Results tagged "Design"

But even as they have both completely let it go for the night, I’m sitting here watching this thing over and over again. Curse the devil that made me buy an iPhone. I will now attempt to embed this little video of love into this blog.

You know the blog where I feel weird about sharing too much about my kids… Yes, that one. Don’t let your heart explode, you know, because of the love.

And it only took me 30 hours to add this clip to my post. What? It’s not like I own a ukulele and post ridiculously cute videos of myself on a weekly basis. That design company I owned came with it’s own PROGRAMMERS. This is all jam and jelly cake to me, YO. Lay the hate down.

But whatever… I hear you. BIG DEAL. The cute kids run and crawl back and forth, laughing, smiling… EMULATING. But…but, but… DON’T YOU SEE IT? They’re both HUGE, and moving around and making noises and attempting to play with each other. It’s called INSANITY, and I am now on the cliffs of thensuch. See you never.

I’ve been busy this and last week with design projects (can I get an AMEN!) and my new passion for becoming a film-maker. Yes. Maker-o-Films. I’m sure all of this excitement will result in mass quantities of manic behavior in the weeks to come, which can only lead to blog abuse. Hold tight.

Anyone can call themselves anything, but it doesn’t make it so…

To begin with, I’m a Designer — a title that I’d like to think that I earned while climbing the somewhat thankless rungs of a career that requires a certain amount of skill that, on occasion, borrows from bursts of talent. To say this talent is consistent is a brilliant lie — no one is perfect and being “right” about how things should appear is one of those “grey areas” that we can all role our eyes at while pretending that we don’t really love Rob Lowe and {TOTALLY} can’t wait to read his auto-pilot book about being a man-slut. Regardless, along this path I’ve had the occasion to design a laundry list of things — for a laundry list of people and companies that have either led to pride beaming successes or unfortunate and mismanaged disasters, but each experience has led birth to something concrete that I can walk away with. AND, while I typically win in the end, I’ve worked hard  — sometimes designs are easy and others impossible, but they all deserve the same respect — anything less would be unheard of. Many times I’ve felt that falling into this career was by way of not being very good at other things. Starving, for instance, wouldn’t ever work for me, so being a traditional Art for Art’s Sake Artist was a little out of the question… I really didn’t have any hope when it came to a money management role (obviously — let them eat cake!) and, by way of a complete lack of interest, all things politics, law, religion and science were totally out of the question… that’s not to say, however, that they aren’t {TOTALLY INSIDE}. Because, when it comes to knowing right and wrong — what works and what doesn’t… what SELLS and what DISTURBS, it only makes COMMON SENSE that when putting IT OUT THERE, some things, you just shouldn’t do.

{IN OTHER WORDS, YOU SUCK.}
{THIS DESIGN IS BAD. EVERYTHING ABOUT IT IS WRONG. YOU MAKE ME SICK. GO AWAY. DO IT OVER. OPEN APPLE Q. GET A LIFE. STOP. DON’T EVER DO THIS AGAIN. POWERPOINT. WRONG. ANTI. AMATEUR. THROWING UP. GET OUT. JUST LOOK AWAY}

BUT, aside from my vast expertise as a full-time resident of the Hamptons and self-proclaimed design guru, who am I to critique the work of another, right? Where is my license to point out the obvious — Another new free Hamptons publication, The Daily Dan… Published and produced entirely somewhere else by another “local-yet-not” publication, Dan’s Papers — Aimed at making life between Westhampton and Montauk look ridiculous. Obscene. Absurd. Retarded. And, they employ an Art Director – Photography Director, Designers and probably a whole swarm of freelancers — all of which I’m sure have EYES. Because, yes… When I step out of a fake pool with an airbrushed body and horribly photoshopped jewels, overlaying typography that drips and oozes with amateur monkey brains… I {TOTALLY} know that you need to see what’s INSIDE. AND — I will tell you how to buy a husband, live on a mere $1.3M — WHO TO CALL WHEN YOU’RE DRUNK. Because I need you to know all of these things… while my legs and hand get chopped off at the water line and my head might not even be my own… I’m not questioning your intelligence AT ALL… Or blaming you for picking up the magazine — while the gooey airbrained contents barely stick to the pages of Über-gloss and canned editorial, leaving slime and stain on your hands as if a crime was committed. Because this is {TOTALLY} what you need to understand life in the Hamptons.

