According to lore, sometime in or about the 6th Century, Pope Gregory the Great emended the list of speed bumps on the road to spiritual salvation into the Seven Deadly Sins that wunderkind David Fincher rode into gothic glory. Fifteen hundred years and four trips to Cannes later, Popp Gregory the Producer decries that, at least in terms of advertising's Grail, virtue still has a long way to go.

The International Advertising Festival. Or, as most simply refer to it, "Cannes," as in "Are you going to Cannes?" The South of France. Beautiful people. Topless beaches. Endless cheek kissing. Oh yeah, some really great advertising. And of course, the Lion. It's enough to, well, make you want to go back year after year after year. But to the uninitiated, I say, "Be warned!" Make this pilgrimage, and you'll find yourself spending the rest of your days trying to cajole, buy, or win your way back.

pride (vanity)

Luckily for the festival's promoters, Pride is still allowable as carry-on baggage on most international flights. Without it, I'm not sure we'd witness the entertaining pretense that occurs throughout the day Saturday as the proprietors of the world's best production companies try to determine who will win the coveted Palme d'Or. The Palme d'Or is awarded to the production company that scores the most points in a complicated system that rewards a Grand Prix, Gold, Silver, Bronze, and "Shortlist" on a 10-point scale. Grab a seat on the Carleton's patio, order a Rosé, and enjoy the show.

envy

Eight thousand delegates. Thousands of entries. A mere 25 Gold Lions (give or take a few - the silver and bronze aren't handed out on Saturday night.) Walk around the numerous post gala parties with one of these suckers in your hand, and let me tell you, you suddenly know what it must feel like to be Tiger Woods trying on the jacket for a third time. Note to first timers: the Lion makes a great placeholder for the limited table space available at the post-gala buffet dinner.

gluttony

No trip to Cannes is complete without a trip - if you're lucky enough, on Tom Mooney's Magic Bus - to the famed Moulin de Mougin restaurant. An epicurean experience, the intimate, patio restaurant is situated in a quaint bed and breakfast nestled on a picturesque hill. As for the rest of your stay, real butter, whole milk, French bread, and delectable "pommes frites" abound. What's not to love?

lust

Bronzed bodies. Disco dancing. Abundant alcohol. Moonlit madness. In case you can't figure out the rest, check out Boards' March 2002 cover. I swear I thought at first the still shot from a Swedish Anti-drinking PSA was a photo from last year's Cannes' Traktor party.

anger

Each night, around 10 pm, as the distinguished yet exhausted jurors make their way into the numerous parties that dot the Cote d'Azur, friends and colleagues attempt, usually in vain, to lean on them for the scoop. To the hopeful delegates, the judging process remains a mystery, if not respectable, at that point. But come Saturday, and the showing of the annual behind-the-scenes video, one can clearly see that the jury is not necessarily the placid congregation one might think. Nationalism. Subjectivity. Agendas. It might not reach the Bobby Knight stage, but I hear it gets close.

greed

Even before the dust has settled and the winners and losers have accessed their gains and losses, the medal count begins. Isn't it enough that the biggest worldwide agencies have hosted extravagant parties on the beach all week? No. In the slew of print ads that appear in the following weeks, boasts are made of "the most Lions," "the most Lions in an 'x' year period," and so on. Can one entity ever win enough Lions? Never. Just wait until it's time to pack your suitcase for the trip home. Suddenly, nobody wants the thing.

sloth

Sure, the round-the-clock category screenings at the Palais des Festivals throughout the week and the print exhibition are pretty much packed. But that still leaves 5000 delegates unaccounted for. So where are they? I'll tell you where. Roasting in the sun on the hotel piers. Sleeping off a hangover by some villa's pool. Holding diving contests into the cobalt sea. Sign me up.

Admittedly, I'm one arbitrary point of view. So consider the words of a lifetime waiter at the Carlton, who, when asked about the biggest difference between the Cannes film and advertising festivals (no relation, in case you're wondering), he had but this to say. "The advertising people drink way more."

See you there.