It's 3:20 AM. I'm past the point of tired, the eyelids are propped up thanks to the help of Pepsi and Nirvana In Uetro. It's a weird night. The agency of 1600 is gutted of inhabitants and my only company is the hum of fluorescent lights.
Tinsel winds it's way about my cubicle and all throughout our glorified closet known as the Miami Ad School greenhouse. If I fart at one end, it will reach the other end in one minute tops. On the plus side, you're a part of every conversation without ever trying. On the negative, you're a part of every conversation without every trying. I love repetition.
The campaigns are coming along this quarter. I've had both amazing and painfully weak art directors. With the majority of my work falling into unprepared hands for execution, I was forced to write the hell out of everything. And so I did. I've never wrote so hard and long to find quality lines but now that I have, I can't imagine it any other way. My batting average is getting better, I used to pen a great line once every thousand. Now we're down to about once every seven hundred or so. Will I get carpal tunnel or reach the one out of one-hundred level? Only time will tell.
Stay tuned. I love you.