After a short flight from icy Newark International Airport to balmy Jacksonville, a car pulled up in front of the pickup area commandeered by none other than Carl Smith, Search and Rescue expert from nGen Works, a legendary web standards design firm in town. I knew immediately, even though this meeting was prearranged weeks in advance, trouble would certainly be found with the nefarious Mr. Smith. After a swift, yet jaunty punch in the face from Carl ("Why, Carl, why?" I muttered through a mixture of tears and blood. Smith chuckled, "Because I love you man..."), my modest OGIO suitcase was heaved into the trunk of his mighty 4-wheeled steed and we high-tailed it to Destination 1: the Hampton Inn on 1331 Prudential Drive.

The welcome I received at the hotel was unexpected as a bevy of small, and highly unpleasant proboscis monkeys (a delicacy in the local restaurants) dressed to the nines in nothing more than Fluevog sneaks and nGen t-shirts, snatched my luggage and proceeded to drag it safely to my accommodations in the penthouse suite. Carl laughed, as this was another prearranged surprise, and he threw two bananas to the apes, who fought over the fruity treats while Carl once again, delivered a powerful punch to my face. "Good to see you, man," he chortled. I teared up again, but wouldn't respond...

Once inside, Carl spoke of my mission: speak on a panel with Klaus Heech - Owner/Art Director of Juicy Temples in Orlando, FL, and Jefferson Rall - founding principal and lead creative at TurnWest Collaborative in Jacksonville. Klaus is a gigantic man with equally gigantic creative skillz and Jefferson is a bit of hometown creative celebrity, signing autographs, kissing babies and alligators at every corner.

But first there was the business of meeting up with two of nGen's ninja-like henchmen (Travis Schmeisser and Joey Marchy) and discussing both the state of the creative union and bands unbeknownst to anyone the pop music world, over several pints of Dos Equis and a delightful shrimp salad feast at a local 5 Points watering hole. We laughed, wept like children and parted ways all threatening to "see each other tomorrow" at the nGen Creative Bunker in the heart of Jacksonville. In true ninja fashion both Travis and Joey disappeared behind a puff of mysterious green smoke and were gone. I had no idea, but could only fear what would come next...

I could hear Carl's car honking and startling the guests at 9:01am on the dot. As I pushed my way through the furious guests that had gathered around his vehicle, I remembered Carl's instructions from the previous night like a terrifying childhood nursery rhyme: "If you're either 1 minute early or 1 minute late," Carl remarked, "you'll get another 'happy punch' - this time in your eye." After Carl finished tying his blindfold tightly around my head googlers, he reminded me that "if I removed it, he would 'kill me'." I shivered, as the car travelled at breakneck speed through the streets of J-Ville, into the dark heart of nGen's Secret Lair. They locked me in the bathroom with my laptop, reminding me that if I complained, they would all make sure I never saw the sunlight again. My fingers tippity-tapped at the keys, sending out several distress emails, which I later found out, were all not only intercepted by the nGen team, but also sent to everyone they knew in Jacksonville with "LOL" in the subject line.

"It's time to go Monkey Boy. Monkey Boy speak now," chortled Carl, as his henchmen (including Bruce Cooke and Varick Rosete) pointed and made hissing ape noises. Again, I was blindfolded and taken (this time at gunpoint) to the River City Brewery for the panel talk to members of The Jacksonville Marketing and Advertising Club. I thought about leaping out of the car on the way to save myself from Smiths' torturous ways only to remind myself of the live alligators that roam the streets of Jacksonville, feasting upon the tourists. I stayed put, now firmly bound with piano wire to Carl's baby seat. The only thing I can remotely recall is Smith's diabolical laughing the entire ride, occasionally drowned out by AC/DC pounding from the car speakers in mono.

The River City Brewery is located downtown, and while the sun was burning brightly in the sky, I found myself fighting to keep my composure during this ride. We arrived and after a brief introduction to Klaus and Jefferson, I was told by Carl to "speak when you are spoken to and I might not pour hot oil on your face." I obliged.

The panel discussion was a delightful experience, with the three of us trading creative blows while Carl ran the show like a Russian ringmaster with trained grizzly bears. The audience asked questions and we responded in turn. In my newly elevated and wily state, I muttered "The Big agency model is dead" (more on that in a future post). Carl's black eyes lit up and the captive audience (Carl had not only locked the doors, but he also had fastened prisoner bracelets to each attendees ankle) gasped. The panel discussion was truly a delight, and when the salad forks stopped being thrown at our heads, I ceased my Carl-induced weeping.

Next, we travelled like a merry band of rogues to Flagler College. On the way we spotted two tourists being devoured by what could only be described a perverse mutated half alligator half wildebeest. We pointed and chuckled like old pals. "It's the way it is around here, Dave," remarked Carl. "And if you keep looking at me, I'll feed you to them next." I turned away and choked back the tears...Again.

Flagler Beach is like combining the attraction of surf culture with the quaintness of an old Mexican town - with Pirates. We met Randy Taylor, one of the instructors at the college who is not only in charge of training today's creative youth at the wily art of client interaction, but he also hangs his hat on a massive ocean cruiser that he calls home.

