Welcome to BRO, Brah!

that's how my friends refer to the magazine. "charles works at the BRO, brah." it's true, i do work at the BRO, brah. in fact, a lot of people i come into contact with really, really, really want to call me "brah." since they're not being ironic, i'm forced to allow it. of course, in the case that they are being ironic, i jump on the sarcastic bandwagon and encourage everybody to crack another beer...but that's not the point.

the point is that my friends birthed this slogan out of their cubes and office parks in sub-metro hell, mocking me daily for such nonexistent products as my "soy footwear" and "organic cell phone." they took great pride in looking down their noses at the BRO, brah, because from within foamboard walls and 2-hour commutes, i'm sure a job like this looks fake; couldn't possibly ever support a family, or even a recreational hair-gel habit.

three years later, as a guy who both makes his car payment (on time) and has heat (and food!) in the house he owns, they're being forced to revise their stance. i still work at the BRO, brah, and i still sell advertising to people who don't think you have to wear oxfords and slacks to "make it"...and i'm still here. i love the BRO, brah, and it's been better to me over the years than any of my friends have been treated by their jobs. i'm glad they're still haughty though...it means everybody knows i was right.

plus, now i have a blog. brah.

~charles