Media Group Chronicles

Poison rants about former employer

The Video Department

For a while there, I had been trying to trumpet the future of video on the web. To no surprise, it went unheard until the folks at the state of Florida, with a firm finger on the pulse, whipped Media Group into a video uploading frenzy.

Almost overnight, an entire inhouse video department was assembled, complete with a souped-up RV. The graphic wrap on the RV alone must have surpassed the payroll of the web department — factor in the cost of equipment, high-end workstations, software and staff (department manager — owner’s son — probaby came on the cheap).

Still though, any way you slice it, that’s a massive chunck of change. What kind of hellacious return was going to come out of this sizeable investment? I guess maybe this? Hurry up folks, they are overwhelmed with demand here.

Yet there was still more money to throw into this black hole: the accompanying site. For weeks, with Stalin’s Grandaughter on the web department’s back, the site was slowly churned out, only to display jarring videos of “the crew” washing the RV, visiting the most uninteresting places in Florida and eating a raw onion head.

Eating raw onions was probably a more pleasant experience than sitting through the copious megabytes of mic checks and “La Chica”. Who was paying for all this nonsense? Can’t point you to the site because for some insane reason someone must have pulled the plug on it.

Some degree of vindication finally came when the Florida redesign finally boasted the video department’s best efforts, the majority coming from “Florida Insiders”. A particularly feeble attempt at Travel Channel shows, a local video personality hosted short online segments of once again, the most uninteresting things to do in Florida.

The first ones I saw was from this lady, just sitting in the RV and speaking into the camera. Absolutey mortifying. She’s come a long way since then — look, an Apalachicola Inn.

Years later, a fun facts section from a company intranet newsletter informed that the super-cool video-RV had 28 thousand miles on it. Twenty-eight K? When you drive a new car off a dealership lot, doesn’t the odometer read something close to that? It had been at least a couple of years and had been driven around a good sized state. Were they towing that thing around?

Filed under: 8219

Mr. Hardie Gets a Promotion

Not much more than a web hobbyist, Mr. Hardie quickly excelled into department management glory. His big break, believe it or not, came on the heels of a company-wide birthday celebration of a one Mr. Burgess, where various employees playfully roasted the beloved director.

In this case, insults were carefully veiled as cheerily appropiate jokes. Amid halfway nervous laughter, Mr. Hardie made it a point to lean into Burgess — indirectly helping Mr. Hardie to lead the department.

Yes, a most bizarre way to get ahead, but consider for a moment that this is a company where people routinely had to royally screw something up in order to get a promotion.

Mr. Hardie’s management ability: your basic 13-hours-a-day-in-front-of-monitor geek. This guy couldn’t manage a stack of cards. I wouldn’t necessarily put his name in the same sentence with “leadership”.

During his tenure as Web Department Manager, Mr. Hardie, sucked up sick days like a five-hundred-dollar Dyson. I kid you not, for months, he was at home at least once a week. Some of the other developers followed suit, which prompted a long phase featuring the silliest sick-at-home emails ever.

“Stomach flu, won’t be in today.”
“Car trouble, can’t make it today.”
“Still have a cold; will work from home today too”.

I am guessing Hardie and company must have had dozens of these “sick” email templates ready to affix the date to and fire off. All I wanted was a little creativity. What about “Some bad shit went down last night and I have to hide out in a buddy’s house all day. I’ll be on IM!” Or, how about “Ate some crazy shrooms Friday night and I am still hallucinating pretty hard so I’ll be working from home. I’ll be on IM!“?

He had a deep disdain for dietary supplements of all kinds, called it quackery (even though Claude’s spouse was technically a quack). Fine, so he wasn’t a poster-boy for clean living, but then why pop homeopathic zinc (Zicam) then?

Additionally, his level of abtract reasoning was so evloved we would occasionally get caught up in the wackiest job-related conversations.

(The following reinactment uses a keys-locked-in-the-car scenario instead of difficult-to-grasp web related programming-speak.)
“I locked my keys in the car.”
“Well just open the door and get it out.”
“I locked the doors, hence locked the keys in the car.”
“Oh. Well perhaps you could get under the car and stick your hand through the floor.”
“I don’t think I can do that.”
“Or perhaps you can rip off the roof of the car and retrieve the keys that way.”

During payroll spring cleaning layoffs, Mr. Hardie dodged a pink slip (helps when you are on the who-gets-axed committee), but couldn’t avoid the inevitable demotion.

