So things are looking up a bit…heard about a couple possible freelance opportunities, one that’s even 40 hrs. /week. And I spoke with an ECD at a local agency who said he’ll meet with me next week (but no mention of any actual opportunities). Then again, a contact is a contact.
It is a wee small world we live in. I got a LinkedIn invite the other day from a woman who not only knew my brothers, she married one of my best friends from elementary school. Thirty years after I first met him, I’m now LinkedIn to him as well.
Don’t German, Hebrew and Klingon sound a lot alike?
80 and humid today with scattered rain. Forecast for tomorrow is 65 with some more rain, then 70-75 and sunny for the weekend. Texas weather is as ever-changing as (fill in your own simile, I’m tired).
Random list of people I know who are also “between jobs” (listed by their last position instead of their names):
–Executive Creative Director
–Associate Creative Director, Copy
–Associate Creative Director, Art
–Copywriter
–Art Director (two of them)
–Illustrator/Web Designer
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be ad folks. (Teach them to throw left-handed, and they’ll have job security for years and years in the majors.)
If one of my readers wanted to invest a few hundred grand, I could start my own agency with that list above.
Shannon and I actually missed the premiere of Hell’s Kitchen. But our DVR is set to record the rerun on Sunday. So you can quit your worrying.
I’m guessing that one of the worst things you can be in life is the child of a superstar. The pressure on Michael Jordan’s kids or Tiger Woods’ kid or Tom Cruise’s fake kid must be unbelievable. I remember the problems Dr. J had with his sons that were just tragic. (I also remember playing baseball against one of them in a tournament.)
Is it wrong for me to not want the cats hanging out on top of tables or countertops?
Is it even more wrong for me to squirt the heck out of them with water when they do?
People who know me best know that I grew up without pets, but I married a wonderful woman whose giant heart led her to adopt four cats. Let’s analyze these little “treasures” from my perspective:
1) Smokey = oldest, fattest, most spoiled and probably most loved by Shannon. He was there long before I was, and I’ll be darned if he doesn’t look at me with eyes that say “you’re just her husband, I’m her favorite cat and she likes me better.” He’s my least favorite, although if I hold my hand out a certain way, he comes over for a vigorous head-petting.
2) Vulpix = spelling may or may not be correct, since Shannon’s brother got to name him during his Pokemon phase several years ago. Vulpix is what I like to call an “attention whore.” He always wants to be petted, and if he sees you petting another cat he zooms over to get some lovin’ too. But it’s kind of endearing. And he’s the one who lays there cleaning off the others the most. Of course, that makes him the one who throws up the most. Maybe that’s why he’s my favorite–our shared gastrointestinal struggles.
3) Hobbes = the first cat that I got to name. He’s a Siamese, and boy was he a little piece of something when we first got him. But after he got fixed and declawed (just the fronts), he came home a different cat. He just kind of lay there staring at me, and I felt bad with those little bandages on his paws. So we bonded as he recuperated. He used to come to me when I beckoned, but as Siamese cats get older, they get lazier and slower and more standoffish. He still comes around some. Also, he sheds like a mofo. You can just pet him once and come away with a fistful of hair. He’s #2 on the list.
4) Speedy = so named (by me) because all he does is run from me, half of the time hissing. (Yes, I hiss back.) We believe he was abused, because most of his day is spent cowering in a corner of the garage. He has “come around” a lot more, and will even allow us to pet him if he sees us petting another cat and feels safe. It’s a shame, because he’s pretty cute, but so skittish that it’s hard to get attached.
Argh, enough of cats for one night.
Here’s one of those things that single guys would never EVER purchase but married guys kind of end up enjoying: Bath & Body Works Anti-Bacterial Gentle Foaming Hand Soaps.
If I do end up with a corporate gig, I’ll have to go get some serious discount suits. I’ve got plenty of cool ties and probably enough dress shirts. Man, they’d better pay me large green for me to go back to getting all gussied up for work.
Do people say “gussied up” anymore?
I always jinx myself by mentioning my writing ideas out loud and then I lose the motivation to continue with them. But maybe a blog mention won’t count. I’ve been sketching an outline for a play (guess it could be a movie or novel) based on a sports radio station in Philly. Four main characters, whose lives are entwined by more than just their jobs and a love of sports. Crap, I think the enthusiasm just went away. I’ll try to force myself to get back on it tomorrow.
Dear Publishing Magnate: I know you’re reading this blog and thinking, “why don’t we just buy these blog entries and publish them?” You can reach me by commenting below and making me an offer.
Dear Development Executive at a Major Motion Picture Studio: I know you’re reading this blog and thinking, “why don’t we just buy these blog entries and turn them into a movie?” You can reach me by commenting below and making me an offer.
Dear Ben Silverman: I know you’re reading this blog and thinking, “now that I’m in charge of programming at NBC, why don’t we get this guy to create a sitcom for the midseason?” You can reach me by commenting below and making me an offer.
And with that, dear readers, I bid you good night.
Poppa Culture 