside right now!), raise a glass on this the most ARVO of holidays to the happy couple, Mr. & (soon to be) Mrs. Sellers.
And remember, if Tom Li could survive the Spanish Flu 100 years ago, we’re all going to be just fine.