In a move that could only be described as foolhardy, I left my camera back at the nGen Compound, missing out on capturing much of the beauty that is Flagler. The architecture is quite breathtaking - with Pirates. It also happens to be Jeffersons' alma mater, so we were treated like kings of yore and practically given the keys to the Dean's dressing room. The four of us chatted with captive students (Carl used the same technique on them as he did earlier in the day at The Brewery) and found ourselves fast becoming friends. We feasted on beer, mead and more shrimp at another local watering hole and discovered that we all had many yarns of client successes and nightmares to share. In an astonishing surprise, my fellow dread-pirate pal Mike Rutledge, now schooling the students in the ways of "The Creative Force" at the college, showed up wearing a parrot on his shoulder and grasping a tanqueray and tonic in his hand. We spoke briefly about bars, beers and bears.

Moments later I was safely back at the hotel Hampton, my oasis away from the Flagler oasis with little knowledge of how or why I was here. I've heard of Carl's memory altering tools, but never thought he would use them on me during our feast at Flagler. While the majority of this tale is likely a farcical memory implanted by the diabolical Mr. Smith, I still believe that my work in Jacksonville is not done. Someday soon, I will return -- armed with alligator repellent and a hockey mask to deter the clobbering fists of Carl Smith...

Dave Fletcher is a Founder and Creative Director of theMechanism, a maxi-media firm in New York City and London. He hopes his memory of the event serves him correctly, and promises to write another entry about the Jacksonville trip as soon as Carl Smith's memory altering chemicals wear off.

Lately, if you've inhaled the composition of one lonely carbon and a pair of oxygens in the web design field of dreams, you've probably noticed the putrid stench of "suck" in the air. It's easily missed unless you're paying attention to the signs, some which are obvious and some that are quite obviously, not.

One simple thing that might tip you off is that the majority of web sites littering the web are not architecturally or visually "foxy." Thanks to this growing junk heap of lousy HTML code clogging the pipes, we've careened full-throttle into the midst of something called the Web 2.0 Revolution. Designers are going old school with a little modern javascript and beveled graphics thrown in, utilizing the original rules of html construction from the inventors of the web and turning tail on a generation of bad coding practice. This approach is brilliant, but thanks in part to the open source mentality of the Web 2.0 innovators, slowly but surely, web sites are all starting to look the same -- A world wide web of sexy, easily updated and navigated fembots, all wearing the same lingerie and lipstick -- how, *cough*... neat. A little further down the road to suck, lies the majority of the Creative Departments in our fine colleges. As far as the "I" can see, many still split up print designers and web designers quicker than they can suckle a funnel of warm hops. The rationale of separating creative people into the sketch artists vs. the code jockeys boggles even my miniature, ape-like mind, considering the increasingly diversifying tapestry of the employed creative world, unravelling in the past 10 years.

Some things are not so obvious to the untrained sniffer, like the fact that the Anti-Christ of the web, Jacob Nielsen has gradually cultivated a really smart congregation in the Creative World -- a planet where it seems most designers have been beaten so hard with a fear stick that they've started thinking that the rantings of a madman could really be the gospel truth from the savior of your choice. Now before you take me out to the wood shed to beat some sense into me faster than you can say "useit.com", keep in mind that Mr. Nielsen was the guy that said Flash is a waste of time in 2000. He changed his tune a few years ago when he formed an alliance with Macromedia, but I'll still hold it against him to show my grandfatherly "web age." While there are times when I do agree with the old fella, blackballing software without an intimate understanding of the full capabilities of the application, is a bit like blaming computers for the fact that the design profession is going to the dogs...

...Wait a sec. Did I hear a woof in the distance?

In the Beginning, there was The Brain. The Brain came up with all kinds of neat stuff to ensure that we didn't need to use it as much -- Putting fire into a convenient lighter so we didn't have to look for sticks to rub together; Guiding us to make weapons so we didn't need to come up with clever arguments to get away from confrontation; Creating GPS systems so we never really have to remember how to get anywhere. In fact, when The Brain rolled out It's shining achievement, designed in It's own graven image -- the personal computer -- The Brain basically let us monkeys know It was heading to the retirement home. The Brain was tired, and this number-crunching doohickey sure could do a lot of the legwork that It always did in the past.

So, it's with this chicklet-covered computer keyboard that my Neanderthal knuckles are tippity tapping, fighting tooth-and-nail the evolutionary pattern of our skull-nugget taking a back seat to the revolution it designed -- all in the interest of entertaining your trusting skull-googlers (or eyes just in case your brain has already shut down it's power to grasp dreadful metaphors).

Thanks to our sometimes trustworthy friend, the computer, work gets done faster. When work gets done faster, money can be made quicker. And if a designer can use a computer, they must be able to do that "design thing" really fast, right? Well, sort of.

If you can type, you can code fast, but it doesn't help to generate the "bravo!-inducing" idea for a client. That's what the brain is for. Sadly, as I mentioned above, our brains are getting all mushy on us. And after that primordial ooze clears out from between our ears, what are we left with?

We are left with...

