May 1st, 2006

(no subject)

For concept design, we had to make CD single front and back covers for a song, based completely conceptually on the lyrics (which also had to be included in there), the feel, and the meaning of the song. I chose Pink Fluffy Dinosaurs by Hooverphonic because I felt like working with pink and I worked with this design because of the ambient, trancey, floaty feeling of the song; one that you might listen to and think you finally understand while fucked up on all sorts of drugs.

I did this design first, and honestly, if I include the piece in my portfolio, I'll end up using the original because I like it ten times better, but unfortunately, my teacher said it wasn't conceptually fitting for the song enough, being that the dinosaur wasn't floating, and the name of the song (which "conceptually" meant everything) was serving as the ground, instead of representing the floatiness that it is. So I made a second version which was more fitting, and worked with a second idea of beginning to float into the sky from a standstill.

Here's the original front:



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In other news, today sucked. Why? First, remember Jon Fielden, the live-in friend gone heroin addict, back-stabbing thief? Well last we heard he'd moved back to Salt Lake City to go about his racist, drug-addict, worthless piece of shit ways. But I guess we heard wrong, because he's still around, and last night he robbed us. It was a personal attack, as he took Bunny's barely-working laptop and my cell phone, along with my wallet (which luckily had nothing of value in it) and all of Bunny's credit cards, but not the iMac G5 sitting on the table, nor my MP3 player, nor the TV or anything worth any money...

Then, someone very close to me who I had regrettably treated badly said I was the most selfish person they had ever known. And even though it wasn't meant to be in a bitch-fight kind of way, and was supposed to be a constructive source of feedback, as negative a fact as it was, hearing something said from a close friend of mine that I had known was true in the back of my head for a long time hurt like a fucking stab. I've been feeling terrible about myself lately; terrible about everything. Sometimes I truly hate gigantic elements of my personality that I have acquired through the process of many years as an inconsiderate bitch. I always thought I wouldn't need the people I had as long as I had the people I wanted, and lately I've realized that I flat out hate myself because of that assumption. I want to change. I have changed and I have gotten better. But I am still so far from being or feeling OK.

(no subject)

Get ready, Boys. It's finger-print time.


No, seriously. We went serious CSI tonight. After seven hours of waiting for a cop to FINALLY show up after the end of the immigrant protests, we began the quest to do everything we possibly could to bust John in his act. MySpace bulletins to keep a look-out, calls to cell phone companies for tracked down numbers and records, and deep down investigation of everything we could to prove our case and bust the perp. Luckily, the kid's easier than anyone to identify; a straggly, discombobulated and disheveled guy with long, straight, blond hair that always wears a trucker hat with graffiti on it and aviator sunglasses, always has 5XL clothing with his pants halfway down his ass, always has a skateboard and a backpack filled completely with his portable belongings, and always has a popsicle. ALWAYS has a popsicle, which he obtains every day at a market on the corner of Taylor and Golden Gate.

And finally, the coolest part of all was when a professional man with an Irish accent and a badass briefcase filled with black ink and brush accessories came and dusted all the contents of my backpack for the bastard's fingerprints, as all the contents were strewn over the couch this morning when he snagged my wallet. He found ONE print on Bunny's old driver's license, which we all examined in such fascination of the operation in front of us. We huddled over this poor investigator watching his every move in awe; a crime scene in our own home! At least we got SOME excitement out of the horrible situation. Because on top of everything that we had identified as stolen, we realized only hours later that along with it had been Bunny's backpack, inside of which was her entire quarter's worth of work, and our house keys, which means John Fielden has more keys to our home than we do, so even locking the door wouldn't prevent another break-in. As a result, we are getting the locks changed on Wednesday and having a group of big men sleep at our house. Ahh it's good to have Bosnian friends.