Do I stay or do I go

I’ve always had great admiration for people who have more than one skill set they can make a living with. For example, my late, great friend George Roux was an art director, illustrator, commercial director and photographer. And he was equally adept at all of them. Damn him.

The problem is, the only thing I can really do is write. And depending on who you talk to, or if you've followed this blog for any length of time, even that's a little shaky.

Like so many of my colleagues, I occasionally entertain the idea of leaving advertising and moving on to a new challenge. Usually during status meetings, listening to account planners giving their insights or staff meetings where management tells everyone how great the new open office seating will be.

Don’t get me wrong: it’s not that copywriting hasn’t been good to me or isn’t challenging, but occasionally a restlessness sets in and I start thinking there might be something else that would be even more rewarding. It’s the same way I felt about my high school girlfriend.

Because there isn't much money in bingeing Breaking Bad, Better Call Saul, The Americans and House Of Cards, I started thinking about other things to do besides what I’m doing.

Here’s a partial list:

Crowd Estimator

I’ve always been good with numbers. I figure I could be that guy they cut to on the local news at concerts or sporting events. “Jeff, that looks like quite a gathering at the stadium tonight.” “That’s right Bill, I’d say there’s about 15,000 people here for the big show.” Then I’d get in the car and go home. Good gig.

Tire Store owner

I love tire stores. That new rubber smell, the S, T, H, V, ZR, W and Y speed ratings (note to Prius owners: S is all you need). What’s not to like about a job where you can toss around words like lug nuts and lateral run out (that's shimmy to you civilians). Not to mention the go-to jokes about being "under pressure" all the time. BAM! I’ll be here all week.

Fortune Cookie Writer

Here’s a gig that capitalizes on experience I already have—always a good thing. Play to my strength. Also, it’s one sentence at a time. That works well for me. Just a quick zinger, something uplifting, hopeful and funny in six or seven words. Besides, my wife used to be VP of Marketing for Panda Express. I already speak fortune cookie.

Ticket Taker

Whenever the discussion turns to creating jobs, this is one I always think of. Unnecessary and easy (did I use the high school girlfriend joke yet?), I’d be great at this. Movie theaters, Broadway theaters or even parking lots, I’d take the tickets with flair and a smile. There’s really not a lot of time for conversation since everyone’s in a hurry, which is fine by me. If you’ve ever been with me in an elevator, you know sometimes conversation is the last thing I want.

Couples picture taker

This one seems obvious, and yet you don't see a lot of them. Ok, you know when you're with your significant other at Disneyland, a concert, on vacation or at a restaurant, and you take either bad selfies or shots of the two of you individually? I'd be the guy wearing the resort uniform, just walking the grounds looking for people doing that and then saying, "I'll take that for you." One or two clicks, and I'm off to save the next vacation memory. I'd meet people, get exercise, learn about all sorts of photographic equipment and probably have a good tan at the end of it all.

You may have noticed the one alternative career choice not on the list is professional blogger. There are a couple of reasons for that.

First, I know for a fact there's no money in it. And second, have you read this blog lately?

Remembering George

I just got back from a memorial service for my great friend George Roux, who died a little over a week ago. Having known George for almost thirty years, I have a lot of history and stories to tell.

Now sometimes at services like these, they open it up and ask whoever would like to say a few words about the dearly departed to come up to the podium. And there have been times when I've wanted to say something, but truthfully I'm not at my best off the cuff with emotions spilling over, and loud sobbing as background noise.

Plus, being a writer, I like to map out what I'm going to say.

So when I heard about George, my Boy Scout instincts about being prepared kicked into merit-badge readiness. I wrote down what I wanted to say, rehearsed it and was ready for the call.

Come to find out, the call never came. George's service was beautifully planned by his wife Julie, was beyond lovely and went off like clockwork - something you can't do if you just invite people to speak willy-nilly.

Anyway, had I gotten the call, this is what I would've said:

I think the thing that surprised me most is that George’s heart failed him. Surprising because it never failed any of us.

