You're soakin' in it

First things first. These are not my feet, my legs or my pink slippers. Not that I have anything against pink slippers. In fact I'm sure some pink slippers can be quite fetching, and I have no doubt were I to wear pink slippers I'd look fabulous in them.

But we're not here to talk about pink slippers. We're here to talk about my feet. Again.

In my last post, I described in more detail than anyone asked for about the minor procedure I had to remedy my ingrown toenail. In what us medical professionals like to refer to as the post-op phase, I've had to soak my recovering tootsie twice a day in luke warm water, with a half cup of epsom salts mixed in.

First, because of the water temperature, every time I fill the bin, in my head I hear James Earl Jones saying "Luke, I am your water!" Yeah, I know.

Second, I've never really known what epsom salt is. I've heard of it, I know it's something you soak in, but that's about the extent of it. Come to find out it's crystals of hydrated magnesium sulfate (pay attention class) that not only relax the feet and reduce swelling, they also draw out toxins and promote healing.

The problem is apparently epsom salt only comes in an eight-pound bag or larger. Do you have any idea what a cup a day for five days weighs? Neither do I, but it can't be much cause it doesn't make a dent in that gigantic bag.

Regardless, five days after the procedure the toe is looking swell. Not swollen, just swell. I don't know how the epsom salts do their job, I just know they are.

I know you'll be disappointed, but this is going to be the last post about my feet. Two is enough, and three would just be weird. I don't mean to be callus about it, I just want to manage your expectations.

Sorry about the callus joke. It was downright corny. Sorry again.

Foot jokes are my Achille's heel.

Ok. I'll stop now.

In the bag

Whether we like it or not, everyone in the ad biz deals with demographics – the quantifiable statistics of a certain group - every day.

Age, household income, habits, geographical location, political leanings, purchasing habits, consideration cycles, tv shows watched. Every thing you do and everything you are is broken down so advertisers can talk to you in a way you'll allegedly want to listen to.

It’s frightening how much information is available on any given group of people at any given moment.

What a lot of people in different demos have in common is they all take a great amount of pride in classifying themselves as non-conformists. Unique in their category. Of course, were that true, we wouldn’t be able to lump them in the same category.

One group in particular, and I have some first-hand experience with this, likes to think of themselves as rugged individualists, blazing their own trail, living life on their terms - loners not playing by anyone’s rules but their own.

Copywriters.

And while they may be marching to their own drum in other areas of life, many fall right in step with each other when it comes to a common accessory: their laptop bag.

The bag of choice? The Swiss Army backpack.

I can only speak for myself here, but the reason I love this bag is all the storage options. Zippers and pockets and nets, oh my. For someone like me, who uses the "just in case" theory whenever I pack - which is the reason I look like I'm moving in when I go on an overnight business trip - the Swiss Army backpack lets me carry every thing I need for almost any imaginary contingency I run into.

For example, I've had a deck of Bicycle playing cards in one of the netted side pockets for years. It's a holdover from when my good friend, sometimes art director partner and co-conspirator Mike Stone and I took magic classes at the Magic Castle (the first thing we learned was how to make $265 disappear). You never know, I might've been walking down the street or in a client meeting and had the sudden and unstoppable urge to show someone Stopped Aces, or The Matchmaker.

Pick a card, any card.

One of the zippered compartments has a varied assortment of computer connection cords that may be from my Powerbook 3400. Or my Macintosh Performa 6210. Maybe my Powerbook G4. I'm not sure - I've never used them.

Yet another compartment is my portable medicine chest: Aspirin. Ocean Nasal Spray. Coricidin. Pepto Bismal. Each and every one of them years past their expiration date. But at least they've been stored in a cool, dry place.

In the netted pocket on the other side is a bottle of water that should only be used to water plants. If you want to kill the plants.

And in the vast, canyon-like laptop compartment, which is what I initially bought the backpack for, is nothing. I long ago traded carrying the backpack around for a smaller, lighter Incase laptop bag. It doesn't let me carry nearly as much, but that's probably a good thing.

I guess just owning the Swiss Army bag puts me in the demo with all the other copywriters that have one. And I know what you're thinking: Just like every other writer, he's probably going to end this post with some snappy, clever line that has several meanings and works on so many levels.

But, being the non-conformist I am, I won't.