Halfway home

Is it possible to be partially pregnant? Cause that’s how I feel. Minus the midnight cravings and having to pee all the time.

I’ve written my way to the mid-point of my still unnamed Book #2. For me, this is a major glass half-full/half-empty moment. This is where I get nervous and twitchy, finding myself so deeply immersed in the story that I lose all perspective as to whether I’m simply spinning my wheels. I feel like Evel Knievel, jumping the fountain at Caesar’s Palace. I’m halfway across, the crowd is cheering––the view is stunning. All that’s left is the landing. And hey, what’s that ambulance doing down there?

Speaking of this new book, I really, really, really do need to give it at least a working title. Some authors start with a title and go from there. That must be nice. Here I am with a literary toddler running around and when people ask me what his name is, I'm forced to tell them, Baby Boy Doe.

I did this once before, in my advertising career. We landed a ripe new account, but my partner and I had signed no-compete agreements with the prior agency years earlier. We weren’t sure if we were legally able to take on this new piece of business at the time, so for a month it was discussed, trafficked and billed under the name––“Secret Mystery Client.”

So for now, until I come up with a title, just think of this new book as “Secret Mystery Novel.” But it’s not a mystery. It’s actually more of, um––forget it, you know what I mean…

Very. Short. Blog. Post.

Lasik. This will only hurt a little bit.Good news: I’m writing like an over-caffeinated chihuahua on meth. Bad news: My eyeballs are about to go on strike or at least file for workers comp. Ever since I had Lasik eye surgery, my eyes dry out like crazy. For the first time in many moons, I’m actually missing my glasses. Note to self––pick up eye-drops tomorrow.

New York is calling

My agent is going to New York for a month and I am soooooo jealous. Okay, the reality is that I’d be jealous for about three or four days, then the crowds, the honking, and the strangers swearing at each other on the street would start to get old.

Ah, but for a few days…

I’ve been to New York twice and to New York City only once. Probably ten years ago. I went to the Clio Awards––sort of like the Oscars for Advertising, as silly and pretentious as that sounds. It was a memorable evening. Thomas Hayden Church was the MC and despite being a hilarious host I’m certain he called his agent immediately afterwards and promptly fired him. About half the awards were won by ad agencies in Europe, Japan or China. The after-party was like a United Nations meeting, but instead of translators we had bartenders.

The rest of my time in the Big Apple was spent doing touristy things. You know, buying dime-bags of crack and getting shanked on the subway. I’m kidding. I did the normal stuff—The Met, MOMA, the Empire State Building, etc. My 90-year-old grandfather (Yay Yay) even came up from Long Island and took me to see Miss Saigon. He’d already seen it but for some reason he didn’t mind seeing it again. When the curtain went up and I saw the opening scene was set in Dreamland––a sleazy Vietnamese dance club, I knew why.

Ever since, I’ve been dying to go back. Especially since my publisher, Ballantine/Random House is there. My editor is there. Now my agent is there too.

The thought is that by late summer Kristin and I will have to go back and meet some publicity folks at Random House. My background is in marketing so I’m oddly curious to see what it’s like to be on the other side of the table for once.

In the meantime, I’m cranking away on Book #2 and eating really lousy bagels.

Celebrity endorsements on acid

Did you watch the Superbowl? Of course you did. If you're in America it's practically a sacrament. Though I have to admit I was happy to learn that despite it's ratings, this year's "Big Game" still didn't beat the M*A*S*H* season finale.

And of course, if you watch the game you watch the commercials. Can you even remember one a few days later? Let's see (scratching my head...) there was the now perinneal Go-Daddy cheesequake spot with Danica Patrick. There were the semi-racist spots for SalesGenie.something. There were the typical "plug-n-play" celebrity endorsements. Naomi Campbell for Sobe. Justin Timberlake for Pepsi. Carmen Electra for Ice Breakers. Oh, and the Coke commercial with Carville and Frist was pretty cute.

The one that jumps out for me was the Bridgestone Tires ad with Alice Cooper and Richard Simmons. Then again I'd probably love any commercial that could combine Alice Cooper's eye-liner with Richard Simmons' trademark striped dove-shorts.

Did you have a favorite?