October 16, 2006

The Case Of The Misplaced Scratch Pad

It's like finding your car in your neighbour's garage the next morning, with the 'don't drink and drive' sticker piously exhibited. That isn't crime enough, if you still drive away without blinking an eyelid. You can't be that callous.

Let's get current. What's even more of a crime than booze parking in your neighbours garage? It's misplacing your scratch pad with your name on it and a lofty proclamation to RAISE THE BAR. It gets worse still, if you don't notice you've missed it and others do. And it starts a stink if the pages of your scratch pad are as clean as a newborn baby's backside.

Bazookas! Are we forgetting that the scratch pad is our launch pad to greatness? Ok, maybe that was a bit too dramatic. But it all starts there dude. Your scratch pad is your punch bag for ideas, perspective, style, you name it. That's where you PLAY. And PLAY does not make Jack a dull boy. See! Your scratch pad is your way out of dullness. It's your theater to experiment styles and stay fresh even in a cesspool. It's your closet, where you can be as deviant as you want to be. (Read this one straight ok?)

Your scratch pad is your confessional, your waste paper basket, your metaphorical shoulder to cry on, your pulpit, it's your everything. It's from where you shoot to the stars. Which is why every star still carries around his scratch pad and begins every new assignment on it.

Why won't you?

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