My Third Act

It is very common for men my age, 38, to look back at what they have done with their careers, assess their achievements and disappointments, and make the necessary course corrections.

I've attained a modicum of success as a staff agency guy. I was a VP, I flew business class, I hobnobbed with CEOs and I managed to put some work out there that has stood the test of time and is recognizable to folks not only in the ad community but in the culture at large.

My second act wasn't bad either. As a freelancer I've enjoyed incredible flexibility. I've been able to feather the nest egg, a little. And I haven't had to sit in meetings with clients or planners or hipster hat-wearing millennials. This is good as I have a hard time doing as the corporate psycho-babblers say I should do, "be the dumbest guy in the room."

I understand the sentiment behind this line of thinking but to achieve this prerequisite level of dumbness I would have to smash my temporal lobes in with a ball peen hammer.

And now I've come to Act Three of my career.

But what shall I do? Fortunately, TV has provided me the answer. And when does TV not provide the answer?

I just ordered my very own Fushigi Balls. My plan is to become a world class contact juggler. Once I master some of the moves that come with the complimentary DVD I'm going to create Fushigi moves of my own. After all, I come from a creative background, how hard can that be?

Look for me, and my balls, on the Venice boardwalk.

I'll be next to the unshaven panhandler holding up a sign that says, "Will drink for money."