This morning at 11 a.m. EST, I am doing a FaceTime presentation to win a HUGE corporate storytelling project with a client in Oklahoma City. My competition is a firm comprised of five (white, slightly graying) men, who based on their website photos, all wear designer shirts with monogrammed French cuffs and cufflinks featuring their firm's logo. Oh, did I mention that the firm is located in Oklahoma City? Yeah, it's the six shooters against the BIG GUNS. I'm in the running because, according to the marketing director, "You sound so passionate about storytelling over the phone." Let's see what I can convey via FaceTime.
But the real point of this post is the above letter I received yesterday from my beloved high school friend of 45 years. Here's what it says:
Do you watch (or have heard of) "Drunk History" on Comedy Central? . . . some [episodes] are better than others, but you really do learn things as well as get a smile or laugh. One of the stories this week was about Boss Tweed and Tammany Hall and how a political cartoonist helped bring about their downfall. The (drunk) woman narrating concluded her story with this: "No one can stop the artists. No one can stop drawing, dance, literature. That's the truth tellers in this world -- the f*cking artists. So if you have a kid that's an artist, don't be like, 'You're a loser. What are you doing with your life?' They might someday take down the biggest man in town. Let artists be artists. Unless they're like, you know, they have nowhere to go and they're just lip synching Madonna songs in the subway. But you know, even that -- just see there it goes."
The letter was signed, "Love to my favorite artist." Precisely the ammo my six shooters need. Love back to my favorite high school friend.