George and I met almost 30 years ago. Being in advertising, of course I’d heard of him, how talented he was, the classes he taught at Art Center and Ad Center. For a while there it seemed like you couldn’t throw a rock without hitting someone who was mentored by George.

George and I were first partnered as a team when we worked at Tracy Locke. And let me say, work was never easier or more fun. Great ideas flowed out of George fast and furious. Besides being an incredibly talented art director, George was a great writer.

And trust me, copywriters don’t love anything more than an art director who knows how to write.

Maybe it wasn’t so much that we worked together, but that I got to watch him work. I would’ve paid for the privilege.

George and I became great and lasting friends. We were also co-conspirators. At Tracy Locke, we came up with a plan to pitch the Yamaha Electronics business by personally delivering the VP of Marketing an invitation to come to the agency. It was during the Consumer Electronics Show in Las Vegas. So we made a poster with a headline that read, “We came to your party. Now you're invited to ours.” We went to the show, found him, talked for a few minutes and gave him the poster, which he loved.

He never came to the agency, but George and I had three awesome days in Vegas.

I’m not saying that was the plan all along, But I'm not saying it wasn’t.

George and I also shared an appreciation for crappy horror films. Every time another one came out, we’d sit through it, then come out of the theater saying the same thing: “There’s two hours of my life I’ll never get back.” But we kept going, I think not so much for the films but to spend the time with each other.

George has been there for me at almost every pivotal point in my life. My dad’s death. Break ups, break downs. He was one of the groomsmen at my wedding, as well as self-appointed videographer, lending his incredible eye and talent to turning a wedding video into art. If only the DMV had known about him.

He was the first person I called when my son was born. At every juncture, George was there, offering his experience, insight, jokes, strength and friendship for me to lean on.

We freelanced as a team at several agencies over the years. I remember one conversation with him where I told him how jealous I was because he could do so many things so well: he was an art director, commercial director, illustrator, photographer. He had options. All I could do was write.

He looked at me and said, "That may be true, but nobody writes like you do."

I think he meant it as a compliment.

When George met Julie, he fell and fell hard. And while I’d seen him in relationships before, it was clear he’d just been biding his time. This was the one he’d been waiting for. Julie brought a joy to George’s life all of us who loved him will be forever grateful for.

We used to spend a lot of time together, but as often happens, life overtakes intentions and in the past few years we haven’t seen each other nearly often enough. The last time I talked to George was on his birthday in July. We had a long conversation, checking in with each other and catching up on our lives and families.

I called him on his birthday, he called me on mine. So while the call this year may be long distance, I’m pretty sure one way or another I’ll hear from him. I know he’ll hear from me.

It’s hard to get almost 30 years of a friendship into a few minutes, or to find exactly the right words to tell you about all the experiences George and I had.

It’d be a lot easier if he were here. Not only would he tell the stories better, he’d have pictures to go with them.

When Julie told me the news, we talked about George and how one reason this is so shocking is that he seemed indestructible. He’d been through a bad car accident, by-pass surgery, a home invasion robbery. All of them were like bullets off Superman. Julie also said she knew he’d had an entire life before he met her, and that she knew what she’d signed up for when she married him.

But Julie, I’m here to tell you, he also had an entire life after he met you. A complete life. The one he wanted. The one he was looking for. The one that counted. The one he found with you.

I’d also like to say something to Rachel and George. Your father was an exceptional man, and he loved you both beyond measure. I’m sure you know that. I’m also sure he’d want you to know this: life will be challenging sometimes. It’ll make you angry. It’ll make you weary. There’ll be times you’ll stumble and fall. But in those times, when you don’t know if you can get up or go on, remember, in your hearts, your dad will forever be smiling down, sending his love and cheering you on.

Let me wrap it up by saying words I’d have much preferred to say to him in person.

George, thank you for your kindness, your friendship, your brilliance, your humor, your heart, your decency, your encouragement, your work, your talent, your downright brutal good looks, and your love.

I’ll miss you friend. Before you know it. Love you George.