The best part of the ad biz

When I was over-employed, meaning I was paid way too much money for coming up with silly slogans or cockamamie ideas to sell salad dressing, fizzy sugar water or computer printers, I would often be sent up to San Francisco. 

Just as an aside, in the digital age spanning from 1983-the present, no one has ever come up with a decent printer. 

EVER!

I loved my time up in SF, also btw, nobody but nobody says "Frisco.". This was before the keys to the city were handed over the homeless, sorry unhoused, and they commandeered the streets. 

I loved it because after a long day at BBDO/SF or the Saatchi office/SF, the creatives, fellow corporate pimps like myself, would regularly head down to Grumpy's -- which has recently been renovated.

This was a rare treat for me, and my then present partners Steve L. and Dennis L.

In Los Angeles, spread across 19 municipalities, border-like freeways and torturous driving times, there was never an afterwork meeting place, where one could get over served and share nightmarish shop talk. I was going to crack wise about the myopic Hewlett Packard clients, but discretion is the better part of valor. And besides I've already dunked on fucking printers.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N9wsjroVlu8

Last week, my buddy Greg Collins, who is enjoying some late stage Renaissance and cleaning up at international awards shows and might qualify for a Golden Qatari Jet, was in town for a visit. To mark the occasion and indulge in some "false camaraderie" (a loving term coined by other T1'er Matt Bogen), some old timey ad folks got together at the Cozy Inn, which is within walking distance to my house.

I wanted to go but at the last minute didn't want to go. I believe the readers of this blog are all too familiar with this scenario. And though my leather recliner, a fresh bottle of Bulleit and a promising night of Jeopardy --including 3 unwatched episodes-- beckoned, I put on my shoes and went.

And I'm glad I did.

"Have one beer, bro-hug some old fellow copywriters, put in your 30 minutes and head back to Carlson Park, where my Meth Head neighbor's dog will still be barking, " I told myself.

I ended up getting cozy at the Cozy Inn (a not too shabby dive bar) for more than 3 hours. And as my friend Mike Folino would say, "it was like My Favorite People Party."

It was all about catching up with former colleagues, soldiers in the marketing trenches. And though I didn't get to chat too long with Greg, the star of the evening who was working the room like a new bride, I never would have heard the end of it if I failed to show.

Also, I never get tired of hearing, "Holy Shit Rich, you're so skinny. What did you do with the other half of Rich Siegel?"