There is yet another crunch at work.
I suppose this is normal. I suppose this is everywhere. I suppose this is Standard Operating Procedure.
I came in, as I do, early.
My brain works better then.
My wife's amazing and practically viscous coffee is in full-effect.
I had scripts to write.
On complicated briefs.
I sat in the expensive chair they supply us.
To be honest, with the callousness of holding company life today, I'm surprised they don't rent us our chairs.
But that's besides the point.
I sat in my chair.
At my mac.
And I typed.
What else could I do?
There's no focus group or app that turns out scripts.
Yeah, I know advertising is dead and all that and we need, instead, to be part of the social conversation, but still, somehow, I have airtime to fill.
Not getting up, not writing this post, not even going to the men's room, until I had something I liked.
Old Iron Ass.