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German Florida Site

For the second big Florida redesign, Media Group was also commissioned to put together an exhaustive international version of the site, featuring content that targeted potential English, Brazilian, Spanish, German and French tourists.

To further drive home what country-specific area of the site an end-user was on, there was an added initiative to place country-specific visual elements in the header, namely, stereotyped mugs of various international visitors (because the language displayed apparently wasn’t enough).

Too cheap to buy up a block of decent stock photos, the art department settled on shooting the images themselves, with Stalin’s Granddaughter at the helm of the project. Strapped with a thin budget, many of the models would end up being locals, to the point of including a couple of Media Group employees.

This is where Mr. Nance comes in, a man with an unsatiable appetite to appear as much as possible on the web. Also of interest was Mr. Nance’s well known status as resident linguist, fluent in probably enough languages to land him a solid nomination for papacy. If someone dialing a wrong number rang the office lobby, and just happened to be speaking in Basque, Huttese or a rare African clicking language, there was Mr. Nance, ripping the headset off the receptionist’s head.

Mr. Nance ended up playing the part of kraut tourist for the Germany shoot. It appears the props department was fresh out of lederhosen and fake toothbrush moustaches, causing Stalin’s Granddaughter to scramble in search for a t-shirt to throw on Mr. Nance. The solution: a brightly colored shirt, perhaps a pathetic attempt to resemble a soccer jersy, with the word “GERMANY” across the front.

Not sure how accurate it was to presume Germans had that kind of blind national pride, but shouldn’t it have read “Deutschland”? Certainly the office PHD in linguistic studies could have pointed that out, since he was the boob that actually ended up appearing on the international site with that ridiculous shirt on. Pure magic.

Filed under: 8219

California Proposal

There was a time when proposals were collectively authored by dream-team think-tank of the company’s greatest minds, including Claude and Stalin’s Granddaughter. Up until then, I can’t say for sure what the proposal sign-off to rejection rate was, but it sure didn’t generate new accounts on a weekly basis. As far as new business went, the company didn’t quite boast a long and significant client list (not much has changed since).

So when it came time to hit-up California with a proposal, it basically came down to a must-win situation. Media Group learned the State’s lead liaison was a tech-savvy former Netscape higher-up. So into a conference room went the sharpest minds you can find just outside a busy gas station and a technical college. When they came out, they would put into effect an idea that would take the art of proposals to the next level.

I found out about this incredible idea one unsuspecting day, just about mid-morning. Stalin’s Granddaughter sprinted over to where I was sitting with a CD in her hand, as well as the most urgent request ever: pull a video file off the CD and put it into a newly created Flash video player — by noon today. There was already somewhere online to place it: an online California proposal companion website. Spectacular idea!

The only downside was watching Stalin’s Granddaughter painfully squirm in coming to grips with what I had to inform her: how hours of production time was not going to neatly fit into a surprise noon deadline.

She didn’t want to hear a single word of it, as she explained to me how this piece of the proposal project was without a doubt the most important undertaking the company has over been involved with (yet quite not as important to manage the hours of work before hitting crazy unannounced deadlines).

The next few days, she would repeat the same insane noon-deadline nonsense, with the exception that I was notified at ten rather than eleven in the morning. So what were all these videos anyway? These were separate ten minute videos of various company management curmudgeon sitting in front of the camera and awkwardly speaking about the wonders of Media Group. Yes, really.

You see, it wasn’t just a “hey look, we can even build a corny little website to go along with this proposal” sort of thing, but also a “and we’ll further wow you with some video“, even if it was just some poor sod talking into a camera.

This fantastic companion site didn’t go much beyond a single homepage, with limited navigation. Additionally, when you’d click on one of the navigation buttons, it would pop-up “Not yet, <California CVB Contact person’s name>, Coming Soon“. This would was the case on not on one of the buttons, but almost all the buttons. I wish I was making this up.

The only thing this utterly stupid idea and wasted server space did accomplish was prove without a doubt that Media Group couldn’t properly manage the creation a one page site, with almost no content, save for some gaudy videos no one in their right mind would sit through in their entirety.

At a company meeting we were told California had just slipped through our fingers, only by a mere technicality.

Filed under: 8219

Company Site Redesign

Like most busy vendors, there’s a tendency to let the online face of your company get outdated. Therefore, it was at least partially amusing to watch the site’s makeover go live, with all the pretty new colors, letters and pictures.

