First and foremost, and right off the bat, I would like to thank Serge and the Latin Works folks in Austin for inviting me to participate in Portfolio night 8 last Thursday night.

I had a great time. However, a number of the participants didn’t. Without even attempting to be mean, I somehow brought two young ladies to tears and another young gentlemen to shake so violently he dropped his cocktail. I was called the Simon Cowell and Gordon Ramsey of Portfolio Night. I however, prefer, the Dr. Phil…

Let me just start by saying, overall I thought the work was ordinary at best. There was one wonderful print campaign from a young lady named Miranda, an intern at Latin Works, for a 24 Hour Fitness club in Austin. I loved it. But that was it, one campaign.

What puzzled me most, were the lack of great ideas. There was a lot of “wacky” executions, but no smart thinking. Lots of nasty headlines, but no real insights into the brands. It’s as if, there had never seen a strategy in their entire collegiate career.

I brought the two young ladies to tears because both of them showed up at my station…Number 5, without their laptops (which I hate!) booted up and ready to go. Quite frankly, I was not interested in listening to their stories of college frat parties and summer vacations or the agency they would like to work at. I wanted to see their portfolio. When they could not produce them in a timely manner, I sent them on their way. But not before I let them know how “disappointed” I was. The kid who shook like a puppy trying to shit a peach seed, out right lied to me. When I realized he was trying to blow smoke up my ass, I closed his book and told him to hit the road. “If you were in my agency right now, I would fire you and throw you down the elevator shaft,” I said, “Now haul ass.” What? I said “hit the bricks, buster.” After the show, he apologized. I sat back down with him and looked at his book. I would have never hired him in the first place.

I had asked him, if he’d ever used the product. He said yes. I asked him how it worked. He stuttered. I asked again. How does it work? He then said, “I’ve never used it.” “You’re fired,” was my response. Using a few selected pronouns followed by even more verbs, I explained how is actions would have gone over in a new business meeting. The agency, meaning me, would have caught total hell from a client or never given the business by a prospective client. Either way, the outcome would have been fiscally damaging for JimBob_Dallas. I was not happy.

Somehow the word circled though the venue that I was a prick. For the rest of the night, I sat alone, watching Joe Shands for Vendor critque book after book. I even announced once that I was available. No one even attempted to make eye contact with me.

I wanted these kids to know what it’s like to interview for a job. I asked tough guestions and wanted smarts answers. I wanted know why there was no logo in their ads. Did they feel like they were ready to start to work immediately upon stepping into an agency. I asked who influenced their work. But mostly I wanted them to answer this simple question, “why is your book so fucking bad.”

Along with being taught good from bad, colleges should also teach students to show up ready to go, don’t lie, and know how to write to a strategy/brief. Is that too much to ask?

Apparently, so.

The guy to the left of the fat guy wearing Jim Ferguson’s clothes is Doug. Doug is the owner of Doug’s Gym on Commerce Street in Dallas, which is behind the world wide offices of JimBob_Dallas.

Last week I ran into Doug at the Metropolitan Cafe, a neighborhood eatery that specializes in really good comfort food. I eat there alot. Ask for Mike.

While there, Doug told me he was going to save my life. So I listened. He is 80 years old and says he has never taken out health insurance or been to the doctor. Exercise is the only medicine he needs. And, he believes that I need a few doses of the same Rx. He is in amazing shape, except for a slight limp.

Since 1963, Doug has been the proprietor of Doug’s Gym. The place is looks like a Hollywood set. I loved Doug’s Gym from the moment I walked in. Old hardwood floors. Paint falling off the walls and ceiling. No fancy machines, just a lot of dumbbells, placed neatly in a row. It looks like Rocky’s gym…hot, dimly lit, a couple of fans keeping the air from going totally still. There’s no shower. No lockers. No yuppies in fancy running gear. (I asked him what I should wear. He said clothes. “You’re not here for a fashion show,” he said.) There are pictures of bodybuilders and boxers on the walls. And here and there, a couple of girly pictures. My kinda place…

Doug is great. He is not only physically fit, but also a fountain of positive talking. “You’re gonna be so damned skinny in a few months, you’ll have to hop around in the shower to get wet!”

Today, I took Doug up on his challenge to save my life. Although I am down over 24 pounds since the first of the year, he assured me that without him in my corner (he is a former cutman and boxer) that I will never reach the desired weight that I need to stay healthy. “I will be my pleasure to help you out, young fella.” I walked a bunch, lifted some weights and did a few sit ups, all while wearing a pair of sandals, my signature long-sleeve black t-shirt with a pocket, and blue jeans. “People waste too much time at gyms putting on and taking off clothes.”

I asked Doug after the workout why he’d approached me at the cafe. “You look like an old wrestling buddy of mine,” he said. “I thought you was him. Maybe God gave you to me to get you into shape like I shoulda helped him.”

I knew the answer even before I asked the question, “is he dead?”

Doug didn’t answer. All he said was, “See you tomorrow.”

Sorry no new addition to the Daily Ferg over the past couple of weeks. A move from the 4th to the 7th floor has taken up so much time.