All Folked Up
(Kling klang image to engorge)
It had to happen. I finally had a job go south on me because my computer I.Q. ain't high enough. The Calgary Folk Fest folks thought it might be a nice bit of continuity to have me design the gatefold map of the site for this year's program. You know, hand-drawn and all that, kinda' tying in with the poster.
I remember when drawing stuff was enough. Increasingly this isn't the case. Suddenly I'm a pre-press guy drowning in a cyber-swamp of shit I never had to deal with before. I draw. And I can colour in Photoshop. The end. I don't know from vectorizing, EPS, FLA, and frim-fram sauce. And I didn't think I'd need to. My mistake, apparently. Bottom line: they couldn't use it.
In many cases I'd prefer to do it the old fashioned way - couriering the line art for the AD's and production people to diddle with to their heart's content. Which also leaves me more time for drawing and using my precious brain cells for creating stuff, not pushing buttons. I'm a dinosaur now. Grrr.
Anyway, it was more of a communication problem than anything, and the Folk folks still continue to be fair and decent clients to deal with. I just feel like I got steamrolled by the future - today!
The Summer-Wreckers
Sun! Surf! Stabbin'! Fuckin' A. It's that time of year again when the vicious dregs of our far-flung dystopian suburbs migrate to the downtown shores for a little summer funtime R & R - namely, rockin' and rampagin'! Which of course means lots of beer, lots of yelling, and with the crazed consumption of the former, lots of looking for trouble. Or more accurately, lots of inventing trouble. I'll never quite understand this specimen's blueprint for fun. And they're everywhere, no matter where you go - any place known for fun and festivity - they'll be there, tiny eyes glazed over in a state of rodent-like ferocity, wiry little bad vibe time-bombs ready to blow, ready to ruin the scene for everyone. I picture the preparations: "Let's see, sunscreen, towel, backpack, shiv..." Who thinks like that? And how in Hell do they manage to stay out of frequent incarceration? Maybe they don't. Maybe they just don't give a shit about anything. Except partying. With knives.
Enviro-Coach
Seattle Magazine - I'm sure I was inadvertently conjuring up any one of my many old psychotic P.E. teachers here. I wanted to add ready-to-burst veins on the guy, but figured that was a little much. Otherwise , I'm afraid it's pretty boring.
Tacky Plax
Who can resist the laugh-filled allure of these novelty klassics? Not me. I scooped this up with great gusto in a groovy little Los Angeles doo-dad shop. Kipling West can't resist them either - check out her wacky collection.
I apologize in advance for any damage done to your ribs.
Los Angeles - The Dresden
This crusty time capsule looks like the kind of drinking hole that Bob Newhart and Jerry the orthodontist would have hung out at after work. Lots of brown, lots of scrolly wrought-iron fixtures, and a smattering of well-dressed but gloomily disdainful bar staff make it a hipster-doofus paradise with all of the ironic trimmings. And then there's that swingin' lounge act straight out of a glorious shag carpet-lined nightmare. Check out Marty and Elayne's swanky song stylings, particularly their signature tune - some might say personal anthem - "Stayin' Alive."
