Gentlemen, start your ARVOs

FROM THE VAULT: June 7, 2013

We live in a crazy, mixed-up world.

While Mark fusses over margarine lids, Lloyd Blander's become FutureBrand's go-to for testosterone-fueled macho design. This coming Sunday, Lloyd's fielding not one but two NASCAR teams at the Poconos Speedway. His designs for Florida Lottery and Axalta will be whizzing and whining, kvetching and blow-bying 400 laps in a mad dash flash towards finish-line cocktails. 

Lloyd's definitely come a long way. Just a year ago he listed his favorite football team as "Quarterback." But now he's hanging out in sports bars and has become a bit of a chick magnet. In fact, Catherine, Anuschka, Courtney and Mona can barely keep their hands from around his neck. Even Mazzoli's begging Lloyd for sloppy seconds phone numbers.

And as the Axalta team knows, Lloyd likes to be hands-on. Not content to be just a spectator at this Sunday's race, Lloyd has suited up and will drive the #24 car himself. His likeness and catchphrase will also grace the Florida Lottery car. Darren and Paul, on a week-long NASCAR sticker implementation application activation site visit, were kind enough to send the following photos hot off the presses:

Just us tonight fellow FutureBranders as we celebrate and toast to Lloyd and the entire Axalta team in the large conference room, 5 pm sharp. Holmfridur has promised to join us all immediately after at Wildwood for more liquid libations. She actually wanted to get started at 2 pm, but we told her that was irresponsible. We only do that sort of thing when she's not in the office.

She comes from the land of the ice and snow, with the midnight sun, where the ARVO flows

FROM THE VAULT: April 5, 2013

Holmfridur's been getting off too easy lately, fellow FutureBranders. But with recent target Daniel terrorizing the taxi drivers and wait staff of Barbados this week, we thought it appropriate to dedicate today's ARVO to the birthday gal.Š

Much like Mark Thwaites or the redwood trees of northern California, there exists no reliable documentation to know just how old Holmfridur now isŠin earth years at least. Some say she pre-dates dinosaurs. Others claim it was she who Moses presented the Ten Commandments to. And after several rounds of refinement, re-presented them to. This is not to imply our favorite Icelander is getting, dare we say, long in the tooth. In fact, just the opposite. For unlike the rest of us, the ravaging effects of time's passing do not seemingly apply to Holmfridur. 

Perhaps she attributes her youthful glow to a traditional Icelandic diet of seared lamb's head, salted cod and the pickled souls of henpecked proposal writers. Or better yet, maybe she's a primordial deity, here since the dawn of time, responsible for coordinating the Big Bang kickoff meeting.

To determine someone's true age, benchmarks must be established and measured. Minutes, days, months and years tracked. Candles lit. Candles blown out. But Holmfridur, as anyone who's ever been in the office early or on a red eye flight with her, knows that she does not sleep. Ever. Rumor has it she doesn't even blink. It's too inefficient an activity. While Darren and Daniel are up in first class dining on caviar and enjoying deep tissue massages, Holmfridur is hanging upside down in coach like a Viking vampire, tip tapping away on the world's most overworked laptop.

But whether she's 29 or 7 million years old, Holmfridur is known for keeping her promises. And several months ago, all the way back in January in fact, she promised to attend one ARVO per month. So far, she's 0 for 3. But maybe, just maybe, and especially if we pick a classy joint like Watering Hole, she'll grace us with her presence this evening.

Please join us - and Holmfridur! - tonight, 6 pm-ish at Watering Hole around the corner. We'll raise a glass of Brennivín and toast to her birthday and our dearly departed brothers, Nick, JD, Josh and Stephen. 

Oh the weather outside is frightful, but drinks at ARVO are so delightful

FROM THE VAULT: March 8, 2013

Stella Grealy is a godsend. 

HR orphans no more, she feeds us with an overflowing supply of Starburst, wipes our noses and our bums  and lends a sympathetic ear when we communicate as only branding professionals know how: whining, complaining, moaning, groaning, venting, bitching, kvetsching, grumbling, empty-threats-ening, I just can't take it anymore-ing and the occasional full-out foot stomping.

