I had a print ad in the paper yesterday, a full-page, four-color ad on the back cover of the front section of "The Wall Street Journal."
I think about this today, on Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the Jewish year.
There's no glamour anymore in doing print ads. There are very few people who care at all about print.
But I seem to have print in my veins.
Maybe it's my abiding affection for the bygone. For long-ago times when things, to me, made more sense.
Maybe it's an absurd and archaic connection to my craft, which at its simplest, is taking a complicated mush of inputs and turning that mush into a simple coalescence of thought.
Maybe I love tackling tough problems.
Maybe, I simply love writing.
But, I also love--yes, have love for--the people I work with to get this thing done. I love also the sweat and the ardor and the upset and even the pain of what is often a crazy, frustrating process.
I guess, if you want to be hyperbolic about it, a print ad can be like life.
You have to apply blood sweat and tears to it to get it done.
You have to work and play well with others.
And then, maybe on the holiest day of the Jewish year, you can look at it and say,