And while the opportunity to share the real Hamptons with, albeit, the people that already LIVE HERE, has officially been snuffed out like an obnoxiously cheap cigar, I can only react from the sidelines — turning my nose up and looking away from the waste and disaster as the contents start to leak out all over the summer’s beginning…  Because someone obviously doesn’t care about looking good — especially the powers that be at The Daily Dan.

Yes?

If so, then stop reading for a sec and pat yourself on the back. Because not only is having Personal Style admirable, it is also damn near impossible to achieve. In fact, and because if you answered yes — chances are that you are lying, Personal Style, if handled properly could possibly be the most important weapon in one’s possession. It is brooding. It is confident. It is calm, AND it doesn’t stray from classic.

Classic. Knowing when, how and what to say. Never giving up or into trends that might only last a few weeks. And most importantly, finding your Style and remaining loyal to it. Because just throwing yourself out there might just be the easiest way to wreak havoc all over the place. Figure it out… Try it on… Put it back. DON’T WEAR IT IF IT DOESN’T FIT. Look at yourself… Think about who you are and how you want others to see you. I might not know you, but I’m sure that you’re deserving… That is unless you are the dentist — you can go sit over there with the pharmacist and that guy from 7-11 — they have stinky breath too.

Personally, after an intricate critique, I find myself lacking but have become obsessed with the idea. The idea of going into my belongings in serious introspection — finding the key elements and tossing the rest. Clothing. Jewelry. Bags. Shoes. Makeup. Hair. Attitude. And it isn’t about what’s new or old, damaged or dated. It’s about taking the time to reinvest in the idea of Personal Style. And that, my friends, is where I’m headed…

In other news… the Brooches of Insanity are coming soon.. Yeah, and I know you’re waiting, but just hang on there PEACHES. Good things come to those who wait.

“That lady… That lady over there… She blatantly rammed into me with her cart…”

I could hear the whining from two aisles away—I was by the lettuce and he was by the fruit. “She could have just said excuse me, but Nooooooo, she had to go through me instead”. I whispered, “Are you kidding me?” under my breathe as a passing stock boy giggled. “What, WHAT is the problem? I don’t see anything…” said his companion. “What do you mean… right there — that lady (pointing from me to his foot) hit me with her dirty cart and now my shoe is scuffed and my foot hurts.”

Am I on Candid Camera or being Punked?

I had entered the local produce market quite innocently. It was a beautiful day, the crowd had not yet arrived and we were just running in for a few items. The market is unassuming — small and organic, yet slightly overpriced for the summer visitors. Turning the corner, I grabbed a small bag of Veggie Fries for Will to snack on while we shopped when suddenly, the unthinkable occurred. As I made my way to the deli counter, I maneuvered around a couple when I gently nudged the heel of a man looking just like Harold Ramis. Immediately upon impact I apologized, “I’m so sorry”, as he turned to glare at me.. “YOU HIT ME WITH YOUR CART!” he exclaimed as I began to apologize profusely. “Really, you could have said ‘EXCUSE ME’ or even ‘MOVE’.” he said, now yelling. But honestly, it didn’t seem that there had been a reason to, I started to explain but he huffed away, slightly limping as his partner — who seemed totally oblivious to what had just happened, followed.

But it only continued, as I stood watching him tap the shoulders of every person in the store — shoppers and employees… “That lady over there hit me with her cart!” he repeated, lifting his foot up to show everyone… my jaw on the floor. I mean really – RAMIS. You have on boat shoes and I barely even touched you. People were starting to stare. Yes, it was me – I hit Harold with my cart, as the Ghostbusters theme started playing in my head…Bustin’ makes me feel good! He was making a scene out of himself, suggesting to others that they should watch out for me… that wild woman over there with the giant child eating Veggie Fries — clearly I was INSANE.

And as it continued, I kept my head down as I shopped–only looking up to catch the eyes of people amused by the entertainment. I was trying so hard not to explode with laughter that I was losing my sense of direction and started filling plastic bags with way more oranges than I needed.. “Are you finished shopping yet so that I can get to the car to take my shoe off, I think it’s filling up with blood”, I heard him say to the woman who I can only assume was his wife. The wife that is probably in line for canonization. “I think you’re fine… I doubt she did it on purpose.” she said, finally throwing out the obvious.. “I can’t believe this. You saw her do it, how can you think this isn’t serious…I can’t walk in the sand with an injured foot..” he complained, following her to the checkout muttering about possibly needing medical attention… In his tee shirt and bathing suit, walking just fine, with his hands extended as if he was trying to understand why no one was listening. “I think you’re fine”, she said.

