Sup Brohamulus?

Feast or famine. That's the mantra of the freelance copywriter. When the phone rings, it rings a lot and I stay up late, work on the weekends or do whatever it takes to get the job(s) done. And when it doesn't ring, well then I do laundry, take care of the kids and go to the grocery store.

I like going to the supermarket. It gives me a chance to strap myself into the blood pressure machine. There, I can see the results of my rigorous fitness routine. Today for instance, I lifted weights in the morning, swam a mile at lunchtime and will run three miles before dinner.

My resting pulse rate in the 40's puts me in the same category as many top Olympic swimmers, though I will mercifully never display any pictures of myself in a Speedo. (Actually, the last time I wore a Speedo I had more hair on my head than I do in my ears.)

Why the monumental fight against Father Time?

Advertising is a young person's business. And while I have the advantage of experience, maturity and a tireless work ethic, there is no getting around the fact that youth must still be served.

And so I verse myself in the digital medium and sweat excessively as often as possible, hoping I can maintain the illusion of being current. And praying that I never have to resort to wearing the hipster hat and a T-Shirt from the Ed Hardy Douchebag Collection.