It's Shacket Time

I went out last Tuesday Night, a "school night" as it were, to meet up with some old friends. This is not something I usually did in my previous life, because Deb and I were often too tired at the end of the day to embark on socializing. 

Plus, Covid.

But I'm "doing the work" my therapists say I need to do in order to move forward. That work includes taking full advantage of my vast network of friends and former colleagues. And because I've worked at every ad agency in Los Angeles at some time or other, the number is quite large. 

Although I'm sure there is an equally large, or larger, number of those people (Planners/Account People/C-Suite Trough Feeders) who'd prefer not to break bread or uncork bottles of single malt bourbon with me.

Of course the "work" is made easier when seeing a bunch of smiling, happy faces who want to help me through this most difficult period of my life. And so I gladly slipped into my fashionable Shacket and walked the 1.5 miles from my house to Father's Office, a hipster gastropub adjacent to the Helms Bakery.

And there, under a heating lamp that wasn't heating, enjoyed the company of people I worked with at Team One, back in the early-90's, when many readers of this blog had not yet dirtied a diaper. 

Here for your amusement are a few unprofessionally taken photos from the evening...

We shared old war stories, caught up on our current lives (a few of the folks here will be doing a week long trek across Scotland this week) and oddly enough, spent considerable time talking fondly of Syracuse University. 

As chance would have it, 3 of the 8 people in this small gathering attended Syracuse University. 

And one woman, has a 23 year old son who just became Orange alumni. That makes for a lot of chatter about the old 315. 

This was my second trip to Father's Office (formerly My Father's Office, the name I prefer) in as many weeks. My daughters and I had been there just a couple of weeks ago, at the same table with no outdoor heater.

What I love most about Father's Office, is a standing rule from the kitchen. 

You see they make a killer 1/2 pound burger. But they only make it one way. There are no substations, no alterations, no tweaks or revisions of any kind. Nor do there need to be, because their burgers are absolute perfection. You gotta admire that commitment to excellence. As well as the courage to tell ketchup-loving meat spoilers to, "Fuck Off."

If only the people in the ad business, the craftsmen and craftswomen, who understand the science and the magic of creating powerful business-changing communications, had the backbone as the chef's at Father's Place, the business we all once loved might return to its former glory.

Yeah, right. 

Pass the Heinz.