Tuesday, March 16, 2010

The McRaezy Huck O' the Irish

As I snapped this smug shot of Sean in what is now his front yard yesterday, I couldn’t help but think about my own first piece of Atlanta real estate. Hold up. I’m 25, work for a not-for-profit and irresponsibly invest more in designer denim than I do in the Dow Jones. That said, my first piece of real estate was a far cry from the eco-friendly, 3/2 on a corner lot that is Sean’s new abode: 'twas the 4x2 cubicle that comprised my workday home at McRae, my first job. I loved every square inch of that cube—all 18 of them. It was there on the 32nd floor of the Equitable Building, pulling all nighters at the copier, forcing elevator conservations to last 32 floors and crafting office pools for looming engagements, that my 9-to-5 neighbors became my Atlanta family.

The agency life that was McRae fit me like a pair of Kelly bootcut Citizens of Humanity jeans. Sure, the place had its quirks. I got stuck in the elevator. Twice. A walk from the creative lounge to account service saw a 15-degree dip in temperature. And I never did figure out what one particular colleague, armed with a briefcase full of cosmetics and hand towels, did in the bathroom from 12:30 p.m. to 1 p.m. every day. But, it also had its charm.

Aesthetically, the office had a killer view of Atlanta, and the look and feel of a carousel. It was also home to the 3 p.m. disrumption (nope, no typo there), when the jam of the day—be it Flo-Rida, Michael Jackson or Stevie Wonder—prompted the account service team to bust out with a three-minute afternoon intermission. And, more often than not, there was vino in the fridge.

In early March, I sought the guidance of one of my favorite creative mentors for this year's St. Patrick’s Day card. Without skipping a beat, he was onboard, and the below masterpiece hit the Flynnbox the next day. That's McRaezy. More accurately, that's you, Bill.

Without further ado, in honor of St. Patty's
the very day that answers The Killers' query "Are We Human, or Are We Dancer?"
let the day of the 24-hour, jig-ified disrumption begin with this, my parting e-gift from McRae.

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

The Brothers Flynn and the Flynn Family Nemesis

Meet Sean Flynn. Sean invests in low-risk portfolios, dreams of a world where babies' first words are "reduce, reuse, recycle," and spends weekends lifting weights and eating lean proteins. Meet Brian Flynn. Brian invests in lush tapestries, dreams of furniture that requires rainforest deforestation and harm to small animals, and spends weekends lifting base coats and eating Mexican. And he's hyperlink-able.

Things in common: DNA, need for oxygen, sporadic middle name usage, affinity for mocking the other brother's profession.

Sean discounts Brian's success in the world of interior design, convincing people who hear that he has a famous brother that Brian is a "decorator" by trade and employed as Vern Yip's assistant. Brian mocks EPA-employed Sean's quest to save the environment by blaming his routinely 15-minutes-late self on having been burning rubber tires or pouring crude oil into creeks.

Here's a snippet from the latest Facebook war between Captain Planet and That Guy From TV:

(Font becomes somewhat legible when you click on the image.)

As the above spat took e-shape and a mini blizzard pounded New York, Shannon exchanged the below with the family nemesis that is Braden's kindergarten teacher:

Hi [Braden's Passive Aggressive Teacher],

Just so you know, we still do not have power and are staying with my in-laws across the river. I think Braden is a little out of sorts. He told me that his stomach hurt today and that he was in the nurse's office. He also came home with a pair of pants that don't belong to him. He didn't really give me any details. Do you know what happened with him today?


Hi Mrs. Stroppel,

Braden had a meltdown, tears and hysterical crying, saying his tummy hurt. When he got to the nurse, she found that his pants were soaked, and she gave him dry ones to wear. He cried that he'd spilled water on them at home. He also said he was upset because you were angry and yelling just before he left for school.
I've put the pants in a bag, and they should come home today.

[Braden's Passive Aggressive Teacher]