Thursday, January 13, 2005

This feeling I’m trying to verbalize, it’s like walking out of the store with ill-fitting shoes you intend to keep. You saw them, tried them, decided they were a bit too small, too big, too narrow, yet you bought them anyway. From anyone else’s perspective your choice was a study in absurdity, a decision wrought from illogic and ridiculous whimsy, but to you those shoes continue to have an irresistible draw.

You know what I realized? I must describe that irresistible draw, lay it bare on the table and parse it into compelling morsels. Having the shoes isn’t enough–I need to know the why’s behind them. That’s what I need to do, and that’s what I plan on doing.

I was sitting at the House of Blues one day, trying my darndest to hold forth about the more exquisite points of direct marketing. This was a business lunch, after all, and damn it if I wasn’t going to secure the deal. At one point, right as I was munching on a steak fry, a thought struck: I really don’t care about any of this.

“This is just like a date,” declared my internal commentary, “except we’re only talking about pop-ups. Fucking pop-ups.”

Does this mean I despise work and desperately want to torch the building? Of course not. I’m still here. I’ve actually been looking forward to work recently, so I’m still wearing the shoes. But why? I think it’s time to dust them off and take a look.