Also anticipated was to check off what ideas they ripped off elsewhere, and what asinine angle it would come with. Bear in mind the previous incarnation of the site came equipped with a mission statement page that contained such mind-numbing bullet-points such as: “I will do what is right“. That was not my invention: for not only did it actually read that, but a conference room full of brilliant minds actually came up with it.

milesmedia.com

“Responsive Service”
“Snow, rain, heat, gloom of night? Bring it on. The postman has nothing on us.”

Complete with hallucinogen-incuded tag-lines, there it is: not bad at all. I’d love to roast it over coals, but it’s a fairly designed site.

Don’t think I’m going to call it a post just yet. Without a doubt, the most prominent link is people. Who needs to catch a glimpse at a semi-paltry portfolio or useless white-papers? Yeah, it’s the people page that’s going to close potential clients. Let’s take a look under the hood.

Lordy, right off the bat you get David B. and Claude. The COO wonder-boy is cleaned up and sporting some seriously bleached chompers. Claude, even in photographs, is staring off into the thermosphere, perhaps looking for a satellite to beam him a witty one-liner for his next meeting. Good ol’ Darth Claude, indeed starting to look like Anakin Skywalker in Episode VI.

Yes, you can click on the pictures for more hilarity. David B can’t turn off that sinister smile and his classic hands-in-front pose. Extra points for the fingers touching and evenly spaced gaps. The man is an artist, through and through.

Vintage Claude doesn’t a waste a single second: “Building a website…must be an interactive, ongoing process, not a project with a completion date“. That’s exactly the final thought you want put in a potential client’s head. In the middle is Mr, Huff, albeit his Meteors cap.

I kid you not, that Saylers guy walked around a company lunch in a tight long-sleeve shirt, with his lats flared for at least an hour or so; Fusco would send out office-wide “re-homing” emails. If she found a lost sock at a laundromat, the very next day her email would be in our in-boxes, pleading for one of us to adopt it. She interrupted a web department meeting to help herself to half a box of pizza.

Saved the best for last: Stalin’s Granddaughter. Do I even have to point her out? Goodness gracious. Yes, the art department is headed by a flamenco-dancing chicken in a wig.

Nothing says a company is more full of themselves than a thoroughly entertaining company people page like this one. Enjoy.

Filed under: 8219

The Missing Water Bottle

I would almost prefer dealing with soul-less company-men and office politics than some of these jaded and miserable mother-figure ladies that end up taking space in office buildings.

Part of my in-office routine is to make several runs to the bathroom, and also fill up my water-bottle in the process. Consequently, I would end up just doing both, leaving the emptied water-bottle on a kitchen table as I quickly went to the bathroom.

One day I come back from the bathroom to notice my water-bottle was gone. It just sprouted feet and ran off. Oh well, off to Target; got me a nice looking stainless steel replacement.

A few months later, same thing takes place: I come back from the bathroom and find my water-bottle missing. This time, while hunting for a missing water-bottle again, I’d figure to give inconceivable a shot, and did in fact find it — someone threw it in the trash.

I walk back to my cubicle, a bit shocked, and inform my co-workers of the incident. Mr. Hardie then writes an office-wide email asking for a bit more tolerance regarding the trashing of people’s property.

The marketing manager lady responds. “Mr. Hardie, I threw it away…it had mold in it.”

Mold? Are you talking about my water bottle, or those moldy cobwebs in your brain?

You know what this lady did for the company? Nothing, save event-plan a conference or two, then burn up company petty-money to decorate the place with absolutely the ugliest and tackiest garbage she can dig up at Big Lots. Ooooh, horrific looking African mask clearance? Looks like lobby’s getting a makeover! But my water-bottle was cramping the kitchen’s style, o.k..

So then the office manager lady, another grumpy-old-woman mother-figure with an annoying laugh and creepy pics of Princess Diana, chimes in with her own finger-wagging email, stating that what looks like someone’s property may look like trash to someone else…and to stop leaving dirty dishes in the sink. I just want to kill myself at this point. Can I just not be forced to enter the bathroom with my water-bottle or make two friggin’ trips from my desk? Is that too much to ask for? I just want to pee and get some water afterward. Can a brother just pee and get some water in peace?

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Stalin’s Granddaughter

Josef Stalin had a granddaughter who headed the art department at Media Group. His genes were well passed on, for she exhibited much of his lovable traits. She was an ugly and goony looking thing, that which possessed a only fake smile. Deep within was a dark heart, where evil lurked. She boasted a lauded art background, though her greatest artistic achievement came in the way of toenail painting, which was still not brilliant enough to save her hideous feet. This person did not have a single attractive feature.