Everyone in the store knew I was embarrassed as I hovered in the back by the bread, peeking through the shelves until they had exited the building. When I made it to the checkout, the Hispanic women that see me on an almost daily basis couldn’t keep it together as we all burst out laughing… the store owner, who had appeared to see what all the fuss was about, shook his head saying “incredible”, as I wiped away my tears.

And as we moved on — out into the sun, I spied the man sitting on his tailgate, rubbing his foot while his partner appeared to be taking out her frustrations by cleaning out the car. I hope they had a nice day.

In other news, I’m stuck in the 80′s with more than Ramis today — I’m over at Culture Brats getting Kevin Bacon off of my mind… Enjoy!

In 2000, I attended a design conference in Boston that was being presented by the renowned Edward Tufte.

For those of you that are not familiar with Mr. Tufte, not only is he a genius, but also possesses an ego that of which Sting, and his blasphemous Symphonicity, could only hope to acquire. Because I really am fascinated by people that assume to be larger than life… Spinning the earth’s axis on the tips of their pinky fingers while the rest of us just stare with our mouths hanging open and the wonder of it all. And while I have loved Sting for most of my life, The Police made Syncronicity and NOTHING will ever compare. But there I was, sitting among others, listening to Edward’s theories on visual explanations and quantitative information… soaking it all in while furiously taking notes that were sure to get me to where I needed to get to… That place where the beautiful evidence stands up and just slaps you across the face saying “WAKE UP. NOTHING IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN RIGHT NOW.” When suddenly it hit me. If I had been nice to that new kid in third grade, he wouldn’t have hated me with every fiber of his body while the tables of time rotated to where he was on the other side, making fun of every breath I would take…

In the spring of 2005 my former design studio was in the midst of a new business partnership–And about a year into it, things were going very well. I managed all aspects of design while my partner handled most of the business side and website programming. We were approached by a Client, one that we had previously developed an ad campaign for. Although he was a builder by trade, he had a grand idea–a new publishing venture– a new Hamptons based publication. This was to be a glossy but sophisticated glimpse of life on the East End of Long Island… The beauty and artistic nature; the earth’s core of what makes our location so unique–beyond the fame, night clubs and society parties. It was a great idea, but it wasn’t just a project — it was a whole new company and it was up to us to recreate this vision.

“That’s that Hawaiian burger joint. I hear they got some tasty burgers.“

And so we set off… A small group was formed and–considering that none of us had any experience in such a start-up–meetings were ridiculous. Topics ranged from font sizes to distribution to what’s for lunch–Hey someone call and get us a table for dinner… drinks, laughs…. There was nothing very serious about what was going on — except that someone was beginning to spend unthinkable amounts of money. There were city dinners, Hampton Classic Tables, meetings with minor celebrities, random gifts, parties… You name it. Personally, I stayed out of most of the debauchery.. not my style, but what I saw happening was grandiose, and we hadn’t even published an issue yet. Admittedly, I turned a blind eye on the expenditures… I was being placated with visions of success.
Never ending dollars–someone, somewhere out there was funding us.

“Mmm-mmmm.
That is a tasty burger.“

Upon the publishing of our first issue (Memorial Day 2006), my business partner very suddenly decided to take his exit. We had been moving at a fast pace, and I know things in his personal life were changing… but we were right there — on the threshold of what we had been working so hard for. Before things became unpleasant, he told me that he would be happy to stay in the partnership but could not be associated with the owner of the magazine anymore and therefore couldn’t have anything to do with the project. He then went one step further to insinuate that he had attempted to sabotage the whole operation by not completing the publication’s website in time for a nationally televised plug on a syndicated morning show. Horrified, I resented him immediately and requested his departure. There were some legal dealings for a few months, and then he was gone. I immersed myself, once again, in the creative development of the next 8 issues, collateral and other projects of the design firm.

“But I do love the taste of a good burger. Mm-mm-mm.”

