I'm out of my meeting (see earlier post) and aside from the ridiculously early hour (9AM?! Give me a break!), it was actually very interesting. It seems that somehow I have become a Madison Avenue Ad Man, except I work on 38th street and 6th Avenue. For the past month, I've been part of a team creating and developing an advertising campaign for a Midwestern cable company. I'm still not entirely sure how I got involved in the first place but that's none of my business. I must have been recruited because I'm the best and brightest in my field like that blond Australian chick in the Transformers movie.
The funny thing is, advertising was always my dream career, until I got to college and for god-only-knows what reason, the advertising major required a shitload of math courses. I spent more time evading math throughout my education than I ever would have if I had just buckled down and tried to learn it. So I switched over to
Communications and left my dreams of one day using my powers of influence to force Joe Six-pack and Jane Winecooler to purchase things they really don't need behind and instead, lived my advertising dreams vicariously through Billy on Melrose Place. Until now!
I'm already dreaming of next week's pitch meeting where we present our concepts using colorful poster board sketches on easels. At the end, the client is unimpressed so it's up to me to quickly pull an idea out of thin air and knock every body's socks off. After that it will only be a matter of time until I'm heading up the Coke account. In the meantime, I'm willing to look at offers from any ad agencies out there so feel free to try to woo me with promises of corner offices and attractive young secretaries.
I think we all know how this relationship is going to end. Heather and Jack will fake their own deaths and pay Thomas Calabro $1 million dollars to keep quiet about it. While the world mourns the deaths of Heather and Jack, the sexy duo will be strolling along a remote beach, hand in hand, listening to Closing Time by Semisonic. 