But just yesterday she achieved the ultimate impossible. Like the great liberators before her, Stella will go down in history as She who unlocked the door. No longer must late arrivers, smoke breakers or packs of lunching designers queue up in the lobby waiting for the Almighty BOOP sound to unbolt the vault and let us in. No longer must Tanieka, Stephanie and Edwin aim that shoe-box size remote just right to disengage our Fort Knox security system. Ladies and gentlemen of FutureBrand, we are free to come and go as we please! Well, at least until we move to midtown and are subject to strip and full-cavity searches upon entry.

But all this newfound freedom comes at a steep price. Almost overnight, the Australians and Germans stormed the gates and added to their ranks.

With Phoebe and Courtney joining Camilla, the Aussies are back to full koala capacity.

And with Anuschka joining the company just yesterday, the Germans can now field an übermächtig basketball team of Daniel, Sven, Philine, Felix and Ansuchka. 

It's only a matter of time before Holmfridur replaces the rest of us with more efficient, more sober Icelandic replacements…

Pack your bags, Mark. And welcome to the company, Bjarnhéðinn!

Scott Williams, meet your replacement, Ingveldur.

Move over, Malozzi. Ögmundur has never been bitten by a bug.

Joo, Joo, Ju and Dong Joo…ok, you can stay. But the rest of you…watch your back. Just because our office is in America doesn't mean we have to have Americans in the office. And with space at such a premium, we can pack in three slender Sigurbjörgs for every fat Joe from Jersey.

Fellow FutureBranders, children of the world, please join us tonight downstairs at Wildwood. Let's say 6 pm. But since Jim just left and Holmfridur's 30,000 feet above Tennessee about now, mmmmaybe we can sneak down a little earlier. And let's do our best to entice our newest FutureBranders, Paul and Anuschka, to the party. Paul has worked with Darren a whopping total of four times. Let that sink in a minute. Paul. Has. Worked. With. Darren. Four. Times. That fact alone merits him an ARVO budget all his own.

It’s beginning to look a lot like ARVO

FROM THE VAULT: December 7, 2012

'Twas the morning after ARVO, and all through the office,
Not a creature was stirring, not even Darren Horwitz.

Spreadsheets were hung by the strompinn with care,
In hopes that Holmfridur soon would not glare.

The Joos were nestled all snug in their beds,
While revisions of the SAE logo danced in their heads.

And Mark in Adidas, and John in his cap,
Had just settled down for a post-hangover nap.

Then from the lobby door there arose such a clatter,
We spit out our Advil to see what was the matter.

When what to our bloodshot eyes should appear,
But an arms-flailing German, red-faced with no cheer.

"Das is bullshit!", he said, and then "vut the hell!"
In an instant we knew it must be Daniel.

“Where are all zee Americans who work in zis place!?
You drunkards! You boozers! Did you fall on your face?”

More rapid than deadlines his curses they came,
And he whistled, and shouted and called them by name.

“Now Henri! Now Quae! Now Stephen and Martha!
On JD! On Scott Williams! On James and Tantika!
To your desks right away, with no Starbucks detours.
Now sober up! Sober up! Sober up all!”

Calm down Daniel, we said, and please put down your Glock,
Most FutureBranders don't show up til at least 11 o'clock.

“Then no more snack products and no more fizzy water!
No more Taco Bell runs for burritos at the border!”

What's the problem, Daniel, why do you need us so soon?
Can't the staff meeting wait til late afternoon?

“No it can not, I have no more patience!
I'm all set to leave on a 5-week Caribbean vacation!”

And with that and a dash of his puffy coat he was gone,
Leaving Lloyd Blander in charge to finish this song.

Lurking and smirking in his French Canadian way,
Lloyd proclaimed "Happy ARVO to all” and to all an "oy vey!"

ARVO, ARVO everywhere, but not a drop to drink

FROM THE VAULT: November 2, 2012

You didn't think a hurricane wrapped in a twister wrapped in a typhoon wrapped in an angry swarm of bees wrapped in a Frankenstorm was going to keep us from our CMG-given right of drinking free hootch on the company's dime, now did you?

Well, maybe just this one time.

