Assignment 1: Make a t-shirt 

No longer constrained by the synthetics that made it "new" or "valuable" by capitalist standards, the t-shirt is free. 

Through a 3-day process, I destroyed the structure of the fabric, broke through the walls of its frame. 

I made it something someone wants to wear.  Something soft.  Comfortable.  Relaxed.  I made it real.

It can be hung proudly from a hanger.  It can be folded without worry of wrinkles.  It is approachable, likable.  It has a life ahead of it because now someone wants to put it on and take it along for the ride, the real ride. 

Because now it is genuine.  Because now it is there to be understood for what it is. 

Through a 3-day process of soaking, churning, spinning and exposing to high heat, I aged the fibers like a fine wine.

Failing to find witty meaning or puny play, I decided, don't.  It's a t shirt and that's just what it is.  Make it be, let it be, what it is meant to be. 

I made it realize its intention.  Forced it, practically. 

Scrubbing through the surface, demanding it reveal its integrity, what makes up this t-shape, this garment that hugs your shoulders so fitting, so comfortably, so silently that you are able to enjoy the ride, the real ride, 

                I made a t shirt. 

Simple to make, impossible to repeat. 

It began as material. Now: content. 

And that, I find, is something worth wearing with jeans. 

Office Gossip

Recently (ok today) an individual I had worked with breached the account I use to make websites.  He had called while I was in class and because I did not respond immediately, took the liberty of dealing with it himself- even calling the password assistance number of the site- and successfully gained access to my account.

Ok so what?

This problem-solving behavior may be overlooked in some professional settings, and even praised, as proactive as it is.  And while he had his reasons, which were not harmful I may add, I had a hard time expressing my problem with the true crime comitted here, which goes against creatives anywhere.

On my follow-up phone call (barely, I repeat, barely over an hour later) the carelessness and crass of his response led to more aggressive tones and ultimately one of those "have a nice day" hang-ups.  Shocked at the immaturity and lack of professional etiquette, I followed up once more, this time with an email- Cc'd to the big heads involved (ya feel me)- providing unfortunately my deep disappointment with the disrespect of a -in all honesty- hired scam  fellow colleague.

In an equally Cc'd return, (because you're on the edge of your seats, right?) he patronized me as a professional (Note: I've gathered this is because of my gmail.com email address?) and summed up that it's not his problem anymore.

Nothing life-changing happened.  I understand what this person needed from me.  Which I could have attended to quickly and effortlessly if I had been asked directly.  The crime is simple, and maybe sensitive: I was left out of a move that involved my personal account.  Not personal in that it is my personal life, but personal in that it is my own work.  And as a creative, that is all I have.

So no blood.

But nobody puts his hands on my work.  I am a Creative.  And I will protect it fiercely.

BUT that was like, days ago

And things have gone steadily up from there (I know you were concerned).  I can credit that to good, old-fashioned time and effort.  Getting better takes practice, you know.

And I am so lucky to have a family who gives me everything I could ever need to do that.

And then some.  Thank you times 100 80 12.

Sugarland - Baby Girl from Cristina Engel on Vimeo.

this was supposed to post like, days ago

In celebration of official classes starting this past Thursday, I'd like to remember the good times of "Brandcenter Bootcamp," the 2 weeks of workshops prior to classes that only the AD's (art direction track- it's because our track is the smartest, duh) had to go through as sort of a warm up to the actual semester that actually counts.  In short, we presented mini projects due every class to everyone in a critique setting.  Coming from studio art classes, "crits" are just a normal, natural part of growing up the curriculum- I was completely used to them.  And, as expected, they went just like any crit.

Fast forward to official class on Thursday, Mr. Teacher tells us we'll be presenting our weekly projects all right. Just not in a traditional crit setting.  Why would you want feedback? he says.

...If we can't expect feedback, what do we expect? To be torn down, ripped apart, kicked around and told all about how bad we are? Can't wait!

So, as the actual semester commences (does that mean begin?), let's take a look back and revisit the days of Bootcamp, when we had the support and guidance of the fact that your stuff wasn't actually being graded.

I present to you.......

"How to Present Your Idea: what to expect when you don't know what to expect at all" 

a step-by-step by your very own First Year AD.

1. Have your stuff printed out right before class.

2. Try to volunteer not first, but like fourth or fifth, and not after someone who was really good, and not after someone who had a similar idea to yours.  Through body language make it clear you're about to get up next and then just go for it.  If someone else gets up as you do, it's fight or flight.

3. Flight? Ok now chuckle and say something like "aw ya beat me!"

4. Present your idea, your whole idea, because if you think everyone else will "get what you're talking about," and "know what you mean," they won't.  Chuckle more to make it less uncomfortable for everyone.

