Monday, January 11, 2016
I met my doppelgänger about 6 years ago, shortly after I started writing this blog.
We met via the interwebs through the good graces of a mutual colleague, another copywriter.
Here are the amazing similarities:
We are both copywriters.
We are both from NY.
We are both of the Hebraic persuasion.
We are both fathers, of two daughters.
Prior to advertising, we both labored as short order cooks.
I'd like to say we are both the same age but my doppelgänger is considerably older than 44.
Finally, though I know there are a few other amazing coincidental parallels, we are both dyed in the wool, card carrying, certifiable, unmistakable misanthropes.
In fact, as people who generally don't like other people, you can imagine how weird after 6 years of Internet invisibility, it would be to actually sit down and break bread with my disdainful doppelgänger.
But, it wasn't.
George Tannenbaum, my brother from another mother and another father -- who no doubt descended from the same East European shtetl where our forefathers were bullied and robbed of their borscht money by crazy cossacks -- was flying with his wife to Hawaii.
While on a two day layover in LA, George thought it'd be nice to have a face-to-face.
In his recap of our breakfast, George noted that I was considerably thinner and healthier looking than I had always led on. He dutifully noted my sensible eating routine and my disciplined carb-free selection of eggs and fruit. A torturous regimen that has done me no good whatsoever.
But I had observations of my own.
You see, George is fond of portraying himself as a dour Debbie Downer, albeit a very scholarly sourpuss. A man who could go toe-to-toe with Moliere, quoting chapter and verse the many, many reasons why we all suck.
However, like Abraham Lincoln says, you can't believe everything you read on the Internet. The reality is -- and mind you we only sat down for an hour or so -- George and his wife, were exceedingly not unpleasant.
In fact, the words, which no reader of his blog would ever suspect, jovial and spirited, come to mind.
If I didn't have to get back to my home office to crank out some banner ads for a cyst removal clinic I could have chatted with George and his lovely wife well into the afternoon, particularly had the morning coffee turned into early Bloody Marys.
Perhaps next time I'm in NY (I will be available for freelance as of January 17th) George and I will meet again at the Tempus Fugit, his watering hole, and we can knock back a few Pike's Ale (THE ALE THAT WON FOR YALE.)