Day 128 – Big Ass Trucks

After ten short months in The Mitten, we’ve packed our bags and headed South to Texas.

Cuppy was able to land a new CW job. And with that came all the perks of new employment: A brand new pony. New cube. New friends. And most importantly, a new start.

One of the things that attracted Cuppy to advertising is that it’s his medicine. You see, he’s sick. When he was a small child he was diagnosed with wanderlust.

He’s always been able to manage the disease, but it wasn’t until he started writing that most of the symptoms started to fade. (1)

There’s a nervousness that creatives have to manage daily. It’s boredom. It’s yearning. It’s insecurity and doubt hidden beneath a thin layer of attitude and arrogance. Creatives come to work and exchange their ideas for praise. For recognition. They work for awards. They work for the art. They aspire to do great work because they believe in their ideas. Yes, we want sick amounts of money. But money will never drive a successful creative career.

Remember the story I told you before(2), about how creatives are like a bunch of insecure teenage girls? When Cuppy told his new creative recruiter about his last job, she really listened to him. She looked past all the whining. The constant months of complaining. She heard and understood that at his old agency, he wasn’t valued.

Jokingly, Cuppy emailed her and said “They never tell me I’m pretty. His new recruiter wrote back and said,

“Oh Cuppy, you are beautiful.”

He accepted the job that day. Now he’s saving up for a big ass truck.(3)

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(1) Symptoms include: infatuation with novelty, a strong desire to travel, an inability (some would call a gift) to commit and a penchant for things in life that are designed to be temporary.

(2) Tell Me I’m Pretty

(3) Down in Texas, big ass truck is local parlance for most any truck not on blocks.

Day 5 – Getting Settled

We found shelter. It isn’t much, but it should keep us dry. And mostly safe.

There are new wonderful and exotic smells here. I believe Cuppy and I may live in close proximity to culinary genius.(1)

We have a great feeling that things will go well this summer. We hope we’ll only have to stay in this hovel for a few weeks. After that, we’ve heard there are more humble abodes in a magical place called Grosse Pointe.

We aspire to have enough pennies saved to afford a cardboard shelter on the water next to these giant ships docked at port. Cuppy and I have discussed at length and we believe that these great ships are used for whaling. We came to this conclusion from the odd bits and pieces I have gleaned and overheard at local gambling saloons.(2)

I have heard many proprietors say that those that live in Grosse Pointe are quite blubberous and live off the bounty that lesser creatures of the ocean provide them. Like plankton filtered though baleen, the small and weak are sacrificed for the greater good of the plump, as they in turn become more plump, like the butter ball turkeys of yesteryear.

As I wedge a chair against the door to keep it jammed shut, Cuppy has taken to hiding in the corner of our small home when the sun has gone down. He fears for his safety. And his concerns are justified. My greatest fear is if I am unable to earn enough wages, I will have to put Cuppy down. I would rather he go quickly, than watch him suffer the indignity of slowly rotting away over the next 1,000 years.(3)

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(1) We arrived at this hypothesis from the constant screams of exuberance next door of  “GAWD DAMN IT Chef Boyardee! Again!?!?” This chef’s cooking must be divine to warrant such blasphemy.

(2) Cuppy’s kind are not allowed in this type of establishment. He therefore had to wait outside with the other cups. On many nights, I dream of the day this kind of segregation will end. (We are however, staunch supporters of the separation of Church and Steak.) A day when cup and man are seen as equals. Where we both can be accepted, simply, as children of this beautiful green earth. Styrofoamism is in fact, an ugly disease.

(3) Styrofoam is remarkably resilient, except against fire. So please grab the cigarette out of Cuppy’s mouth if you catch him smoking.

Cuppy “My <3 is a shadow of epic sadness.” (I apologize. Cuppy can be quite emo at times.)

Day 1 – The Great Unknown

After 1400 miles on the open road, Cuppy and I made it. We’re finally here. From Texas to Detroit. Motor City. The D. Motown. The Concrete Jungle of Shattered Glass and UberJanky Pavement.

In some circles it’s known as Windsor’s Afterbirth.

We are more than frightened.