A few issues in — things were looking good. Advertising was a stretch, but we were gaining readers so the owner decided to up the distribution to include NYC and scattered Barnes & Nobles from Philadelphia to Boston. He also started making hiring and firing decisions on a weekly basis as well as salary increases. Money was still being spent like there was no end… and I continued to not question where it was coming from–Honestly, I had an idea, but didn’t really want to know. Mostly women were hired and referred to as “the gals at the office”… Along with this came rumors of the owner’s various infidelities. He had become a friend, however, so I dismissed ideas that this “family man” was capable of such behavior. After much discussion, a proposition was verbally offered to me — make my design firm part of the overall magazine in exchange for lofty partnership shares in the company as well as a top tier executive role… I mean we were going to be picked up soon by Time Warner or Condé Nast for a few million, right?
“Where do I sign?”
“Oh – the contract is being drawn up… let’s just get started running your financials through the magazine on Jan 1 to avoid tax problems”
“Oh, Okay.”….

I’m not one of those people that runs outside to see upon being told that ‘the sky is falling’…Thing is that I had a business partner going into this whole thing and really didn’t like running the design firm on my own. I thought I had thought it through — and I sincerely trusted this man.

“You know what they call a Quarter Pounder with cheese in France?”

I continued to not only direct, design and layout and occasionally edit every issue that was going to press, I was also managing clients that the design firm catered towards… it was too much. I asked for help, but funds were becoming tight, what with the Christmas party coming up and all. There were major politics at hand– cut throat… people being thrown under the bus on a daily basis. It was all consuming. It was so consuming, in fact, that I can’t remember very much of what was happening in my personal life at the time. At some point I renewed my passport, went on vacations–blackberry in hand, and… early in 2007 became pregnant. My husband and I  — our families, everyone was ecstatic. I did the whole waiting thing — not telling anyone at the publication until I had made through the first-tri to the safety zone…

“A Royale with cheese.”

Around the same time as my exciting personal news, the publisher was let go due in fact to his alleged marking up of printing costs, reimbursable expenses and, in short, embezzlement. A new publisher, formerly a sales “gal”, decided to push editorial and creative to focus on fashion and NYC– not so much local… And the owner had, in fact, left his family life and had taken up with a newly hired editor — another gal from the office. I do not claim to be a saint–far from it actually, but I was caught up in a whirlwind of disgusting behavior. I decided to, once again, turn a blind eye and work until the baby–then retire…
But wait, people were not getting paid. Why stay?
But wait, he has my company.

It was a Friday in April and I requested a meeting with him… Still no contract, fashion, crazy egos, and by the way I’m pregnant… He replied “you are the last of the Mohicans… I’m not doing this without you.” A nice hug, so proud — happy for you and yours… Later that same day, he called to yell at me about the website not being finished.. I explained that our programmer was up to his ears in Client projects… projects that were making us money. He accused me of mismanagement and suggested that I resign. After a good cry, I called and asked his office manager, who was actually my office manager, to let him know that he could expect my resignation on Monday. Apparently, she handed him my message on a post-it. He then denied ever suggesting such a thing.

“You mind if I have some of your tasty beverage to wash this down?”

It ended quickly–June 2007, like a band-aid being torn off. After fights — crying, yelling, demanding… it was apparent that I was out. The owner stopped speaking to me and instead sent threatening emails or verbal rants through the publisher. I don’t know why I waited– still designing…. but eventually decided to pull my company out of it all — I kept my employees at the crazy salaries that he had given them. We were once again a design firm.  He threatened to “come after me”, compiling a case against me as he had with my former business partner. He had his lawyer insist that I pay him back all of the money he spent on my company when in fact he owed me a great deal in back pay. There was never a contract, however, and his actions–unspeakable emails and threats spoke louder than any half-baked lawsuit. In March of 2008 they offered to let me design for them again until I had worked back the money that they thought I owed–thus lifting the threat of having them actually sue me. I politely declined and haven’t heard from them since…

“Ah, hit the spot.”

And then it was over. They continued to publish up until the fall of 2008–I would pick up an issue here and there… still beautiful, but dry and typical. There are rumors of what transpired over the past years since I left… and many posts online.. but factual? Who knows. I often wonder if it will reappear should the publishing world see a resurgence. People still tell me different stories on almost a weekly basis.

What I do know to be true is slightly unbelievable… My original business partner in the design firm, as it turns out, was already partners with the owner of the magazine when I went into business with him and had been for years. The two of them were also partners with another man and were dividing up shares of their other various businesses. When the man I partnered with walked from the publication–they went after him to retrieve his shares of everything and from what I’ve heard — a great deal of his money. Therefore, the owner of the publication, his business partners–including my partner were actually making money off of my designs for the year before the publication project ever came up.