After all, we are the nuclear wasteland cockroaches of the branding world, accustomed to surviving even the most dire circumstances. We've learned to adapt and thrive this past year without working bathrooms in the ladies room, HR or IT support, working corporate AMEX cards and sporadic Cheezit deliveries. So what if we don't have (a) an office, (b) power, (c) hot water, (d) transportation, (e) internet access, (f) gasoline, (g) clothing or (h) food, we still have the most important thing ­the only thing that really matters—and the reason why we're kicking ass through this minor inconvenience of an unprecedented natural disaster—we have each other.

All week long you've heard heartwarming tales of FutureBranders banding together, overcoming great physical and geographic challenges, to get the job done and keep our client and new business needs moving forward. Many of you have been kind enough to share photos of these meet-ups and how you're pitching in off-site…Š

Here's one of Doug, Malozzi and Felix at John's place in Fort Greene:

And here's another of Catherine, Mona and Camilla (with a scooter-powered Cockerille not pictured) working from a bunker deep inside CMG:

Scott Williams sent along this photo of himself and several freelancers he hired to help finish the Dow guidelines:

Frustrated by the grounded transit system, Holmfridur and her Icelandic friends are offering free rides across the Hudson:

Here's the sign Beth posted on her front door welcoming visitors to her recharging center:

Here's one of Daniel, heading into the office to check on his birds:

And finally, a shot of the kids in Mindy's neighborhood, wondering when the nice lady will be going back to work:

Fellow FutureBranders, though we cannot be together tonight, in your own way and your own watering hole, toast to a job extraordinarily ­ and collectively ­ well done. And since we can't properly celebrate Mark's birthday, crank up the sweet musical stylings of the Chili Peppers, crack open a cold Bud and raise your glass in the direction of Murray Hill. Since birth certificates from Newcastle can be a bit dodgy, we're really not quite sure how old Mark is today. He could be 43, he could be 37 or he could be a number somewhere in the middle. We'll never know for sure. But we do know he is one year closer to the big Aruban retirement home in the sky, where 1994 is always in fashion, rivers of beer run freely and God himself is a Toon Army fan.

A brief ARVO message from Mindy

FROM THE VAULT: October 5, 2012

AYE! OH! AYE! OH! Alright alright alright, FutureBrand. Listen up! 

OK, so the bald man, BALDIE up there is busy today. So me Mindy alright I'm writing your ARVO email this week. And I promise to keep it SHORT and to the POINT.

First ok, I need to write Jim a 75,000 word email. Clack clack clack clack clack. Ok, done!

Alright, what was I saying? Oh yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah ARVO. 

Oh wait, there's Jim! JIM! JIM!! JIM!!! OH Big Man!!!!!!! Did you read my email!? Did you read it? READ IT! Where are you going? Don't you soft shoe away from me! Alright alright read it and then come to my office and we'll talk about. I'm sending you a meeting request now so we can talk about it tomorrow, too. 

Ok alright sorry, the ARVO email right right right right right.

Oh look there goes Holmfridur. YO TALL GLASS OF WATER! She's so freaking tall. Look at how tall she is. I wish I was that tall. 

Now I'm hungry. I want a rice cake and some bird seed. Rest of you might eat that fried shit but not me alright. 

Oh there's Malozzi! OH PAESAN! Pizza Boy! Johnny Ravioli! Wanna granola bar with your pepperoni and your gabagool!?!? 

Oh shit right right right right I'm sorry the ARVO email.

Oh there's Marcus. MARCUS!!!! I like you shoes. They're fancy. Where'd you get those fancy shoes???? They look expensive!!!! You know where I got my shoes??? Marshalls that's where. You know why. You wanna know why???? Because I don't spend my money on anything alright. It all goes in the mattress. I don't buy shoes and I don't buy furniture. All I have is a couch and no coffee table. I'm saving up all my pennies so I can move to Italy and pick grapes alright. The rest of you will be over here with your fancy shoes and your fried food and I'll be in Italy picking grapes. 

What was I doing???? Oh right ARVO!!!!

