Designated Doodler

Since I have escaped the profession of copywriter that I spent three years surviving, I thought that I'd reflect back on this job and on the field of advertising as a whole. So please enjoy my analysis of corporate copywriting through this series of James Spader-specific gifs and/or images. Be a copywriter they said, it'll be fun they said. Once upon a time, I proofed a letter and gave it to my boss. He made changes…GIVING IT BACK TO ME WITH MISTAKES THAT HE ADDED…and then proceeded to give me crap about my ability to be an effective copywriter. Prepare to be poor unless you work for some elite, big city agency, in which case, prepare to sign over your entire life for that paycheck. No seriously…you will be in your office at midnight…and at five am the next day. Want a husband? Want kids? Forget it. Your clients will tell your agency that they want you to "be creative," and then they will proceed to give you their (already written ...

Tonight I heard a former Muslim man named Saleem talk. Here's what happened: Saleem brought up a young man in college, he pulled out three colored scarves. One white, one red and one black. He draped the white one around his shoulders and pulled the young man in next to him, sharing the scarf. He said, "this is what God wanted when he created man. He was like a daddy that wanted children. He desired fellowship with us and we were blameless. He told Adam and Eve that they could eat from any tree, except for one, the tree of life. And that if they did, surely they would die." "And what did they do? They ate the fruit. And although their physical bodies didn't die in that moment, they suffered a spiritual death," Saleem said, removing his arm (and the scarf) from the young man. "And so the world fell to sin," he said, draping a black scarf over the boy. "But we were still God's children and he did not forsake us. Instead,...

I admit I was duped But you were the one that stooped So low that it was  Child's play to deliver the blow I probably should have known You were lying Your lips were moving Your mind devising A plan to look out for its own A crooked smile And warm brown eyes The perfect visage For a traitorous guise You weaved a tangled web And didn't expect me To catch you stupid and empty And decipher your twisted head In the end, doing what I do best Pulling one over  on you instead.

On nights like this, I wish I had someone I could run to. Someone I could fall apart to. Someone who would wrap me in his arms and not even try to convince me everything would be okay, because he was smart enough to know that it wouldn’t be. But who would sit there in the silence with me. “Is there a cure?” is one of the first things people ask when you tell them your father has cancer. And I hate the answer. I had a nightmare last night, one part of which involved me knowing that I was only going to live for one more day. Can you imagine that? Can you imagine what it must feel like to not be certain that you’d be around tomorrow? I experienced that feeling in a dream, for a brief amount of time. And it was an awful feeling. Yet, every night when my Dad goes to bed, he’s not sure if he’ll wake up the next day. And as I sit here with burning eyes, the most painful throbbing in my head and that familiar ache in my chest, it breaks my heart to think of how my Dad must feel. Occasionally h...