On the subject of heterosexual life partners
"I'm taking the second week of April off," Jamie will say.
"Okay," I'll respond.
"Well… maybe you want to book it off as well," he'll conclude.
Now, Jamie's not proposing we carpool to Disneyworld – he just doesn't want me to have fun with other Art Directors while he's gone. Ohhh, he's a jealous one, that Jamie. You can probably trace that back to the fact that we met at a small agency where I was the only full-time writer and five ADs used to pass me around like the little guy in cell block D. For my part, I'm still struggling to understand how a co-worker, with whom I have almost nothing in common, has become one of the defining relationships of my life. Seriously, we are a china pattern away from a marriage.
If that sounds like I'm complaining, I am absolutely not. I remember the single scene. Having great ideas for my book and nobody to mock them up. Experimental couplings with bad creative chemistry and agonizingly unproductive brainstorms. No, I'm not complaining. When you find someone you spark with, you cling to them like grim death.
-Graham
I just wish you'd stop following me to the toilet. And... if I catch you winning one more fucking award with that other tramp, it's over. OVER!
-Jamie
Last week we promised you some kind of bonus material as compensation for our technical difficulties and, as regular readers know, I have a passion for debating pointless, hypothetical questions. Lo and behold, words vs. pictures was born. Read our thoughts, add your own, take sides and cast your vote. If the response is positive, we'll make it a regular feature.
