My dad shaved his mustache. It’s been there as long as I’ve known him, and now when I see him open the refrigerator he’s someone else. An alien in Russel Sweats and a crumpled long sleeve denim shirt. The defining set piece of his face cut away. What will make you Hungarian now? He’s dieting again, seems serious about it, much like the last one. We had a talk in Santa Monica, with the mother, about confrontation. One of those rare talks where the roles of parent and child are suddenly reversed. Quite jarring how seamless a transition it can be; time away does that.
My brother, on the other end, didn’t shave for 2 weeks. A real Grizzly Man. He landed an internship with the census bureau and will be living in the same city as President Obama. Making history. Isn’t is wonderful when people around you win? It’s infectious, that energy of accomplishment. Gil and I sat in my, his, our Honda Accord outside Aroma Cafe doing nothing but living urban in the night, discussing life and growth and listening. Sometimes that can be dificult. I have an attention span of a retarded seal.
Now I give another 10 seconds before I open my mouth.
The tough thing about advertising is… (wait for it). Wrestling.
Wrestling with yourself sometimes. The concept of comedy and comedic timing, cleverness and subversiveness, is innate in most of us, but we are bogged down by, by what? By self assigned filters, second guessing, and a chemical blockage of some point. It’s like the pipes in my head are all there, but shit is blocked up if I’m not in the zone. That’s what I realized over the break, after writing and writing – stories + songs + music + ideas + advice + listening – to not care. One secret is to acknowledge that the voice is there, but then to tell myself that authority should have no bearing on creative thought. No one is gonna look at this but me. And always write by hand.
It’s on motherfuckers!