There's Mark! MARK!!! MARK!!! MARK!!!!!! YO JIBRONI! Listen, I need you to go on a pitch with me. WHEN???? Oh it's this afternoon. Is that enough time to put together 300 slides!?!?!?! Don't worry it's a company with an acronym for a name. Your favorite!!!!

[Daniel walks into Mindy's office, arms waving above his head]:

“Das is unerwünscht! I can't hear myself think in my dimly lit office. It's louder than a Kraftwerk concert out here!!!!”

SORRY! I'm sorry! Alright alright I'll try to keep it down. But I'm ITALIAN!! We're LOUD! And we like to TALK! 

Oy vey, there's Lloyd. Hiii-iiii Loyyyyydddddd. No I don't have time to listen to you whine right now. I'm really BUSY right writing this ARVO email alright. 

Alright listen, I'm really busy and I'm going to be here all night working. Midnight tonight. Midnight tomorrow. And all next week. But that's what I do alright. I'm a scrapper. I'm scrappy. So the rest of you ok go to Shades of Green tonight, 6 pm sharp. It's on 15th between Irving and 3rd and the walk over there alright is probably the only exercise you bunch of drunks are going to get this weekend. Me I'll be running in the park tomorrow morning. So if you're smart which your'e not you'll join me ok in the park running around the park tomorrow morning. 

And if you see Jim in the bar tonight tell him to call me alright!!! I need to talk to him about that email!!!

OH!

The flowing locks of ARVO

FROM THE VAULT: September 7, 2012

Present company excluded, FutureBrand North America – collectively and individually – has a damn fine head of hair. We have short hair, long hair, curly hair, wacky hair. Some are parted on the side, others down the middle or pulled up into a Princess Leia bun. In an agency and industry centered around identity, hair stands out as our personal logos. Hood ornaments. And flags  flown proudly atop our heads.  Expressive. Emotive. And always, character defining…

• Mark and Doug sport spiky, edgy, gelled-up do's befitting man-about-town creative directors

• Sven's dignified silver fox locks express both youthful exuberance and European sophistication

• You can set your watch to or sharpen a knife on Nick's Johnny Unitas brush cut

• Scott's winged-back mane comes with a terry cloth robe and an invite to the nearest hot tub

• Don’t you dare touch Beth's dark tresses, compliment or say hello to them because they don't want to be here and they hate ev-er-y-bod-y

• Jim, Quae and Josh have enough hair to feed and clothe a small village of bald-headed proposal writers and still not need sunblock

• Malozzi's permanent five o'clock shadow says pizza guy, playboy or shoe-bomber extremist

• James’ coif is like prog-rock guitar lick: slick-fingered scale lead one second, wah-WAH wild and wonky the next

• Holmfridur's hair washes, combs and cuts itself. It can drive a stick, holds two master's degrees and is the leading scorer for Iceland's FIFA World Cup team

But, if it were brought to a vote…if at an upcoming Future Friday we were to hold a secret ballot or show of hands for best-in-show head of hair…in a landslide runaway victory the one and definitely only R. Marcus Bartlett would win more lopsided than a Kennedy in Massachusetts. Part peacock, all porn star, Marcus' carefully considered and perfectly executed coif struts the corridors of FutureBrand like a young John Travolta. Dude, his hair coos to swooning women everywhere, I am here. And I…am…perfection. When most people use the standard shampoo and conditioner combo, Marcus only feeds his hair organic, grass-fed steak. A team of stylists follow him about for on-the-spot touchups and split-end catastrophes. Row A keeps an emergency supply of anti-humidity spritz for the summer months, and many a mink have sacrificed their first born to ensure Marcus's hair maintains an even, consistent sheen. While it is rumored that Marcus has a cloned donor on standby in Switzerland should any signs of thinning appear, we do know Marcus' hair recently received its own star in Hollywood and is often stopped by autograph-seeking Japanese tourists.

But Marcus…and the rest of you for that matter…better keep one eye over your shoulder and the other laser-pointed in the your bathroom sink. Because there aren't enough single-ply tissues in the bathroom to sop up your tears when the crops starts to, ahem, whither in the cold fall and winter months of your lives. Without his leading actor locks, Marcus would give up all hope and refinement. Tailored shirts and $800 shoes would soon be swapped for sweat pants, velcro-ed Nikes and a fanny pack. Noooooooooooo! Marcus would shriek. Come back! Come back! Come baaaaack!