5.  Don't point to specific things with your finger unless you mean for everyone to look at your shaky hand and sweat stains instead of the thing you're pointing at.

6.  The professor asks everyone if they have any questions because he doesn't know what else to say.

7. No one has any questions.

8. Look around and somehow make eye contact with no one as your lips dry up and rocks fall into your stomach.

8.  Chuckle?

9.  Try to explain yourself again.

10. Take your shit off the bulletin board and sit down.

11.  Fidget in your seat until all attention is off you, which may feel like never.

also, this.

WHY IS EVERYTHING ABOUT ME SO UNPOPULAR

Saturday

The friend I always end up having too much fun to remember taking pictures with came this weekend and, like the good fun people we are, left the weekend picture-less.  But have I mentioned how much fun we had?

Saturday morning iMessages found ourselves without plans or roommates in town and the spontaneity of a quick visit to be too exciting to pass up.  And by that evening we're laughing on my walk-in closet floor with wine and all the shoes we want to wear out later.  After a 10 pm dinner at the one spot in this town I can never find the words to describe, called Sticky Rice (not a dive, but not exactly a restaurant, featuring great sushi, cheap beer and loud 90's punk), we meet up with some copywriters from my program who funded more than one shot of tequila in exchange for creative analysis of Mad Men and how that's definitely not going to be us in 2 years at all, ever, no way, except maybe for the outfits.

Next thing I know it's noon the next day and we agree life can't go on before brunch.  

If I defined every moment of my life these days by its accompanying drink, I'd be judged and scolded and probably even worried about, but I'm telling you, scrambled eggs with truffle oil and goat cheese and your latest spur-of-the-moment partner-in-crime just goes better with a Greyhound. Or two.  But just two I swear. 

an ode to a redhead

Perhaps it was the homemade sangria that didn't last us half of Fourth of July.

Or the fender bender with the guy we just saw at the bagel place.

Maybe it was the pink g&t's we couldn't get enough of.

Or the showers we never took because by the end of it, we just didn't really feel like it.

Or the research participant studies we thought would make us a fortune but usually ended up skipping.

Or the USA game we had to watch on the Spanish channel, which was delayed, and also in Spanish, because we didn't get ESPN.

Maybe it was the Jimmy John's deliveries we called in as we made bracelets at the coffee table at midnight.

Or the heap of clothes we shared in the middle of the room.  (Still love those white jeans.)

Or just someone to share my last cigarette factory days with.

Somewhere between long restaurant afternoons and apartment air conditioned nights we couldn't afford,  I had the best summer living with you.  I hope today is all you ever wanted, which is probably something along the lines of mimosas on the rooftop.  HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY LITTLE MERMAID!

It feels like I only go backwards lately

My curtain is still messed up from earlier.  I just typed like a thousand things out, trying to get at what I'm really trying to say, really trying hard to be articulate and poetic and straightforward and even trying to make it a good blog post, give you something good to read with all my thoughts about everything going on and just really let it all out. And I've finally figured out how to say it!

I'm scared.

Which means all the worst scenarios are having an absolute circus in my head, just waiting for me to give each one the audience it needs to carry on until I find the maturity to shut it off.  And it's funny that this feeling is now, being that lately I've felt like I've whole-heartedly come to terms with the idea that life is actually not out to get me.  It's actually as good as I want it to be, and there is no reason anything ever should be stressful because why would I want that, I wouldn't, so why would I let it be.

Talk is cheap.

Or maybe I just push comfortable away.

Come up for air

Went into the new kitchen to get water. All the windows are open and there are purple flowers on the back porch and pink ones spilling over from the neighbor's tree.  My hands are raw from moving and welcome the still glass.  The cabinets are full of dishes and throw rugs hug the old hardwood floors.  We both have walk-in closets because CLOTHES and we're using the entire basement as a studio.

My roommate and I have such similar taste we suggested we might as well start a home improvement business. Or at least just be roommates, which we are.

I miss E but now that he's gone, he can come back.  I'll be so happy when he does but I'm also so happy now.

"Kill it for me" he said

So today I move and it's awful and actually really sad and I can't think about it

So instead all I'm thinking about is last night when the guy who already has my heart made me fall even harder and got our friends together at the swanky little Capital Club 16 for a dinner that made it just enough easier to say goodbye.  Also gin and tonic.

After dinner everyone leaves and I'm swept up to the top of the Plaza for a bottle of Biltmore wine on the clubhouse terrace with a pool and we played shuffleboard until he won under the Raleigh stars.