...mySpace is a naughty little scamp in the war of standards-based html, *poofing* an instant website for bands, Stans and Pams alike with underlying code so fantastically awful, that it should be covered in molasses, dipped gently in wet husky fur and dragged through a slip n' slide of harvester ants at war with poisonous beetles. What makes the code so mind-numbingly bad is the fact that there's enough of it stuffed behind the scenes on a single page to code an entire web site. This is because the "Dumbing of Design Bible" says that as long as you can make it look good on the front, it doesn't matter what the code looks like. This Holy Writ also says if the user can create something quickly and without any knowledge of how things work behind the scenes, it leaves them plenty of time to do things like watch advertisements, eat chips, and watch their friend list grow.

Even bothering to make your own web site is becoming something that old folks did back before all that "dot com" stuff went belly-up in an innocuous cloud of Cheech and Chong smoke. With mySpace, both individuality and design prowess are becoming less important than how many knuckleheads you have in your fictitious network of "pals." I noticed that some of my mySpace friends have thousands of friends... so, obviously that's why they haven't returned my calls.

If mySpace is the hobgoblin, then the recent scourge of overseas "designers" is the bugbear. A recent visit to the website "guru.com" has revealed that the majority of web designers and programmers available for contract work are located in Pakistan and India. Not to say that they aren't consummate professionals, but with rates ranging from $10-$50 hour for everything from coding, to branding, to web design, you ain't getting the most bang for your buck. My pal told me that "when you pay peanuts you get monkeys," and being a part-time monkey myself, I think he's referring to the lowest tools on the "eep ladder." With $10-$50 an hour design rates, if you don't have a client that needs to put together a web budget to hide from the tax man, or you can't prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that the creative poop you're hurling through the creative cage doesn't stink, there's going to be trouble in the zoo.

A while back, a bunch of geezerly designers that couldn't figure out how to use a computer any quicker than program a VCR, decided that the world would be better served and squeezed of creative budgets if graphic designers were "certified" like lawyers and doctors. All this chippity-chap about designers being validated by an exam and a piece of paper will become the incoherent blubbering of the lunatic fringe if the combination of low design expectations (mySpace) mixed with equally low rates for designing and programming, places the above average designer on the streets.

Mom and Pop, get ready, because if we designers don't get our act together soon, your little college graduates are going to be taking back their old bedroom soon -- and they're gonna want the top shelf liquor they became accustomed to in the glory days of higher budgets and usable web sites.

Maybe, just maybe, dear old Jacob is on to something after all...

It became painfully obvious to me on Saturday night that regardless of how "foolproof and airtight" the internet might be, it still requires one important thing to produce the flowing sewage pipe (that can be maintained easily by the H&A Brooklyn Plumbing | Plumbing Experts, Plumbing Installation Service) of increasingly useless information we gleefully slurp upon on a daily basis: Electric charge. You can check this guide about water pipe leaks to know about pipe repairs and get expert plumbing services.

According to electrician winchester va, this mighty electrical current is a necessity, empowering the servers which house this information. Without it, they are rendered as impotent as a champion stud mule two minutes past his prime. I learned this lesson first hand on Saturday night by following the weather trends in the Other Coast; the place known as "Not New York City" -- Los Angles, Californication... The Land of Buttermilk and Funny.

It would seem that the folkies on the West Coast have been suffering at the hands of "Old Man Winters'" sour, inbred half-cousin, "Ol' Ghoul Summer." His hand-delivered nasty summer brush fires will likely be followed by killer bees, a rainstorm of frogs and possibly living, hissing snakes running amok on planes, attacking and cooking everything that's not nailed down to the bottom of a fancy, petrol-chilled pool in the West Hollywood Hills.

Zuleyka Rivera from Puerto Rico collapsed in a pool of sweetly scented sweat in "Los Hades" after winning the crown of Miss Universe on Sunday night. Being a thinking primate for at least 1.2 hours of my 27 hour work day, I realized that much like human beings, without air conditioning (contact #1 HVAC of San Diego, CA! Air Conditioning Heating Repair Contractor for any services), servers overheat and shut down -- just without all that "complaining and dramatic passing out" nonsense. omeowners rushed to contact hvac services to check on their units. So horrific was this meltdown of servers in the cooled server hives in LA, LA Land, that the 2nd most frequented web site in all of cyberland, "mySpace," suffered a shutdown on Saturday and finally came back up to full strength on Monday along with a million or so other sites. H

So, we'll have to be patient, strip down to our skivvies and wait to see how this heat wave ends. Usually, we can count on Fall and Winter in the Northeast, but with the certainty of Global Warming stinkin' up the planet, we can probably count on an early ski season in Los Angeles as well. Until that happens, there's one request from us New Yorkers for all you folks in the Los Angeles area: Turn off those air conditioning units (that can be maintained beautifully by scheduling the maintenance with the Top HVAC Long Island | tophvaclongisland.com experts) that are cooling your pools, fancy pets, and Jetson-inspired drinking containers, and we'll keep designing web standards compliant web sites to make your browsers happy and your designers filled with awe, then fear, and finally, rays of happy mayhem-inducing sunshine.