The owner of the publication– I mentioned, was a friend. We allowed him into our lives–he took my husband to ball games, took us out for dinners… invited us to spend time with his family. On many occasions, he suggested that we invest in one of his many properties.. We never would have, but always acted interested and requested business plans, which never surfaced. He was so interested in us – my husband and I –that it was almost too much, but I never wanted to disappoint him when it came to the magazine. I was, perhaps, naive. But now that innocence is lost forever. Friendship was the booze they were selling, and I was drunk… while in the end, I’m just a graphic designer.

Can we talk about stuff? The kind of stuff that accumulates over time. The kind of stuff that you think you need or might need someday? The stuff that you think you’re being really really organized about and then you forget about it until you decide to tackle the situation and you can’t even remember why you kept the stuff to begin with? Like a pile of rolodex cards for the rolodex that you threw away with the invention of the computer. Or gobs and gobs of receipts–from 2002. Or how about art projects that you thought killed in college–now, not so much save for the hours of tedious yellow marker.

Because I’m still in the process of moving out of my space in Bridgehampton and back into my home office… which is requiring a massive reorganization before bringing more stuff in… which means that I have to go through it all to make sure that the colored pencils that are over a decade old are still worth a damn. Or the design trade publications from 1998 that I moved from one state and then another and yet another and still haven’t read. Do you think the theories will still apply? Ordinarily I would walk away from this situation in an attempt to avoid the hives that are slowly forming up my neck — but I don’t have any choice in the matter. I used to just tiptoe around the stuff… quietly, not wanting to disturb, occasionally opening the closets or drawers whispering.. hello in there – just let me sit at my computer… but now the other stuff is coming and therefore this stuff needs to go.

And it is with this task that I stand before you, OH DESK. Help me. Giant universe filled with lots of other stuff– as my pitch pierces my own ears… And, does anyone have a blindfold? Because I’m getting all teary-eyed having just found an awesome pen and I can’t watch. How do you throw it away? Do you want it? Maybe I’ll place an ad – “Stuff, in need of a good home. Will work with other stuff.” Or maybe I’ll just put it all back and pile more stuff on top… or maybe, just maybe…

In other news today… and before I drown myself in projects circa 1995, Aiming Low is repeating this post today. You can either read it here – or you can go there.. Heck, you can read it in both places if you’d like… because the season for repeats is looming upon and, although I have brown hair and she has the same glasses as me, I am not Tina Fey (shocker) and therefore don’t get paid residuals. Just put the hate down. 

Well…
I didn’t get everything I needed done yesterday completed…
Rumor has it that the sun is coming…
My ears were burning with a feature on… Designing Moms…

But the real reason I am up is that I had a nightmare. Not a good start to the day… but this one was so realistic that it woke me out of slumber and led me here to the keyboard. A few months ago I was hired via email to design a logo. Not a stretch for me.. although this client seemed obscure and would only communicate via email due to traveling. I took the project, beyond my better judgement–seemed interesting and I had received payment. It wasn’t until the deposit check bounced and phone calls were made that I found out that the individual was actually 1) a former somewhat disgruntled client from about 3 years ago, that was 2) pretending to be someone else that 3) was trying to pay me with his former employer’s information on a bogus check and 4) was actually in East Hampton–emailing me from a fake name with a gmail account. Knowing all this, it was sugested that I go to the police and file a report… but I took another route and decided to forget about it… Obviously, this man is insanely deranged and disturbed on many levels… call it Designer Stalking? The Hamptons are a small community and I can do without the drama…

The problem is… Yesterday his name popped up in a Tweet invitation to a networking event from another associate… And he’s attending. Creeped out? Now what….. Hence the nightmare that haunted my early morning sleep. I won’t go into details on the dream because they are becoming foggy [thank goodness].

But why, Oh why do I attract these people?

 

A favorite line from a favorite John Cusak timeless…. but I think we all are.

I have been told since the beginning of my time that I am not good with the numbers. And although, as a graphic designer, I work with measurements and equations on a daily basis… The understanding of THE MARKET seems to escape me. Admittedly, I flunked out of economics, but I didn’t really try to GET IT. I took more design studies to suffice and had a grand ol’ time.

Now I am paying the price… most of what is going on is wah-wah to me and as a small biz owner, that is BAD. As we happily hum along (singing our Breakwater song), the evil cloud of NOT GETTING IT has not yet found our little (signless) hiding place… we will take cover, and hum a little lower…