Since not everyone can pull off the bald, fat, stained shirt sexy look, tonight fellow FutureBranders,  we will hold a candlelight vigil in Marcus' hair's honor to ensure this national treasure remains thick and true. Originally we were planning on checking out the new Ainsworth bar on 18th. But in a show of solidarity, we're boycotting because Malozzi, in all his t-shirt and Yankee-hatted glory,  was denied entrance last night. So once again, it's off to Wildwood, 6pm sharp, unless Beth can come up with a better place.

We will also toast to our newest FutureBranders: Executive Creative Director Doug Sellers and Stephanie McMahon, who after starting as a summer intern, is now officially an official FutureBrander, joining Holmfridur's crew as an Associate Account Manager.

When you wish upon an ARVO

FROM THE VAULT: July 27, 2012

Starting today, and for the next two weeks, the world will come together to regale in heartwarming tales of Olympic triumph. Stories of adversity met head-on with grit and determination. Willpower and heart. Sacrifice and teamwork. Bob Costas will no doubt spotlight the Icelandic synchronized spreadsheeting team, and their unprecedented 86-year streak of gold medal domination. Watch in amazement as the Korean 400 meter relay team of Joo, Joo, Ju and Dong Joo quickly and efficiently destroy the competition. And wonder in disbelief as American powerlifter Nick Agin hoists Big Ben with one hand while punching out the Queen with his other.

Thousands of miles away from these Games, here in our very own office, we too have a melt-your-heart moment unfolding. Get your hankies ready, ladies, this one's a tearjerker.

Long touted as Italy's best shot at summer Olympic glory, John Malozzi was universally considered a shoe-in winner for the 100-meter strut. Endorsement deals with Adidas, Arthur Avenue renamed in his honor and a guest appearance in Beyonce's new exercise video "Struttin'" were slam dunks too. But John, as a true testament to living generously, gave it all up to make a little boy's dreams come true. Or in this case a REALLY big boy's dreams come true.

Year after year, while growing up in Colorado, Gunnar's parents had to sit him down and break the news no kid wants to hear. Son, they'd say, we can't go to Disneyland this year. You're just TOO tall to ride the rides. No tea cups, no Magic Mountain and especially no It's a Small World After All. We're sorry, son. There's always basketball camp. Or a summer job changing street lamp light bulbs.

Poor Gunnar was devastated. Years would pass. He buried his pain in brand architecture and bad country music. But his childhood itch was always there, waiting to be scratched.

Folks, starting this Sunday, John Malozzi is that scratch. Instead of heading to London for sure Olympic glory, he and a wide-eyed Gunnar are flying to Anaheim. In advance of the Disney project's Way-Forward presentation, they'll be touring the amusement park together. Saying that he "knows a guy who knows a guy," Malozzi's having all the rides retro-fitted to accommodate Gunnar's, ahem, challenges. But Gunnar, don't blow all of your allowance on cotton candy and Mickey Mouse ears! Mike Del Vecchio will not approve such out-of-pocket expenditures. 

Team, please join us at 4 pm today to salute Malozzi's act of personal sacrifice. Oh, and for the Future Friday presentation too. Knowing us, we'll probably go out afterwards too. But that location - like the look on the face of the 8–year old kid in front of Gunnar on Splash Mountain – has yet to be determined.

Hot and humid and ARVO all over

FROM THE VAULT: June 22, 2012

Once a spunky 'little engine that could,' FutureBrand North America is now a greased lightnin' Acela train rollin' faster and faster down the tracks of growth (bar car and iffy Wi-Fi service included). We've gathered an impressive client roster along the way - featuring some of the world's most enviable acronyms - and employ more designers named Joo than we have conference rooms or working toilets. But as any branding historian or sci-fi aficionado will attest, the larger an empire grows, the more vulnerable it is to destruction.

