About the blogger

Hey, let’s get interactive up in here. If you’re going to read my blog, it’s only fair that you should get some say as to how you picture me in your head. So here are a few personas you can choose from.

1.

I was just another kid growing up in the wrong neck of the woods.

The suburbs.

Problem was, all the kids in the suburbs were genetically gifted super-giants. Kenneth Kay, for instance, built a personal computer for our fourth grade science fair. To put that in perspective, he was nine years old and it was 1990. Even our school library was only rocking a single computer that ran one program. Oregon Trail. And there was my buddy Christina. She got a 1480 on the SAT in the seventh grade. All the mommy coddling and piano lessons in the world couldn’t make me feel like I could hang.

So I turned to the hard stuff. Words.

Without me they’re nothing. Ahh the power.

And that’s why I’m a copywriter.

2.

They told me I had six months to live. So I sold all of my possessions (except for my prized buffalo head, Easter) and traveled to a tiny village in Mexico. Getting through customs with Easter was remarkably simple, and a short ride in a pulmonia landed me at my new doorstep. It was all seafood, guacamole and salty air day in and day out.

Then one day I looked at the calendar.

Seven months had passed. I rang the doctor, scheduled a hasty checkup and emerged with a clean bill of health. Life had opened its door to me. My future spread out in front of me like Aladdin’s magic carpet.

And that’s why I’m a copywriter.

3.

It was opening night on Broadway. Just three hours more and I would have stunned the world with my acting, singing and dancing skills.

“God, I’m talented,” I was thinking to myself. “A voice like Etta, the charm of Marilyn…” My dressing room door burst open.

A panicked stagehand rushed in. “You won’t believe it. Someone’s gone and said the M word.”

Gasp. Not the M word. The curse of the Scottish play had been invoked! I joined hands with the stagehand, and we murmered, “Angels and ministers of grace defend us.”

They didn’t.

Long story short, the theater burned down that night, and my throat broke out in puss-filled measles. Not the worst the M-word-curse had done, but enough to end my Broadway run before it had even begun. To this day I can’t even hum, thanks to those measles.

And that’s why I’m a copywriter.