Where does the time go?

You would think that as a MOSL (Man of Semi-Leisure), who has involuntarily joined the ranks of the retired, I'd have nothing but time on my hands. I've come to discover it doesn't work that way. 

In fact, it seems I have less time to do in a day what needs to be done in a day. Particularly given my self imposed need to exercise between 2-3 hours between waking up and going to sleep.

It's hard out here for a gimp.

It's even harder to get all my reading done. 

Last week, I completed The Swimmers by Julie Otsuka. I bought the book on impulse while strolling about the Village Well, Culver City's own private book store. Just half a block away from our own private boutique-y weed shop, where one can purchase nuclear-powered strains that yield fits of laughter, giggles and ideas that are not remembered the next day.

Never let anyone tell you you can't judge a book by its cover. Having re-entered the pool as of late, I was sold on The Swimmers before I even cracked it open for a sneak peak. Same with Why We Swim, a book recommended by my friend and former colleague Mark, who assiduously asserts, without cause, that "I'm a racist." (I'm a curmudgeon, but I'm not a racist)

And now I am back to reading Spitting Chiclets, the second in a trilogy of books written by my friend and former colleague Cameron Day, who has never once called me a racist. 

Like every author I know, Cam wanted me to review his book. Which I'm more than happy to do. And not just because my name is credited in the back on pages 213 and 214. 

Reviews equal digital ink. 

Digital ink equals algorithm hits. 

Algorithms hits equals sales. 

Though I know from experience there's not a shitload of money to be made in book publishing. Nor, sadly, as this Advertising Survival Guide points out, is there a shitload of money to be made in advertising. Anymore. A cursory look through today's Help Wanted ads will verify that. I was shocked to discover that a GCD in 2023 literally earns 1/3 of the salary I was commanding as a GCD 20 years ago. 

And I sucked at it.

Nevertheless, if you should be in the industry, and want to succeed in the industry, and want to survive in the industry -- one that is fraught with politics, incompetence and enough ego to fill the Rose Bowl -- you owe it to yourself to read Spittin' Chiclets.

Many of Cam's stories are mirror-like images of my stories. And many of those stories are likely to be repeated by today's crop of cynical clickers and clackers and art directors who can't spell. All of whom would benefit from not making the same mistakes we did. And navigating their way while preserving their integrity and sanity all the way to the finish line.

Where, hopefully, they can exit this crazy business on their own terms. 

Get the book, read the book, live the book.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get to Mr. Jeffrey Asch, who has gracefully sent me a copy of his new book, which I promise to read and review. 

After I get the hutch in the dining room cleaned out.