The first day. Again.

So after two weeks of blissful freedom, where hours were mere trivialities to be flittered away, I am working again.

The new job begins, like many on a Monday morning, in a room that looks straight out of a movie.

It has a pool table, a dartboard,  and many photos from the days of yore when men were men, and a photo of moose or an old sea captain and far too many mirrors were what passed for décor. There is also, strangely enough, a skull of a long since dead animal, and less surprisingly a TV with a PS3 and a Nintendo Wii hooked up... I don’t think much work is going to get done in here. Or who knows the sea captain in the photo, whom I shall dub Captain Graham Phillipstein (He is a very proper captain, none of this hippy Jack Sparrow bullshit), may inspire thoughts within me I never thought possible.

Gaze upon His Majesty. May he bring me luck and the ability to grow
a beard such as his. Glorious.

Despite his grim outlook after leaving our last place of work, Hugh, my friend and art director is here, playing pool after being left alone in this room for a grand total of about two and a half minutes.

I want this room in my house.

But anyway, I wrote this the other night to begin my new challenge.

You know those nights where you can't sleep, so you just stay awake singing one word over and over (or a Justin Beiber song)? You throw a tennis ball against the wall repeatedly, wondering if anyone can hear you, and curious to know if you could throw the tennis ball hard enough to go through a wall. You don’t try because, even though I’m pretty sure not even Batman could do it (Superman could obviously but what do you expect from the man of steel, he could throw a pea through a wall. I don’t even know why I’m talking about it because it’s so obvious), if by some miracle you managed to, you; 
A) don’t know how to explain that you threw a tennis ball through a wall just to see if you could and
B) You cannot be arsed trying to be Tim ‘the Tool Man’ Taylor and fix it (unless, of course, you had the assistance of Al ‘the Pointless Reference to a Sit-com’ Borlan). You can't tell me no one else has nights like that.

I am writing this at 1:07am. I cannot sleep. I have a job interview in the morning and I would like it to go well even though I have a job already lined up (Present me: That’s the one I am at today).

But the main reason I am writing this post is because I haven’t written one for a while. As a result I feel I must, in order to keep the ‘I blog’ thing on my Facebook profile or face being placed in jail for fraud and misrepresentation of myself on Facebook (because no one does that) and it is frowned upon in society. And so help me God, I will not have society shun me.

But more importantly as part of my new job I will be undertaking a 100-day internship (I always say job... it's not. Like my place at Mojo, they could just be using me for my ideas then say there are no full time positions; cries.)So I have decided that without fail I must write a new blog for each of those hundred days. My proofreading department may hate having to take time out of their busy days to do it but I don’t care because it's a physical challenge.

So let my hundred days of nonsense begin. Take the journey with me. Subscribe, click all the buttons that I put at the bottom, despite the fact I am not yet sure what they do. But they have to be good, all the bloggers I look up to have them.

I'm Like The Beatles, Only I'm One Guy. And Only A Blogger.

Me: What should I write about today, Hugh.

Hugh: What you write about everyday, Adam. Trying to take over the world.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I prep for my writing.

Almost everyday Hugh and I have that conversation. It is usually after we have gotten annoyed at each other for not being able to come up with ideas, because let's face it, it's his fault (I can say that with some confidence knowing that he rarely reads this, despite now having a button for my blog on his blog).

So, at that point of the day we call a truce and go write a blog each.

Mine made up of my pointless ramblings, much like you're reading now. His a well-structured deep and meaningful jaunt through his thoughts… nerd.

And I think this defines us as a pair, unit, collaboration, whatever completely heterosexual way you can describe two incredibly good-looking males that hang out a lot. Hugh is the logical-ish one and I am the “fuck advertising let's ride bikes” one (due to this being my blog I have to be the one that sounds more awesome). From that cool shit usually evolves.

So my friends, as the weekend approaches and our spirits are uncharacteristically high because of the amount of praise and adoration we have received over the last few days, I muse (yeah, that's right, I muse. I muse so hard Chuck Norris made a motivational poster about me), about the power of the human mind.

Seriously it is insane. Last week we didn’t have any ideas for any of the briefs we were working on. Today and yesterday we presented them and got pats on the back, literally (to be honest it was weird because the guy giving the pats was old and has a pedo-stache).

UPDATE: Remember the competition, read all about it here. I have an actual prize. The prize is you! And by that I mean that a robot-you.

Hugh and I spent a good few days last week with very little to do but make robots, paper ones, of some of our favorite characters. 

So your prize can be either you or your favourite character in robot form! How badass it that? (Pretty badass, don't deny. You are probably entering the competition multiple times right now, because let's face it, I have awesome prizes).  So get creating me some banners people. (Please and thank you, obviously).
Also check the casual lean and displaying of bling I have going on in this picture. That's all you really need in advertising - a casual pose, a bit of bling and a cardboard Invader Zim.



*Allusions to myself and Hugh being good-looking heterosexuals, mentions of Chuck Norris and the insertion of manners were actually the work of Beka.
*Footnote is also the work of Beka, who didn't want anyone to get the wrong idea about Adam's self-image, sexuality, fondness of Chuck Norris or ability to be polite.