One story was company photo day, which was not at all too different from high school. Someone’s husband was the photographer, one really obnoxious jerk of a man, while Stalin’s Granddaughter helped direct efforts. I was called down, and wearing a T-shirt. Stalin’s Granddaughter had somehow thought the guys were going to show up in tuxes. Appalled at my lack of vision in fashion, she came ready with a coat that must have ended up outside a Goodwill dumpster.

“I’m not wearing that”.

She insisted that I had to, explaining the historic importance of this photograph (perhaps this was a shoot for future axed employees). I was starting to think part of her art background included a stint in Glamour Shots. She wouldn’t let up; I thought for a moment she was going to force-wrap the coat on me. I looked her in the eye and said plainly, “That’s not going to happen.”

Wielding immeasurable power within the walls of Media Group, Stalin’s Granddaughter always had her way. However that moment must have been a trying and sad moment for her. I can imagine how wrenching it was to watch me sit on the stool there, amid the flash of the camera, wearing a plain Banana Republic T-shirt. In retrospect, I should have wore my “I fuck on the first date” tee instead. Why I considered even going through this in the first place is beyond my understanding. Where did all these disturbing head-shots end up anyway?

I had always wanted to encourage that Stalin’s Granddaughter allow some wax build up in one of her ears, so that when someone tells her something, it doesn’t go in one ear and out the other. Consider the following dialogue:

“Can’t you just change the header background of that web site?”
“No, not that one; we don’t have user-password to access that particular server.”
“O.k., but is there any way that you can log in and make the change?”
“Not without the username and password; they have to give us that.”
“But…is there a way you can get on the site and just change the background color?”
“I can’t do anything on that site ’till I get that username and password.”
“What if you just logged in and made that one change?”

Not often, but once in a while, these kinds of conversations would take place with her. It was astonishing. She also had an understanding that objects in Flash files could just be copied and pasted into html.

Last one: Web Art Director position. Stalin’s Granddaughter decides her department needs a Web Art Director. I’ve done some art direction in the past, so what if I had to deal with her — it’s a step up in the company and would have served as good experience. I email her my interest in the position. “O.k.”, she responds, asks me to send her links of work I have done. A little odd, but I comply. She then thanks me and writes that she will be in touch with me.

That was it. Never heard from her about the topic ever again, as if it never happened. I learn someone from the the dialogue department at least landed an interview, even though said applicant didn’t have a damn art background to begin with. The Web Art Director was just one of those really pointless we-need one-but-then-again-we-really-don’t type of positions that would come up, then go away, then pop up again.

Turns out the position was never filled, even though Mr. Hardie once told he was sure it was going to be. He also told me that Stalin’s Granddaughter and Claude had counted me out of the running since they were pretty sure my ability to speak in front of others was terrible. Based on what? And now it’s a public speaking gig?

So consider the following: in a meeting with the Chicago CVB, Stalin’s Granddaughter leaves me to address the client myself, hence putting my speaking skills on the line — oh, the irony. You know where she went off to? To interview some other loser for the Web Art Director position. It just doesn’t get any better than that.

Filed under: 8219

The Tale of North Carolina

Mr. Nance was another former editor who spent the bulk of his time surfing the popular social media online outlets. After endless sessions of spooning with Claude in his office, Mr. Nance won himself a promotion to Director of Interactive Media. (Currently he’s the Director of Digital Design. I am not making this up.)

That was my promotion, my job. I was the one with the years and background in user interface, user experience, gui design. Mr. Nance came armed only with a passing knowledge of how the web works, an obsession with ridiculously named social media sites and a pretty mouth.

What I didn’t possess was a durable pair of kneepads, nor the look, manner and voice of a professional. I lacked the literacy in the coveted psychobabble of corporate vocabulary. Bear the following verbiage:

touch base: “Let’s wrap this up now; we can touch base later.” (Update: touch base has been replaced with ping.)
touch-point: “In this Powerpoint, we will go over some important touch-points about strategy.”
touch: “We feel by using this layout for the listings, it will allow us to touch your brand better.”
capture: “In using the new meeting conference tool, we were able to capture what the client wanted.”
relationship: “The evolution of the database has given us a better relationship with their information.”
going forward: “Going forward, I think we should start logging comments through the new system.”
deliverable: “On this list, you will see 7 key deliverables that have to be completed by end of next week.”
footprint: “The new site should have a lighter footprint, making it faster loading. “
actionable: “I feel these items on this page are much actionable than the previous page.” (Claude was an actionable-saying addict.)

