Thoughts from 160 feet

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.

Your stride says it all

Try copying how someone walks and you'll see what I mean.  Walking patterns are a complete mirror of personality. The heavy footed depressed type is my favorite. Slouched and stomping with momentum, they're a cross between a Snuffleupagus and Big Foot.

Speaking of the big foot stride. My old roommate in Minneapolis was a carbon copy. Witnessing her two-hundred pound frame cruise by in satin black bra and panties set changed me. I now feel nothing when I see an attractive women in black lingerie.

I wouldn't be so scarred if it was a quick walk by, a blip on my radar, a flash of white and black in the corner of my eye. It wasn't. I was facing her direction, deep in thought. We locked eyes. Lost in the whatever train of thought I was riding, I didn't realize what was happening until it was too late. She was Jason from Friday the 13th running about with a machete and I was one of the first promiscuous, big-haired teenagers to go.

Stride. It says a lot about you.

Ahhh the homeless guilt trips! Do I give my quarter to the one legged man blocking traffic or the women with a stroller?

Quality haunted houses don't use the cliche gag tactics like explicit sodomy.

Free popcorn??

Free Popcorn

Every time I walk down Michigan Ave by the Apple Store, the smell of cheesy popcorn tempts my nose.  Today, it was the smell plus a man in a Garrett's jacket handing out coupons for a free bag of Garrett's Chicago Mix Popcorn from 10am - 12pm.

Score.

A few co-workers and I waited in the 40 degree drizzle for an hour. Worth it. Garrett did it right, just ask Ron Kittle, ex Chicago White Sox player who was hanging around the door to see how many people still remembered him.

It's on.

Welcome to the experiences of myself, Matt Grim, in the city of Chicago.  I'm fortunate enough to live in the heart of downtown by Millenium Park with two good friends of mine.

Keep your peepers tuned in to find out what happens when a creative shares an abode with two haberdashers in the heart of Chicago.  It should get pretty interesting.

I love you. Except you, you know who you are.

-Matt Grim