Congrats/Condolences/Best Wishes on your Birthday/Graduation/New Baby/Death

Spending my lunch hour at Target staring down the aisles upon aisles of greeting cards reminds me of how much I loathe buying cards. I always dread the oncoming summers due to the one reason that Mother’s Day, Father’s Day and both of my parents’ birthdays are on the horizon.

Today alone I bought two graduation, one birthday and one Mother’s Day card. Damn you, Hallmark. For some reason my parents cannot get enough of greeting cards. They read them, reread them, place them on the mantle, hang them on the wall, all to my bewilderment.

So of course I have to send out congrats to my various cousins graduating from their respective schools. My choices were paradoxically endless (from every occasion from every relation like the Best Wishes from your Elder Cousin in Texas who you see every two years) to very very narrow (as in my only options, the pink flowery card or the cartoon poodle with diploma in paw).

Seriously, have you seen what the general public has to choose from? You can either pick: a.) the inspirational definition/message only given out by 40 year old English teachers; b.) weird pseudo-sexual allusions only given out by that creepy guy in the office; c.) flowery photo-illustrations with the gushy poem that your mom loves but leaves you feeling less than manly; or d.) the (not so) humorous message, indicating that you are so unoriginal and not funny that you had to rely on a complete stranger to write your card.

Of course there’s always the blank card, which while I appreciate the card company’s confidence to let me write my own message, I can almost hear that same company laughing off in the distance while they take my money in exchange for virtually nothing.

Eh, why is there so much effort into trying to show someone that I care? It’s not that I don’t care, but the sheer weight of trying to prove it makes me want to care so much less. And the act of not buying a card is the most extreme slap in the face you can give. "Well mom, I’m really happy that it’s your 50th birthday but I just didn’t feel like getting you a card." Who wants to bring upon themself that atomic bomb?

On a completely unrelated note, my birthday is coming up next week and I expect cards and presents from every one of my friends!

Rancho Relaxo

Unless I somehow skyrocket to design superstardom and get adulation for my genius, this past weekend will be the only time in the near future I get to hobnob with bigwigs from all over the counry.

This year’s Design Ranch was held at Camp Waldemar, which is a camp for rich girls. Very rich girls. Imagine if you will:

Rich girl: Mother, can I go to Camp Waldemar?
Mother: Well, honey, that sounds nice, but it costs $15,000 a summer to attend.
Rich girl: But moTHER! Monique’s mother said that SHE could go.
Mother: Honey, there’s a 15 year waiting list to be able to go.
Rich girl: I HATE YOU!!!!

That was my first reaction to what it might be like at the camp. But then it’s hard to harbor any ill-feelings towards such a magnificant place. It was impossible to maintain any level of stress while laying in a hammock next to the Guadalupe River. Throw in a few art workshops, food prepared by a four-star chef (he’s on staff), a few kayaks, live music everynight and a few kegs and you have yourself a good ole time.

It was also nice to such uber-successful designers shed any god-like stature and ask if the seat at your breakfast table is open. No ego, no competition, no showboating, well except for one guy. I got to screenprint with the guys who do all the concert posters for Modest Mouse, Interpol and whoever else is trendy. I was sketching out my idea for a Doozie (a koozie that holds two beers) with the principles of well-respected studios. It was satisfying to see people that were successful in design and did it by dictating what they wanted to do.

As nice as it was to relax and get pampered (well not the bunk beds intended for 14 year old girls, that sucked ass), this event helped me realize that I have some work to do in order to get to where I want to be in life.

Gomezmerized

Yeah the concert was over a week ago but I was holding off in the hope that my Holga would pull off some photo magic. No such luck so here are some by another fan with a more sophistimacated camera.

Another great concert by Gomez. I love these guys live. Here’s a taste, from another gig, but I had to share an amazing Beatles cover: Don't Let Me Down

Ben
Courtesy of RabidDog.

Ian and Tom
Courtesy of RabidDog.

Ian and Ben
Courtesy of RabidDog.

Gymnauseum

My latest workout resulted in a few enlightening observations:

Observation 1
Never ever ever take the vacant treadmill behind the woman with fat rolling out of her tank-top arm openings.

Observation 2
I picked the one gym in the entire free world that is devoid of good looking people.

Observation 3
Most men are homophobic unless they’re in a gym locker room where they can stand next to a perfect stranger and strip with no noticeable look of anxiety or awkwardness on their face.

HOLY SHIT!!!

[Gina and Steven on their respective laptops at Spiderhouse working quietly on freelance, enjoying a bright and clear Monday afternoon.]

Gina: Hey can you help me with this bitmap image?
Steven: HOLY SHIT!!!!!!
Gina: What is it?
Steven: Joy is pregnant!
Gina: WHAT?!
Steven: Look at this email...
Gina: Wow.
Steven: Man, they don’t mess around... well, actually they do. Heh heh.
Gina: Well, can you help me with this bitmap and then I’ll let you get back to your freaking out?
Steven: Holy shit.

Idle hands are the devil’s workshop

...unless the devil decided to sit this one out and let you lay on your lazy ass all day when you could be engaged in something more appropriate for this rare beautiful Austin saturday. Here were a few of my options:

Option 1
Forego recuperating from two full days of running around at my company’s convention and volunteer to go help out my fellow coworkers who are suffering through a third day. A valiant display of initiative, but it reeks of a lack of social life.

Option 2
Work on my freelance job, update my portfolio, do the laundry, clean up the apartment, finish setting up my letterpress, make a well-balanced dinner. The most responsible option, but sometimes the thought of doing a lot of things leaves you with the desire to do none of those things.

Option 3
Watch cartoons and sleep all day with the reasoning of "But I’m tiiiiiiired!"

So how can one salvage what’s left of his dignity and his day? I’m guessing by seeing a movie with a buddy and tossing back a few brewskies while telling myself "Tomorrow, tomorrow..."