This list is not even half of what’s out there: more and more of this kind of audible diarrhea is added on an ongoing basis. It’s beyond horrifying. Do these people not hear themselves talk? I thought that was the main reason for speaking up in meetings in the first place.

Going forward, this is actually a story about North Carolina. Back in the day, the North Carolina site (along with New Zealand), should have been on the company’s payroll. Media Group endlessly stole ideas and ripped off design elements from it. So what happens when the company actually lands the North Carolina account? Plug our listings database and call it a day — that would have been my plan. That way you save yourself the kickoff brainstorming meeting where you rip off the North Carolina site again. “That’s odd: the new redesign of the North Carolina site looks exactly like the old one.”

Instead, Mr. Nance calls a meeting with the web department to pitch us their — Claude and Mr. Nance’s — slam-dunk idea for the new North Carolina site. On the heels of a trendy over-ajaxed Florida redesign, Mr. Nance unveils the proposed North Carolina homepage. The unloaded screen-shot displays a design not up to par — and, is sans navigation.

What? Where’s the damn navigation? Nance explained it didn’t need one, since there was a search buried somewhere in the middle. You would type stuff and a magical tag cloud would quickly show the errors of even thinking that your-first-day-of-web-design-school navigation was ever necessary. I was too speechless to interject, though my coworkers sure weighed in. How was this argument even taking place in the first place was beyond me.

So what finally ended up happening was that North Carolina did actually simplify their site a bit. Just don’t expect to find Media Group’s name on their site credits page.

Filed under: 8219

It is Cold in Here

In offices around the country, a lock is usually placed on the AC thermostat, so no one even thinks about setting that thing up past 70 degrees. Certainly that was the case at Media Group. To make matters worse, for an extended period of time, I had to sit in a virtual Arctic blast zone.

During this office ice age period, there was a flaky ex-employee older lady who made her rounds about the office, greeting and hugging every single person present. It was probably part of some bizarre therapy. The web department was in her morning shift, when the offices were especially frigid. Therefore, I’d be extra bundled, and have the hood up on my hoodie, far down my forehead, just enough so it didn’t block my view of the monitor. This lady would then sneak up behind me, which would lead us into the following dialogue:

“Hi, you look like a  _________ today.”
“Well, it’s cold in here.”
“That’s nice, you take care now.”

Now fill in the blank with your choice of:  monk, hobbit, terrorist, gremlin, bitch, hood-rat, breakdancer, Eskimo, criminal. This would be the little conversation that would ensue every single time, with the revolving noun replacing the blank. It would be mostly random, but she really leaned into the “monk” description for a while there. I admit a couple of words, like “bitch”, were of my fabrication.

But then again, this response to her initial question was also fabricated, however present in my mind: “Yes, I look like a monk, and do you know why? ‘Cause right now, in this little corner cubicle here, it’s feels like 30 below, I can barely feel my fingers and toes. I am about to round up some computer cable or something and start a campfire. Maybe we can hunt us a seal tonight. Would you like your seal well done or medium? Bitch, when I tell you ‘it is cold here’ it doesn’t mean ‘life is beautiful’; it means I’m shaking from the cold; I am am fucking free-eezing.”

Without a doubt, these exaggerated adjustments on the thermostat would diminish my work output — it was a struggle to get work done when I was that numb from the environment. Some though, just relished it. Mr. Hardie was from Chicago and weighed in at about a quarter ton. Anything over 65 caused him to perspire. And he wasn’t alone; the very reason why the office needed to be set at 60 degrees, was so people can be comfortable! It was simply a matter of majority rule.

You see, people from the most northern regions of the states would relocate to…let me see: I’m from Vermont and like the cold weather. I prefer that my liquids be in a solid state and every so often appear on television in my underwear, jumping into a hole of an iced lake. I love it cold. I love it! Put me anywhere past a temperature of 68 degrees Fahrenheit, and I’ll turn visibly red and break out in a sweat. I start dehydrating at 70 and above. So where should I move to? Let me see here — I got it — Florida. That makes complete sense, ’cause it’s really humid there too.

In essence, the only real dilemma in Florida is the relatively brief winter. That means outside of that time, during the moments you have to sprint to your car, roll down the windows and blast the AC, you are going to be pretty damn miserable. Yep, life can get pretty brutal in Florida. And if the power goes out in the middle of the night during the summer, you better have hotel money ready, or a bottle of cyanide — either or.