For instance, when Holmfridur and Darth Vader built the first Death Star, the ruthless, asthmatic henchman, partying all night with Scott Williams at the Mos Eisley Cantina, missed an important early morning status meeting. This oversight resulted in a poorly executed thermal exhaust port, which Luke Skywalker exploited to detonate the ship's reactor core (how's that for some geeked-out Star Wars knowledge!). Holmfridur, understandably, was not pleased. Hungover and ashamed, the Sith lord got on bended knee and begged her forgiveness. But it was too late. The rebel alliance had won. And Darth Vader's been mowing Holmfridur's lawn ever since.

Which begs the question, what possible pitfalls, potential potholes or misguided miscalculations can bring the FutureBrand mothership down? Is it...

...a SCUD missile fired from Landor across the street?

...a poison ivy outbreak across Scott's, Trae's, Stephen's (and now) Nicky No Sock's bare ankles?

...will the AA team, locked in a room together for 15 minutes, bust out and go on a killing rampage?

Yesterday, as Marcus' hair and Jim's shirt can attest, faulty air conditioning will bring this joint to its knees faster than a missed Budweiser delivery. When they're not carpet-bombing us with Jordin Sparks concert reminders, IPG recently determined the optimal indoor temperature for a successful branding agency is 97 degrees, with a relative humidity just a touch under 150%.

Should this trend continue, to cool down, droves of us will undoubtedly screw up our timesheets on purpose...just to enjoy Holmfridur's chilling, icy stare of swift, refreshing punishment.

Until then, please join us tonight at Watering Hole, 5:30 pm sharp. It may be the last time you see Scott Williams or Daniele alive, as they're "competing" against Gunnar in a friendly game of basketball tomorrow.

$300 cap, lushes. And please, don't let Victoria figure out the tip.

FBNY ARVO: Icelandic Procurement Group (IPG)

FROM THE VAULT: June 8, 2012

For the new folks, Jeremy, Henri, Kate and Phoebe, you're probably wondering, what makes this place tick? Who runs the office? Who do they report to? And most important, who's the ultimate big cheese pulling the strings at the top of the food chain?

Simple answer.

FutureBrand and our network of sister agencies report directly into Constituency Management Group (CMG), a shadow organization run from an underground bunker at an undisclosed offshore location. CMG is responsible for all payroll, HR and IT services, as well as supplying the single-ply toilet paper featured in our bathrooms.

CMG is wholly owned and operated by Icelandic Procurement Group (IPG), a multinational holding company headquartered in downtown Reykjavik. Originally founded as a family run distributor of salted cod and pickled herring, IPG now oversees a fully diversified portfolio of marketing communications and fish oil supplement companies. Its chairman and CEO, Holmfridur Hardardottir, built the organization into the powerhouse it is today by rolling up her sleeves and getting in the trenches at all her properties. That's why you see her here, spreadsheet in hand, each and every day.

Headquartered in London, FutureBrand itself consists of 25-ish international offices and affiliates. For the past two years, our North American office, located right here in New York City, has been run by Jim Lowell, Daniel Rosentreter and Sven Seger, with oversight from Holmfridur herself. Beneath them is a sub-committee of senior level middle management representatives from Strategy, Design, Account Management and Business Development. The general populace worker bees are organized by row, each row managed by a Designated Row Supervisor (DRS). While seat placement appears to be random, rows are actually organized by attractiveness and general overall awesomeness. That's why the best looking, smartest people with great hair sit in Row A, and Row D resembles a runny-nosed high school marching band.

OH, and as is their policy, Holmfridur and the IPG powers that be insist all of our clients be acronym based. AA, SAE, CFA, BD, BI, USAA, RCI, GW, UM, NFL and UPS to name a few.

Got all that?

There's one last thing you need to know. ARVO, which appears to be an acronym but actually is not, is our weekly Friday night happy hour. With a $300 cap, we try to drink as much free booze as possible at a local bar before Scott blows it all on martinis or plane tickets to Montreal.

Tonight's ARVO will take place immediately following the Future Friday presentation. We are meeting at Shades of Green, 125 E. 15th Street, between Irving and 3rd Avenue.

And remember, absolutely positively no work talk whatsoever at ARVO!

Unless you are making fun of Marcus' pants. That is permitted.