It also appeared the air conditioning wasn’t balanced, so the other side of the building would feel like — are you ready for this — 75 degrees in the late afternoon. I couldn’t blame the people on that side if they jumped out their windows.

Every time there was a floor move, both sides of the building would start complaining in mass. That would then trigger the AC guys to come in again, do their checks, then tell us everything is alright.

“Oh, it’s balanced”, they would tell us. “Oh it is? Did everybody hear that? It’s balanced — problem solved”. Once again, you just can’t make that stuff up.

Filed under: 8219

Weaver Sucks

The company CFO, or Director of Aggressive Accounting, was just one of those guys. He and I used to come in at around the same time. I would salute him with your standard “good morning” gesture. He would answer by walking right past me. After a few attempts I had finally deducted it wasn’t a hearing problem. Otherwise, he was a golden office fixture, whose image would end up permanently sealed in the annals of silly company photographs. In this particular gem of a picture, he proudly wears a T-shirt with the phrase “Weaver Sucks”.

The supposed promise of the web first came to us in the way of a grand company meeting, where we were informed we had landed a client that would soon make Tennessee look like a forgotten Florida county: Colorado. To boot, it was for the web. Not only would this groundbreaking announcement spark great excitement, but would be the proverbial tip of the iceberg regarding expansion into huge west coast accounts. Colorado was a whale of an account, a progressive and high profile state, which was going to be a flagship feather in the company hat. It was simply arresting.

The news did come with an interesting twist: we were told we would share the responsibility with a Colorado-based publisher named Weaver. From the very start, Weaver would only be alluded to as our partner. In fact, they passed around a curious bit of paperwork with both company names on it, almost as offering proof.

This partnership began to surface signs that pointed to something more of a slightly dysfunctional relationship. More and more company Weaver-themed meetings were conducted in order to give us important updates. At some of the latter meetings, it was floated that this was a touchy, precarious and frail partnership; Media Group had upset Weaver a couple of times and had to perform damage control. Claude and a few others often had to pack up and fly over there. We were warned not to go directly to Colorado, but first run things by Weaver. What kind of partnership was this?

For months, the determined web department hammered away at the Colorado site. As the deadline approached, Claude made sure for some of us to sit through a few all-nighters and push the deadline further; until finally he had no choice but to hand over a half finished site with a considerable list of things left to do.

Not long after, in the very final Weaver-based company meeting (thank goodness), we were horrified to learn that our allies in Weaver had stolen all our secrets, sabotaged the launch and stole our prized client, Colorado.

They also stole the company’s  business model, and conspired to raise prices of the bags of chips in the vending machine. Overall, company employees were frazzled to hear such a thing, and as a whole, felt violated and angry. Some felt that perhaps a drive-by shooting was in order.

This goes to show how many of us, not only in the company, but in modern society in general, are sadly plugged into a Matrix-like world, having more to do with how they elect to perceive reality than how things really are.

Colorado wasn’t the clientWeaver — Weaver, was the damn client. Weaver was the client.

Weaver was a partner no more than DHL was. Skewing things into such a warped perspective, I can safely say my own business partners are Mastercard, Time-Warner, Target and Starbucks.

After Weaver fired Media Group, those in upper management had suddenly flipped a switch: Weaver wasn’t ever a partner — you didn’t know that? They were a diabolical group of vindictive monsters who fired us and stole the idea of hiring an in-house web department. C’mon, you didn’t know that?

On the other side of the Mississippi, I would have to say besides the obvious, Weaver’s only other big mistake was to allow Media Group way too much access to Colorado in the first place. The company was simply subcontracted to do the web development, nothing more. There should have been no direct contact allowed with the folks at Colorado (or those at PRACO) — it just added to the massive lie that Colorado was the client in the first place.

Media Group’s mistake was to turn out a most mediocre and miserable performance: instead of hitting it out out the park, they absolutely fumbled the project, as if Weaver was dealing with a garage full of high school programmers. David B and Claude are the real villains here. Despite whatever effort, of lack thereof was applied, they reached a point where they finally just sat back and watched the whole thing go up in smoke.

It was shame; having the Colorado site in the company’s resume would have proved beneficial and helped with expansion into other nearby states. Oh, what about Wyoming you say? I’ll tell you about Wyoming: I would advise them to take them off their portfolio page, unless they somehow want to write that off as a partnership.

UPDATE: Miles Media and Weaver merge? Goodness gracious, I’ve said it before, you can’t make this stuff up, it is simply beyond the most creative fiction writer’s imagination.

Filed under: 8219

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